Matthew, formerly known as the “New Guy”, and sender of the sexiest thing ever.
Matthew is handsome, charming, funny, sexy, intelligent, insightful, passionate, kind, considerate, and…might as well be on the other side of the planet. That’s a slight exaggeration due to frustration: we are a six-hour time difference apart.
I met him through a connection to my writing. Everything at first was strictly platonic – we engaged in writing and life discussions via email. It was nice to make a friend online and I appreciated the feedback and insight he provided me. It wasn’t on my radar at all that this would be a romantic thing.
But soon I found I wanted to know more about this guy who was interesting, insightful, and intelligent. The notion of talking to someone and not knowing what they look like is strange to me. I guess I could go back to our emails to find out what prompted me to finally ask – but all that matters is I did. Or maybe I sent the first shot across the bow, hoping he would reciprocate. I knew I liked how he interacted with me. He sent me a photo – head shot only – of him and his daughter.
Oh, fuck. He’s cute.
Was my exact internal response.
It would have been so much easier if I wasn’t attracted to him. Then it could just have been a continued conversation without anything else. He had told me he was far away, but I didn’t know how far.
But here was a guy who read all of my blog – all of it – and was still attracted to me, without knowing what I looked like. His attraction intensified after I sent him my photo. Our discussions escalated to being flirty and romantic. Our first phone conversation was four hours long. I didn’t go to sleep until 4:30am…and it was a weeknight. I was a mess. For two weeks solid, I stayed up terribly late so we could text, talk on the phone, or share each other’s writing.
We’ve had phone sex and text sex. I’ll write more about those later…but they were hot. He’s not the type to take selfies, but he’s exploring the whole range of selfies just for me. He sent me that flipbook. We have a dropbox folder that we use to share photos…I’ve stripped a lot for him as well.
If we are texting, he will tell me when he’s going to be away for a bit: “be back in about an hour, going to walk the dog”. I don’t even get that from guys in my city.
My mother asked me why I was expending time and energy on someone with whom there is little chance that anything will ever happen. I had to think about it for a bit.
Without getting into too much detail, the chance that we even crossed paths was miniscule. But it happened. There was an even smaller chance that we would actually communicate with each other. While I don’t believe our whole lives are pre-ordained, a big part of me believes things happen for a reason.
So, that’s the first thing. Second? I really liked him before I even knew what he looked like. He’s one of the most insightful people I’ve ever met. I already said above that he’s funny, intelligent, kind, and considerate. All those things were established before I ever saw his face. Those characteristics aren’t common. So already, he was interesting to me.
Then I saw what he looked like. A kind face, a twinkle in his eyes, tattoos, my height, and broad shoulders. He’s attractive. We’ll stand eye-to-eye, and I’m okay with that.
But it’s been what’s happened since that really has me smiling like a fool, all the time.
He’s passionate. Sexy. Honest. Open. Dedicated. Communicative. He has spent more time and energy investing in making me feel good than anyone else, ever. I don’t think that’s an exaggeration. We’ve shared, via blogs and conversations, our most innermost thoughts, hopes, and feelings. We threaten each other’s orderly world.
So why, Mom?
He’s special. He makes me feel special. For the first time in a long time, I can see the potential for falling in love. It scares the hell out of me, but it feels right.
What the heck comes next?
Based on our schedules, it seems that we can’t meet until August. It’s torture. As much as I like him, I wonder if I should keep in touch with the other dudes in my life, as insurance policies against feeling too much, too fast. Or to catch me if and when I fall.
It would have been so much easier if he was unattractive. But I’ve been dealt this hand and damned if I’m not going to try to make the most of it.