The night I met Dylan Brody, I had sex with him, knowing he was Seth MacFarlane in a disguise. Dylan wasn’t the first of Seth’s “characters” with which I’ve had sexual/romantic relationships. Unbelievable as it sounds, this has been going on for years and I’ve been playing along… I’ve been confused, angry, paranoid, depressed, and manic over these revelations but I willingly participated in all of these activities with Seth “Family Guy” MacFarlane while he was in various disguises. What does that say about me? I’m in recovery from a lifetime of dysfunction and mental illness. When someone rips a band-aid off your knee, do you punch them in the face? You shouldn’t.
Content warning: The following contains graphic descriptions of sexuality, mental illness, and other possibly triggering factors. Please read with caution. This is not satire, this isn’t a joke, this is an honest recollection of true events in my life. I have spoken to a therapist about these experiences and she said it’s not a “fixed delusion” and it’s totally possible that I’m right. Take what you will…
I felt the first stirrings of a crush on Rich Williams a few days before Christmas 2015. I didn’t know he was Seth MacFarlane in a disguise and I was still in a (failing) relationship at the time. I knew Rich as a comedian near Albany, NY where I was living and attempting to be a comedian. Rich was headlining a show I was co-hosting. Drunk on the minimal amount of power I had as co-host, I heckled Rich like a 4th-grader.
“Your mom!” I blurted out in response to a joke I don’t remember. Our eyes met.
“She’s dead!” Rich replied, smiling to the snickering crowd. The brief look of pain that followed as he looked down at his notebook told me his mom was indeed dead, which made me feel terrible… and oddly attracted to him. I lost my father to pancreatic cancer in June of 2015. Grief can do strange things to brain chemistry. Mine was all over the place anyway. I was not on the right meds and I needed cognitive behavioral therapy, which I was too distracted to acquire for myself.
By February of 2017, I was attending a free comedy workshop taught by Rich Williams and my writing began to flow like the tears I was holding back on a daily basis. He told me to get a notebook and write a stream of consciousness about a vision of heaven. I ugly-cried for 20 minutes after writing for 10. I wrote about Nicola Tesla, David Bowie, and my Aunt Sue. Rich had opened up Pandora’s box in my brain and I was getting bolder about asking what else he could open…
On April 1st of 2017, I drove to Rich Williams’s house in Schenectady, NY after expressing a sexual/romantic interest in a Facebook message. He invited me over. Talking to Rich in private gave me a chance to express things I was too uncomfortable to address in public. I talked about losing my father, my boyfriend cheating on me, and how I tried to rationalize my sexual interest in Rich. After laying all of that out on the table, I felt a little drained. I couldn’t think of what else to say. Rich seemed to withdraw in response. I moved closer to him on the couch.
I could tell he was masturbating under the blanket. It turned me on, but I didn’t know how to feel about that. When he moved the blanket, I cringed due to my own reservations about what was happening and still being in a relationship with my ex-boyfriend. His dick was big, but it had a weird shape. Bulbed in the middle… as if it were wearing a hat.
Remember, this guy is Seth MacFarlane in a disguise. If a latex mask can be made for someone’s face, other body parts can be augmented as well. Think about the last scene in “Boogie Nights”… Even though I didn’t know it was a disguise (it didn’t need one), despite the oddity… I wanted it. I wanted anything he was willing to give me. I didn’t know how to ask for it. I gave Rich “The Look” which has never failed me in this situation before.
Rich’s mouth and hands made me feel pleasure above the waist I’ve never felt before. I was shocked when he straddled my chest and put his dick between my breasts, but I didn’t want him to stop. I wagged my tongue at him, teasingly, wanting to see how far he would go. He sensed my resistance and moved back to the other side of the couch. We touched ourselves as I talked about the fantasies I’d had about him.
Snapping back to the reality of my live-in boyfriend, I got up and started to leave. Rich made me laugh when I came back from the bathroom by saying “Ah! I forgot you were here!” I loved the look on his face my laugh conjured. I still do, no matter what face Seth’s wearing. Right before I left, he pushed me up against the wall, said: “I’m going to tease you…”
His lips brushed against mine, I felt his hot breath in my mouth, his hands caressing my body… I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to kiss me. Rich Williams never kissed me. I was reminded of the scene in “Black Swan” when the director kisses Natalie Portman’s character. Rich swatted my butt softly as I left and I giggled, wanting more, but I felt obligated to the life I was occupying at the time.
