Tom's Love Quest

Looking backward from 2010-06-13 to 1994-01-10.

I Got the Date

[Emeebee] agreed to my terms; sort of. Details on that debate to come. Yet a premonition haunted me in the days prior, that this would be our last real date unless I could pull off something momentous to turn her around. Though I thought my arguments as sound and persuasive as possible, she was apparently not persuaded. The conditions she stipulated before she’d agree to this meeting were proof of that; namely that I not pressure her for further encounters, and that I ‘live in the moment’ for this one.

Until recently, getting this beautiful woman into bed had never been difficult. Indeed, we shared her full-sized sleeping platform just two weeks after meeting for the first time. She required little preamble or priming (wining and dining), and to me, this was a great thing. I never thought her sluttish or whorish for the quick ramp-up, and so, never held this against her. Nor did I feel that our current problems were because we “rushed in” too fast. The challenging issues that arose to dog us in the end resulted from vast differences in our values; discrepancies that existed long before we ever met, and which would remain even if we’d taken years to get to know each other before getting sexual. Turning promptly sexual did not cause our problems. But it did quickly reveal gaping disparities; allowing us to learn early on that we’d probably not get along very well over the long term. Indeed, protracted courtships generally do not resolve such basic differences, and in fact, can delay discovering them. So I’m glad we took it fast.

Now one might think that I used manipulative tactics to get her allow me to undress her so quickly. But I didn’t, because no only would I have declined such behavior, but there was no need for it. Certainly, there was nothing covert or underhanded in my approach, because my conscience would not allow me to mislead her. So all I did was to be gently honest early on about my desires; those being that I found her intensely appealing. I’ve never liked hiding, exaggerating, or downplaying my interest in a lady, and always felt that if she’s at least as attracted to me as I am to her, then she’d happily accept an early expression of interest in intimacy from me. Emeebee bore this out. In point of fact, I just did what my heart said to do, and avoided anything to which my conscience objected. I went with the flow as it unfolded, and this particular flow led quite directly and rapidly to the two of us, enjoying each other unclothed.

I didn’t voice my physical attraction with words so much as with my eyes, and eventually my hands; I looked her up and down constantly on the first few minutes of our first date at Ruby Tuesday’s. But she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she liked my interest and never appeared to be intimidated or otherwise put off by it in any way. This early and subtle but definite mutual understanding set the tone for much of the rest of our romance; enabling us to connect immediately, and enjoy each other’s bodies throughout our all-too-short involvement.

I valued the notion that she did not make me “work for it” much. Unlike fellows who deem ladies as sluttish whores for allowing sexual relationships to begin so fast, I thought this one of   [Emeebee’s]   most intriguing assets. To me, it meant that she knew what she wanted, could recognize it quickly, and thus not require much time to get to the fun stuff.

However after a few weeks of pleasurable sins in the dark, things went downhill fast; as the first infrequent arguments inclined throughout late December, into routine verbal altercations; rising in fiery intensity to a crescendo that never really calmed down again until we’d gone several months after this without talking to each other. Eventually, heated contention came to characterize our relationship more so than any other passions; for because in the final few weeks, we could have nary date without skirmishing. Once we got a few nasty verbal battles under our belts, her visits decreased and she showed much reluctance to head for the bedroom when she did come. So, by the time   this   encounter came about, we hadn’t seen each other since New Years day, some ten days earlier. So while I was tickled and silently hopeful that her visit this evening might be a positive turning point for us, I also suspected that this would likely be it; our last time together in the bedroom.

In light of our recent history of quarrelling, her surprisingly congenial attitude on this day of January 10th, 1994 would not last long I feared; for we’d been fighting so much lately that avoiding new arguments had become monumentally difficult. All she had to do was look away at the wrong time during a discussion. All I needed to do was ask her for a kiss or try to hold her hand in public, or suggest in any way that I desired a future with her. Every word we exchanged had to be carefully measured because if either of us slipped up as we so often tended to do, the fights would begin anew.

I rushed to schedule this date; to occur as soon as possible. She agreed to visit without all the griping about having to do all the driving necessary to make our dating feasible. In return, I contracted to not ask her for future dates or say anything that telegraphed my desire for any sort of future with her beyond this night. Neither of us would discuss our hopes, or expectations, or the rich history of slights we’d accumulated against each other over the Christmas holiday just past. This would just be two people coming close and enjoying each other’s present-day company; no frets about our prospects, and no grudges about the past. We’d have a no-strings arrangement this time, and though this went against so much of what I believed a healthy relationship should be, I embraced it as best I could. After all, agreeing to her terms meant that I’d get to see her again and perhaps get her into my king-sized water-bed once more.

But more importantly, it also meant that I’d have another chance to subtly “work on her” and perhaps persuade her to change her mind about dating others while we slept together. I hated her wish to date multiple guys because it suggested that she deemed me inadequate to see exclusively. If she was running around I reasoned, her odds of finding another and then disappear, were high. I thought her quite beautiful and was sure that most other guys would too, and seek her in droves accordingly. I wished neither to share her, nor risk losing her.

To this point, she’d adamantly defended her desire to “date around,” and maybe this should have clued me in long before it did, that she would likely never love me. I suspected this to be the case since our first blow-up a week before Christmas. But I wanted her so much that I refused to accept the notion as a likely possibility. I wished not to give up on her or retreat in any degree, because potentially, she meant the end of my years of chronic loneliness and despair. If we could somehow make this work, I’d gain a stunning woman to share my home with eventually, and gain some real purpose for all those years of extra hours I was putting into my job. The idea of her clothes hanging in my closet alongside mine some day fired many a dream of the two of us building a life together there on Copper Creek Court, and I just could not let that go.

But with struggle, I would keep my mouth shut about it for a while; though I’ve always been a heart-on-the-sleeve sort of guy. I’ve never believed in utilizing omission through silence for strategic gain. But if doing so could win this lady’s heart, I’d try it. Indeed, I’d have tried most anything. She said often that if I didn’t so regularly remind her of how much I wanted her, that she might come to want me like that too; though she could make no guarantees.

Yet for much of my dating life, I alleged that the more I said it, the more that each lady I desired would love me. Indeed, I’d often heard ladies complaining to one another that their men hurt them so much because they said so little, and I was bound and determined not to be like those quietly care-free fellows. Women would love me, by God, because through my words, they’d always be sure how much I loved them, and I’d give them no reason to fear loving me. There would never be any doubt about my always-honorable intensions. This would surely get me ahead because it seemed that a woman’s greatest fear in letting her guard down with a fellow and falling in love, was her doubt about the sincerity of his affection. So I figured that the more often I reassured her verbally that my passions indeed ran very deep, the sooner she’d succumb, and express hers as well.

In fact, strangely and arrogantly, I deemed [Emeebee’s] worries about the real depth of my love to be the only relevant reasons for her reserve. It couldn’t possibly be that she felt no vulnerability to me that was worth protecting. I assumed blindly that her fondness for me was certain, that she was just hiding it to protect herself, and that all that stood between us living happily ever after were these unfounded fears. Get rid of these I thought, and we’d be good to go for a life of unbounded joys of merging. All I’d have to do to eliminate her insecurities was to let her know enough times that I wanted her. So NOT speaking my passions challenged me most vigorously, because while I wanted to be open and completely truthful, that’s not what she sought.

