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Admirateur obsessionnel

Um, yup.

I was being dragued. Much as I gave Dave the benefit of the doubt, it is quite evident that I was being dragued.

I met him at the mailbox on Saturday. He introduced himself as my new neighbor and we made small talk as best you can when one of you doesn't understand half of what the other is saying. Then today I had the window open in my ground-floor apartment so when he came to get his mail, he started talking to me through it. I was a bit annoyed because I couldn't have privacy and not die from the heat from my unadjustable radiator at the same time.

Later this evening, he rang the doorbell and I answered it. He said he wanted to get to know his new neighbor (or something like that - it sounded like lqjoqiejoinindsomivoisin to me). I said I was just about to make dinner, so I would come over to his apartment when I was done and say hi. I chopped my vegetables and I was just about to start cooking when the doorbell rang again and I had to explain to him that no, I wasn't done with dinner. At this point, I thought he was trying to pick me up or he was just extremely lonely and wanting to meet his neighbors. I am naïve like that.

After dinner, I went over and he had some friends there. Well, I thought, This isn't so bad. He already has friends, but I guess he did just want to meet the neighbors rather than trying to pick me up. After a while, the friends left. We looked at his action-movie collection, then sat down in the kitchen and he started asking me questions.

"Would you ever date a black man?" was the first question. I suppose you can see where this was going, but I was still giving him the benefit of the doubt and wondering if this was some kind of deep anthropological question he wanted to know about Americans.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" was one of the next questions. I answered that I did.

"Do you have anyone on the side yet, for while you're in France?" was the next, at which point all benefit of the doubt flew out the window. I continued to try to be polite, which was insane, but I really didn't know what to do in the situation. He told me that he liked me, but if I just wanted to be friends, that would be fine, but he would always hold out the hope that we would some day be together.

Oh good, friends. That's better. I will try to have a conversation then. So how is Mayotte?

The answer to that question, apparently, is that I am so beautiful (long up/down checking-out gaze). And that he's dreamed of going out with an American for his whole life, and now he's living next door to an American and she's so beautiful, so it's like a gift from God. And that he thinks he's falling in love with me. And that if some day my lips were to touch his lips... blah blah blah something I didn't understand and didn't want to.

Finally I escaped, feeling rather icky and violated, even though he had only touched my hand. I am creeped out and not looking forward to being home in the evenings or to having to walk past his apartment to get to mine. Even though I'm only here for about a month, I don't want to have to put up with a stalker. If it continues beyond tonight, I'm talking to our landlady.

srah - Monday, 10 March 2003 - 5:18 PM
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