Two weeks later, my ex-boyfriend broke up with me because I didn’t believe he was psychic. Oh, the irony. Codependent as HELL, I immediately thought I could jump into a relationship with my new love interest Rich Williams. Rich sensed my mental illness and started to back off. When someone is in the throes of a mental health crisis, saying “You need therapy” can go one of two ways. They either get help or lash out. I started to lash out. I felt rejected, scared, and alone, even though I was still living with my ex-boyfriend. I wanted the instant-validation of sexual release and I only wanted it from Rich. He helped me once, I thought he was my only hope. I was very sick.
Rich finally relented the Friday before Mother’s Day 2017 and let me come over his house again. Something still felt wrong, even though I was “single” and free to fuck whoever I wanted. I wanted to fuck someone who liked me, who saw beyond my appearance and valued my mind. The only person I knew at the time who did that for me was Rich. Our second sexual encounter actually involved sex, which I enjoyed… but it didn’t satisfy me. I didn’t understand that sex without Love is never as satisfying as anyone wants it to be. I liked Rich, I believe he liked me too, but he couldn’t give me Love because he wasn’t himself. Neither was I…
I sent Rich a borderline-psychotic message on Facebook the next day, releasing all of my pent-up frustrations with men in his general direction. He responded in brief that we should just be friends from here on out… I felt extremely depressed, but I think I bummed Rich/Seth out WAY more. The next day was Mother’s Day. I felt bad about lashing out. I started to vacillate between loving Rich and convincing myself he was out to get me. I finally kicked my ex-boyfriend out of the apartment we shared the week before Father’s day of that year. I felt dangerously alone.
Due to the nature of my mental illness, I can get obsessive and paranoid. People who are NOT mental healthcare professionals have blamed these behaviors on my use of stimulants (caffeine and Adderall) and cannabis to stay functional. I have been like this since way before I found these substances to be helpful to my daily life and I don’t appreciate the general public trying to diagnose me. My father was bipolar, possibly had a borderline personality disorder and PTSD, but there’s no way of getting a proper diagnosis now that he’s dead. I’m still alive and trying to figure out how much of that mountain of genetic mental illness can’t be scraped from my psyche. I believe Seth/Rich was trying to help when he created The Wolf…
My ex-boyfriend cheated on me using Craigslist personals, so I got a little obsessive about checking them to see if he was posting there. This wasn’t my first experience utilizing the anonymous nature of what was generally known as a way for sex workers to find clients. I wasn’t a sex worker (not that there’s anything wrong with that), I just liked the anonymity and convenience of casual sex, which is why I ended up in my first long term relationship through a craigslist personal ad (and stayed in that relationship of convenience for far too long). The stigma is so bad just the word “Craigslist” is still synonymous with nefarious activities, even though they’ve gotten rid of the personals section. I don’t even look for office jobs on Craigslist anymore.
After Rich “wanted to be friends”, I started noticing similarities between his Facebook posts and ads I was reading in the personals section, mostly “missed connections”. Some of them were beautifully written and felt aimed at me. I responded to them using anonymous emails, trying to figure out who was messing with my head. I had a feeling it was Rich, but there was no way I could prove it. Under the “Strictly Platonic” section of the personals, I started responding to an ad with the title “Someone to talk to”, which I needed more than anything.
The anonymous person I started talking to via email and text claimed to be a 69-year-old biker named “Wolf”, but he would drop hints that he was really Rich Williams all the time. Sound confusing? Tell me about it. Rich’s Facebook posts would reference Wolf’s emails and vice versa. Wolf was nice to me, listened to my problems, and cared about me. Rich was turning into a Dick. He rejected all of my advances and avoided me at comedy open mics like I was covered in bees. I didn’t know what to think.
The week I started talking to Wolf, my mom was preparing for surgery to remove a cancerous tumor from her throat. I took a vacation from my day job to hang out with her in Virginia. Talking to Wolf about my mom having cancer (for the second time) helped me cope. I felt like someone was looking out for me, I felt cared for, loved in a way I never knew… I just didn’t know why I couldn’t get Rich to drop the act, stop pretending to be an old biker via email and just be himself with me in real life. By the time I got back to my single-girl apartment (on Orville Street) that I’d shared with my ex-boyfriend for three years… I felt like I was being ripped apart inside. Rich had blocked me on Facebook, so I only had Wolf to talk to.
