Tonight on a very special “To Catch a Predator”…

Dear Taylor Lautner lovers, counting down the days until he turns 18 (56),

What would happen if you had the opportunity to meet up with Taylor Lautner? Sarah (comment name SEM) shared with us a story of one lucky woman who did just that or so she thought…Call it fan fiction; call it a work of art; call it so realistic it’s a bit disturbing; We just call it EPICNESS (and hope you don’t call Chris Hansen on us).

To Catch a Predator

I arrived at the nondescript little house around 4 p.m. As I pulled my generic automobile into the driveway, I noticed I was shaking a little. Did I have a sense of foreboding? Did I suspect what trouble lay around the bend? Was I just super-uber excited about getting to meet Taylor Lautner?

It’s hard to say. Sure, like any red-blooded woman I was thrilled about meeting the sexier half of Swiftner. But if I was being honest with myself, I did find it a little odd that I had met Taylor in a chat room a few weeks ago and was meeting him in person in what amounted to BFE, Middle America. It didn’t seem logical that Taylor would live anywhere near there, but I figured with his money he might have properties all over the place. And it did have its charms. It was the kind of small town you’d see in a typical 1950s filmstrip about wholesomeness.

But I didn’t feel wholesome. Who knows why. Maybe it was because I was meeting him for the first time at his home instead of in a public place. Maybe I was experiencing a sort of compulsory nervousness that accompanies all first dates. Or maybe it was the fact that the instant messages I had been sending the as-yet-underaged TaycobSexxy8Pak@perv-sting.com for the last 6 weeks had been categorically debauched. Whatever it was, I was uneasy.

My jitters caused me to drop my tote bag on the way to the door. I told myself to get a grip. He’s just another guy. He’s probably nervous too. I rapped lightly on the door. There was no answer. I knocked a little harder. Nothing. What, does he think I can just use some tree limbs like the uneven parallel bars and then ricochet off the side of his house directly into his bedroom? I’m fast, but I’m not that fast. Finally I heard a young man’s voice from inside the house.

“It’s open. Just come on in.”

Okay, he’s not even gonna come to the door. I know he’s underaged, but he’s old enough to know what bad manners that is…

I opened the door and slowly stepped across the threshold. I didn’t immediately observe anything out of the ordinary, though the décor was admittedly Spartan. Perhaps he had just recently moved in. Hanging in the hallway was a portrait of Taylor with what appeared to be a grandparent. He’s sentimental… That’s hott.

Looking for Taylor, I stepped into the kitchen. The plain pine cabinets, beige linoleum floor, and outdated appliances made the room appear dour despite the light color palette. In the center of the room was a plain pine island surrounded by wooden stools. Something about this house, especially this room, was familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint where I might have seen it.

Just then he called out from a room farther back down the hallway: “I’m just gonna throw a load of towels into the washer. I’ll be right out.”

This isn’t right… Something is very wrong. Why hasn’t he come out to say hi? Why is he doing laundry when he should be doing me? Why did that picture of he and his grandmother look like someone cut out one of Taylor’s magazine covers and grafted it onto the picture that came with the frame?

At that moment he uttered the words that I immediately recognized as the harbingers of disaster:

“I made some sweet tea. Go ahead and pour yourself a glass. I’ll be right out.”

I realized instantly why the house was so familiar. About 3 things I was absolutely positive. First, I had not been corresponding with the real Taycob. Second, a part of my online conversations – and I didn’t know how large a part – were going to be exposed on network television. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably busted.

Uh oh. Who caught her? Read on after the jump! Continue…

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