So after nearly a month of fighting, I admitted to myself that if I was to stubbornly continue my campaign to win her over in this way, I’d certainly wind up losing her. Thus, at least for this date, I opted to hide the real me just to see if she might be right. Maybe a more indirect approach would persuade her to let go and fall, and though I knew in my heart that this would never come to pass, I wanted to believe so badly that it would, that I managed to keep mum for the entire night. I neither cried, made demands, coaxed, nor otherwise battled for her to reveal her love. I was good; just as she’d requested.

The Date Began

She arrived at around 7:00 PM while I was heating up our dinner in the oven, which consisted of chicken pot pies, fruit cup, and ice cold milk. We didn’t talk much during the meal. I didn’t want to talk, and neither did she. But to be polite, I asked how her schooling was going and what she’d been up to since New Years day. But she only provided one and two syllable answers: Fine. Okay. Pretty good. Not bad. Not much. Nothing. Indeed, our non verbal communications in the bedroom were far more extensive and pleasing than these terse exchanges.

I wanted to get the   real   show underway. So I didn’t even wash the dishes after we finished eating; opting instead to clean them the next day. Right then, getting physical was foremost on my mind because when we did, the pain of our differences disappeared, and I was feeling a lot of that pain at that time. Indeed so far in the new year, the sting of our separateness only subsided when I slept. It followed me to work, sapping my ability to concentrate on important tasks, and it forced me to go to bed very early each night. Sometimes, it was lights out at 7:00 PM, because I just didn’t want to stay awake; tormented as I was by my despair, loneliness, and anger. [Emeebee] and I might not have been able to relate on much else. But while lying next to each other with bare skin touching bare skin and cheek rubbing cheek, this corporeal connection was potently reassuring. Our differences   outside   the bedroom hurt so much I recon, because they posed a serious threat to our time   inside   it.

The more we fought, the more it hurt, because the less likely it would be that we’d spend as much time together in the buff. But when we actually were in the buff, there was no pain of separation because we weren’t separate then; we were together. In the bedroom therefore, the bickering had no teeth because its threat of future elongated separation didn’t mean much while we lay there naked, holding each other tight.

We might not agree on how much driving she should do to facilitate our relationship, or how much she should help me cope in the fully-sighted world. Plus, I would never forgive her for harboring that mean spirit that possessed her during the trip back to Dayton or how she behaved during her visit to my hometown. But in her arms, the past mattered not. I didn’t care what she had done while she loved me because the allure of her nakedness smoothed over any nasty edges. So I could easily forget yesterday’s coldness as long as she was being warm today. Her extreme beauty, particularly when she directed her tender affections at me, enabled me to put her history aside most any time we occupied the same bed at the same time. Of course however, it also intensified the loneliness and my sense of abandonment when we were apart. Yet, I didn’t care. Irrationally I admit, I didn’t care, because the joys of the good times made the sorrows of the bad times worth enduring; at least for a little while. I would not be placated until we got through this dinner formality, and began in earnest the hand and body holding that was ultimately the only good part of our relationship left to enjoy.

Off to the Bedroom We Went

I eagerly helped her undress as we talked about our respective days at work; untying her white sneakers and taking off her socks for her, unbuttoning her blouse and jeans, and then acting as a clothes rack as she draped her garments over my right arm after we’d slid them off. Though we rarely cooperated about anything these days, we still worked well together in the joint effort of stripping each other down. Watching the tops of her pants and the dangling ends of her belt descend slowly past her thighs and knees, and then accumulate on the floor beneath her calves and around her soft ankles still accelerated my heart. Any inclination I might have had to argue about anything was erased by this exquisite and tantalizing view. I marveled at her beauty, and everything about this picture of her sitting on the edge of my water-bed, bathed in the dimmed mirror light from the dresser nearby, was enticing, and matched in nearly every detail my most erotic fantasies. She looked torturously sexy.

Yet though this vision shortened my breathing and brought the sound of my heart beating to my ears a little, I felt only slight warmth in my loins. As with [Dawn] so many years earlier during my first pillow kiss, complete arousal would not come; though unlike in [Dawn’s] case, [Emeebee] and I shared an admittedly short but also rich history of intense eroticism. Since we started dating nearly two months earlier, [Emeebee] and I enjoyed several highly fulfilling encounters in my bedroom. But on this night, horniness eluded me; for by that time, a lot of nasty water had passed under our bridge since our first encounter the week of Thanksgiving, 1993.

Unfortunately, in addition to our exhilarating sexual history, we now had a dubious record of slights, emotional neglect, resentment, and anger. I had not forgiven [Emeebee] for how she treated me on the drive back to Dayton two weeks earlier, and the way she left me alone once we got there. Indeed, I agreed to end my vacation with my family a few days before New Years and return to Ohio, because I thought that the two of us would spend some significant time together repairing our damaged relationship. But as it turned out, we saw each other not at all in the three days between December 28^th and the 31^st; [Emeebee] had too many other things to do to meet with me, she said. So I was left for three days, alone, regretting that I had not remained at home with my sisters to ring in 1994. Then too, there was New Years Eve and her refusal to drive me home though I had become quite sick with a cold and fever as the celebration progressed. Finally, her wish to date others clearly signaled that she did not consider me even close to an ideal lover.

This was the hardest truth of all to face because the constant and prominent threat that she’d probably be gone tomorrow scared me. It numbed my physical responses I suspect, because it made relaxing and letting go in her arms impossible. So while I could look at her, and emotionally as well as intellectually recognize her stunning loveliness, I could not immerse myself in it physically. Though she looked every bit the part of a perfect-10 seductress, I could not be seduced.

As stubborn as each of us was, I feared that our underlying issues would never get resolved. These created a then-chronic negative tension that repressed me; keeping me limp and detached physically from [Emeebee]; her beauty did not overcome this acute impotence. This accordingly, would likely remain. As long as there was tension, I’d never react with sexual arrousal to her beauty, and so, never get to fully enjoy it even though I did find emotional peace when she was near.

Indeed, I didn’t choose to be without sensation. In fact, in spite of it all, I truly wanted to find erotic bliss in her arms, and maybe even enjoy an orgasm at her hands. So I wished to (at least temporarily) forget all that she had failed to do to make me believe it safe to love her fully.

But I couldn’t put her recent abandon out of my mind. In fact, whenever I’d perceive even the smallest spark of sexual desire, my conscience would immediately follow up with a dissenting voice. “You can’t be with her like this,” it warned, “because she doesn’t love you. Period!” With rapid effectiveness, this internal scolding extinguished all sparks that evening. So I never did get aroused, though I thought [Emeebee] to be among the most beautiful women there were.

Yet while I knew that there were none better looking, I also realized that further involving myself with her would compromise my values greatly. Though she was among the best there was, I’d nonetheless be settling if I did. Then, as today, I was bad at settling; opting instead for either the best I could get, or doing without entirely. Someone   better than nothing   but not the best just has just never been good enough. True. [Emeebee] was among the best physically. But I could not ignore her gaping lack of love for me; as she made it apparent with most every word and touch. Even the just-going-through-the-motions way she held me, telegraphed that she felt that she could do much better than I, and   wanted to   in fact.

While in some of my life, I’ve struggled with the effects of low self-esteem, I’ve generally avoided them when it comes to romantic relationships; at least as an adult. Since [First Love] and all those teenage years of hurt because   she   did not love me back, I’ve generally been able to sidestep similar situations. Or, if not sidestep them, then at least, to recognize them early on as dead ends, and get out before too many months passed. Though I desperately wished things to be different with [Emeebee], I knew deep inside that this association was but another dead end, and thus I could not continue the work of improving it. So on some level, I realized that this was it; that this would probably be the last time I’d ever see her in the buff. Given all our problems, any hopes I’d harbored in December about a long-term future with her were gone. Yep. This would probably be it.