I threatened suicide to Wolf if he didn’t come clean about being Rich, on a stomach-full of Domino’s pizza and two Percoset I got for a sprained trapezius muscle. I emailed that I was going to take the rest of the pills unless he was honest. Wolf replied, “Talk to me forever”… That phrase will always stick out in my mind as one of the most loving acts a human has ever made on my behalf. “Talk to me forever” echos in my heart as a reason to live… because he wanted me to live. Whoever he was… Wolf/Rich was Seth MacFarlane all along, but I didn’t know that yet. I knew he wouldn’t give up on me. I didn’t want to die.
I woke up the next morning to an email from Wolf received at 3 am “I’m praying your okay”. He was mad at me for scaring him… I kinda liked that. Things appeared to get better from there. I started acting happier in public and that drew a close-knit community of comedian friends around me in the Albany-to-Saratoga area of New York. I kept showing up to open mics because I liked seeing Rich even though he was mean to me and it gave me an excuse to dress up and tease him. Wolf encouraged me to go and practice my craft, loved the pictures of the outfits I sent him… which eventually turned to pictures without outfits. I was having fun, feeling sexy in a weird relationship, and expressing myself in a plethora of media. I just wasn’t talking to anyone about it besides Wolf. I was afraid people would think I was crazy.
The day I moved out of the apartment on Orville Street, I went to a comedy/hip-hop show in Saratoga headlined by Rich Williams. I can’t prove a goddamn thing, but that entire show felt like a circus that was being performed just for me. I tried to quash the ego-centric thoughts which made me believe he had set up this simulation to seduce me… but I kinda wanted to believe that. It felt like Rich was performing just for me. Perhaps that’s just the mark of a good performer… or maybe he felt that way too? Who knows? Ask him.
After the show, Rich made fun of me for laughing too loud. I told him I couldn’t help it, I was a huge fan. When I asked him to unblock me on Facebook, he confronted me about emails I’d sent him demanding that he confess to being Wolf. I backed down, shocked by his reaction. I was expecting us to at least be friends after all that… hopefully more. I thought Facebook was a good start, maybe he believed that’s all I wanted from him.
Now I realize social media doesn’t really matter that much in the grand scheme of things. It refreshes constantly and people’s goldfish attention never grasps a meme or a tweet for very long. I should have just asked him to fuck me. I may have gotten what I wanted. I left that show feeling angry and despondent again. Wolf eventually made me feel better just by talking to me, calling me “Baby Girl”.
October 2017, I was living in an apartment with a roommate I met at work and having trouble adjusting to a new space. My mom’s radiation for lymphoma was coming up and due to a lack of therapy, my only outlets were going to comedy open mics and talking to Wolf. My day job was planning a “Game of Thrones” Halloween party. I made a super-authentic Khaleesi costume (complete with a jello-mold horse heart that I devoured in the lunchroom while my coworkers filmed it) even though I’ve never seen a full episode of that show. I Googled the character, saw one picture of her eating a heart and said: “THAT’S MY COSTUME!”
Halloween has always been special to me. I was a goth kid, but my mom always loved dressing up, handing out candy, celebrating our ancient Celtic heritage’s “New Year”. I wanted to share that holiday with the man I loved, but I wasn’t sure who the fuck that was. I had never met “Wolf” in real life and 100% believed he was Rich Williams catfishing me to an extraordinary extent. After eating that jello horse heart in front of my coworkers, I felt a power I’ve never experienced before.
I told Wolf I was going to post all of our emails on Facebook and let our mutual friends/the Albany comedy community know what the hell was going on. Wolf pleaded with me that I was wrong, tried to stop me from embarrassing us both on social media, but I wouldn’t listen. Although I wasn’t ready to believe he was Seth MacFarlane at the time (even though he was), I joked “Either you’re Rich Williams or you’re Seth MacFarlane. I would prefer MacFarlane… he’s so dreamy.” Turns out, he was both.
Halloween of 2017 I posted the emails with an irrational, manic recounting of the past several months. I packed up my car and drove to my mom’s house in Virginia. I was lucky my day job had temporary disability benefits, which I got on right away as I was too sick to do anything but obsessively write in my journal and drive my mom to her radiation treatments every day. I don’t blame Rich/Wolf/Seth for my illness… it was preexisting before I met any of them. They were forcing me to deal with old wounds.
