Tom's Love Quest

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Tom Hesley

Lately, a near-insatiable desire to understand my own   childhood foot fetish   has occupied my thoughts.  The fixation has profoundly shaped the paths my love quest has taken.  Indeed I’ve often chosen women to date (or not) due to my estimate of how much fun worshipping their feet would be, once they came into my bed.  If a lady’s feet were beautiful and enticing, of if I just imagined them to be that way, then I’d surely try and ask her out.  But if not, then usually, I would not.

In my childhood foot fetish, just about all adult women had lots of power over me (as in teachers, house mothers, babysitters, principals, guidance counselors, older student girls, and so on.  So finding stimulating feet to admire back then was a far cry easier than it is today, now that I’m a middle-aged man.  As a boy, nearly every adult woman had sexy feet in my view.  But as a man, I’m far less likely to encounter women that have the same sort of profound upper-hand over me, and so far fewer of them excite me to begin with. Thus in this way, satisfying my foot fetish as an adult has proven to be way more difficult than as a young child.

But even when I’ve found a queenly lady that I think would be fun to worship, the pleasure of the experience either never appears (not even at the first foot worshipping with a new woman), or it rarely survives three or four encounters with her.  In these situations, her feet either quickly become or always appear plain and sexually insignificant once I get her shoes off.  This is gravely disheartening because a main objective of my love quest in adulthood, has been to duplicate and (I dare say) improve upon the foot fetish encounters I enjoyed as a curious child.  Yet so far, I’ve not managed this.

As a child, I found many more women’s feet sexually intriguing than as an adult.  I never considered how she grew up, her morals, whether or not I could trust her, how educated she was, whether or not she used drugs, and so on.  However I’m much pickier these days about whom I allow to enter my life in this intimate way.  She must be reasonably smart, thin, reasonably healthy, and so on.  I just hope that I’ve not become so discriminating that I’ve made it impossible for myself to enjoy anyone at all.

As a youngster, I was ashamed of my childhood foot fetish.  Even at three or four years old, I knew that hovering close to women’s feet felt inappropriate though extremely errotic.  So I often felt embarrassed when they’d occasionally catch me gawking at their shoes and imagining the thrill I’d surely experience if I was to slowly remove those shoes.  Further, I was absolutely mortified when a couple teachers realized what I was after and scolded me.  I so looked forward to the highly charged sexual experiences that adulthood would surely bring. where such attractions would be appropriate to explore.  As a kid, dreaming about the future, I thought that being a man would make this behavior inherently more acceptable.  But as it turned out, it didn’t so much.  Indeed at tines, I still feel embarrassed and afraid that the lady will think of me as the reject who likes to kiss feet.  But I now fear this judgment less so I must admit, since I have endured getting thousands of rejections.

The trauma of getting rejected has no doubt attached some heavy baggage to my emotions, and perhaps this baggage is what makes feet so much less appealing than they were forty years ago.  Maybe I find them less lastingly stimulating today because I’m afraid to.  I’m afraid of rejection.  But I didn’t have this fear as a child because I had no history of being rejected, and little reason to show restraint.  Sometimes, the women back then even allowed me to see their feet because they thought my foot fetish was cute or amusing.

But adult men who behave this way are not generally as cute or amusing as the kids with an interest in feet, unless of course one can find adult women who enjoy their feet being pampered.  In fact, getting rejected generally stings much more and thus has more lasting effects than as a child.  Back then, I cared less about preserving my good name and reputation than today.  Generally speaking, the childhood me felt that I had much less to lose by expressing my foot fetish than I do as an adult.

In some ways, it was easier to gratify my childhood foot fetish than my adulthood foot fetish.  There was less to lose as a kid, more exciting women around, perhaps less fear to reach out and indulge, and less humiliation should I have pick the wrong woman to worship.  Yet as an adult, there’s more freedom to explore ladies who might very much enjoy having their feet worshipped, and more resources (money) available to get around to meeting them to do just that.  There are fewer curfews to follow, and as adults, we presumably are in better touch with what our inner children desire.  Plus, the experience and wisdom we acquire while moving through our adult lives are powerful tools in the love quest to move us closer to people who like what we want to give, and who can happily give what we ourselves like to receive.

In light of all this, I’m not sure what’s more fun to be; a child of adult fetishist. Both roles have their pros and cons as discussed above.  But I just wish I could find a way (or a right woman) to enjoy feet in the lasting sort of intense way today, as I did as a young boy.  Yes, that question still burns in my mind.  Thus, the love quest continues.

See my   Boyhood Foot Fetish  for more exploration of the childhood foot fetish as I’ve experienced it.

Tom Hesley

Related Posts

• Boyhood Foot Fetish
• Foot Fetish, Low Self-Esteem, Cause, Effect
• More Foot Traffic At My House
• Romanceless Camp
• Young Adult Foot Fetish Woes

References

• Foot Fetishism on Wikipedia

One complicating factor I’ve found while working my love quest is my interest in pretty women’s feet.  Yes, I have an adult foot fetish, and knowing that many women vilify  guys with foot fetishes as disdainful sub human in extreme cases, helped intensify my shyness over asking ladies out as a young man.  The foot fetish or more precisely, how I though people would react to it,  made me afraid to ask anything of anyone pretty enough to arouse me sexually as a boy.  Frankly though even as a boy, I never understood why so many are so grossed out at the thought of massaging someone’s feet.  I mean, once you assure that the feet are clean, what is the difference between kissing a foot, or a hand, or a breast, or a pair of lips, or any of the genitals?  In fact, there is no difference beyond the irrational prejudices that so many hold, yet cannot explain.  Unfortunately, that impenetrable rationale never helped me much to be less afraid of rejection.

