Sexualities of the mind
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A few times a year I feel an odd tug. I'm most vulnerable when life at home isn't going well. Why keep trying, why not move on, the possibilities are intoxicating. For now I'm either nobly steadfast or a sap. You only find out when the story ends.
Twice with webloggers who had erotically exciting personalities and I knew felt similarly about me were near enough to visit. I begged off. I wasn't worried about resisting temptation as I was with having to cope with desire and the wish to be disloyal. (Truth in advertising: this was before I let myself get so badly out of shape. I wouldn't tempt anybody right now.)
Innocent web crushes must be common enough. Less harmlessly I remember a woman on Live Journal who posted long, weird angry diatribes about a man that she'd never met whom she'd decided was a soul mate of sorts. All he'd done was send her a civil note saying that he didn't think her self-invited visit wasn't a good idea. But she's an odd critter who calls herself queer but only seems to fall in love with queer men.
I've heard from people who are planning a life together with someone they've never met except through IMs and emails. I remember one who finally moved across country only to find unsurprising boredom and misery.
Back when I meeting folks online and trying to meet The One for a long time it seemed that the charming, empathic folks lived in places like Connecticut and Arizona. Anywhere but central North Carolina.
What reckless trips would I have left on if I hadn't been married to my bookshop and knew how to drive a car. Had the web been about when I was young maybe I'd be an old partnered guy by now. Or in an unmarked grave. Probably just where I am or something close.