“There’s this woman I’ve been getting to know….”
When a man says that, you just know the story’s about to start getting good. The average man wouldn’t even bring it up unless things were about to get interesting.
So. There’s this woman I’ve been getting to know.
We started flirting on a bulletin board. Just playful stuff.
Then it was emails. Lots of emails. Long, friendly, intimate, funny, wide-ranging emails. Emails that said too much. And that was OK. Better than OK, it was fine. Fine and fun. Exciting.
Somewhere in there, an exchange of photos. Better and better. Yum. And she’s still talking to me after seeing my picture, so I guess she just thought I was wearing a Shrek costume. (That’s a joke, folks – my skin’s not that color. Ba-da-boom.)
Then the chats started. Are internet chats supposed to last that many hours? Who cares? Lots of teasing and comparing notes and swapping life stories and just talking about what happened today and yesterday and tomorrow. Wistful complaints about the time zones and latitudes separating us. Increasingly vociferous cursing at the ravages of geography. Talk (hints at first, running both ways, the careful feints of the anxious-not-to-be-too-eager) of a visit. Sex talk too, frank discussions about what we like, sharing of favorite stories and photos, even some cybersex… but this post is not about the juicy details.
Oh, stop giving me that look. Maybe next time. If you’re nice. It’s one thing for me to post salacious links and wisecrack about other people’s intimate disclosures, but in writing this post I’m swiftly gaining a whole new appreciation for the courage of the folks who write about the nitty gritty of their romantic lives and the pleasures and pitfalls and uncertainties thereof. Any fool can post a dirty link, but this game is not for sissies. Especially when – wave, everybody! – the nymph at the heart of the matter reads the blog.
So anyway. We both are vividly aware that it’s still early days. Nobody wants to be that guy, or that girl, who falls head over heels for a fantasy person who turns out never to have existed except in the imagination. Nobody wants to slink home, dejected, after a first meeting has been torpedoed by a cruelly unexpected lack of chemistry. We’ve been around the block, we both know how easily this story can end badly.
And yet….
She’s merry and delightful and at least as kinky as me – in several very fun ways. And a joy to talk to on the phone. Oh, did I not mention the phone calls? Four so far. The first one lasted about six hours. Mmmm, I haven’t laughed so well in… years. Last night, we chatted for three hours online, then she called and we spent another six or seven hours on the phone. Tonight we kept it to four hours. With difficulty.
What’s next? Damfino. Damfweeno, to coin a phrase. Let’s just say that when DW talks of her Aussie, and his conditional cases, and her own smiling calculations, I recognize where they both are coming from.
Updates, I promise you, as events warrant.
