When did dating via the internet become so provincial? I remember when I first went on AOL. People had been telling me about chat rooms for years. I couldn’t completely grasp the concept or their appeal, even though my best friend at the time was such a chat room whore. He praised their benefits because he’d met a lot of women in various chat rooms. Some were probably fairly normal—while a significant Number were licentious. I only maintain that deduction because of what came to be my own experience.
My friend stayed with me for a few months, when he was between houses. His estranged wife finally put him out for years of smoking crack, losing his job, and finally getting arrested. After being released, he had no place else to go. Having proven himself irresponsible for a number of years to a myriad of people, both friends and family, left him few viable options. He was forced to come out west where I lived in LA. Don’t we all follow Greeley’s command and end up out West? When he stayed with me he’d lock himself in my room downloading porn; he shared some bestiality pics with me on several occasions. It’s amusing to look at those images once or twice—they’re outrageous, but really that cartoon bubble above your head is mostly saying, “Eeeww!”
Once I ventured in the chat room realm I found it easy to engage women in conversations, subtly tuning them in the direction of my fantasy, making my fantasy their fantasy. Clearly, I wanted to get them hot and bothered, to steer them in the direction of a randy conversation, creating an atmosphere of either, I want to screw your brains out, or I want to make love to you depending on their personality and proclivities. I suppose being articulate, and a story teller by trade, has its advantages. That’s what you do teaching high school English, you basically tell stories. For a number of years I’ve explained themes and characterization of 19th century novels to hyperactive or apathetic students in a way that held their interest. My problem is that I’m too psychologically unbalanced to avoid having my mouth write a check that my ass can’t cash with regards to women. So, yes my mouth often gets my ass in trouble. More times than I care to admit I’ve found myself in an embrace, wrestling on the couch or sprawled on someone’s bed, then suddenly, without warning, announce, “I have to leave.” Half the time I don’t answer the door for people I do know. It’s all part of my psychosis—a never ending battle of meds, therapy, TV, heritage, marathon video game sessions, long rambling conversations with other depressives or a few friends that can bare the burden of my reluctant, hesitant friendship, which often includes broken dates—even for an occasion as benign as coffee. That’s something I can’t understand. Why can’t I simply have coffee with a friend? I’d like to think I understand myself pretty well. I understand I hibernate because as a kid growing up I found it advantageous to not leave my room, stay protected in my little world of army men with their intricate stories, and other random day dreams. It was violent outside my room.
Women often claim on their online profiles that they don’t want a man with baggage. Personally, I believe after a certain age we all have baggage. As for myself, I just don’t have baggage I have an entire American Tourister collection!
I also understand that it’s so hard for me to sustain a romantic relationship because I’m so apprehensive of them ever since my wife died. After my wife passed, the first woman I dated developed a fatal blood clot in her leg 2 days after we had sex; then, the 1st long term relationship after becoming a widower was harrowing because my girlfriend was diagnosed with breast cancer 8 months into the relationship.
What I like about internet dating (I use the term dating for want of a better term) is the fact that you can get to know someone before you meet them. Of course you don’t truly know them, they may in fact be lying to you—but you can get to know their character. It’s hard to completely hide one’s personality. You can hide your wife but you can’t hide your personality. You do know them in a sense so a blind date with someone you’ve met on the internet is more like a blurred vision date, not a blind date, but a cataract date--whatever.
Talk about safe sex. Although cyber sex is played out for me, it was okay in the beginning because I didn’t masturbate until I was in my late 20’s. Nine hundred numbers had just become the rage. I worked at a public relations firm off the Sunset Strip (77 Sunset Strip SNAP SNAP a Quinn Martin Production ). I’ll never forget the address, 6464 Sunset, the corner of Sunset and Wilcox, pretty much Sunset and Vine. It was an office made up of fledging actors and disgruntled musicians. Any one of them would tell you there was a call for you on such and such a line, you’d pick-up the phone and there’d be a sex phone operator panting on the other end. I became tempted at home to dial those same numbers, quickly release any tension that had accumulated during the day.
Unfortunately what my wife saw was a $200 phone bill; then there was a lot of ‘Splain’N to do. But there always was a lot of ‘Splain’N to do concerning my physical affection. I recall staying up writing or reading, and despite the fact that my wife was pretty, in perfect shape; she practiced ballet, she ran 20 miles a week, and was more than willingly affectionate—it was me that couldn’t handle the affection. I liked it, loved it, desired it, needed it—but I couldn’t handle it-- it was so foreign.
My mom only hugged me if we took a picture with so many people that I had to sit on her lap to fit everyone in the frame. I guess that wasn’t really a hug, but I’ve always referred to it as such. Or when mom used to work 2nd shift and we slept at my grandparents’. When she’d come to take us to our own beds I’d always pretend that I was asleep so she had to carry me. I longed for a hug, for touch—some sort of physical affection; and, I knew as early as 1st grade I had to manipulate the situation to get it.
It takes a long time for me to feel comfortable around anyone anyway. When I was married I probably hurt my wife by staying up late then slipping into bed quietly once I was sure she had fallen asleep and wouldn’t touch me, hug me—have her legs wrapped around me like she did every night. I liked being close to her, but sometimes it was all too much. After she passed, I craved that sensation, longed for the feeling. Now, even though people would probably laugh incredulously if you’d describe me as not being affectionate—it’s obvious from my interactions with lovers, dates, or failed potential sex liaisons that I still have a problem with closeness on a monumental level. It’s not uncommon at the apex of turning a flirtatious evening into that pinnacle moment of actually having sex, I’ll suddenly announce without warning, and no segue of an excuse, “I have to leave.”
Among other things, I’ll realize that I don’t know this person that I’m about to be extremely intimate with, hence I freak out. After all, mom didn’t say she loved me until I was 45 as I cried my eyes out one New Year’s Eve. My mind and heart were tortured that evening with visions of my best friend of 35 years (yeah, the bestiality guy) running off with my girlfriend. It’s those types of incidents, which make virtual relationships so much more appealing than real ones—less of a chance to get hurt.
Another curious thing about internet dating is that, for whatever reason, I find I’m constantly making connections with women that are far away—and I mean really far away--like half-way across the country far away; sometimes even as far away as Germany. Hmmm? The distance is undoubtedly a reflection of my subconscious struggle to make real connections.
Everything is so virtual now anyway. We’re on our cell phones talking to a friend or lover about something completely innocuous instead of having a real conversation with someone standing right next to us in line, at the bus stop, or the subway station. What often makes me appealing on the internet is my propensity to not go into any overt sex talk. It’s as if I’m the only man that still has the ability to long for romance. It’s not that I’m such a gentleman—I am—but the reason why I don’t dash into sex talk is because I truly want to make a connection with someone. I’d much rather have friends than anything else. I’ve had too many failed romantic relationships and have become too pessimistic to believe that I’ll ever find that person I can become one with.
“A man has to know his limitations,” the voice in my head says in Dirty Harry’s raspy voice.
I do recognize (“You better recognize,” followed with a queen’s classic Z snap) my limitations, and they’re many. I can be your friend—but beyond that I tend to get a little unsettled. And that’s what we all are looking for--that settled feeling. That’s what we all want I believe; even men that pose as players. I think we all want our best friend to also be our lover. I was lucky to have had that for 17 years. There was no one I’d rather hang-out with than my wife. We were one and that’s what I search for on the internet, to find the person I can relate to physically, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually. To become one. We all want our hearts to dance to the lyric of our lover’s melody.