I did not trust [Emeebee] to adequately and consistently give priority to meeting my needs emotionally and sexually. So a part of me feared being with her this way on this occasion. But I also appreciated the rarity of bedding a woman as gorgeous as she. So I figured that it would be quite some time, if ever in fact, that I’d have the privilege of hosting another. So, I’d best enjoy this one as much as I could. Thus, I continued with this encounter though the physical stimulation was missing.

She wondered aloud why I wanted her to stay when I felt virtually nothing sexually. I was mad at her, yes, and since we’d agreed not to discuss our contentious issues this night, this anger was not dispelled. But I admired and adored her nakedness so much that it encouraged me to forget for a bit. I realized that in days to come, I’d be crying for more of this scene, and I hoped I could head off at least a little of that future sadness by fully indulging now, while I had the chance. While I could no longer appreciate her erotically as she lay beneath me, I knew I would miss this in the days to come, once she was gone. Thus, I had to “get it while I could,” hoping that an extra big fill of her now would ease the intimacy starvation that I’d experience later.

She crawled into my bed then, wearing only her underpants, and like a dog, I followed, and then savored her. I found her eyes and gazed into them for what seemed like a half-hour, noting the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, her gentle heartbeat, her scent, and her moist breath as it passed my cheeks and fogged up my glasses. We didn’t kiss much these days. But for a second, I wanted to as I stared at her pink lips; but resisted to avoid offending her. Though she was now almost completely exposed and laying with me, a kiss to her lips ironically, seemed highly inappropriate. But I didn’t mind really; just grateful that she had decided to come here at all.

Our conversation stopped as I slid her silk underwear past her calves, then her ankles. Finally, I lifted the panties away from her beautiful feet and beheld her. She rested then, while I undressed, content with the silence and with being naked.

No modesty. She liked being on display. It turned her on, and as I moved my eyes over her long and slim body, her breathing got heavier. She was getting aroused, and this emboldened me. So I decided to kiss her after all. No, she did not turn away. In fact, she moved closer to meet me. It was   wonderful;  her lips, warm and wet, actively accommodating mine and her excitement growing by the minute. Apparently, she too could set aside our dissimilarities long enough to fully enjoy our animal-like oneness. I regretted though, that I could not fully, although I did like the intimacy. Though the water was not as pure as I would have liked, drinking it did quench my thirst; a thirst that I would all too quickly develop again shortly after her departure.

After a few minutes of lip locking, I moved down to her neck without lifting my lips from her fair and soft skin. I located each of her carotid arteries by way of their pulsating warmth, and gently kissed and caressed each one. I found the spots on her neck where she frequently put perfume. How uniquely   her   these aromas were.

She moaned a little as I nibbled at her ear lobes and blew some of my air into her ears. I dared not whisper, “I love you,” though I did feel an urge to say it. Instead, I just softly spoke her name a few times, and then began an inch-by-inch exploration of her body with my right hand while stroking her hair with my left.

I took in every detail of her face, hair, and neck, deeply breathing in her feminine aroma, hoping somehow to retain a lasting trace of her that might comfort me in the weeks to come. She was beautiful, hands down, and at this point, she represented my best game ever; for I’d never been with a lady as physically perfect as [Emeebee]. Not even [First Love] rivaled her because at five feet ten inches tall and weighing 130 pounds, [Emeebee] was the very sort of statuesque, tall, and thin lady I’d come to desire the most. Physically at least, [Emeebee] was second to none, with pale and sexy legs that could only be rivaled but never surpassed.

My right hand then paused on her small yet fascinating breasts that reminded me of [First Love’s]. [First Love] was thin and fair, and small-breasted as well. But she was also eight inches shorter than [Emeebee]. I thought nothing of this before meeting [Emeebee]. Indeed, until [Emeebee] came along, [First Love] was my standard of excellence in beauty; she was the yardstick. But this was only because I hadn’t experienced any women more attractive to me, before falling for [First Love]. But [Emeebee] stole top billing from [First Love], and though this recent relationship had run afoul, I nonetheless began silently comparing new women to [Emeebee] rather than [First Love].

Further, though [Emeebee] and I had a painful time of it, the [Emeebee] experience allowed me to finally lose my love for [First Love] for good after some twenty-one years, because among other reasons, it altered my romantic standards. Or at least, it helped me to more fully discover what my real standards were.

Then, my hand lighted on her flat and quivering tummy and I traced circles around her belly button with my index finger; lightly combing the fine hairs there with my fingernail. She quivered more at this, and she whispered slowly, “yes, yes!” I quivered too; for though I was still not aroused, I knew this scene to be among life’s greatest blessings given how rarely it happened to me, and how emotionally satiating it was.

Indeed, there are many more joys when I lay with a naked, beautiful woman than just the getting hard. There was also the thrill of shattering a sort of glass ceiling as well. Consider that during young adulthood, I’d often worried that I’d never experience a “perfect ten,” and that I’d forever be consigned to sixes and sevens, or eights at best. But [Emeebee] was a high nine and in fact, may indeed have been a ten had we not disagreed so often on so many fundamental tenants of successful relating. Yet here she was, sharing my bed and her body too. Wow!

In spite of it all, she was by far the lady who most closely resembled the gorgeous girls in my fantasies. Thus, a sense of profound relief flooded me every time we met like this, because I knew that I’d never again have to fear living my entire life without knowing what loving the best women for me was really like. Indeed, the best is by no means overrated. For the first time ever, an intimate encounter duplicated and even surpassed the depths of pleasure that heretofore, I’d only experienced in daydreams. So though I might not have been very horny, I immensely enjoyed the encounter just the same.

My hand then crisscrossed her abdomen, and the hair down there thickened as I zeroed in on the center of her sexuality.  A few goose bumps appeared on her skin along with the thicker hairs. Occasionally, she’d hold her breath in anticipation of where I might touch next, and how. Then, she’d arch her back to push against my hand with her middle. She was enjoying herself, and I enjoyed helping her do that.

Now [Emeebee] and I had been to bed several times before. But the novelty of lying with such a long and thin goddess never wore off. In spite of our current problems, I was just as eager to get her into my room   this time   as I’d been the first. So eager I was, that though not horny, I was still appalled at the thought of losing her and never being able to sample her in this way again. So while I still had her, I determined to live out all my fantasies. Any scenario that I’d ever derived while masturbating alone, I wished to try out for real with her. This was it after all, and if I was ever going to know the sorts of physical exchanges that heretofore I’d only imagined, this would be the time to try them.

I finally arrived, and [Emeebee’s] moaning became a mixture of pleasure and impatience as well; as if she was saying, “I’m really enjoying what you’re doing. But get on with it already!” She was quite moist, and it wouldn’t take much effort therefore, to carry her over the top. I liked this. I liked seeing that I could do   something  that pleased her so much when in so many ways outside of this special space, she found me lacking. The bedroom was at last, the only place that [Emeebee] really appreciated and respected me. Accordingly, I worked her until my wrist hurt; until she came.

Her intense thrill at my touch confused me though. I wondered how she could stand so steadfastly against building a loving relationship with me when, at least here, I satisfied her so much. Though she may have thought that our sex was great, it did not impress her enough to convince her to be my exclusive significant other.