So I’d further extend the argument:  Consider that just as a gay person does not choose his sexual orientation, I did not pick my objects of sexual desire either, which primarily are the pretty legs and feet of beautiful women.  We do not choose these preferences but instead,   discover   them.  Indeed I learned of mine, not through decision, but rather through experimentation.  I found out what they already were.  I did not decide what they were.  In fact, what constitutes a ‘beautiful woman’ seemed to be programmed into me long before I understood its adult sexual ramifications.  I was born with an appreciation of certain forms of beauty.  I’ve always been drawn to tall, thin ladies with smaller feet and hands, and at least while a kid, to women in authority, like school teachers, house mothers, and teachers’ aids.  But unfortunately, their authoritarian air also made me more afraid of rejection from them.

This foot fetish has accompanied me since the start of my love quest in the beginning 1970s, and way before that even.  Indeed, the earliest recallable memories of when I was two or three years old, reveal a strong desire to sit close to pretty girls’ sexy legs, feel their radiating warmth, and smell the accompanying feminine scents of soap, shampoo, perfume, and skin softener.  I always looked forward to Mom and Dad going out for the evening, so I’d get to listen to records with the two teen-aged babysitters who lived up the street when we lived in Altoona, and sit beside them on the floor while they sat on the couch.  They never knew (I don’t think) that I thought them sexy; especially at only three or four years of age.

But in many ways, I was more easily aroused sexually as a toddler, than I’ve ever managed to be as an accomplished adult.  I so wanted to remove their shoes and massage their arches and toes.  But even at that young age, I knew that I didn’t dare try or even ask to, because there would be hell to pay if I did.   These earliest chapters in my foot fetish story could be summed up by saying that I spent a great deal of my time longing for and admiring pretty women’s feet.  Yet I was highly afraid to display this interest.  The foot fetish made me quite shy.   It suurpirsed me while journaling about this that even  as early as three years old, I was already afraid of sexual rejection.

My reaction upon seeing pretty feet was (and is still today) automatic and near instantaneous.  I never chose to experience it or not, though at times, I’ve made willful yet unsuccessful efforts to repress it.  This response seems as immediate and thoughtless as when the doctor hits the patellar ligament with that little hammer during a physical exam, and then the knee jerks forward as a result in healthy people.  My   foot fetish   is just as reflexive and, I believe, just as healthy though I must say that I still find admitting to it to some women quite difficult, and nearly impossible to own up to when I was a boy.  I was more shy back then than today.  But shyness still hampers me somewhat in my love quest; particularly in the realms of full sexual expression.  Having a preference that people by in large consider odd or strange seemed to add much to the degrees of bashfulness and lacking sexual self confidence I experienced while growing up.

Yet in spite of all the shame and resulting shyness I’ve felt for having this foot fetish, along with the intense need to conceal it, I never wanted to eliminate it, and don’t believe that I could even if I wished to.  I never saw it as a defect in my psyche but rather,  as the means to achieve lasting sexual satisfaction, assuming I can find the right women to play with.

Indeed, the foot worship sessions I’ve experienced have been so pleasing as to make most any amount of indignity toward me and my “odd” desires worth enduring.  So, it would be next to impossible to renounce that pleasure and swear to never indulge it again.  It’d be like asking a gay man to change his sexual orientation.  Not possible today.  Besides, as mentioned above, the nearly instant arrousal I experience when I glance a pretty pair of feet is so involuntary that I believe that no amount of therapy, hypnosis, or de-conditioning would rid me of it, and I’d not want to spend the money on such therapy even if I could afford it.

Thus I’ve accepted the foot fetish as a facet of me that is equally valid as my arms or my heart.  It’s a defining part of me, and I’ve never been one to want to muck with what nature has given to me.  Even as a boy, I fully accepted it.  Indeed, the better strategy has proven for me to be to find women who like their feet worshipped, rather than to drive the attraction to pretty feet out of my mind.  Should they say that I don’t measure up to their expectations because of my foot fetish, then that’s a strong clue that they don’t measure up to mine and that I should just move on.

Tom Hesley

Related Posts

• 2009-05-02 Foot Party Wrapup
• Boyhood Foot Fetish
• Foot Fetish, Low Self-Esteem, Cause, Effect
• Foot Party This Weekend
• Foot Party Wrapup
• Foot Worshiping Party
• More Foot Traffic At My House

References

• Foot Fetishism on Wikipedia

I heard from [Kar] yesterday.  She left me voicemail, curious about how Mom is doing since the heart failure diagnosis last week.  That was sweet of her to remember my family in these trying times.

Now I do not normally let a call go unanswered.  In fact, on the seldom occasions that I do, I agonize over the choice for days or even weeks.  But then very often, I end up calling the person back anyway.

The history that [Kar] and I share is painful; the central theme being her failure to grant me the affection I wanted as often as I wished.  That’s the bitter part of her recent attention. It’s great when I have it but intensely painful when I do not, and with [Kar], I usually do not.

Her concern over Mom is nice; making it so easy to forget all the other times that she was simply not there for me.  But when she does show some regard, it’s tempting to assume that she’s changed for the better and that if I do call her back, she’ll be more reliably affectionate.  But I’ve been down that road before, and things usually do not work out that well.  Actually, [Kar] is typically pleasant long enough to suck me back in.  Then, she withdraws once more; leaving me hurt and disappointed again.

While I do not believe that she intends to slight me like this on purpose, I’ve come to know that her fondness of me is sporadic; whether her fault or not.  On rare occasions, she welcomes physical involvement.  But most of the time she shuns it as she did in May of 2009, when I last visited her in Philadelphia. Sometimes, I grow tired of getting rejected by [Kar] so often, and if not for how much laying with her excites me, I’d have ditched her long ago.

