Catfished (Part 1)

[shrinking, nerdification]

Sloan checked his watch, then feigned a sigh. “Ugh. Man, Deek, this really was a nice time but I have to get going.”

The skinny man across the table from him sipped his espresso and smiled. His glasses slid down his nose, but he pushed them back up with a pinky. “It really was a nice time! You’re fun to talk to, and… smart, and… handsome…” At the last word, Deek blushed, snorted, then looked away in embarrassment.

Sloan smiled and nodded. When they stood, he was reminded of their size difference; Deek only came up to his shoulder. ‘6’3” tall’ my ass, Sloan thought, giving Deek a friendly pat on the arm before heading to the door. Deek held the door open for him and Sloan cringed.

“Well, you have my number!” Deek said as they parted ways outside the coffee shop.

“I do!” Sloan said.

“And you can call me anytime! I’ve got LazerCon in two months but until then, nothing!”

Sloan forced another fake smile as he slid into his car. The tires squealed a bit as he pulled out of the lot.

Barely a mile down the road, Sloan’s phone lit up with a text from Deek: “Great time today! Looking forward to hanging out again!”

Sloan considered a polite response, then decided to just ignore him. He wondered how long Deek would continue to text him without getting a response. He seemed like a tenacious little fucker; hopefully this wouldn’t keep going on for weeks.

“I should be honest,” Sloan said aloud. He nodded, picking up his phone. He could just send Deek a text saying he thought he was nice but there were no sparks. No lines about “maybe being friends,” just a wish for good luck in the future and they could go their separate ways. Truly, ignoring him would be far more cruel than risking hurting his feelings with the truth.

“Then again, he wasn’t honest with me,” Sloan murmured to himself as he deleted the text he’d been tapping out. He thumbed through his phone to the photos app and took a look at the pictures Deek had sent him over the past week since they’d matched: a beach pic, with a tall, muscular man filling out a tank top; an action shot of a built guy playing football with his buddies in the mud; a candid of a brawny gentleman in a tank top sticking out his tongue at whoever took the photo. This buff athlete was a far cry from the Deek who showed up for coffee.

This wasn’t the first time Sloan had been catfished, but it was the first time he’d decided to participate in the date despite the other man not being who he’d claimed to be. Maybe I’ll like him? he’d told himself. I was being shallow for going for a guy with muscles. This nice guy might be a pleasant surprise.

Sure, Deek had turned out to be pleasant and friendly, but Sloan had been yawned through Deek’s descriptions of the fanfiction he wrote and his critical analyses of comic book movies. Plus, the dishonesty that led to their meeting had tainted the entire encounter.

“I’m just going to block his number,” Sloan said to himself, “and block him on the app and forget this all happened.” He froze as another text came through, this time from a different number than Deek’s.

It was a photo. Sloan had to zoom to make out exactly what he was looking at. At first, it had looked like a doll or an action figure, but on closer examination, he saw the muscular athlete from Deek’s catfishing photos. The buff man was naked, huddled low to the ground, and a huge hand loomed over him–like he was tiny.

“The fuck is this?” Sloan blurted out. Maybe photoshop, forced perspective, but he didn’t understand the motive behind sending it. Was this all part of a larger prank or scam?

A text from the mysterious number followed the photo: “This belong to you?”

*

Sloan ordered a decaf, causing the man behind the counter to roll his eyes. Buzzworld was notorious for their incredibly strong coffee, and after the extra large cold brew he’d put back at JavaMania with Deek, he had no interest in adding even more jitters to his current situation.

The man who finally showed up was short with scruffy brown hair and a goatee. He looked to be wearing pajama pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt. As he climbed into the seat across from Sloan, he took a hit off his vape. “Thanks for meeting me,” the stranger said with a lazy-eyed stare.

“I can’t believe I did,” Sloan said. “Y’know, this is the second time today I’ve agreed to coffee with some weirdo I don’t even know.”

The man chuckled. “You have serious boundary issues. Try learning how to say ‘no’ sometimes.” He extended a grubby hand. “My name’s Cole.”

“Sloan,” he replied. “And you said you had something to tell me about the date I was on earlier. So speak.”