Then, I shyly looked longingly at her feet, wishing to do a little foot worship to indulge my life-long foot fetish. “It’s okay,” she said compassionately. “Go ahead. It won’t bother me.” Indeed, she probably resisted completely falling for me because she thought it strange that I liked massaging and kissing pretty women’s feet. Now as relationships go, there’s typically not a single reason why they succeed or fail. But the fact that she often commented about how strange and dysfunctional my foot fetish was, left no doubt that it weighted heavily in any choices she made where the two of us were concerned. Unfortunately, we never discussed her hang-ups in detail.

The Wrap Up

So, we lay together for an hour or two talking about this and that while I counted her toes over and over, and rubbed the soles of her sexy feet, until she grew bored, got dressed, checked her watch, and left hurriedly. Sadly, not only was this my last physical encounter with her, but it would turn out to be the last time that any woman ever slept with me in the water-bed before I sold it in the spring of 2002. All told, I only entertained my girls in it a dozen times or less in the entire fourteen years I owned the thing; though when I purchased it, I’d envisioned sharing it most every night. It would not be until many years later that I finally realized just how profoundly this last date with [Emeebee] actually was.

She moved to the edge of the bed, stirring up the water inside the mattress; making it softly slosh around. She slowly threw her legs over the padded side rails and then stood up. As she fumbled with her clothes that I’d piled in a small heap on the floor earlier, the certainty that this would be the last time we’d see each other like this burst into my consciousness. Strangely though, as much as I loved her, I did not feel sad about the inevitable prospect of losing her. That wouldn’t come until a couple days after she left. But at the moment, though I knew for sure that this was it, I felt neither happy nor sad; for this evening had quenched (at least temporarily) my thirst for her. As long as she was still physically close, I could still reach out and touch her, and smell her scent on my clothes and pillows. So the reality that she was already gone was easy to ignore.

Plus, with her still so close by and the memory of what we’d just finished still fresh, her upcoming absence didn’t matter so much. It was hard to fully miss her while I’d just experienced her completely and in abundance. I knew I would long for her profoundly once my love thirst returned; as it surely would in the coming days. But this night’s dose of [Emeebee] had completely filled me up and left me wanting for nothing; neither physically nor emotionally. Leaving the fountain in a desert oasis is easy once you’ve drunk so much water that you get sick. But a day or two back out in that dry, hot, and relentless sunshine and you’ll long for that fountain again. The same occurred with [Emeebee]. While I knew that I’d cry for her a lot in the coming weeks, no tears came on this evening as I basked in the afterglow of our physical indulgence.

I felt no sign of the loneliness to come as I watched her put on her socks; though I knew my thirst for her would indeed soon return. But at that instant, it was nowhere to be found; for she had completely satiated it by allowing me to make her feel good.

But sooner than I expected, glimmers of the full reality of our breakup intruded. As she dressed, she matter-of-factly suggested that I attend Group Interaction (a local singles group), and that she was going to start going again the following weekend herself. Now I started hurting, and so resented her upper hand. I hated her selfishness and how yet again, I’d totally fallen for someone who could not return my love; someone who had not fallen for me. Why did it always seem that the girls I desired most, wanted me the least?

Eventually, I would be happier without her; especially since the warmth I’d loved from her in our early dates had all but gone. In fact, once she emerged from the covers, the coldness that so characterized her attitude lately, returned in full force. As proof of that, she mentioned her plans to meet other guys, while my feelings for her were still so strong and raw. She could not be talked out of going; dead set on attending the Friday night gatherings, and I could do nothing to stop her. The power was clearly hers.

Her insistence on dating around brought back that familiar old pain of loss and grief that I’d come to know so well, in the aftermath of [First Love]. Back in the fall of 1980, when [First Love] called it quits with me, I promised myself profusely that I’d never get into these dead-end emotional quagmires again with women. Yet here I was, caught yet again some fourteen years later, in another dismal letdown every bit as cruel; maybe even more so. Though I’d managed to avoid this worst sort of rejection for over a decade, I felt like a fool for having allowed this to occur a second time. I wondered what the matter with me was, that not only had I failed to win her heart, but also, I didn’t see earlier that I had in fact lost her heart already.

Well, actually, I’m stating the facts with excess optimism. The truth is that I never had her heart to begin with. She was never really into me, and sometimes she’d gently say that in not-so-many words. Once, instead of saying that she loved me as we held each other on another intimate occasion, she said, “I have love flowing in my blood.” Then, when I said back, “I love you too,” she argued that that was not what she meant. Who does that? But I ignored this and other foretelling statements from her; hoping that she’d change her mind once she got to know me better. Well, she didn’t; but I changed mine. I fell in love, and forgetting all her prior notice, I wondered what was wrong with her too, and came up with a plethora of [Emeebee] blame in answer.

But as I’ve come to understand in the sixteen intervening years between then and today, I caused much of my own pain back then because simply, I paid no mind to her reserve. My grandmother used to say, “If you don’t listen, then you’ll feel.” Well, she was right. I didn’t listen, and so, I felt, real bad.

I just couldn’t listen though while basking in [Emeebee’s] near perfect-ten looks. On the one hand, her beauty allowed me to better tolerate her self-centered nature. In fact, the stunning character of her immediately-visible good parts blinded me to her less observable (and certainly less pleasant) aspects.

But, on the other hand, her sexy legs and sophisticated air also made her coldness more offensive. Her beautiful body not only made her very alluring, but also quite dangerous too. As I’ve learned: The prettier the ladies are, the more it will hurt should they not reciprocate my feelings. Now I don’t mean to suggest that prettier girls are less trustworthy. But if they can give you lots of great pleasure, then they can also give you much great pain, and I sure got the painful side of   [Emeebee]. In fact, I should have paid more attention because of this. I wish I’d have understood back then that the more attractive I find a woman the more careful of her I must be about falling; especially without a clear invitation from her to do so. Perhaps [Emeebee’s] behavior would not have been so unusually torturous had I observed her as a stranger. But being subjected to her care-free attitude while my feelings for her made me   anything but   carefree, I could not help but to either cry, be depressed, or argue with her anytime I got the chance.

If she hadn’t been so striking, I don’t think I’d have cared as much about how selfish she was, and her aloofness would have hurt far less. But then, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the good times as much either. She was very pretty. So I highly desired her. But her selfishness prevented me from enjoying her as often as I wished. That hurt and angered me because girls like her only came into my life every several years at best. So, realizing that once more, this one (yet another one) would be walking away for good really crushed me.

My desperation to stop the chronic loneliness forever stole my wits because I was certain that if she would only love me, then the sad times would in fact, go away. There’d be someone fun to dine with on the weekends and go dancing with on Saturday nights. I often held visions of [Emeebee] waking up beside me on the Sunday mornings after such nights on the town. Then the two of us would get up after an hour or two of making out, and head to her Unitarian church for the morning services. Through prominent daydreams likes these, I could not see the truth; that I was making lots of unfounded assumptions about [Emeebee]. I was forcing her into a role (albeit just in my imagination) that, had I watched better over a longer period of time, I’d have realized she neither wanted nor was capable of filling. In short: I moved too fast, and for that, I got burned big time.

This experience taught me a lot about what to watch out for in the future before hanging my hat on any woman’s star. Yes, all the dreaming I could muster could not hide the fact that this was surely it, because once she got her orgasm, we shared no mutual longing it seemed.

