Webcam romance & the fool in the mirror
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I wrote a while back about some of my 'virtual crushes,' i.e., crushes on people I know only through the web.
One of them is older than the relationship that just ended. Sounds a little foolish to allow something like that to persist so long. Guess it depends on how you picture a crush. For me it is a mix of aesthetic pleasure and an admittedly idealized image for measuring real life with. A repository of kindly sentiments and silvery syllables.
My crushes are chaste, not like the manufactured dream harems of adolescence. I allow them only for happiness not foolish yearning. I'm very protective of them and hope to maintain some of them for a very long time.
Several weeks back I started exchanging emails with an old online friend I hadn't been much in touch with for some time. Telling about the failure of my love of the last four years. The talk turned more serious. An ugly word serious. People often invoke it for the most tedious and drear things. But seriousness carefully managed is as pleasurable as frivolity.
A few months back I wrote an entry about why I don't do instant messaging. Given that an ocean separates us I installed Yahoo Messenger and ilikenellyguysdurham returned to the land of IMs after a very long absence.
Though my friend was born male her perception of herself is as mostly, perhaps entirely feminine. So I'll use the feminine pronouns (repeatedly saying 'my friend' would get tedious).
For the first time in my life I've seen someone else and displayed my own image via webcams. So I've seen her (and she's seen the image of what I think of as the 'child molester' - more on that in a future entry). It has been interesting.
Quite slyly she ate a banana while we chatted. Do you know those old Tex Avery cartoons where Wolfie is ogling Red? His eyes launch from their sockets then slap back into his face. She ate the banana with such geometric care and elegance I felt as big a fool as Wolfie. Surely I'm not given to that kind of easy lasciviousness? Guess I was. Though I felt less a fool to find out I'd been intentionally manipulated. Ah, you learn all sorts of new things about yourself.
I like toes, ankles. Not to forget wrists, necks and belly buttons. No portion of a body doesn't invite devotion. She has strong erotic feeling for her feet.
I've sometimes called my sexuality adaptive, it is the path by which I came to pansexuality. Example by example I slowly discovered the beauty of every gradation of gender quality. Well, often I've wondered if I don't sound like I'm full of it, if I'm not full of it? Claiming vaingloriously much.
Until I adapted to her. I could almost see the neurons in my brain establishing new connections and alignments. If you are my age you may remember the old Bell Labs science cartoons. Hemo the Magnificent would show us how the circulatory system works. I watched my mind and libido at work until, damn, I became a foot fetishist.
What proved it to myself is even more blush-worthy than the banana. One night she put on a show of shoes. I was happy enough to see them. In the middle of the night I awoke to see her toes.
It was in the morning at the shop when I found myself staring at a bookcase not even knowing that I was standing there that I realized I'd gone off into some sort of - oh what, trance, epiphany? - focused on her toes. Took me an hour to force myself out of it.
Nutty as it sounds I treasure the experience. You take your exaltations where you find them and should never begrudge yourself any of them. That is for Baptists.
So we've been getting very serious. You may rightly say, Richard you sound like you are being a fool. I agree.
I'm coming out of a relationship, a time when you're famously vulnerable. Though she and I have known each other for years it has been at a large distance. Though we've exchanged thousands of words we've never even heard the other's voice. And geopolitics may forestall any lasting relationship (damn visa regulations).
But it has helped me recover from what I've lost. I've learned more about myself. And laughed at myself. If you can't look at the mirror and see the fool looking back, well, poor you.