I don't want a boyfriend, I want a parasocial relationship with a YouTuber.
Six-foot something, RedBull Racing fan, Apple ecosystem, sores around his mouth when he gets stressed, has a girlfriend named Rachel, and a sister named Jasmine (objectively, she's so cool), watching the 2024 Olympics on his LG monitor, a husky? Named Yuki (objectively, so cute), wears glasses but pretends he doesn't, literally does everything (I hate him).
Fuck, I hate my life—I say this to myself for the millionth time today. Who am I if I don't loath my existence and use it as an excuse to be mediocre?
Hating yourself doesn't mean you're going to pick at yourself in the mirror and stop eating so much because you need to lose weight. It can look like tucking your laptop underneath your chin and watching eight hours of some obscure Thia Boy Love drama, so you don't have to feel anything.
I want to feel manufactured feelings.
I'm watching weird YouTube videos again: A son being massaged by his mother: eyes closed (in pain, but in the manner that we are satisfied by the pain because, later, it gives way to pleasure, to relief), ink black south-Asian hair, disheveled, he is timid, soft features, prominent nose, Lego-block teeth, canine peeking from behind his thin lips, pale, dry, crooked chin, round face, very handsome.
He addresses his mother in Japanese.
I want to touch him. He is very young, and, in that moment, I want to touch him. Not as a mother. As a lover. As an equal. Massage the crooked peak of his chin.
He calls her, "Ma."
And I am startled by the sound of his voice. That it comes from within his chest. He sounds like a man.
What does that say about me?
His voice grows deeper. Now it comes from within the bottom of his throat. He blows air through his teeth. Lips pouted. His pleasure gives me pleasure. A type of distanced satisfaction.
I can almost feel the firmness of his skin underneath my fingertips. The youth.
He still has to grow into his features, but he is old enough to be visiting his mom for college recess. Coming back to his hometown like a lost child. The baby missing mummy.
The faces he makes when she digs her elbow into the hollow of his shoulder. He is breathless. When he says, "Ma…"
Oh, my fucking God!
I'm a pervert. I'm such a filthy pervert, but I will revisit this video when not even the darkest porn can get me off.
Him: gentle and giving way. Teeth clenched. Skin pulling back around the slight bridge of his nose. I think: Is this what he looks like in bed? Is he still a virgin?
As women, we are doomed. We aren't allowed to be interested in younger men. The criteria are that his brain is fully developed.
The older brother in the family. He can't be the baby. Nor the middle child.
We don't want problems, we want men.
He has beautiful hands. What is it with Japanese men and growing out their nails?
You can't finger a woman with long nails…
Her hand on his head. My fingers through his hair. His head. His head. His head!
How do I say this politely? Ma'am, I unfortunately want to have sex with your son.
Mouth-breathing into my neck while he is inside of my body. His beautiful nails pressing crescent moons into my back. The weight of his body on my stomach. The colour of his skin: egg-shell yellow. Off-white.
His face flushes. And then he falls asleep. She is so rough with him, but he is at peace.
Oh, no! His mouth falls open. A black void—I wonder how deep it goes…
Now, and it is my worst nightmare, she is giving him a full-body massage. The hollow of her hand patting his hips, on both sides. He moans dully. Tired. Somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness.
Oh my god! The two you are so adorable. He's such a sport. Don't ever take your relationship for granted! I have no business commenting on some random YouTube video this late at night. My eyes aren't cooperating. I'm incoherent. But you know the feeling you get when you're overtaken with the sudden sense to do something. Like, if I don't comment on this video, I'll die. I'll never see her son again.
Am I the issue?
The comment gets a thousand likes that day. More important, it gets a like from the creator. I'm in denial. You know the things people say about meeting the people that you admire. That you're better off pretending they don't exist when you see them in public. You never know what they are going through.
It's cute and whatever. But I'm not falling for it.
"What do you mean? Oh, I love her channel so much. Did you see the video she did with her son? He's literally so cute!" I'm the kind of person who loves listening to people's conversations and I don't even make a secret about it. What if they're talking about something I know? I don't know. I'm self-centered like that sometimes.
"He replied to one of my comments the other day. Honestly, he's such a nice person. Such a beautiful relationship with his mum. You don't see that anymore," the other woman said. The two of them, university students or something, were staring at her phone. Earbuds split between the two of them, listening to the same YouTube video. Isn't that the plight of our generation? So often, we self soothe. ASMR videos. Weirdly satisfying videos. Falling asleep in the taxi with your earbuds hanging from your ears.
The woman with the long bob said, "I'm not supposed to say anything, but I saw them while I was grocery shopping the other day. No, really. I'm not even kidding. The son---he even helped me with my groceries. And the mum---my God! She really was so helpful. I didn't know the area well and she told me all the best routes. I'll never forget it."
I stuffed my phone into the pocket of my coat. "Hi. So sorry! Can you tell me what the time is? I forgot my phone at home. Sorry."
"Oh, no problem. I think it's almost one," she said.
"Thanks." Wouldn't it be insane if I were to run into them at the supermarket? How would I react? Do I tell them that I watch their YouTube videos? Wouldn't that be insane?
The ideal is that the protagonist meets the man of her dreams, and they have this painful interaction, but it makes her come off as so endearing to the main male love interest.