I see disregarding her call as an opportunity to avoid further needless rejections because if she did it before, she’ll likely do it again.  I got rejected by her a lot and have found that clearly, one way to cope with rejection from   [Kar]   and in the love quest as a whole, is to reduce my exposure to pointless refusals as discussed earlier  here.  Plus, knowing [Kar] as well as I do, I sense that she’ll make me wait; hinting all the while that she’d enjoy a foot massage when finally we get together.   But then, when that visit finally occurs, she’ll delay and deny me.

Now I like to assume that she does intentionally play hard to get.  But when she does, it sure feels like she’s playing with me; the way a cat toys with a mouse.  It allows the mouse to think that it’s getting away for a little while before pouncing on it and restraining it once again.  [Kar] does me like this by letting me think that she’ll grant me special favors when I visit; but then changes her mind.

I remember often the good times [Kar] and I have had since meeting in 1998.  Even today, images of us together physically, tantalize yet haunt me as well; though we’ve not been with each other like that since 2002.  She was delicious then, and fantasies of what might be often soften my resolve to avoid her. Indeed, they lower my self-esteem in that her appeal makes me willing to put up with treatment from her that is more often bitter than sweet.

But as alluring as she is (in fact because of that), I must decline further involvements with her, to avoid the love rejection she’ll surely dole out if I grow to depend on her emotionally.  Our history makes it impossible to trust her to care for me, should I allow myself to need her again.  While there’s probably no place I’d choose to be over sharing sweet times with [Kar], there’s also no place that would cause me more subsequent pain once I fall out of favor with her.   She’s flighty (like the Greek goddess Aphrodite),  and so, can be quite cruel when she grows tired of a fellow.  So, no, I’ll avoid returning her calls this time.  God, give me the strength to stay this course, please.  I don’t care to face getting rejected yet again.  Thanks.

Tom Hesley

Related Posts

• Avoiding Needless Rejection: 2010-05-19
• Heard from Vee, Again!
• Judy’s Silent Rejection
• More Foot Traffic at My House
• Necessary Verses Needless Rejections
• Tom’s Diary –> Today’s Business: 2009-05-01
• Tom’s Diary –> Today’s Business: 2010-07-10

It occurs after years of dating, that perfect tens only stay that way for an instant. Then they become as human and flawed as the rest of us. Makes one wonder at the long-term advantage of a ten; particularly once the novelty fades. After it does, the tens feel just like fives and sevens; and twos sometimes.

Related Posts

• Cruel Better Judgement
• Gold Digging Vs. Thin Digging
• Lust Fades Too Fast!
• Mating Double Standards
• Misleading Makeup
• My First Pillow Kiss
• Outer Vs. Inner Beauty

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

From audio journal episode:  AJE-2010-05-31-21-52. 

I thought when I got back in touch with [Judy] a few weeks ago (details  here), that things would be different this time.  But so far, we’ve only talked once on the phone in nearly a month, and my messages have either gone tersely answered, or totally unanswered.  So, I’m concerned.  It seems like I got rejected by her yet again.

Further, the single time that we did talk, she revealed some disheartening information; stuff that suggests that her feelings for me are today, no deeper or abiding than they were in 1997; the year we met.  I fear therefore, that allowing myself to “fall” for her again will only result in the same emotional torments that I remember so well from those early days.  This feels like I’m getting rejected all over again, just like before, and I’ve just barely put my toe in her waters. 

Indeed, I wonder just how caring [Judy] would be now based on the choices she made at first, and in the years since.  Plus, I might either lose romantic interest altogether, or go too far the other way, and fall head over heels should we become romantically and physically involved.  Either she won’t care enough, or I’ll shortly stop caring as much as I do.  Both scenarios daunt me. 

But a third situation scares me most of all; that I’ll keep caring too much, and she’ll continue caring too little, just like last time.  She’s always been less vulnerable to me than I’ve been to her, and I so hate being “the underdog.”  It’s happened too many times with [First Love], [Vee], [Emeebee], and others.  I’ve waited for them to call or write way more than they have on me.  At this point, [Judy] appears no different.  So I’d need some intense assurance that this imbalance does not exist, before fully sinking my heart into a new romance with [Judy].  It’s no fun getting rejected by the same person yet again. 

In 1997 and 1998, [Judy] was usually unavailable to talk on the phone; even though I was paying for all the calls.  Eventually, we agreed to establish a Saturday morning call schedule, and we’d talk for an hour each week.  Not bad.  But after a few weeks, this fell apart as well, as [Judy] took to traveling, schooling, vacationing, and other pursuits.  Something always seemed to get in the way of our growing closer. 

Unfortunately, it seems that after a month, we have the same patterns emerging all over again.  Not even thirteen years has changed this apparently.  So time does not heal all wounds.  I’ve sent three emails and one voice mail; two of those messages have gone unanswered, and the other two were tersely answered at best.  True, our one phone conversation a couple weeks ago was highly enjoyable.  We got caught up and shared our current life aspirations.  But I want conversations like this a couple times a week anyhow, and I wish to be able to count on them occurring.  But with [Judy], though they’re nice when they do happen, this sharing is hard to come by on a consistent basis.  Though she says all the right things, she typically does not act them out, and she’s slow to reply besides. 

As I’ve written previously, a mission of mine is to avoid those who repeatedly care insufficiently; especially those as intensely sexy as [Judy].  She was beautiful 1997, and based on things she’s told me recently, I suspect her to be just as pretty now. 

Further, as it did then, her extra allure makes her inattentiveness hurt more than the same behavior from someone less well-endowed would.  So, I do hold prettier girls to higher standards of affection and special treatment, to best protect myself from needless pain because greater appeal implies a greater chance of deeper hurt.  So deciding to pursue a “perfect ten” accordingly, warrants greater caution. 