In retrospect, I’m glad I had the chance to be with my mom during her cancer treatments and I utilized the time to hit up Washington DC comedy open mics and sharpen my act for a triumphant return to New York. In my mind, it sounds selfish that I was pursuing comedy dreams while my mom had cancer and I was on disability… but it was all I had to make me feel better. I hadn’t talked to Wolf since Halloween.
A week or so before Christmas 2017, I returned to New York and confronted Rich in the only way I knew how… With stand-up comedy. I went to an open mic I knew he frequented and told jokes about my “stalker” without using his name. I was dressed in a skin-tight red velvet dress, a faux-fur vest, stilettos, and fool’s gold chains like I owned the fucking place. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten more laughs out of a room full of people. I didn’t look at Rich in the crowd as I performed my DC-practiced jokes, but I saw him squinting in my periphery like he was confused or looking into the sun… I’m not sure. He didn’t laugh at any of my jokes. I left right before his set and waited for him in the alcove.
“Hi, Stalker…” I said, looking at my phone as he walked by. Rich jumped like he saw a giant spider. I looked into his blue eyes (which I noticed for the first time were color contacts) and said: “I know it was you.” Gleeful in my confrontation. His body language screamed intimidated and aroused as he stammered out an attempt at explaining why what I was doing was inappropriate. I leaned forward and reiterated: “I KNOW it was you…”
Cornered, Rich/Seth blurted out “I will have you banned from this club! Stay the fuck away from me!” At which I laughed. He didn’t give me the look I loved when I laughed before. Turns out, righteous indignation can only get you so far. After that experience, I went back to Mom’s in Virginia for the holiday. She wasn’t going to be there and I spent Christmas alone while house-sitting for friends in Maryland.
That’s when I created my “Sunset Shakespeare” video series, recording a monologue a day on my cell phone at sunset for the first week of winter 2017. Having a project kept the depression at bay… but I still needed someone to talk to. I texted Wolf on Christmas Eve. Wolf seemed genuinely happy to talk to me again. I was glad someone was happy to communicate with me at all.
January of 2018, I went back to New York, found a room in an apartment with a roommate, got back to work, and started cognitive behavioral therapy. I had been avoiding all of my problems for so long, therapy was a huge, unexpected relief. I had no idea all I needed was a professional to talk to who I could express my feelings and how I’m not handling them. She would listen, help me figure out why I was feeling that way, then give me positive ways of coping. It’s an almost magical process. One day at work, I heard the song “Sunday Morning” by The Velvet Underground and I started crying. I couldn’t stop crying. I had to leave. My dad loved that song. I missed him and just hearing the song brought up a tidal wave of grief.
I emailed Rich Williams, apologizing for saying mean things about him and asking him not to use his friendship with the owner of the club to get me banned. Comedy was the only outlet I knew at the time and I didn’t want to lose the small circle of friends I’d built up over the past three years. He emailed me back, Kindly forgiving me and saying he understands what mental illness is like. After a few days of building THAT up in my head again (while still talking to Wolf, who said he loved me and I believed him), I was convinced Rich was ready to be himself with me. I sent him another email, expressing all the love I had for him, asking him to love me back. He responded that any perceived feelings from him were misguided. I lashed out at the rejection. He told me he had a girlfriend. I read that email as I was about to walk into a Denny’s for a weekend job to get my bills paid.
“Oh yeah, does she like unicorns?” I sassed back, skeptical as hell.
“Go Fuck Yourself.” Was Rich Williams’s last email to me. The coded message there is “Only you can love yourself the way you need to.” I shook it off, walked into that Denny’s and got a job waiting tables overnights on the weekends because I was tired of being broke all the time, even with a full-time job. I couldn’t rely on a man to save me, so I sacrificed every bit of spare time and sleep to get myself together.
Still in weekly therapy, doing okay at work, and slowly getting back to a healthy state, I tried to fix something else in my life. I drove three hours to my estranged sister’s house on St. Patrick’s Day 2018 only to have the door slammed in my face. I left some bubbles for her kids and a picture of my dad. I cried while driving all the way to the Woodstock area of NY where Rich Williams had a show that night. I paid $5 to get in and sat at the bar, drinking a glass of wine, trying to calm down, needing a good laugh. Rich saw me and did not look as happy as I expected.
