Not-So-Anonymous Commenter

You’ve been writing a blog for a number of months now without issue, and then suddenly you’re confronted with an anonymous commenter who posts unwarranted slams against you. A techie friend helps you use the commenter’s IP address to get the address of this rogue. You head to the house ready to pick a fight—but when you knock on the door, the person who answers is someone you know. Write this scene

My blog was my business and if anyone didn’t like it the solution was easy, don’t read it. I knew it wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea but that’s why it was mine, for me. My blog was basically a personal journal of my sexual encounters, which were frequent. I was a sex addict and had finally come to even admit it. I figured this blog would help me face the truth. And it had. But what gave that commentator the right to call me names, and then threaten to beat me down when they saw me. They had no idea who they were messing it. I may seem harmless but once I let the ghetto out of me, it will get ugly. I can do gangsta any day.

It pays to be nice to people because they are always willing to help you out if they think you are a friend to them. My mom always told me you catch more bees with honey and she was right. Lloyd worked in the Information Systems department of our office. He was a computer nerd and nerd wasn’t even an understatement. He looked the part. Skinny, tall and lanky, dirty blonde hair, bi-focals, pants pulled up all the way up his waist almost touching his nipples, and that laugh. Oh my what a laugh he had, sounded like a hackling, hyena. Anyways I knew he would be the one to help me finds out the IP address for the moron who had posted that insane comment on my blog. I mean really, it was a down right: threat

I slick my hair back into a ponytail, and wear a black hooded sweatshirt with black sweatpants and sneakers. I’m ready to kick some ass. I ring the doorbell.

“Who is it?” It’s a woman’s voice.

“Oh it’s Sexy Sandy, bee-atch, open the door and beat me down like you said you would!” I kick the door full of anger.

A shaky voice responds “You have the wrong house. I don’t know any Sexy Sandy.”

“No I don’t have the wrong house foo. You just didn’t think I would find out who the hell you were so you went and wrote all the shitt on my blog. Well now I’m here to show you what a ho-bitch I am. So open up” I proceeded to pound on the door with my fist. After a few minutes the door opened. I stood there mouth wide, heart pounding like a drum. I was left speechless by who was behind the door and she was just as shock to see me. See Sexy Sandy was just my screen name no one knew my real identity. This was a problem, in front of me stood, the Preachers’ wife from my church. The same church I faithfully attended every Sunday and Friday, and had been a member since I was a little girl. The same wife who was my childhood bible school teacher, Leslie. There were no words for either one to say. We stared at each other, eye to eye.  

She spoke first, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were Slutty, I mean Sexy Sandy.”

I didn’t know what to say. Shame filled me. It was as if I was standing before God himself.

“I ………..I have to go.” I turn my back abruptly; ready to flee like a defeated dog.

“No, Samantha wait. You need help sweetie, please let me help you, let God help you.” She reached out her arm to try in grab me. I stopped.

“I don’t need any help, thank you.” I walked away quickly, before she could come after me. Tears fell from my eyes in a flood. Was this fate? Was this God’s way of telling me, enough was enough? I had know for months that I was out of control but what could I do? It was an addiction like any other. It wasn’t drugs, or alcohol, it was sex that dominated my life, my every thought. When I wasn’t having sex I was thinking about getting it. Sex was my release, my high. And I wasn’t picky. I didn’t discriminate, ugly, fat, man or woman, as long as they could give me an orgasm it didn’t matter to me.