Though I wished she would have spared showing me her blithe parts, I saw also quite a soft and gentle side, and that’s the piece of her I fell in love with. Hmmmm. If only I could have tossed the bad side and kept the good, I’d have gotten a true dream girl in the flesh. I tried in essence to do this, by focusing too much on her positive traits and too little on her negative ones. The problem was: I did this too well; not realizing that if you’re going to love the good in a person, then you must also accept the bad. Because I esteemed the good in her too highly, her nasty side blindsided me. The result: I fell in love while she did not. All the longing was in me, so she exuded all the power. I wouldn’t have lost so much of the power, if only I’d looked at her more carefully while I still had it.

While in bed together, the threat of losing her seemed far away and inconsequential. She was giving me what I wanted them. So the power imbalance meant nothing. But when she’d talk of dancing with other guys at the singles group, the truth of the imbalance became clear once again; as menacing as ever. Though while in her arms, I’d managed to push this actuality to the side, it always arrived again any time she was not around to hold me and protect me from it. She was exercising all that control now; showing little deference toward my feelings. She was actually calling this sad truth to come back.

No, I disliked the extreme ups and downs that the course of our relationship had taken by this time. I knew that I’d not put up with this from [Emeebee] for nearly as long as I had from [First Love]. So, I told [Emeebee] that I didn’t wish to see her like this anymore. Later nonetheless, my resolve weakened and it would be nearly a decade before I finally shook my weak knees for [Emeebee], and therein lie some interesting tales which I’ll write about later. But at least initially, I fully intended our last time together to be just that; one final romp. I figured that I’d never get over her as long as we continued sleeping together, because sharing her bed was just so electrifying. Yet, each night of pleasure demanded the following week’s worth of pain as payment; and that cost soon became too high. Though I would not say that I   deserved  the best treatment from her specifically, I did feel that I was   worthy   of being much happier with a relationship in general, than what I was able to achieve with [Emeebee]. So, with memories of the [First Love] debacle still fresh in my mind, I refused to endure [Emeebee’s] neglect, once it became clear that she was neglecting me.

Yet in spite of her vast appeal, or perhaps because of it, getting over her was imperative. Because I enjoyed her so much, I had to somehow   stop   enjoying her at all. I knew I had screwed up by pushing so hard for quick and committed relationship with her, and now wanted to do whatever was required to stop the pain and make it right. So I resolved that this definitely was going to be it, and that I would never move so fast again with anyone; no matter how wonderful they at first seemed.

Indeed, in light of this experience, the more wonderful they are, the slower I’d best go. It’s funny. Women are always saying to me that they want to move slowly. Until [Emeebee] I took that to mean that they must not be attracted to me because, with [First Love] anyhow, moving slowly typically meant no movement at all. But the [Emeebee] experience brought new insight. Perhaps ladies want to go at a snail’s pace because, as I so liked [Emeebee], perhaps they like me too; optimistic, I know. They might just be taking the steps I missed with [Emeebee], and simply trying to protect themselves; something I failed in royal form to do with [Emeebee], and as a result, paid with years of emotional torment. So perhaps they’re just being careful, and their reserve just signifies caution rather than revulsion. Hmmmm. How do you tell the difference? That’s a topic for a later post.

Yep, I knew I was going to miss her. She may have been selfish. But at least she was honestly egotistic. She never sugarcoated her lacking desire for me, and in fact, put it right out there many times. Any compassion for me she might have had did not compel her to capitulate to what I wanted; no matter the agony this caused me. She stuck to her guns; taking no pity on me, and at the time, I hated her for this. I thought her a cold and heartless person because I just didn’t get how she could allow me to suffer so, when easing my pain would have been so “easy” for her if she’d only just visited my bed a few times a week.

Yet in retrospect, I’m glad she avoided being kind to me if that wasn’t what she really wanted to be. Her brute sincerity convinced me to pull away more quickly than a softer approach would have, and though this hurt intensely at the outset, I have no doubt that her atrocious decisiveness enhanced my ability to quickly let her go. If she hadn’t been so mean, I might not have found the resolve to end our involvement as quickly as I did. But find the resolve, I did. Her callousness was thus a blessing. I realized the next day that because of her love rejection, I’d be hurting no doubt, as the memory of our last night seared in my mind and I began to withdraw from the drug of her nearness. But this had to be it. It had to be. Because I loved her so, I knew I could love her no more.

Tom Hesley

Related Posts

• Coping With The Ultimate Rejection
• Enthusiastically Compassionate Love
• The Faster I Fall, The Deeper
• Judy’s Silent Rejection
• Last Time In Bed With Emeebee
• Last Time with First Love
• Necessary Verses Needless Rejections
• Seeking Pity, Getting Love
• Seven Years Of First Love
• True Loves List

Dear [Mentat],

I agree on the destructive and benign types of pride. Clearly, the see-what-I’ve-done-so-I’m-better-than-you kind of pride is bad because it’s antisocial. It creates resentment in others, and can compel them to try and knock the excessively proud down a few pegs. Flaunting a sexy mate may in fact, entice other men to attempt to steal her away. People with this conceited sort of pride take too much credit for their gifts. Pride becomes disgusting when it eclipses humility, and this is why gods in most religions hate it, because the excessively prideful person is paying too little homage to them and their glory. But all gods aside, foolish still is the man who looks down on others from mountain tops that he did not create himself. We don’t need the wrath of gods to drive that point home.

On the other hand, a wise man is a humble man. He recognizes the goodness in his life for which he bears no responsibility. He understands that no matter how much he accomplishes, no matter how hard he works, he’d still be nothing without his birthright. Rich Parker never seemed to get this, even to this day now that his very survival rests so directly in the hands of doctors. He would not have achieved success as a lawyer without the many loving folks in his corner, helping him for decades on end. Yet he shames others when they don’t perform as “well” as he, and refuses to acknowledge that perhaps they weren’t blessed by good fortune as he. Excessive pride so well characterizes Parker’s personality. Hubris as you refer to it, is not found in the hearts of the truly sensible; only thankfulness and gratefulness dwell there.

The healthier, more celebrated, benign pride shows in the man whom, as you note, displays his gifts not to exalt himself, but instead, to exalt others. Perhaps he befriends the empathetic, non-jealous type, and knows that these friends will feel joy when they see that he has found happiness. Once I knew a woman who, like you and me, spent multiple decades without a love partner. She cried often to me about it, and I spent many an hour comforting her. Well, when she finally found someone, she called to tell it, knowing that I’d be thrilled. And she was right. I was, for it was gratifying to see that even the chronically lovelorn can find a true love. Her success motivated me to keep trying. In this way, I benefited from her victory, and she told me so eagerly because she knew that I would. Back to our righteously humble guy, in sharing his happiness with his friends, he (as did [this woman] with me) wants those nearby to be happy for him, and to know that this girl is his, just so that his friends don’t think she’s free, should they encounter her separately.

But it’s also likely that the meek one has no purpose in allowing others to see him with his knock-out girlfriend. This fellow does not “show off” at all. In fact, any “showing” happens as a mere byproduct of the couple’s normal routine. It is not the objective of that routine. Maybe they like walking in public parks or dining at popular nightclubs. They might just enjoy frolicking among people, not to flaunt, but to share the experience together. How others react to them may have nothing to do with the joy the couple derives from being among them. In this case, neither destructive nor benign pride comes into play.

Now to answer your question: I experienced neither benign nor sinful pride from [Lenee] loving me. With her, there was no sense of having accomplished anything great by having secured her love – no euphoria of quenching the lust of love, and no real respite from loneliness. She was not revered by my friends, and the family hoped I’d never bring her to Altoona again. So there was simply no basis for any sort of pride. Shame perhaps. Compromise definitely. But not pride. I suppose this shows that even the most humble among us can use good pride to tell whether a woman measures up. The greater the pride, the more ideal she is. But no pride warns us to get away post haste, for she’s not anywhere near what we want.