Thus with [Judy] so extraordinarily stunning therefore, coupled with her apparent casual regard for my feelings, I think I’d best halt pursuing her for now.  I wish never to again experience the pains of 1997. On many August and September afternoons at that time, I could feel depressing waves of dismay roll over me and hold me down many times, as I lay on my couch at the Ben Franklin Parkway place, unable to concentrate on work.  [Judy’s] choice to be absent so often hurt me so much that for some weeks, I cared  nothing about advancing my software engineering career.  I can’t afford such distractions today. 

She and I have a rich history of disagreeing on how quickly and in what fashion our relationship ought to develop.  So I’m concerned that we’d continue the arguing, if what we have now is allowed to blossom into more than mere friendship.  I so wish to not repeat history.  But history does tend to repeat itself, as humans tend to be creatures of habit, and [Judy] appears to be no exception. She acts today as she did back then, and I feel today as I felt back then.  Indications are that her tendencies where I’m concerned have not changed through the years, and so repeating our history is a virtual certainty if I was to show my belly again.  I’m sure of this for reasons I’ll bring up below.

She always says things that make me think that perhaps we really have something wonderful this time.  But she rarely backs up those pleasant words with supportive actions. Her failure to return my messages in more timely manners is proof of this, and is likely a red flag that I should heed and stay away.  Why?  Because if she doesn’t care enough after all this time to behave in more consistently affectionate ways, then she’s never going to.  I’ve conveyed my interest and done what I can to assure her that I’m for real.  She’s even lamented about wanting someone to hang out with in New York City, and that she hasn’t sampled more of that great place because she has no one to see it with. I’ve told her that I’d love to be her guide and have her be mine.  But her silence persists.  Yes, we may have something very special.  But it seems to be lopsided; tilted against me.   

In fact, her choices in the 1990s support this conclusion.  They suggested with piercing ferocity that she cared way less back them for me than I did for her.  Indeed, my pain then was likely a strong signal from my intuition to get clear immediately because something was terribly wrong with the situation.  But I listened not; ignoring my better judgment in the hopes that I’d guessed her incorrectly, and that she would someday, come around.   The “electricity” I felt anytime she’d touch me proved impossible to ignore.  So any doubts I had about her intensions I pushed aside; that is, until the emptiness became too much to shoulder.  Eventually, I finally ended all communications in the winter of 1998; but not before I’d already invested a lot emotionally, and hurt a big amount when no return on that investment came back. 

Up until our severance, I told myself everyday that I was just being childishly insecure, and that I was worrying too much that she did not love me. I made excuses for her; saying that she was young and thus, inexperienced.  So, I should allow for a little inconsistency and lacking resoluteness in her.  Young people, I reasoned, need lots of time to sort out their priorities, and it wasn’t fair that I expect her to know her life at 23 as well as I knew mine at 37 years of age.   

She said back then that she loved me.  Yet she cancelled a three-day visit she’d earlier agreed to make to Philly over Labor Day weekend; opting instead to travel out west and spend that time with friends instead of me.  Now in her defense, as a consolation she offered to meet me for dinner at the train station during a layover on her way out there.  But we’d only have had a couple hours together instead of the few days that we’d originally discussed.  Well, I was so angry and hurt that she’d decided not to stay longer, that I told her thanks but no thanks. 

As mentioned above, these sorts of disappointments plagued our entire first-round involvement.  In the following months, reaching her by telephone once she’d gone back home to eastern Europe grew increasingly difficult. She was just not around enough; good excuses notwithstanding.  Getting rejection after rejection from beautiful ladies like [Judy] just seemed to be my lot in life, 

She’s led quite a colorful life though ever since I’ve known her; finding both time and capital to travel extensively.  Indeed, she told me last month that she had come back to America several times following the summer of 1997; the year we met for the first time.   In 1998, she returned to work as a cocktail waitress in Atlantic City; a mere two hours from Philadelphia.  I would have taken the bus there to visit her often; if only I’d known she was there.  In 1999, she came back to see other parts of the US; all of which were a mere phone call away.  In the early 2000s, she reappeared to secure a language teaching job in CA, and lived out there for at least a year.  But though I was happy for her and all of the enriching experiences she was no doubt acquiring through all her visits, I couldn’t help but wonder: Why in all that time she was so close by, did she never, EVER call me?   There’s no reason I can fathom except that she just did not desire it. 

She also revealed that she met an American man in CA, fell in love, got married, and took him home to the Czech Republic, where for several years anyhow they lived happily.  They’ve separated now however, because one day, he just up and admitted that he simply did not love her anymore.  Apparently, once he got over there, he found the Czech women way too appealing to stay married to [Judy], and he has since moved another woman into the very apartment that he and [Judy] once shared.  Nice guy, ‘eh?    Anyway, she’s come back to the US yet again, without him, to escape the pain of seeing him so often with other girls. 

But while her plight saddens me, I’m offended too because she was here all that time.  She said that she loved me, and that she appreciated the depth of my feelings toward her.  Yet she chose him, (HIM!) while I was so easily reachable.  She could have picked me, and I would have moved mountains to get to her.  But she didn’t, and now that he’s left her and she is once again without a man, does she view me as a mere consolation?  That’s probably so, given her inattentiveness.  So could I ever trust that she’s come to think of me as “top dog” when she’s for so long treated me as second best?  Probably not.  Besides, she’s making plans to move back to her country if things in NYC don’t brighten for her over the next year.  Scary.  I mean, what if I fell deeply in love with her again only to have her say one day that she’s leaving?  Not good.  I might take this risk if this was the only worry.  But with all these other misgivings, this is just one more of an already robust collection of straws that finally broke the proverbial camel’s back, I’m afraid.  I’m uninterested in trying to overcome any woman’s indifference, even a lady as exciting as [Judy]; especially a lady as exciting as [Judy].  She may pity me, yes.  But she’ll never love me. 

