I met a girl

I met a girl off the internet. Little more than a child, a student. She looked like she got dressed in the dark, her nails were dirty, her hair was unkempt and smelled stale, she hid shyly behind her fringe. She had a nervous laugh, but didn’t laugh when I thought I’d been funny. When we kissed I tasted her cigarettes. When we had sex she wouldn’t remove her bra, complained my stubble stung, said I was crushing her. When we slept I hugged her tight, when my arm went dead and I rolled over, she didn’t reciprocate and we lay back to back, as strangers. Her bedroom was cold. In the morning I wrapped myself in a throw for warmth. No coffee did she make. I held her hand briefly in the street, she pulled free. My calls and emails recieved dutiful, plangent response; She didn’t have time for me in her life. 

I met a girl off the internet. She was a thing of beauty, an artist pursuing her dream. Feline eyes shone powerfully from her shy frame. When we hugged I knew contentedness, when we kissed I knew intimacy, when we spoke I knew intellect, when she left I knew I needed her. But she didn’t have time for me in her life.

Now I sit, pathetically fragile, an ageing fool before my time.

Last emails

I’m a literary exhibitionist too. Below are the final emails between myself and Art Girl – Wow, I’ve got it bad, I feel terrible! I’m attempting to turn it into some anthroporphic observational thing – To step outside of myself and examine my emotions, rather than remaining locked in this sad place. I’ll remind you once more, we went on three measly dates.

Anyway, the emails from last night and this afternoon are below. I’ve noticed today how I’m subtly trying to regain control of the split, make it for my reasons, when in fact I was just plain dumped:
On 10/31/07, <The London Exhibitionist> wrote:

Truths:
About me:

1) I’d like to meet someone who’d see me as a priority
2) I commit totally to the women in my life – which only works if its loosely reciprocated
3) I’m exactly as emotional as I suggested in our early emails
4) I’m a lot older than you. Nearly 8 years and half a generation I’d guess
5) I thought you were absolutely lovely

About you:

1) You’re 17 years younger than my last girlfriend
2) You’re sexy as hell
3) You’re pursuing something noble
4) You should only be with someone who complements that
5) You’re absolutely lovely

At least half of those are enough to skewer a relationship on their own,
but they all apply simultaneously. So that’s it then. I’ve got to go back to
my instincts. I checked our early emails and I didn’t want to speak to you
because you were too young for me – But you turned me around with the
totally unfair technique of charm! Good luck with it all gorgeous <Art Girl>.

<The London Exhibitionist>
P.S. About me number 6. I feel better after writing this. x

She responded:

Dear <The London Exhibitionist> 
I’m glad you sent me this. I can’t comment on many of these truths,
they are mostly yours. You are so grown up and straight forward about
everything. I feel like I’ve been a very silly girl in many ways, and
you are kind not to point this out.I just wanted to make sure you knew that I loved meeting you. I think
you have an inspiring view on the world. You have a funny mix of a big
open mind and such clear, dignified views on what you want. (And I’ve
never felt so physically attracted to anyone so quickly.) I can’t
believe how odd it feels to know that I won’t see you now, when I’ve
known you for such a short time.So age does matter. I hope you don’t regret I barged past your good instincts.
Lots and lots of luck to you, most especially in your writing. God,
can’t believe I forgot to badger you about that when I was in your
yard..you never showed me any snippets of your autobiographical writing.
One day the truth will out!
 
<Art Girl>
xxxxx

Gutted

I hadn’t realised how exposed I was. I’m absolutely gutted about being rejected in a relationship which was 3 dates old. Art Girl is intelligent, interesting, sexy and gorgeous, and despite spending Tuesday night in my bed, won’t be coming back.

Strangely, considering my recent bout of casual sex with ladies I’ve hardly met, I’m really not cut-out for casual sex at all. An emblematic realisation: Art girl is some sort of blow-job genius. She gave me the best blow-job I’ve had, with firm, loose movements, enthusiasm, both-hands, deep, wet. Really, the best. The shy girl disappears, replaced by an insatiable giver of pleasure. When I have a memorable sexual experience, and her blow-jobs were certainly that, it often fuels my wanking fantasies for weeks afterwards - I bask in the hornyness of it. Because she’s rejected me, because it won’t happen again, it brings me no pleasure – I can barely bring myself to even think about it.  

Dumped

Oh I had it coming, I really did. Art Girl just dumped me over the phone.

After the night described below, we didn’t meet up for a week. Both too busy was the consensus, but now the recently dumped me can see that she could have cancelled something to see me – and didn’t. We met up last night, late because she only fitted me in after her life drawing class. It was actually a lovely evening, which ended with warm naked sex and me making her come with my hand as she slid slowly off my bed, but now I can see the warning signs. She complained about how far Richmond is from the centre of town, she was vague about meeting up at the weekend. I feel weirdly used. Used for sex I guess. A macho corner of my brain likes the idea of being used for sex, but my soft centre is hurt. I only have sex for the intimacy afterwards, and therefore it’s this she’s rejecting.

Her reasons for ending it are valid and excruciating. She’d not have time to see me, she doesn’t want to feel weighed down, we’re in different life stages. All true, but of course another truth is that she’s just not that into me. 

I only met up with her 3 times but I let myself get just a little carried away, so I’m sad now.  

She’s very good looking, and this opens up interesting and strong emotions for me. Everyone wants a gorgeous partner, but with me there’s something more. I’m not a particularly handsome man, OK looks, but I’m desperate to be thought of as attractive, and to be with attractive women. I often punch above my weight in terms of attractivess. My ex-wife was (is) very attractive in a quirky way. My recent ex is just absurdly pretty, to the point that men would throw themselves at her, and I’d often be asked to justify the attractiveness disparity by pissed-up bastards after the pub. Even though the relationship had long gone sour, it took me ages to end that relationship, partly because I knew I had hold of an empirically attractive individual. Silly, I know. Art Girl is similarly gorgeous, much better looking than me, and the paranoid (or realistic) me wonders if I’ve been dumped because she could see this fundamental truth.