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 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!

“That dude is weird”

Right on cue, Dateline NBC’s Mr. Chris Hansen emerged from the doorway. Having seen the show before, I knew that fleeing the scene was not an option. Neither was using my shirt to try and shield my face from the camera crew that filed in after their host. I was scared shitless.

With his trademark smoothness, Mr. Hansen gestured toward one of the stools.

“Why don’t you have a seat. I’m Dateline N –“

“Yes, Sir, I know who you are,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Then you know why I’m here. So let’s talk about what you’re doing here.” He began sifting through a stack of papers and then cleared his throat dramatically. “ ‘I went to Wal-Mart and bought a washboard so that I can wash my thongs because I soiled them thinking about washing my soiled thongs on your washboard stomach.’ Besides being convoluted, that’s disgusting. Do you really think that’s appropriate talk to be using with a 17-year-old boy?”

I fidgeted with the straps of the tote bag in my lap and avoided eye contact.

“Um, no Sir, probably not.”

Mr. Hansen sneered at me and then plucked another page from his stack of printed-off instant messages.

“ ‘Sometimes I think about what it would be like if I were a woodland creature who just happened to be in leering range when you phased back to a human and if I would get to see your Alpha dong before you put your jorts back on.’ Miss, I don’t know what ‘jorts’ are, and I don’t think I want to.”

I could feel the blood scalding my cheeks. I wondered vaguely if Edward would find that appealing and then was jerked back to present time by the reading of yet another humiliating piece of evidence in my upcoming indictment.

“ I really don’t have to go on, but I don’t know that you appreciate the gravity of what you’ve done. Do you realize what you’ve been doing is a crime?”

“It’s my understanding that it’s legal in Georgia…Sir.”

“Are we in Georgia?”

“Not precisely.”

“Well, for your information, no, we’re not; so, yes, it is.”

“Maybe I did make some, er, vulgar comments, but it’s not like I was planning on having sex with him!”

“Is that so? 3:04 a.m., November 21, 2009, and I quote: ‘Taylor, I know you’re only 17, but I want to do you.’ ”

My blushing face suddenly blanched.

“That’s really just a figure of speech, you know,” I bluffed. “I meant that I wanted to ‘do lunch with you.’ ”

He arched an eyebrow and continued reading.

“ ‘And I mean do you, as in getting it on.’ ”

I was on the verge of fainting.

“Well, a man of your, er, esteemed status can’t be expected to know all the crazy slang the kids are using these days,” I laughed hysterically. “I meant that I wanted to get our platonic friendship on…”

“ ‘And I mean get it on, as in having you vaginally penetrate me with your underaged penis.’ ”

“I was just kidding around!”

He put down the papers.

“Oh really? What’s in that tote bag?”

I moved it out of the way of his grasping hands, but our brief struggle ended shortly with his dumping the contents of my bag onto the top of the island.

“Okay, quick inventory here, Miss. Let’s see, we’ve got said washboard, assorted dirty thongs…good god, is this actually lubricant that’s meant to taste like warm soda pop?”

“It’s from a combo pack, Sir. I’ve got some in my glove compartment that tastes like blueberry muffins too.”

“Okay, I’ve seen enough. This has got to be one of the most bizarre shows we’ve ever done.”

“I’d ask if I’m free to go, but I know that even though you’ll say yes, the minute I set foot outside I’ll be swarmed by cops.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.”

“Well, I guess I’m gonna go ahead and get it over with. It was nice to meet you. Sort of.”

Mr. Hansen gave me a grudging look for a moment before exiting the room. As I got up from the stool I noticed that sitting on it for so long had made me almost as uncomfortable as expecting young, sexy Taylor Lautner and getting old, decidedly un-sexy Chris Hansen instead. That’s life I guess.

Thus ends my foray into television. On the bright side, the onslaught of police officers that launched themselves at me made me think of Charlie and suddenly I didn’t mind being at the bottom of their dog pile. I also find it somewhat funny that my court appearance is scheduled for February 11, 2010.

Uh, thanks Sarah for making sure the words ‘vaginally’ ‘penetrate’ ‘dong’ and ‘penis’ were written in this letter today! I’m pretty sure we’re gonna be deleting porn spam all day long!

56 more days to talk about Chris Hansen,

One Year later and our internet game is still ridiculous: The Forum, LTR, Twitter

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