Perhaps intellectually, she realizes now that my feelings might have lasted longer than his.  She may reason that I’m a great guy, based on the consistency and enthusiasm I’ve offered her.  But nonetheless, she’ll never love me.  It seems that she’ll always return my rejected love to me, unopened, unappreciated, and painfully unrequited.  She can tell herself all the good things about me she wants.  But this will never make her heart skip two beats when I walk into a room where she is.  She may have intended, by choice, to work to build a new association between us.  But her heart’s just not into it.  She likes me, and may want to help me.  But she’s not enthralled with me. 

In light of all this, I doubt that I could ever believe that she would come to see me as her night in shining armor or her prairie song.  Throughout our history, she just hasn’t been around enough, and this has not changed in the entire thirteen years we’ve known each other.  She doesn’t care for me in that way; though she tries to disguise this fact with kind words and pleasing conversation when pressed.  But again, her actions speak a different story; way more loudly than anything she might say.  While she has COMpassion; she has no passion for me.  I see that clearly; though she may refuse to. 

Though I don’t blame her for what she feels (or does not), at times I can’t help but cringing and feeling a little angry at her for all that time I spent in Philly, where we could have been together, but were not.  Those were lonely years for me, and her nurturing presence could have made all the difference between the joyous existence that I’d so hoped to find when I moved there, and the life of melancholy that I actually experienced.  I could have fed her French fries, covered her ears when loud trucks passed by, and shared my umbrella during those blustery late fall evenings, when ocean winds whipped around those tall downtown buildings.  We could have skated at The Palace, strolled along South Street, sampled the finest of Philly cuisine, ridden the subways, and taken in all those great cultural and historic attractions that southeastern Pennsylvania offers.  But instead, I did most of that alone, with a hole in my heart all the while.  I needed her.  But she chose not to be there, and try as I might, I don’t think I’ll be able to fully forgive her for that chronic absence; though that was thirteen years ago.  Seeing me has never been a high priority for her.  In fact, she could have located me, had she really wanted to; my name has been all over the Internet now for at least ten years, and my phone numbers were always listed in the telephone directory.  So a couple simple Google searches would have revealed me to her.  Nonetheless, it seems that she never tried. 

So it must be clear to readers now that learning that, at least during one of those summers she was so close by but did not bother to call, really upset me.  While I’d never wish her to do anything that she did not wish herself, I was still surprised to learn that I carry some of that old anger for her today.  So why is that anger still within me?  Because, with her words, she mislead me into thinking that she cared more than she did, and perhaps it’s that deception that is making my blood boil now because she was at it again last month.  Our history has fanned my sense of foreboding, and I hate relationships that have anger built into them from the get-go.  I just wish she would have owned up to her lacking feelings for me during those early months, and I resent her because she didn’t.  If our history is any indication (and I think it the best one), she’ll always and frequently discover other places and priorities, that please her more than I.  I’m just a better-than-nothing to her, and I’ll never strap myself to that lovers cross again. 

Thus, now that I’ve had a few weeks to fully absorb all that she told me last month, I’ve become quite comfortable in my decision not to pursue her further and to reject any pursuits she herself might initiate; for history shows that she actually cares less than she says, and she’s still never around enough besides.  I see a pattern now as warning that back then I’d become so caught up in, and hated.  So I’m hell bent on steering clear of it in this second round.  I love her so.  But because of that, I must avoid her like the plague, since she does not love me with equal vulnerability.

I may discuss this with her at some point.  But after one voice mail unanswered and one email message tersely answered, not to mention that weeks have elapsed since she last called, I think I’ll just let her discover this on her own.  So effectively, I’ll reject her for all my rejected love that she’s declined, in the same silent way that she’s rejected me repeatedly; not because I wish to “get her back” mind you.  It’s just easier to say nothing; particularly since getting hold of her has proven time and time again to be so difficult.  Besides, talking about this further will not change my mind, and I’ll never be able to convince her to love me in the ways that I need to be loved.  While I enjoy fantasizing about the two of us together, my wakeful side realizes that in light of the evidence, both then and now, this will never be; not really.  I can’t keep getting rejected from people who are sure to reject me. 

I’m trying not to take her disinterest too personally.  But I expected to hear much more from her by now.  So, it’s time to move on, and thus, I’ll trouble her no more.  Should she call again, I may say all this.  Or I may direct her to this blog.  Or, perhaps I won’t answer the phone at all.  We’ll see.  I owe her nothing at this point; and am hard pressed to volunteer any compassion right now.  I got rejected, and I’m raw from the experience.  So she’d have to do some fancy rjetorical stepping to convince me to allow her to do this to me again.  But that’s not happening! 

Take care.

Tom Hesley

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Dear [Mentat],

I enjoyed our debate last weekend about how close to true love, love at first sight (LAFS) actually comes. You say that LAFS is not love at all, but rather just infatuation or lust. So you seem to believe that LAFS is not a useful indicator of how much in love we might fall, and so should be ignored while selecting a lover. If I understood you correctly, we should not use it therefore, to determine who we’re the most likely to fall in love with. I say however, that LAFS   is   love, or more precisely, it can be, because it often and quickly leads to the kind of life-long love the folks the world over revere. Allow me to further clarify my position.