“You said you got ‘catfished’?” Cole said. His slack-jawed expression slowly blossomed into a grin.

“Yeah,” Sloan said. “Some nerd was using some model’s pictures or something. Told me he was a personal trainer. Turns out he writes sci-fi and likes to cosplay. So what do you have to with all this?”

Cole poked around on his phone, then held up an image. It was from Deek’s fake dating profile–the beach pic. “This your guy?”

Sloan shook his head. “Not really. The guy who showed up looked about the size of that guy’s leg.”

“What if I told you they were the same dude?”

Sloan slid his chair away from the table, fully intending to leave the mug of $6 decaf behind. “I get a bad vibe from you, Cole.”

“You should. I’m a bad dude.”

Sloan headed for the door, but Cole called after him: “You thought you were going to have a big cornfed rugby-playing sweetie-pie, didn’t you? You know, he was really looking forward to his date with you.”

Sloan’s hand was on the door handle. He should just leave. Why was he so gullible? Why did he keep letting men talk to him like this?

Sloan stared at his feet in disbelief as he walked back to the table. He sat down. “I think you’re full of shit.”

“You know, you’re a good looking guy. Fit, cute face, nicely dressed. I bet you were shocked when that skinny nerd sat down with you instead of THIS guy.” Cole held up another photo on his phone; this one was of the muscular hunk from the catfish photos underneath an overturned wine glass.

“Is this some sort of performance art thing?” Sloan said, his head cocked to the side, his face contorted in confusion.

“Oh no,” Cole said. “Not at all. See, I’ve got a special gift. See this hand?” He wiggled the fingers on his right hand. Sloan blinked as the tiny sparks jumped from the tips of Cole’s fingers.

“The fuck did you do to my coffee?” Sloan said, examining the decaf as if he could detect hallucinogens within.

“With this hand I can reach into a guy and steal all the things that make him what he is,” Cole said. “For your big beefy bohunk boy, I grabbed all his masculinity. His muscles. His confidence. I pulled it all out, and left him a nerdy little Battlestar Galactica enthusiast.”

Sloan shook his head. “It’s Babylon 5,” he corrected. He should know; Deek had explained the plot in detail for a full hour.

“Before you showed up,” Cole said, leaning across the table, “I showed up. It wasn’t planned. I saw a big brawny guy sitting at a table, nervous about the cute guy coming to have coffee with him, and I waited for him to go to the bathroom.”

Sloan couldn’t believe it, but somehow, this was all making sense.

“And then while he washed his football-carrying hands I reached into him. They glow a lot when it happens. They can’t a thing while I grab out all their strengths. And what I pull out is a miniature version of all that they used to be.” Cole flashed another picture on his phone, this one of that same, grubby, sparking hand holding the tiny athlete Sloan had been hoping to meet with that day.

“And what’s left behind… is Deek?”

Cole chuckled. “They’re both ‘Deek’ of course,” he explained. “That nerdy guy has no idea he used to be different. His memories are all wiped clean, replaced with the new identity. It causes some confusion of course, because he doesn’t match his driver’s license and people at work won’t recognize him. But who gives a fuck, right?”

“So you just… keep these tiny men?”

“Sometimes,” Cole said. “I told you, I’m a bad guy. But I have an offer for you, my friend. You pay me two grand, I’ll take little Mr. mini-muscles here and put him back in that dorky body, turn him back into the stud you were hoping to meet.”

Sloan blinked. He had two thousand dollars. But this guy was a kidnapper–sort of. Should he call the police?

“And for 5 thousand dollars…” Cole said, licking his lips. He grabbed the tuft of hair beneath his lower lip and tugged it. “I just give you the little muscle man. Your own private little hunky pet. And nobody will ever know but you and me! And you know I won’t fucking tell anyone.”

“Why would I… want that…” Sloan said, flashing, just for a moment, on the idea of feeling Deek’s tiny muscles flexing beneath his fingertips. That was insane! Why was he thinking that? Deek was a human being!

“Your call,” Cole said, standing up to leave. “You know how to find me. And I’d avoid getting the authorities involved. I can’t tell you how many police units ended up on the shelf in my closet, while a brand new D&D group shows up in the world.”