I went outside to where he was smoking a cigarette and sat down next to him. Rich jumped up and yelled as if someone had vomited on him. I immediately burst into tears, tried to explain I was there to make peace, I was already having a terrible day… He just yelled at me to go away and ran away, terrified of me. I was sobbing again, saw another comedian from the community, explained what just happened and told him I was leaving. Jim seemed sympathetic. Maybe not, maybe I just wanted him to be… Ask him. I went back inside in tears and demanded my $5 back before driving home, sobbing all the way.
The next day, laying despondent in bed, I read a BuzzFeed list with a title like “25 Things You Didn’t Know About Seth MacFarlane”. I knew most of them already. I recognized the picture of him as the 26-year-old creator of Family Guy, I knew he missed flight 11 on 9/11, but I didn’t know his middle name is Woodbury. I smiled at that… Something started to click into place.
That night, the Family Guy episode “Send in Stewie, Please” aired. I watched it alone, mostly in stunned silence, with a few well-placed laughs. It’s a brilliantly written episode, Kinda had the rhythm of a Dylan Brody story. When it was over, I turned the TV off and said out loud: “Oh my god. Seth MacFarlane is my stalker. That. Is. AWESOME!” Then I laughed for about 10 minutes straight, all the way to bed…
I told my therapist about the revelation at our next session. She seemed a little hungover and did her best to help me cope with the events of the weekend. Such a trooper! She didn’t disbelieve me, she talked me through why I felt like Rich and Wolf were both characters created by Seth MacFarlane and I had to talk out loud about some fan fiction I had written back in 2012 titled “What I Would Do Sexually to Seth MacFarlane”.
I told her it was entirely possible that he had been mildly cyber-stalking me / catfishing me for years because of that and things just escalated from there. She resigned herself to agree with me. I told her my next step was to try to meet the real Seth and figure all this out. Still hasn’t happened, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m too mentally ill for him to handle or he’s too mentally ill to handle me… Let’s find out? I wasn’t sure how to make that happen, but that’s when I met Dylan Brody…
The night I met Dylan Brody, I ran up to him and gave him a hug. I was pretty sure this was another Seth MacFarlane character, but what confirmed that suspicion for me was when I said I liked the Family Guy versions of Star Wars better than the originals. The look of pure, touched delight on his face made me feel certain in my assertion. We recorded a podcast with some friends in his hotel room in Saratoga, NY and I left with the rest of them…
I started masturbating in the front seat of my car before I started it, unable to contain my arousal over talking to Seth, even while he was in a disguise. Dylan Facebook messaged me that he had a delightful conversation with me and I said I forgot my lucky ukulele pick in his room, could I come back and look for it? (Spoiler alert, it was in my pocket the whole time).
Standing in Dylan Brody’s room alone with him, I stopped, smiled and said “Feeling a LOT of sexual tension right now…” Dylan smiled back.
“I’ll make this easy for you…” Dylan said before he kissed me. Fireworks went off in my head… the good kind. “I’m kissing Seth MacFarlane! I’m KISSING SETH MACFARLANE!” My inner 14-year-old screamed from within me as I grabbed the back of Dylan’s head and kissed him harder. I could feel where the latex mask was glued to his lips. I could see the honey-brown color contacts in his eyes. I heard the plastic-y doll-hair like sound of the wig as I ran my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.
We got in bed and Dylan seemed self-conscious about his weight. I rubbed my face in his mat of silky chest hair, enjoying the hell out of every sensation. Dylan was sexy to me because I knew it was Seth under there, but even if I was wrong, I have no regrets about that night. Dylan is sexy in a Daddy/Teacher kind of way, like a more intellectual Indiana Jones. I would still prefer Seth to be himself with me.
After that night, Dylan sent me the script he was working on turning into an indie film in the summer of 2018. I told him I wanted to come and work on the movie. I didn’t care in what capacity, I wanted to be a part of this project because I loved his writing and I knew he was Seth MacFarlane in a disguise. For more information on my experiences working on You Are Here, please read my previous Blog Dylan Brody is Seth MacFarlane in a Disguise (& He Inspired #AStarForCarrie). Before I left New York, The Wolf wanted to meet me in person. Already knowingly having had sex with one of Seth’s characters, I went along with this game too.