I suppose that how meaningful   love at first sight   is, depends on the particular qualities you’re looking for. If you seek primarily a person’s “surface” or immediately-visible traits that attract you, then you needn’t delve too deeply to find those, as by definition, they are apparent at first sight. Example: How about the man who is moved romantically by a long pair of slender female legs? He need know little about her deepest, inner workings to know that she attracts him in the ways that he prefers. On the other hand, if you’re searching for less visible traits, such as a person’s pet peeves, their political views, or how they’ll treat you when you’re sick, then LAFS probably won’t occur for you, since you’ll have to spend some months digging for those “deeper” facts before your heart will allow you to “fall.”  Since the qualities sought here are not apparent at first sight, then LAFS will not happen.

Of course, most people don’t seek just one quality; they like several to many. Our leg man may also like women who speak with southern accents (an indicator of the preferred background he’s seeking). And / or, he may be drawn to a flautist or anyone who is deeply involved with music. If we observe a lady playing the piccolo, and a piccolo player is the sort of person that really turns us on, then we needn’t know any more about her than that she plays piccolo in order to feel the romantic draw of LAFS. Then, if the piccolo player thanks us for our applause with a southern accent, and has great legs to boot, we get even more excited.  My point: There are many readily discernible qualities therefore that can trigger the LAFS sensations; qualities that tell us much about the deep recesses of the person even though they are immediately visible.

To me, a person’s “surface” traits as you call them, are probably no less indicative of their attractiveness than their more obscure “inner” traits like personality, values, how they act once they really know someone well, and so on. If they look pretty outside, then they probably have the sort of mental constitution on the inside I’m looking for.  Conversely, if they have the lifestyles, intellect, and values that I prefer on the inside, then I’ll usually find them attractive on the outside too. The outside tells us much about the inside if you know how to read it.  Therefore, you really can judge a book by its cover. 

Now I must say that I’m reluctant to split humans into an outer or surface half, and an inner, personality-based half because the physical body resembles the personality and the personality resembles the physical body.  The two are so heavily connected and dependent on one another that they cannot be meaningfully discussed separately, since so much of what’s in the one is derived from what’s in the other. I make the distinction here though, because in your arguments on Saturday, you did it when you referred to the “surface” qualities Vs. the deeper, “inner” qualities of a lady.  I do it here just to show that it can’t really be done.  See my article, Outer Vs. Inner Beauty  for further arguments in this vein. 

I agree that LAFS is based primarily on more surface qualities than the more slowly developed love that you’ve experienced with your current girlfriend. But does this invalidate LAFS? I think not. Why? People resist the usefulness of LAFS, believing that how a person looks on the outside says   nothing   about who they are on the inside. This is wrong in my view. How they look and who they are, are essentially just different manifestations of a person’s whole essence. Their looks are very indicative of their total nature as human beings, just as are their personalities.  Click here for arguments that without personality (the insides) to animate a body (the outsides), the body cannot be attractive.   

But, people can make themselves look more attractive than they actually are.  It’s true that the outsides can be made to misrepresent the insides through the use of makeup, elevated shoes, toilet paper in the bra, cosmetic surgery, and so on. So you might argue that the outsides so manipulated, would not necessarily show the true, inner person, and you’d probably be right. But in this case, it’s the manipulation  of the readily visible traits that renders them less useful; it’s nothing inherent in the traits themselves.  However, they do show that the person is not comfortable in their own skin, which could indicate a host of hidden psychological problems and low self esteem issues.

I’ll admit that LAFS tells us little about the beloved’s capacity to love us back. The fact that we love them at first sight does not mean they will love us in return. To figure that out, we must take the necessary time to learn how they’ll treat us once romance begins to flourish. LAFS is therefore no crystal ball.  Indeed, it often misleads us to people not well-suited for us.  Just as sugar in and of itself makes not the perfect cake, so it is that LAFS does not by itself, create the forever-perfect relationship. In my view, love at first sight (LAFS) is a necessary  ingredient for a passionate, deep, and lasting relationship, just as sugar is for a cake that tastes good.  But it’s not a sufficient  ingredient. 

Without sugar, the cake is not sweet at all and so there would be little reason to eat it.  Yet LAFS does sweeten the cake; it predisposes us to view our beloved’s behaviors more favorably, and to love them with greater devotion; especially if they love us too. It boosts our tolerance of their idiosyncrasies, and thus, makes it easier to put up with them over the long haul. It causes us to reshape our goals and values to better accommodate our lover’s. In this way, LAFS can inspire a deeper love eventually that makes it easier to stay with the beloved through the rough times. Thus, I’d say that LAFS a necessary precursor to the most successful marriages.  So while LAFS is no guarantee of lasting love, it often results in such. See here for examples of how the quickest born romances in my life indeed lasted the longest. Thus, if you want the deepest and most lasting love, then LAFS would be a sure way to raise the odds of getting just that. LAFS can indeed be a significant indicator of lasting love to come.

Take care.

Tom Hesley

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Friends,

People say that you can’t predict when that in-love feeling will strike. They argue that we shouldn’t be picky about who we date because, as they say, you never know when the love bug will bite. If you judge someone as an unfit lover before getting to know them deeply, then you’ll probably walk right past one who could make you happier than you ever imagined. I got this sort of push back when posting the “formula” for my ideal woman to a couple mail lists a while back. They balked at the notion of “planning” for love, calling it a futile exercise.  As they put it, loves trikes when you least expect it.  So you shouldn’t even try predicting it. How it works they claim, is unknowable and that when it finally comes, it’s a blessing from above. In short, they say that we should not look a gift horse in the mouth and that those who try are wasting their time. God will bring love to our lives in his own time, and we as lowly humans can’t possibly know his schedule.