More later,
Tom Hesley

Hi Svetlana.

I like how you appear in the pictures you sent. You have a pretty face, and I especially like your cheeks and eyes. Very nice.

I believe in honesty strongly, so I want a lady who tells the truth, or if she can’t do that, says nothing at all.

I will not relocate to Russia. If you and I would ever be together, you’d need to move to America.

I don’t cheat on women. I avoid this by dating only the people for whom I feel an extremely strong attraction. I too want fidelity from my woman.

I’m romantic too, and enjoy sitting with my sweetie in my pavilion for hours in the summer, drinking cool water, reading books, and listening to music together. Eating out thrills me too, as well as roller skating, bowling, hiking, shopping, planting a garden, and so on. Just about anything I enjoy, if I’m doing it with that special lady – the woman I’ve dreamed of for the past thirty-two years. Could you be she?

Jealous. Me too. I don’t like my lady having male friends, for I want to be all the man she ever needs. And besides, women with lots of male acquaintances are more apt to cheat. Among the strongest statements a lady can make to me about her dedication, is to give up going out alone with her male friends.

I believe in love too, especially   love at first sight,   because I know immediately upon meeting someone whether the relationship has a chance of succeeding or not. I want to be in love and be loved back for the rest of my life. You feel that way?

I want a woman who views it as her primary purpose to take care of her man and family. It’s nice that you feel that way. I feel likewise toward her.

I cook too, although I must admit that I’m a bit out of practice lately. But I’d gladly take turns doing it with my lady.

More later.

Tom Hesley

Hi Svetlana.

I like how you appear in the pictures you sent. You have a pretty face, and I especially like your cheeks and eyes. Very nice.

I believe in honesty strongly, so want a lady who tells the truth, or if she can’t do that, says nothing at all.

I will not relocate to Russia. If you and I would ever be together, you’d need to move to America.

I don’t cheat on women. I avoid this by dating only the people for whom I feel an extremely strong attraction. I too want fidelity from my woman.

I’m romantic too, and enjoy sitting with the sweetie in my pavilion for hours in the summer, drinking cool water, reading books, and listening to music together. Eating out thrills me, as well as roller skating, bowling, hiking, shopping, planting a garden, and so on. Just about anything I enjoy, if I’m doing it with a special lady – the woman I’ve dreamed of for the past thirty-two years. Could you be she?

Jealous. Me too. I don’t like my lady having male friends, for I want to be all the man she ever needs. And besides, women with lots of male acquaintances are more apt to cheat. Among the strongest statements a lady can make to me about her dedication, is to give up going out alone with her male friends.

I believe in love too, especially love-at-first-sight, because I know immediately upon meeting someone whether the relationship has a chance of succeeding or not. I want to be in love and be loved back for the rest of my life. You feel that way?

I want a woman who views it as her primary purpose to take care of her man and family. It’s nice that you feel that way. I feel likewise toward her.

I cook too, although I must admit that I’m a bit out of practice lately. But I’d gladly take turns doing it with my lady.

More later.

Tom Hesley

[C],

I had to mull over your letter [of apology] for a bit before responding. As you probably know,   [Ann]   and I are on good terms once again. Hopefully, in a little while, this whole thing will be just a small, bad memory, for all of us. In fact, I’m even helping her find places to contact potential mates. I’d say that we’re friends again. [She] says that she forgives me for any wrongness for which I’m to blame in the way things happened last month, and she’s even admitted that she shares equally in any fault that created that painful scenario in mid-October.

Neither of us communicated with the other as often as we should have, about our feelings and aspirations for our association. And,   [Ann]   ignored several red flags (me not wanting to kiss her or take her to bed, me not allowing her to meet my family, and others). She says that now, she’ll discuss such flags with men, when she detects them. We’re getting along okay now, and hope that everyone can put all this behind us and continue with our friendships.

Thanks for the clarification on your meaning when you said that you wished that I could not see. I would just say that we all use the information available to us to evaluate someone. While you cannot see today yourself, I expect that if you could see, you’d also use visual cues to determine someone’s worthiness to be your mate. From what you said, you use what you hear and feel (through touch) to evaluate potential mates. You do the same thing I do but just with different senses.

Like it or not, visual cues tell much about a person very quickly. Thus the saying: A picture is worth a thousand words. In less than two seconds the sighted can glean information about people that might take weeks to gather through other means such as what they say. As I’ve argued in previous letters, I don’t believe that this visual information is any less meaningful or valid than that obtained through conversation or other forms of observance. How a person looks says much about the lifestyle they lead, their values and priorities, their health, the crowd they hang with, the drugs they take or have taken, their affluence in society, and so on.

This reality places us vision-impaired folks at a disadvantage, especially those of us who have never seen. Thus, the reason society calls us ‘handicapped.’ The terms ‘handicapped’ or ‘physically challenged,’ while often used in a condescending manner by the sighted when referring to our kind, are nonetheless, accurate.

Without ever having had sight, it’s impossible to understand how time-saving it can be. For example, it might take a blind person weeks to learn that someone they’re dating shoots cocaine. But a sighted person can tell this almost immediately by observing the track marks on the arms of the druggie. It’s true that the sighted person may not know exactly what’s going on. But the haggard look, the bulging eyes, and the scars on the arms are turn-offs, and “shout” loudly to stay away from this person. Now is a person who sees really shallow for heeding these visual warning signs?

Or would it be better to ignore their misgivings and proceed with the relationship until the exact nature of the signs is understood? Clearly, this is a value call. As such, there’s no right answer. Some people say that they’d like to learn more than just what the looks tell them, while others hit the bricks and leave immediately based solely on the looks.

Since life is so short, and since I have reasonably good vision at my disposal for making such judgments quickly and with a high degree of accuracy, I choose the latter. I leave at the first signs of visual warnings, because I’ve found that where there’s smoke, there’s always fire. That is to say that where there’s outer beauty, there is a greater beauty within. And, where there’s outer ugliness, there’s probably something bad on the inside creating that visible sign.  It is unlikely that a person blind since birth would ever understand this. But it is a reality in the sighted world nonetheless, one that the blind will have to understand and accept if they hope to ever become fully integrated in the sighted culture.

It’s tempting to write off those who use vision as a dimension for judging others, as shallow. We often observe this same phenomenon when listening to the poor talking about the rich. How often have you heard poor people accusing the rich of being superficial because of all the material things they buy? Perhaps the poor don’t understand the joy in a $5000 shopping spree because they’ve never done it, nor could they afford to. Perhaps jealousy also fuels their resentment. However, in those cases when the poor become rich (maybe they hit the lottery or get a high paying job), almost invariably, they end up spending money on things they would not have when they were poor, things they would have judged as shallow when money was scarce. They buy that bigger house, get braces on their teeth, purchase that $30,000 vehicle with all its bells and whistles, and take lavish vacations that before, they could only dream about.

It’s human nature [for] people [to] use what they have at their disposal to better their lives. My advice to you: While you may not have experience seeing, be careful not to underestimate its importance in our sighted superculture, and don’t judge people who use their vision to pick good mates so harshly, for I’m certain that if you had it, you’d use it too. Your comments seem to say this so hopefully, you understand my point.