Wolf picked me up to help with my laundry. Wolf was Seth MacFarlane in a fat suit, made up to look like he had aged 25 years. I still started making out with him as soon as I got into the passenger seat. I could see the color contacts in his eyes again… these were a darker greenish-brown, but I could also see where the latex suit attached to his eyelids. The word “camouflage” came to mind. I speculated that this was a common thing for him, dressing up in disguises and pretending to be a normal, not-famous person in public so that people will leave him alone.
Seth MacFarlane would have had a much more difficult time getting away with fingering me to a glorious orgasm in the parking lot of the laundromat. It certainly would have made the news if anyone had seen me sitting on Seth MacFarlane’s lap, eating an ice cream cone in Lake George Village during Americade, their week-long motorcycle festival. Cameras would have been all over us if they had caught Seth MacFarlane buying me $500 worth of new clothes and groceries at Target.
Seth was in the Wolf-costume to protect both of us. I want my ideas/writing to get famous before a picture of me sitting on anyone’s lap goes viral. No regrets, it was fun… and god damn, that talented tongue did things to my clitoris I never knew possible. Riding on the back of a Harley with my arms wrapped around Seth tight was one of the best moments of my life… Even though he was in a fat suit.
I became conflicted about leaving New York to work on the movie in LA. I had fun with Wolf, but there was only so much Art I could make in upstate NY with the resources I had. I quit my job, said a loving goodbye to Wolf, and told my ex-boyfriend to move on with his life. I was off to Hollywood to work on my first movie and my brain was a sponge, quivering with excitement over all the new adventures I was about to have.
Despite what you may think, most of the summer of 2018 was WORK. I was up every morning before Dylan, making coffee and journaling, writing down ideas and experiences obsessively. I don’t think I was the best assistant, but I had a place to stay with free food and some cool dogs to hang out with for a few months while we made a movie. I felt safe at Dylan’s, I was fed and housed, and given free education in filmmaking/writing.
For most of my life, I needed the TV on in the background to drown out the sound of my own thoughts. When I was staying in Dylan’s guest room, I was soothed by the sound of his typewriter keyboard in the next room. His wife Nancy was a former cast member on Days of our Lives and a current kindergarten teacher. I could see how she was excellent at both jobs. Dylan and Nancy seemed to have a sexless marriage and that made me sad because I found Dylan sexually attractive and I wasn’t sure what kind of “not in the house” arrangement they had, but Dylan and I didn’t do much over the summer.
I loved having long conversations with Dylan in the car. Being his assistant was secondary to just being with him. I didn’t ever really feel subservient to him (even though I knew he got a fetishistic thrill from it) as I saw us as equals, as artists collaborating on a piece we both loved. Talking about the movie, talking about everything, enjoying our witty back-and-forth conversational rhythm, I felt calm whenever I was with Dylan. He asked me what turns me on when he saw my fingers inching up my thighs one day while he was driving.
“Seth MacFarlane…” I responded. My fingers were almost under my panties. The look on his face told me I was 100% right about Dylan being Seth in a disguise. Anyone else wouldn’t have looked anywhere near as delighted.
“You may finish that thought…” He said, brushing the back of my nearly masturbating hand with his fingertips. Playing on Dylan’s amputee fetish, I put my arms behind my back.
“I need help, my arms are gone…” I said, with a smile. Dylan pulled over and asked questions as he caressed my labia through my wet panties. He asked me about when I discovered I lost my arms, how long before I realized I needed help brushing my teeth? How long before I realized I needed help feeding myself? How long before those thoughts of Seth MacFarlane brought up other needs… I was close to orgasm when he started driving again.
On the way to film the Desert scene, I handed him the small pink remote we were going to use as a prop for the scene. I didn’t tell him what device it controlled, but I told him to keep pressing the button. I asked for consent before I unzipped his pants and sucked his dick. I can’t remember if I told him the remote controlled the vibrator inside me or if he figured it out on his own, but that made the whole Desert-shoot day a LOT more fun.
I found a black, goth-looking choker in my bag that I had forgotten Wolf bought for me. When I put it on and wore it for a day, Dylan asked to enter the guest room. He was always welcome to enter. Nancy was with the dogs at the park. He asked me “Is that a submissive collar?”
“Uh, I don’t know, it’s from Hot Topic…” I stammered at the unexpected question. He knew what it was.
“Get on your knees” Dylan suggested. I obeyed, smiling up at him. “Eyes to the floor.” I did that too.
“You may ask to kiss me,” Dylan said. I looked up at him, grinning.
