I found David in an AOL chat room. It started like this:
My then boyfriend, Winston, only wanted to have sex with me once every two weeks and so I turned to the internet in an attempt to make him jealous. It turns out he didn’t even care; the breakup that followed was mutual and amicable.
I kept with the online chatting though. I must have been a chat room creeper’s wet dream then. Sweet little 19, willing to take my clothes off for you on webcam while you jerked off.
One of the men I found was David. There was something kind of timid and sweet about him. He was shy, yet forthcoming. Good sense of humour. What distinguished him the most was that he wrote with proper spelling and grammar.
Our conversations started platonically. Either David was ambivalent about protecting his “real life identity” from me or he was internet-incompetent like some people in their early-40s are. And my curiosity coupled with Gen-Y googling skills very quickly lead me to figure out who he is. Who he’s married to. Where he works. A professor living in New York City. Married with children.
Instead of this scaring him off, it established a bond of trust between us. We told each other our secrets, but we only saw each other through a screen. And we lived in different countries. Close enough to confide in. Far enough to coexist with real-life committments.
I became infatuated with him. He was idealistic, thoughtful, artistic, genuinely witty, and just eccentric enough to be endearing but not weird. He was deeply devoted to his wife. But she rarely slept with him. Most days she didn’t even want a hug. Though he never explained why, he hinted at some sort of traumatic event that turned her off of sex, probably a rape.
And where would he turn to but the internet? Home of impressionable, newly sexually-awakened girls like me.
Our online chats quickly turned sexual.
When I stripped in front of him, I felt like I was unveiling something wondrous. His gaze was hungry but full of reverence, as if he was looking at a particularly beautiful artwork. It was very empowering to be the object of that gaze. His gift was that I never felt like I was doing something dirty or degrading, even as I was tasting my own juices on my fingers, describing what it tasted like (limes, musk, and pennies.)
After the cam-sex we would cam-cuddle. You see, it was an emotional relationship as well. As in, we would lie in bed with the laptop propped up in front of us. And look into each others eyes as if we were really in bed with each other. And touch the screen as if we could actually stroke each other’s faces.
Reader, you are probably cringing (or laughing) as you read this now; believe me, I am cringing as I type it.
After two months of this we drifted apart. I think we both realised we were taking it too far. We exchanged emails every couple of months. He would always add that he still looks at my naked pictures occasionally.
Two years later, I let him know that I was going to be in NYC… Would he like to finally meet? I tried for a tone that neither suggested I was propositioning him, nor ruled it out altogether.
We met in front the Metropolitan Museum, where he was going to show me his favourite paintings. It was closed that day though, so we took a long walk together in Central Park. It was a snowy January day. We were alone.
(Photo from Wikipedia)
David was very nervous. We meandered through the park and then checked into a hotel room where we finally consummated the relationship.
Dear reader, it was much better in my imagination.
Firstly, he couldn’t really get hard. Which is from stage-fright I guess. Other than that, I can’t really think of anything else remarkable about the sex. After taking a break, he came on my chest.
And I had two years of life and many men since I had first met him online, so perhaps I was more jaded than I was then… But he seemed to be just another man to me. He had his admirable characteristics and not-so-admirable ones just like all other men.
The David that I had crushed so hard on 2 years earlier was mostly an illusion. He was more special in my fantasy. My clandestine admirer. My stranger in the night.
The David of reality lived in a different city, was married, and had little in common with me besides being sexually frustrated at a time when I was as well.