Now, let me make a couple points about personality verses looks. In your note [...], I inferred from what you said that you believe that a blind person is more likely to get to know a person’s personality because they don’t immediately rule someone out based on looks. You seem to hold someone in higher esteem who judges based on personality than one who judges based on looks. You implied that a person’s looks should, to quote you, “…be secondary to what you learn of their personality…”

But why? Here, you’re doing what so many appearence-challenged people do. You’re attempting to separate the looks from the personality. As we’ve discussed before, in my view, this cannot be done with any meaning. The personality is a symptom of the whole person. It is but one way that a person manifests himself to the world. That’s true. You can learn lots of meaningful information about the whole person from how they act, what they believe, their temperament, and a whole slew of other traits of personality. I agree.

But as discussed above, looks also tell us a great deal about the whole person. They give us one picture of the whole person, personality give us another. Let’s say you have two artists. One paints pictures of people based on what he sees visually. The other paints hers based on what she senses about her subjects’ personalities. Now I ask you: Which of the two portraits would wholly (and thus, better) convey the subject’s true essence? It’d be hard to prove that one picture is any more indicative of the true nature of the person than the other, contrary to popular belief. Popular belief says that we ought to discard the visual portrait and only keep the personality one.

But again, why? The surface beauty is by no means only skin deep, since the personality drives the form the external beauty takes – whether or not she wears make-up and what kind, her hair style, how she walks, whether she manicures her nails, the way she holds her fork when she eats, how she crosses her legs, the clothes she chooses to wear, how heavy she is, and so on. All these things, that some people call traits of external, superficial beauty, are the direct result of how she thinks [and] what she values. In short, her choices in these areas emanate from her personality. Thus, to disregard how someone looks is to ignore some important indicators of how they think. So to talk about personality and looks as separate dimensions of a person is pointless in my opinion, because the two are so inexorably tied together and affect one another so much. I consider myself, not shallow, but astute for being able to size up a person based on how they look. Saves much time in the dating process.

Some argue that personality is the better measure of a person’s worthiness to be loved than how they look, because to them, personality is less transitory (temporary) than looks. They say that beauty fades but that personality traits tend to remain. Again, I disagree.

Personality is probably just as subject to the ravages of aging as the body, since, after all, personality emanates from the brain, and the brain itself is part of a living organism, just as are the legs, breasts, arms, and all the rest of the body parts, and so is exposed to the same deteriorating agents of living. People get wrinkles and blemishes as they age. That’s true. But they also get senile or experience other forms of dementia as they age. They become cynical, and jaded. Or, they become wise and accepting. Whatever. The point is that the brain changes with age and experience, just as does the rest of the body. If you neglect the body, it begins to sag over time. The same is true of the mind. If you exercise and properly nourish the body, it tends to look better. If you exercise and properly nourish the brain, it tends to think better.

Since the brain and body are one (the brain is part of the whole body), it follows that what you do to one, you do to the other. And what benefits one, generally also benefits the other. Eat only donuts without burning them off, and your body gets lazy and fat, and you start to look bad. Your brain also suffers. With all that sugar in the blood, it gets lazy too and wants to sleep and can’t concentrate on tasks at hand. It becomes irritable and forgetful. Over all, it becomes less desirable to be around. Generally speaking, when the body is treated well, it looks more attractive. The personality that results from the healthy body treatment is more enjoyable to others as well. In short, the body that looks good encases a brain that thinks good. When the body looks bad, the brain probably thinks bad too. My own experience with people seems to bear this out. So, looks are no less of a meaningful indicator of a person’s worth than is the mind.

Now, on to   [Ann's]   computer: It seems that all her problems are solved, since she reformatted her hard drive and started from scratch. I don’t know how [she] came to believe that I had uninstalled IE. But it’s moot now since she’s back in business.

Thanks for the apology. I accept it. It hurt me too, to hear   [Ann]   in such pain. This is probably why I didn’t clarify my position with her before I did. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. But she seems to be accepting things very well today, and hopefully, this whole experience will help us all to grow a bit.

Thanks for your best wishes for my new relationship. However, that relationship ended a couple weeks ago. We were doing very well. I had gone to visit the ballerina in Pittsburgh for a long weekend. The first two days were wonderful. She was so loving (almost to a fault). But then, in the span of a couple hours, she completely changed. Gone was her desire to kiss and hold hands as we walked around her apartment. And for nights three and four, she chose not to sleep in our bed. She left me there, while she slept in the living room. Her only explanation was that she was having her period, and that during this time, she didn’t like to be touched. However, that explanation didn’t ring true to me. And, it turned out not to be true after I got home. She stopped answering my emails and would not return my calls. And this was after she had told my mother that she hoped that she and I would marry some day, just a few days earlier.

Up till she abandoned me, she was very physically responsive. But she abruptly changed without any truthful explanation. At least with   [Ann],   I gave her the best explanation I could. But the ballerina gave me nothing at all. So you see, there are worse ways to treat people, than how I treated   [Ann].   Some people don’t communicate problems, and the ballerina turned out to be one of those.

Needless to say, even if the ballerina came back and offered an explanation for leaving as she did, I don’t think I could accept it because she has demonstrated that she runs away from problems, rather than discussing them at length and openly. She unilaterally decided to leave, without giving me any input into the decision. It’s hard to forget it when someone runs their relationships like that. So, I’m getting over her and moving on.

Anyway, thanks for listening. Let’s just all try and be friends again, and put this whole mess behind us.

Tom Hesley

Dear  [LizDee],

Perhaps I should steer clear of people who know Bob. This is not the first time in the past year that he’s created problems for me with his gossip.

At any rate, let me set the record straight. I want to get to know you. Nothing more at this point, nothing less. My interest in you thus far is limited to doing that, and getting your cheeks of course. But I can’t say for sure if I want anything more yet, and won’t know that until we spend significant time together in person. I thought I communicated that to you from the start. If I haven’t, I apologize and will endeavor to do a better job at it in the future.

This was however, the message I attempted to relate to [Emmy] about us. But perhaps things got distorted as the message flowed from me to [Emmy], then to Bob, and finally to you.

Now, I admit that I have downplayed my interest in you to [Emmy], because she’s still hurting over what happened between her and I. Any time your name comes up, she gets all quiet and jealous. So to save her pain, I haven’t told her yet that I’m coming to visit you, nor that you and me talk dirty on the phone at times. This aspect of our relationship (and where it’s going) is neither hers nor Bob’s business.

Let them gossip if they need to commiserate with each other. But don’t let them drive a wedge between us.

Finally, the last time I said anything significant about you to [Emmy] was just after yours and my first email, around mid-March. Back then, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get to know you. I had learned that you were a smoker and expressed my doubts to [Emmy] about how far things might go because of that. She knows I don’t like cigarettes.

But since then, I’ve indeed developed interest in exploring the future with you, especially since you’re trying to quit. Rest assured that I’ve been as honest with everyone involved here as I can be without needlessly hurting anyone.

No, you didn’t steal anybody’s boyfriend because [Emmy] and I had broken up almost a whole month before you and I began talking. She knows that.

Oh, and by the way, contrary to what Bob says, [Emmy] is no threat to you. She’s very gentle and doesn’t have a violent bone in her body. She’s not interested in fighting you and wouldn’t ever hurt you.

Perhaps we should stop talking to our exes until we see where this thing is . It sounds like both [Emmy] and Bob have axes to grind where we’re concerned. So we need to regard anything they say with suspicion. Whether intentional or not, they may be trying to ruin things for us because they’re not getting what they want, from us. You’ve said yourself how much of a storyteller Bob is, and how he blabs things that really should be kept quiet. So remember this the next time he says something about us to you.

