“You’re made of awesome, Ann”.
I’ve known this man for over two years. We met through our blogs – I no longer remember how. Despite a lack of appreciation for poetry, his caught my eye. His stories were hot, and he was a prolific weaver of words. He was a staunch supporter on my blog.
We became friends; he told me I was his muse, that he could barely believe a woman like me existed. He filled my inbox and my ears with a steady stream of poems and stories written just for me, and with promises that men like him existed in my real life. Those who would embrace the woman I was and support my desires without judgment.
Men who would adore me, delight in me, and fuck me silly.
He was an incorrigible flirt, and women sex bloggers flocked to him on his blog. A select few he corresponded with off-blog, and he told me of their antics. One now long gone from the blogosphere (or else I wouldn’t mention it) thought their correspondence on his blog equaled some form of commitment, and she went nuts seeing him engage with others.
I wasn’t immune to this either. I can still remember a comment exchange he had with another blogger which got very sexually explicit. I had the blog equivalent of wanting to scream “get a room”. And I was jealous. I doubted whether the things he’d told me about being special were true. I told him it was hard for me to see that played out in front of my eyes, given what he’d said about us.
Through him, I learned about harmless blog flirtations, and the difference between real and superficial exchanges. He learned the impact his flirtations could sometimes have.
While he no longer blogs and has gone silent, we’ve stayed in infrequent contact. Not for lack of trying, we were never able to make meeting in person work – either the relationship situations we were in, or the locations, were in conflict.
Work schedules still conspired against us, but he refused to miss the opportunity of being a mere few hours away.
I was curious whether anything physical was going to happen. Given his situation, it wasn’t a certainty. I maturely chose to handle it by not asking at all. I didn’t even flirt… Until the day we were to meet and he asked what he could bring, I responded “lube, lol.. I’ve been in meetings all day and am going a little squirrelly.”
The sexual banter commenced, but I was still unsure how things would play out between us.
I was sound asleep when he let himself into my hotel room after midnight…
[image is from the Bruce Lee movie “Fist of Fury”]