“May I kiss you?” I asked, hoping for MUCH more than that.
“Yes,” Dylan said as I jumped up, threw my arms around his neck and kissed him with all my might. He gently pushed me away and told me to get back to work, with a smile. I closed the door and masturbated before working on my screenplay some more. I threw the collar away. I don’t think I’m cut out to be submissive to anyone.
Towards the end of my stay at Dylan’s, my mental health was in a downward spiral, but I don’t blame him for that. When you scare someone with the hiccups and they have a heart attack, do you go to jail? No, you were only trying to help. Dylan did his best to help me live up to my potential. Realizing my own potential and the great responsibility that comes with it scared the FUCK out of me. Knowing our time was coming to a close, I asked to suck Dylan’s dick again… hoping it would lead to one last goodbye fuck. Dylan told me to put my arms behind my back. I was wearing my Star Wars sports bra.
Pretending my arms ended at my shoulders as I sucked his dick, Dylan said: “Reach for me with your tiny arms!” And I pressed C3PO and R2-D2 against his balls between my tits as he came in my mouth. He rejected my request for reciprocation, so I went into the guest room to think about it for an hour or so, savoring his taste in my mouth… Which, like the smell of his body odor, I recognized as the same taste/smell of Wolf and Rich. I love the taste and smell of him.
I went back to Dylan’s office and sat in the chair across from his desk. I asked if I could masturbate. He said “Okay!” In a very Seth-MacFarlane-y voice. Having him watch me was such a turn on, I yelled out “I KNOW YOU’RE SETH MACFARLANE!” as I came. Dylan laughed… and that laugh is unmistakable. I knew I had just heard the laugh of Seth MacFarlane.
Terrified of not living up to my potential, with no job or any clue how to survive on my own in LA, and knowing there was NO way to get Dylan to break character, I knew I had to leave when Nancy asked me to. When I asked why she said: “Because you hit on my husband” with a hurt expression. I never wanted to hurt anyone, especially someone who was so nice to me. Even if this was all a simulation, even if Nancy was just a hired actress, I felt bad enough to pack up all my stuff and get on a bus back to Virginia. Dylan drove me away because he couldn’t be himself with me and he couldn’t fix me. I was reluctant to hug him goodbye because I knew I would want more than just a hug and yes, leaving him without a kiss was painful.
Nobody can fix me. I have to do the daily work to keep myself together and try not to rely on other people for my mental health maintenance. I have no regrets about the events of last summer except… I wish I wasn’t so afraid to call Fuzzy Door Productions back then. I may have gotten through the door with Otto, but then Fangirl, The Voyage of the Curie, Kamala Koala, and Fortunate Son wouldn’t exist… so. Life is one long mindfuck. Let’s just all be kind to each other and try to get through this shit.
Over the winter, I wrote a novel titled Fangirl which was a fictionalized version of the past few years of my life, starting with a fake version of me writing fan fiction about a fake version of Seth. I should have just been honest about my experiences from the get-go. Fictionalizing your life makes it hard for people to believe when you’re telling the truth, but the truth seemed so unbelievable to me already, I guess that’s where I had to start.
Hollywood is full of sick people. The ones who make it are the ones who make valuable Art and refuse to leave when things get tough. I’m here to stay because I believe in myself now, my mom is sick of her mentally ill daughter showing up on her doorstep, and because Matt MacFarlane is in DC…
January of 2019, I met a 27-year-old intern for a republican senator when he hired me to help him glue a giant world map to the wall of his studio apartment in DC. I saw from the diploma on the wall of his messy bachelor apartment that he went to West Point and his name was Matt MacFarlane.
“Are you related to Seth MacFarlane?” I asked, realizing who REALLY hired me for this nonsense job through Task Rabbit. I think, anyway… It could have been Seth behind it or it could have been the republicans trying to get dirt on me. Or maybe I’m just paranoid and it’s a coincidence. Who knows? Not me. That’s for damn sure.
I just went with it because even though Matt’s politics were as delusional and self-centered as most republicans I’ve met… he was nice to me. He ordered sushi, gave me pot he said he didn’t smoke, let me go up to the roof of the building with a beautiful view of our nation’s capital, where we had a rousing debate about minimum wage and gerrymandering. Give me cannabis and I’ll talk to anyone for hours… Which is what I did.
