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The Lisa Diaries by Lisa Carver  

Dave the Sex Pervert

by Dave the Sex Pervert


August 17, 2000



“What does it feel like?”


    

It makes certain things uncomfortable, like: sitting on a couch at a party with a good friend, talking away, having a great time and suddenly, like an alarm clock ringing, Nerve! They read Nerve. It’s like realizing you’ve had shaving cream or food on your chin for an entire conversation — only you can’t wipe Nerve off your face. At this point I become suspicious. Are they trying to seduce me? Do they think I am trying to seduce them? Am I?


    

It wasn’t until a New Year’s Eve party I attended that I realized people I know might actually read my wife’s filthy diary online. My friend Robert blurted out, “So Dave, have you had any good massages at the Danish health club lately?” The situation bonked me on the head: Nerve readers are real people. Some of these “real people” know me, are friends of mine. Most are strangers. I looked around the room and wondered how many of them recognized me from Lisa’s descriptions, knew every perverse thought I’ve had, every creepy move I’ve made. I got so paranoid that I went and hid in the bathroom. “At least in here,” I thought, “I won’t be accused of trying anything inappropriate with anyone except myself.” I analyzed my reflection in the bathroom mirror — not the face of a pervert.


    

After a few minutes alone, I reemerged. The party was even more crowded. They were all dissecting my every move. They were shocked at my secret desires. I was nervous and my foot got caught on the base of the rug. My hand accidentally brushed against Angela’s thigh. I said I was sorry and we started talking. She was interesting and funny and attractive. She was wearing a very tight black skirt. When she laughed, I noticed that she had big lips and lots of red lipstick. Angela was someone’s girlfriend. “If I’m spotted talking to someone’s girlfriend,” I thought, “they’ll conclude that, of course, I’m attempting a sex swap.”


    

I just like to tell stories and listen to people. Before The Lisa Diaries, I could mingle at parties carelessly, talking with friends and acquaintances about movies they’d seen or fun places they’d been. Now I hear them conspiring in hushed tones about “Dave the sex pervert.” They can see right through my clothes; I am naked and they have a good idea what I’m thinking. I wish I had a device that would alert me to Nerve readers. People are still extremely cordial with me, but I know that in their minds, they are ending every sentence with “you slut.” “Gee, really Dave? You slut” or “That’s great, you silly filthy slut.”


    

I have all the trappings of stardom with none of the perks. It’s not as if I am spotted in the grocery store and hounded for autographs. Instead, people email me and hunt me down in chat rooms to discuss my perversions and my behavior. Weird girls show up from out of town looking for us. Girls from Chicago show up and . . . well, Lisa’s already told you what happens when girls from Chicago show up. People send photos of themselves tied up. Naked! Naked people call me at home and just start talking to me about sex. People I’ve never met know that I enjoy Sting’s music. I am

not given the outlet to explain that I like certain Sting songs and detest others. They just read, pass judgement and move on. Even Courtney Love has taken time out of her busy schedule to write about how Lisa wound up with “a glam rocker working stiff.” This obscene form of stardom does not pay for me to eat in fancy restaurants, wear expensive clothes or travel around the world. Instead I get brothels, naked parties and other stuff I’d rather keep private — all while remaining happily married.


    

It feels absurd.


    

I married Lisa because I love her. I find her unpredictability funny and exciting. Everybody likes surprises. I decided long ago to take a stoic approach to this publicized pervert life; I sit back and try to enjoy the situations I am thrust into. There is no anticipation because I trick myself into believing that nothing is happening — and because I am not a Nerve reader. Lisa claims that some female contestant has “won me.” She arranged an online contest and the prize was sex with me. I don’t know who she is. I was never really asked if it would be alright. Apparently this “winner” is currently purchasing a plane ticket so she can come claim her prize. I am not complaining. It is all very flattering, but I — I just don’t know what to wear when she arrives.





ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lisa Carver is the author of the books Dancing Queen, Rollerderby, The Lisa Diaries and Drugs Are Nice. She’s written for Hustler, Index, Icon, Feed, Newsday and Playboy, among others. She lives in New Hampshire.

©2000

Lisa Carver and Nerve.com, Inc.