I Have No Title For This Chapter

Wherein I revisit a short-lived relationship.

(You can read the first two parts here and here.)

In early summer, while reflecting on my faltering long-distance relationship, I reached out to somebody I knew from Twitter. It was a relatively innocuous greeting along with an attractive – arguably sexy – picture of myself lounging by my parents’ pool on a hot June day. My message wasn’t intended as anything beyond an innocent hello; though she and I did occasionally flirt, and exchanging pictures was not unheard of, it was no secret that she was in a monogamous long-distance relationship. If anything, I had intended to share a friendly face and let her know I was thinking of her. I considered her a friend, after all.

She appreciated my message and my picture, and told me that her relationship had recently ended. I was admittedly shocked; tweets about her relationship with her overseas Dom – including frequent daily countdowns each time she looked forward to getting on a plane to see him – were a regular feature of my Twitter feed. I expressed sympathy, and she explained the factors behind the breakup. I’d be lying if I neglected to say that on some level my undeveloped primate brain was excited to hear that she was now single, but I was there to offer friendship and emotional support, not try and inflict myself on a vulnerable woman, and in doing so possibly harm a valued friendship. Besides, I told myself, just because I find her attractive, that doesn’t mean she feels the same about me. Ironically, she later told me that she once told herself the same thing about me.

We began talking more often, and over time the nature of our conversation grew more sexual, and even romantic. As we got to know each other, I could see that there were clear feelings on her part; she identified as demisexual, meaning that she needs an emotional connection with someone in order to experience sexual feelings for them. It was exciting to realize that she evidently felt that with me. I made her feel safe enough to entrust me with control of her Lovense Lush, a bluetooth-enabled vibrator that can be controlled using a smartphone app. It was the first time I’d gotten someone other than my wife off in nearly a year.

Over time, she and I built an intense long-distance relationship. She wasn’t local, but she was in the same state. We made plans to meet eventually, once travel was safer. She let me know in no uncertain terms that when it happened – not if, but when – sex would definitely be on her agenda. But she didn’t say it in an overly confident way; she was anything but dominant, and in addition she was vulnerable. She’d been hurt recently, and her self-esteem wasn’t what it might have been. She likely feared rejection. So she wasn’t saying that she intended to have sex with me when we met. Rather, she was saying that she found me sexually attractive, and wanted sex with me if that’s what I wanted. And I did.

Suddenly, for the first time since the pandemic began, I had something tangible to look forward to. I thought fondly about the anticipation I’d feel as I eventually sat in the window seat of an airplane on its way to her city. I imagined lying in a hotel bed with her, naked and covered with sweat, eating room service and watching TV while looking forward to more sex. I hadn’t had an escape like that in a very long time. Although vaccine trials were still ongoing and unbeknownst to me it it would be six months or more before I would be vaccinated, it felt like the light was visible at the end of the tunnel. It was still a long way off, but I could see it.

We continued to connect on levels beyond romance and sex. She told me about her family, and heard about my own. In the evenings it was not unusual for us to converse about things that happened that day. She sent me pictures that she took: Beautiful sunsets, the sights in the area where she lived, elements of her daily life, meals she cooked. And she told me that she had an adorable nickname for me that she’d use in conversation with her mother.

Sometime in November things changed. It was shortly after Biden was announced as the winner of the presidential election. Her withdrawal was something one might expect of someone whose candidate lost, but she was as vocally pro-Biden (or at least anti-Trump) as I am. Clearly it wasn’t that. But I don’t pry, and I didn’t know her well enough to ask what was going on her life that precipitated the change. But as always I made myself available if she needed to talk to me. And we did continue to talk, but now conversation was sporadic, and not as deep as it once was. There was no longer anything in the sexual or romantic realms. According to my Lovense app, the last time I was invited to control her Lush was November 8. It was clear that the emotional connection she once felt, which allowed her to feel secure enough to be sexual with me, had faded.

Around the same time, she deactivated her Twitter account. Though we continued talking using other messaging apps, I missed seeing her in my timeline. I had enjoyed her geeky, funny, and often sexy Twitter musings for years, and I know others did as well. I hoped it wasn’t my fault that she left Twitter before checking my ego and realizing not everything is about me. And I felt lucky to still have access to her, to be granted her continued friendship, even if platonic; I knew others on Twitter were missing her and acknowledged that under different circumstances I might not have been so fortunate.

In March, however, the messaging stopped altogether. The last contact between her and I was a message wherein I checked in, expressing hope that she was okay in light of some personal setbacks she mentioned the previous time we talked. I’ve noticed a few random social media posts from her, so I assume she’s safe. But I’m not the sort to keep contacting someone who hasn’t responded to a previous message; even with the best of intentions, I’m cautious about doing anything that could possibly be construed as manipulation. She has the right to change her feelings without being pestered, just as does everybody. In my last message I wished her well. And I continue to wish her well.

To be concluded.