I agree that the very young and / or inexperienced may be unable to predict accurately who he’ll fall for. But I’ve found that the more I’ve fallen (or not), the more detailed and refined the ideal lady becomes in my mind, and the better I understand her, and the more quickly I recognize her when I see her. True, it’s never 100% accurate. But once you know what to look for, where to look, and what to avoid, it gets easy to target dates that, if they’re reasonably nice and receptive, you’ll fall for almost every time.  Love is highly predictable if you know what you’re doing.

In my case, certain types of people and environments are more likely to promote this falling in love than others. The recent parties I’ve attended exemplify this. I’ve met women in many diverse places, from subways to caves, from airplanes to helicopters. and most recently, at these parties. So far, I’ve attended two of these, and in both cases, found an abundance of women who falling for was simple. The party organizer and I apparently have the same tastes in women because he picks the ones I generally like the best. As I see it, if you’re hunting for elephants, you go where the elephants are. So by choosing your hunting grounds intelligently, you’ll raise your odds of bagging what you want by many fold. By working the right venues, you can better predict the likelihood that you’ll find love.  This is highly predictable.

Also, you can increase this “psychic ability” at predicting good love for you, by looking within yourself. Ask yourself who  really  turns you on. Look in your dreams for this answer, as well as your childhood. Experts suggest that what attracts us to specific sorts of lovers is for the most part, already established long before adulthood; in pre adolescence in fact. People resembling those that you most fantasized about as a kid, are probably the ones you’ll most quickly, most deeply, and most lastingly fall in love with as an adult. Thus, to make lasting love last longer, we need to spend less time trying to change what we like, and more time simply understanding what we like to begin with, and then pursuing those natural desires.  Pursuing genuine desires brings us much closer to fulfilling them.  This is highly predictable as well.

In my view, we should act on our truest desires; not so much those that we run through filters of choice. Often, we rule out someone that we’d otherwise find irresistible, due to academic or intellectual concerns. Maybe she comes from “the wrong side of the tracks” or he doesn’t make as much money as we’d like. In extreme cases, people actually defy their deepest desires in lovers, because they deem such longings irrational or petty. Because they can’t discover rational reasons for the wanting, they set out to ignore it. This is sad, because this way of proceeding promotes inequality, and, it can cause us to pass over someone who would have been a wonderful lover to boot. If one renounces his deepest yearnings, then he’ll have no chance of ever becoming maximally fulfilled in love. Indeed, the best kind of love is not a love that we intellectually decide to have. It’s one that we already desire, and then use our intellect to augment rather than quell. So listen to your heart and follow your dreams, and this will put you in the running for finding that love of your life.  This is highly predictable too.

Some call me a racist, as I generally date only white women. But it’s not that. In my childhood, I knew no black, Indian, Hispanic, Asian, or other ethnicities, as I’m from a small, all-white town in rural PA. There, in the late 60s, the only lover role models to build fantasies around were white women. So in my impressionable years, I based my dream girl ideal on them. They were the ones with whom my childhood eroticism became inextricably associated. In my earliest, most pliable years therefore, I came to know white girls as the ones who could make me feel the most romantically stimulated. Thus, my dream girl is white, and by choosing white dates therefore, I’ve significantly raised my chances of falling in love. Now I do like black women in platonic ways, and indeed have several as close friends. And, in some rare cases, they can excite me romantically for short periods of time. But by in large, it’s the white girls that steal my heart with that automatic and thought-free love lust that they inspire. In short, my advice to you if you’re looking for lasting passion in your relationships. is to find the people you  truly  desire. Then falling for them becomes a virtual certainty. Indeed, it’s highly predictable.

Also, consider that your dreams tell you lots about who you want most as well. If you’re dreaming of them in fond ways, then you’ll probably feel the same when you meet them for real. Your dreams therefore, give you a glimpse of what she’s like before you ever meet her. So, find the women of your dreams, in reality, and you’ll most likely fall in love with her at first sight. Again, this is highly predictable.

People tell me that I’m too picky. I’m puzzled over how they would know this; especially if they don’t know my life and the set of desires I’m working with. They call me shallow too. This I can dismiss though because typically, the people saying this aren’t ones that I’d date anyway. They often denounce my desires, calling them trivial, and claiming that I want things that have nothing to do with the woman’s true essence. You’ll often encounter resistance from people who fall outside your ideal as I have; especially  if you fall within theirs. They’ll resent you for rejecting them because they desire you, and can’t have you. Don’t worry though, and more importantly, don’t listen. They can’t know you better than you know yourself, and so the odds are very good that they have you wrong anyway. Thus, if you let them define who you desire, you’ll probably end up in romance-less, will-based relationships where the best you can do is just go through the motions. Taking too seriously what others think are noble desires for you, will almost surely lead you to feeble eroticism and repeated dead-ends in love. This is highly predictable as well.  So avoid it.

I’ll close for now by saying that if true gratification is really about satisfying your needs and desires, and if you know these very well, then knowing the kinds of dates you’re most likely to love becomes a veritable snap. You’d best listen to your desires if you hope to ever gratify them fully. Those who heed their hearts have the greatest chances of actually getting what they want, and therefore being the most happy.  One last time: This is highly predictable.

Take care.

Tom Hesley

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• Water Park Musings: 2010-06-02

Friends,

Most of the night (from 9:15 to 12:15) I spent with   [Linda]   at   this month’s foot party.   My impressions follow.

She was still as remarkably beautiful as at the May party, and getting absorded in my foot fetish with someone as sexy as [Linda] was still kind of fun. However, my romantic interest in her was noticeably less this past weekend, especially once we got to talking.   [Linda]   has a lot of baggage and drama, by her own admission. For one, she’s still married, and her husband doesn’t like her dating other men. I didn’t know this before because she wore no ring, and she said at the last party that she was married for ten years. I assumed thus, that she was no longer married. Bad assumption. In fact, they’re in the midst of an “ugly” divorce as she describes it, and there’s no telling when that’s all going to be over. I don’t know this guy or what he’s capable of, and so wouldn’t want to antagonize him by pursuing   [Linda]   while his emotions are in a tizzy. He’s angry at her, and she resents him. Plus, with those two having been together for so long, not to mention the three children they have, there are strong emotional ties that will certainly not go away the instant they sign the divorce papers.

