I met E again today. This time at his place. Wow. The player let me into his home.
I was more than a little paranoid. I was going away with some guy that I’d met over the internet, who didn’t want to let me know his last name. He could be anyone. We’d already met for sex four times before, but each time I was either with my own transportation, or close to my home on foot. So I sent him a message “Say something nice. I’m a bit scared you’re going to cut me up into pieces or lock me in your basement”. He replied, “If I was going to do something to you, it already would have happened.” True enough. And I was too curious. I had more sense when I was younger.
He has a beautiful house, pictures of his kids up all over the place. He fed me since I was dying of hunger. Sex was more than satisfying.
Three nice things. One, massages. I got to really take in his body in daylight. I enjoyed that.
Two, we talked. I talked about where I was with my husband (starting couples therapy soon). I told E how I felt about him (that I enjoyed what we did together), but that it required some attention. I think we’re better with odd than even visits. One, three and five were nice, two and four a bit sad or weird. I also made it clear that there was little chance of me falling in love with him. It’s true. He’s not the guy for me, mostly because he’s not interested in anything else. He also talked. He sort of has a part-time girlfriend. I sort of thought as much, but wasn’t sure. Their kids get along well together, and they like each other. I think they’d separated for a while and now they’re back together, sort of. Good for him.
Three is I did come across his last name. So now I know. I didn’t do much with that, but I did look a bit when I got home. He exists on Facebook (I did not send a friend request!), he exists on Linkedin. He’s become real. A bit more attractive because of that. But the number one thing that makes someone attractive is that they actually want to get to know you. He doesn’t. That’s fine. What we have and do together is good for me for the moment. It has a shelf life, which I said before is more like yoghurt than a can of peas. We will end at some point. I’ll miss him because it’s been fun. But it’s fun because it’s not real.
Here’s the conundrum. If a love affair doesn’t become real, or more real, with names and exchanges and conversations, it dies. The fact of a love affair becoming real kills it.