When I wrote this post (and probably continuing to when it got published) it was a bit of a slow period. Not because of any external factors, but at least in part because I was spending so much time writing a blog about porn, which is a fairly introspective, navel-gazing kind of endeavor. It wasn’t a bad thing, I just hadn’t been looking for tail for a while.
When my sex life is busy I tend to meet a lot of women. I don’t fuck the majority of them – not even in a cyber way – usually the “relationship” only progresses far enough for one or both of us to lose interest. Let’s be honest: it was a fun line but I was just kidding about that “getting my dick wet wherever I can” crack; I don’t just put it anywhere. I go through a lot of disposable relationships with a lot of forgettable women.
So when I meet a woman I can actually talk to, whose company I enjoy, I tend to stick around, whether we’re fucking or not. A lot of the times I enjoy these women’s company online rather than in person; I’ve only got so many hours in the day, so I can’t spend all of them having coffee dates or going out to dinner or renting hotel rooms. But I can chat with a half dozen people at a time, or, if the conversations are more involved, two or three.
As time goes on, though, even these longer-term relationships tend to fade away. I know a woman who used to consistently make me laugh, she was very clever and dirty, but after a while the emails got fewer and farther in between, until finally she was only contacting me when she needed something. A pattern started to emerge whereby something significant would happen in my life and I’d email her to tell her about it, and then months would go by without a response because she wouldn’t check the account; then would log in because she wanted to ask me for something, find read my email and respond with a witty response, and then send an email of her own to articulate her own needs. So I don’t bother to email her anymore.
I know another woman with whom I’ve shared very few emails, but the ones we’ve shared have been quite personal. (With the occasional suggestion from me that we engage in sex. To date we haven’t accomplished it, but since she lives on the other side of the world I don’t blame either of us.) Most of our communication has been through comments on each other’s blogs. I’m tempted to write a post about her, since she posts a lot of sexy, erotic pictures of herself, but I don’t know if she’d be honoured or insulted to be put in the category of “porn star.”
There’s another woman I know very well, who’s one of the few people I can talk to about anything (including adultery and pornography and any other dirty topics you can think of). I’ve already mentioned her on this blog; I probably will again. Circumstances dictate that she’s not allowed to have sex with me anymore, she missed her window of opportunity, but we still talk a lot, about pretty much everything.
This post is prompted by another woman I once knew. On the face if it she wouldn’t have been a woman I’d assume to be compatible with me, but we had a lot of fun conversations and great chemistry in the bedroom. She’s a great woman, a tremendous kisser, and she was great in bed.
At one point I did something that pissed her off. Really pissed her off. As in: I’m lucky to still have my testicles intact, because I’m fairly sure she would have liked to have cut them off. That anger pretty much killed the sexual component of our relationship, but because she could tell that my remorse was genuine we were at least able to patch up our friendship and continue a platonic friendship. The kind of platonic friendship where I’d continue suggesting that we meet up at a hotel, and she’d continue suggesting that no, let’s not.
This relationship also started to fade with time. She stopped using instant messaging, which reduced us to emails, which is always the first step in losing touch with someone. But I’d still email her from time to time, let her know I was thinking of her, and that would usually trigger a series of emails back and forth, filled with humour and innuendo and humourous innuendo.
And then I went to send her another email, just to say hi, and I was told that Gmail couldn’t deliver the email.
Delivery to the following recipient failed permanently.The word which really caught my eye in that sentence was the word “permanently.” The message was clear: “Don’t bother sending another email, boyo, the account is gone.”
I’m guessing that deleting the account had nothing to do with me; that’s hardly the point. It’s just one less honest connection in my life.
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