I’ll call you later this morning to discuss further.

Tom Hesley

Dear [Tad],

Hey there. No, haven’t heard from [Elstan] yet. I will write her once again before she leaves for the summer. By the way, when is school out for the year?

Lots of playing over the weekend, ‘eh? Don’t make me jealous.

School prom. Speaking of that, I often wonder whatever happened to   [Shaina],   you remember, that waitress that I took to our 10th grade prom? Apparently, as [our health teacher] recounted at the dinner, that was more controversial than I imagined. I hope that it didn’t cause her to lose her job, since she left the school shortly after that. I know [our house mother] had lots of bad things to say about my choice in women then.

Did you enjoy the prom this year?

Well, time for lunch. Will catch you later. If you see [Elstan], say hi to her for me. Nothing like a bit of subliminal pressure.

Tom Hesley

Dear [KC],

Hi again. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice when I visited the school the other day. Sure was good talking with you again. How bubbly and healthy you still are!!! Not that I expected any different, mind you. In that way, you’ve not changed one bit since we last talked in 1988.

You will always be my [favorite school] teacher. And as such, you will no doubt always seem wise and knowing about people and issues of the heart. You certainly were back in the mid 70s, and I suspect that you still retain this quality today as well, along with your zeal for living that has always distinguished you. What you say, I regard with great validity by default. You’re just so easy to trust. And I’ve rarely known you to ‘insist’ on anything without flawless reasoning to back you up. So, when you asked me to contact   [First Love]   during my Pittsburgh visit, and then you insisted, this surprised me and I thought that if you were asking this with such urgency, that I had better review my position and make sure I understand it very well before telling you “No, I can’t do that.” So, for that reason, I feel I owe you a response, to your ‘gentle nudging’ for me to call [her] this week.

I did not call her [while out there]. Why? Several years ago, I became familiar with the notion of “destructive behavior” and how people who engage in it, sabotage their chances to realize true happiness and fulfillment before their “end of the line” reaches them. We’ve all done things that, in retrospect, can be deemed destructive to our purposes here. I am certainly no exception. As I began assessing my own past, it quickly became clear that among the longest-running, most destructive behaviors I’ve exhibited in my life, involved our mutual friend,   [First Love],   and my school-boy crushes and obsession over her. Given what I have written below, I trust that it will become clear why further unsolicited contact between myself and [she], initiated by me, can only be deemed destructive, and thus, must be fervently avoided.

[In my opinion,   [First Love]   has willfully and repeatedly made herself unavailable for friendship with those of us from her past, at the school. For over a decade now, going on two, she makes little or no effort to keep in touch with any of us ([Mentat], [Tad], Rich, [Z], Deb, et al). Business dealings excluded of course.

When we call he [for personal matters], she’s evasive, busy, and has trouble reminiscing and acknowledging her parts of the memories that the rest of us treasure. She has extricated herself effectively and completely from our community, and apparently feels no remorse for this, nor is she looking back. She’s gone.

Though outward appearances would indicate that [she] has indeed turned gay, I suspect that her relationship with [Zacca] is symbiotic in nature, and perhaps even codependent, cemented with wrong reasons, in my opinion. It is not healthy. [Zacca] is the proverbial brawn (the “male”) in their “family unit,” while [First Love]   is the brain (“female”). [Zacca] does the grunt work to enable   [First Love]   to pursue her dreams of owning a business and functioning excellently in mainstream society – driving her around, reading her mail, applying [her] make-up each morning, and so on. In return,   [First Love]   gives [Zacca] direction and purpose, and the sexual companionship for which she longs ([First Love]   admitted the sex part to me a few years back and I’m filling in the rest). Further, [Zacca] is a very jealous woman. I believe that she has intercepted voice mail and email which I have sent   [First Love]   over the years (perhaps at   [First Love's]   direction even), and conveniently forgets to tell   [First Love]   that I called when I talk with her live.

[Zacca] has become   [First Love's]   protective barrier between today and her past. A gatekeeper if you will. She thwarts our efforts to stay in touch with [First Love],  and may squelch or discourage   [First Love]   from contacting us. Years ago, I grew weary of trying to pass through this gate.

[First Love]   has little in common with the rest of us these days, and we cannot help her when she wants no help. She has entrenched herself in her quests for property acquisition, running her business, and “fitting in” to the mainstream. [Zacca] is her bunker and body guard, and wants nothing to do with us.

[First Love]   has become a person I no longer know. [First Love]   [is] a stranger who, in the light of objectivity, appears [to me to be] rather calculating and manipulative, and perhaps too self-serving. Since I tend to be more motivated by emotion than self-serving logic, I’ve accepted that   [First Love]   and I are hopelessly incompatible as lovers, as friends, or even as mere acquaintances. We just can’t relate anymore.

You see now, why I could not comply with your request to call her. [KC], I loved [her] for a very long time. In fact, I still might, even today. But pursuing romance, a casual friendship, or even just a talk once a year with her, causes much more pain than pleasure, and has almost always been very one-sided, with me on the short end. No more black holes. Also, it would not be fair to the ladies who grace my love life from time to time, to maintain communication with someone who had such a profound romantic effect on my life in the early years. I have sworn off of my self defeating behaviors surrounding   [First Love]. Thus, calling her, was impossible. I’m very sorry that I could not head your well-intended advice. But sometimes, people change so radically that even the commonality of shared past experiences cannot bridge the resulting gaps left by the changing.

You should know though, that [she] appears healthy, happy, and living her version of the American Dream, and doing quite well. None of us begrudges her that and I wish her well with all my heart. Apparently, she is done what she wants to do, and as an important force in   [First Love's]   adolescent life, you should be very proud of her and your contributions to her present-day success, that you made so long ago.

Tom Hesley

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Dear [Emeebee],

No problem. I have to be getting back to Philly early on the 27th anyhow. Flight leaves around 11:00 AM.

But I have evenings available. If you decide you’d like to get together sometime next week (or even this weekend – the 20th or 21st), let me know.

Hmmm. [Your current man] jealous? I wonder why? What on earth did you tell him? Not that I would have you keep anything from him understand. You may tell him anything about me you want – except where I live. *hunkering down* You do whatever you feel is best for all concerned. And I will support you. Regrettable, that [he] has nothing to be jealous of. *evil grin*

More later. Have to get back to conference. About 82 degrees here and sunny. The birds, crickets, ducks, and other animals are singing, chirping, calling, growling, and so on. Sounds like an Ohio summers’ day out there.

Take care now.

Tom Hesley

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Dear   [Kel],

Well, be sure and tell her that a long-term relationship is not in my sights. I just like being a good friend, and helping out emotionally when needed. . I would never ask her to see only me, or explain what she was doing while apart from me. Believe me, I’ve learned that such jealous questions and probes often produce very painful answers. So, I don’t ask them anymore. And in fact, I don’t want to know the answers at all. No, I wouldn’t fall in love with her. I’d just like to, . .., well, you know, . . . do her feet and legs, and make her feel very good and pampered.

You have indeed matured. You seem, these days, much more tolerant of other views. True, you might not change many minds very often, when expressing the Word or your own testimony. But expression often-time benefits the expresser at least as much as the target audience. I’ve found that the thought processes needed to express my views, frequently CHANGE the very views I’m expressing, either solidifying them, or making me consider alternatives.. So, as the song says, “Go tell it on the mountain.” Even if there is no one else around to hear you, you have still done some good (for yourself at least, and for God as well).

Later,
Tom Hesley