She says she wants to continue getting to know me in email, as a pen pal, and I’ll certainly write her if she writes me back. But she’s slow to respond, and while my “way with words” as she calls it, seems to impress her intellectually, it has not moved her toward any sort of emotional connection with me. I did read her the explanation   here   of how I fell for her so quickly, and she seemed to enjoy and understand it. But her subsequent body language and tone of voice showed that that letter did not make her want me any more. She then expressed concerns about how far apart we live. I assured her, although not too effectively, that if we did connect that I make sure to bridge the distance problem. This didn’t matter though. She was not assured.  I don’t think she even wanted to be assured actually.

She smokes and frequents tanning salons. Indeed, she was noticeably darker at this party than at the May bash. I like the fair look myself, and from what I’ve read and observed, smoking and tanning done together can age a lady twenty years in less than five, not to mention increasing her risk of skin and lung cancer, as well as a host of other maladies. So while she’s remarkably stunning right now, I fear that if she continues this life style, she won’t stay beautiful for long, and that I’d therefore once again face a declining sexual desire for her, as has happened in other relationships. Though we didn’t discuss these practices much, she seems either ignorant of or just not concerned about the harm they’re doing to her body. So the value of maintaining the best health may not be one that she and I share.  If we ever did date, I’d want her to stop tanning and smoking.

She’s under monumental stress too. She talked of an extremely busy life, and appears not to sleep much. Indeed, she struggled to stay awake on our “date” this time. With her children, her husband, her mother, and a 21 year-old guy she’s dating (although not seriously, she says), there are lots of people higher on her priority list than me. Her virtual silence last month illustrates this well.

I avoid standing in line like this for longer than a short span of weeks, because it’s no fun hoping for moments she might spare, while coping with the lonely hours of longing when she spares none. I’ve done my share of waiting for women to warm up, and these bitter experiences show that   one does not get another’s true love by waiting around and hoping for it.   In cases like this, patience is more a painful waste of time than a virtue.  I promised myself twenty nine years ago when things ended with   [First Love],   after waiting seven years for her to come around, that I’d never play this sort of fool again; and I won’t, not even for someone as remarkably beautiful as   [Linda]. When the waiting starts hurting, then it’s time to stop it.

I could have overlooked all of this if she would have shown some real interest, by offering to get together outside of the party. But she seemed not to want this. In fact, I felt that she was pushing me away rather than inviting me in; not with what she said so much, but more what she did not say. She avoided making concrete plans to talk in email or on the phone, and she deflected my invitation to visit my pavilion; she said nothing, as though she didn’t even hear me. So while she says that she wants to know me better, she apparently lacks the inclination to do her part to make that happen. She has not met me half way.

Anyway, once all this came to light, my romantic feelings disappeared completely, and in our third hour together, I found myself feeling a bit bored even. It was all too clear at this point that   [Linda]   and I would not be enjoying the sort of association I desire, and so it was time to move on and meet others. The wave was gone. So I proposed ending our evening together early, and she agreed, none too sadly I noted.

So here I am back at square one, with a bit of emotional mopping up to do. I really did fall for her, you know? But since I’ve not known   [Linda]   for very long or very deeply, getting over her should be a short process, and I’ll be ready to try again with another in a few weeks or less. I am hurt that   [Linda]   wasn’t more forthcoming about her lack of interest in dating. Ironically at the May party, she assured me that she would go out on a second date. So I feel mislead, because away from the parties she has not acted like she wants a second one. While her lack of desire does not anger me, I am miffed that she didn’t let me know at the last party that she could not return my feelings; something that should have been possible given the the interest I expressed in her. I made my heart clear at that time, as well as in my blog posts during May; many of which she read on May 19th. She knew I wanted her therefore, even throughout May.

Yet the only indication of her disinterest, at least until this past Saturday’s party, was how little she emailed me. This in and of itself, doesn’t show her intentions clearly, because there could be many reasons why she didn’t write more; her being very busy with the kids, several computer problems, too much time preparing for divorce court, Etc. Plus, I dismissed her silence because I wanted to give her “space”. It was too early to already take issue with her quietness. So I stayed quiet in May myself, and kept hoping. But after this last party and the fact that she’s not written for nearly two days since, my hope is all but gone, and I must face the worst case scenario after all, which is that she’s just not interested; plain and simple. Once the sadness of losing the belief that she was interested fades, I’ll be ready to meet a new lady. 

It seems that this short-lived romance born from a foot fetish has taken the same path as some others of mine have; they’re real intense at the start but quickly fade into nothingness once the lady’s reality disproves my fantasy. But it’s right nonetheless, to drean and to follow the heart to my dream girl.   Though my desires often lead to poor matches, they still form the most likely path to complete fulfillment.  True, this was another case where love at first sight (LAFS) lead to someone wrong, though at the beginning, she felt so right. But I’ll still follow the LAFS banner with the faith that one day, I’ll meet someone whose reality  strengthens  rather than weakens my fantasy of her. I’ll keep looking until I find her, and I’ll either find her or die trying.  I must be careful though not to get bogged down, attempting to impress someone who has no interest in me to begin with. If they don’t show a bit of LAFS immediately, I should steer clear; especially if I’m in the weaker position of feeling LAFS for them.

Take care.

Tom Hesley

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