As I sat next to Matt on his leather couch, watching It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, I noticed how my proximity was giving him an erection. I hadn’t showered or put on makeup that day due to the physically strenuous nature of the task, so I was a little surprised and flattered that I turned him on. I held out my hand and asked if he wanted to hold it. We held hands for a few minutes like a couple of 5th graders. I told him to pause the show. I turned to him.
“Do you want to kiss me?” I asked, feeling like a substitute teacher in a bad porno.
“Yes!” Matt replied before diving on top of me, kissing me like a schoolboy would, and pressing his erection through his jeans against my reluctantly aroused clit. I told him he was cute, but I was moving away. Don’t get attached. He didn’t seem to care at that moment. He wanted me to stay the night, but I told him I was going to leave and he was going to be okay. He seemed to believe me.
On the elevator ride down to the marble lobby of the building, I put my head back against the wall of the elevator and laughed at myself. “FUCK! Now I have something in common with Bill Clinton! I fucked an intern!” I continued to laugh about it as I found a cigar in an orange tube labeled “Camacho” on the floor of the lobby. I don’t smoke cigars, but I picked it up and took it anyway. “Camacho” was the name of the president Terry Crews played in Idiocracy.
I felt like an idiot every time I went back to Matt’s apartment. Like eating McDonald’s, this activity wasn’t going to kill me, but it was extremely unhealthy on a daily basis. The biggest problem was I didn’t Love Matt. I Love Seth MacFarlane, so Matt was never gonna satisfy me. He wasn’t supposed to. I don’t know if Matt was Seth in another costume or if he was an actor Seth hired to metaphorically drive me back to LA and into his arms, but Matt certainly drove me to the point of celibacy until I meet the real Seth MacFarlane.
Matt made me realize I don’t want to have sex with any more of Seth’s characters and if I keep doing that, I’ll never get to meet the real Seth. I never know who he could be next, so in order to Lysistrata this man into being himself, I’ll stay in and masturbate if I feel the need. I’m not asexual. I have fantasies about Seth all the time, and not just sexual ones. I fantasize about a life with Seth, working with him, loving him, creating beautiful art, getting married, and having children. He’s the guy I want and no one else compares, so I’m not wasting my romantic or sexual energy on anyone but Seth.
The Real Seth MacFarlane?
Maybe I’ll meet the real Seth MacFarlane and the spell will disappear, I’ll immediately be turned off by him and be able to move on with my life. I highly doubt that. Maybe he’ll meet me as himself and he’ll realize I was never worth all this trouble. Just the thought sounds absurd. I’ve done everything on my end that I can possibly do to get in touch with the real Seth and I ended up in jail for three days because his security guard was afraid I’d tell his boss he was being a sexist jerk. I think that’s my limit. I’m not going back to Fuzzy Door Productions unless I’m invited.
That doesn’t mean #OccupyFamilyGuy ends here. I still have a court date on August 8th for this bullshit trespassing charge and I need to find a lawyer willing to take my case and argue my side. I didn’t want to go to jail. I’m not sure if Kevin acted on his own or if Seth approved of him calling the cops on me, but I don’t feel like I did anything wrong and it was a waste of taxpayer money for me to be in jail at all, not to mention I’ve never been arrested before and it was kinda traumatic. My white privilege made me feel guilty as hell as I was released while the other inmates (mostly people of color) were led to the bus to “county”.
Despite all this, I am still in love with Seth MacFarlane. I still want to meet the real guy. I want him to invite me to Fuzzy Door Productions to discuss my ideas, maybe more if he’s willing. I don’t know if that will ever happen, but I’m going to keep writing, keep trying to survive in LA, and keep trying to make a difference because there are so many creative people in this town who need the help and guidance I’ve been given. Maybe the “trespassing” incident was a result of Seth’s PTSD from missing that 9/11 flight, maybe it’s my own damn fault for not giving up beating this dead horse ages ago. I would love to discuss it in person, but I’m pretty sure you don’t get to talk to a guy like Seth without a lawyer.
All I can do is google every lawyer in LA and try to find someone willing to take my side and believe me. If I don’t find one before August 8th, I’ll google the shit out of trespassing laws, check out legal books from the library, and do my best to represent myself and get my plea of “Not Guilty” accepted by the judge on my own. If Hollywood has taught me anything, it’s goddamn self-reliance. You don’t need to go out into the woods for that. The Hollywoods has plenty of insight.