Because so many relationships nowadays start online, maybe it is time to reassess the term ‘virtual’. Does falling in love with someone you’ve never met constitute actual love, or is it a second-class version of it?
I met Connie through a website. Yes, I met her. We couldn’t shake hands or do anything physical like that, but we met. We liked each other immediately. Just as a shared glance can tell a lot about someone, so can a few words. I’ll admit that it is easier to pretend you are someone you’re not online, but what someone does and doesn’t write is also revealing. From the outset I thought Connie sounded like the kind of woman I could like a lot.
We both, I think, thought we were taking it easy in the first few exchanges. Just polite stuff about who we were and what we did. Then, being careful to explain that her husband was a nice man, Connie told me she had an unfulfilling sex life. We live in different countries.It wasn’t as if I could turn up on her doorstep with a bunch of flowers or a box of orgasms, but she sounded so nice that that is what I would have liked to do. I wanted to hug this woman, with sexual overtones.
Still wary of overstepping the mark, I suggested that we could have an online adventure together and, to my surprise and delight, she said she would. That was why she had told me the personal stuff, she said. So began a relationship that ranks as one of the most serious of my life.
She had had a bad experience with the sort of internet troll we hear about but most of us, fortunately, never encounter. He went apeshit when she wouldn’t send him naked pictures of herself and went even crazier when she found some suitable pics online and sent him those. He was some kind of computer wizard who could tell these things.
Poor Connie was traumatized. I proceeded with caution because I always do in that respect. What I don’t do is proceed with caution emotionally from my side.
Connie wanted our relationship to be straightforward, honest and certainly untainted by the bile this guy had inflicted on her. She wanted to be honest with me so she told me about him and also another guy with whom she had been exchanging messages. I told her I was glad she had gotten rid of the psycho, but what she did with anyone else was her business.
She hated it. It meant I didn’t care. She cried. I repented for something I had thought was a good thing. We started again. We were like young teenagers, smitten with each other. We set up new email accounts with a provider we had never heard of before, and it was like our home. We had no other contacts. If you had a message on this email place, there was only one person it could be from.
I had complete freedom to contact Connie. I was married but my wife was in another country. Connie, on the other hand, shared a house with her husband. She had to conduct our business in her room (they slept separately), and live a normal life, presumably having meals together, passing the time of day together, maintaining a regular husband-wife relationship. I was careful not to intrude and urged her not to get in trouble on my account.
We talked about books, films, music. We tried to get into each other’s stuff: New country isn’t my bag, but I was prepared to give it a try if this wonderful woman liked it. I told her some of my favourites and she’d never heard of them but looked them up.
And there was sex. It had been a sex site we’d met on, so you have to presume you have that mutual interest. We talked about what we liked, what we’d done and hadn’t done, and would like to do and what we would like to do with each other now. We exchanged face pics. Then she sent me a picture of her breasts. She is a beautiful woman and I’m an average-looking man, so I didn’t consider 50-50 an appropriate ratio, but I showed her what I look like in my underwear. She took my breath away with a picture of her crotch, but even that was not dirty in any way. We had fallen in love and she was just showing herself to her man.
One day my cock fell out of the opening of my pants and I sent her a photo of that. At my request she sent me some lingerie shots.
And all the time we were talking for hours, just email, taking twenty minutes to write a reply and skirting around the word ‘love’ because while we both felt it, it seemed that we hadn’t kind of earned it. All we had done was fall in love online.
I yearned for this woman. We discussed everything and I held her opinions in high regard. We called each other ‘darling’ and ‘sweetheart’ and used adjectives like ‘precious’ and ‘wonderful’. That was my favourite. My Connie was wonderful. Anything I threw at her, she could handle. Any conversation that I thought was going nowhere and she would struggle for a response, she would answer with something that made me smile.
After a clumsy attempt on my part to rationalize it, we came to a tacit agreement about ‘I love you’. We couldn’t say it, but we could allude to it. We could say ‘When you love someone,’ and talk about our situation; we could even say ‘You see how much I love you?’. We just couldn’t say those three words on their own. I never discussed this with her. We just came to that unspoken but demonstrated agreement.
If we had lived even 100 miles apart, we would have been constructing elaborate reasons for being away from home, just to be in each other’s arms. To have sex together, yes, but more than that. I wanted to shoot my love into her vagina and have it spread throughout her body into her heart and mind. I wanted to lick her beautiful pussy and drink her essence, while sending the love into her that way too.
Although inexperienced, Connie wanted to accommodate all my masculine desires. She wanted me to fuck her and lick her all over and come inside her because those were the things I wanted to do to her. She wanted to suck my cock. We wanted to be the eager providers of supply and demand.
After a week I was married to her, she was the most important voice in my life. Hers was the body: no film star, no porn star, nobody in the world could compare to my Connie. She wrote me such passionate emails, telling me how wonderful I was. We got so high we began to bounce off the ceiling. When you have called someone ‘my precious darling’ and ‘my wonderful angel’ and you can’t make love to underline those things, how much further can you go? After a week!
I loved this woman like life itself. I was sending her songs that tried to encapsulate what we had. I was inventing fantasies in which we would be together, our spouses, families and circumstances taken out of the equation. All that mattered was Connie and me.
And every time I ratcheted up the intensity, she would come back with something equally powerful and romantic.
We couldn’t live without each other. After ten days of online messages, without even hearing each other’s voice, never mind seeing, touching, smelling and tasting each other, I was ready to spend eternity with this wonderful creature. I stayed up late one night, scouring my iTunes for a song that would finally release me into the care of my Connie.
I found it. I sent it. She was still up. We were joined in an ecstasy I had never imagined possible.
We still knew we couldn’t be together, but we were together in so many ways. Just not the physical one.
The emails bounced between the countries. At weekends we would spend whole days just sending love to each other. We only had two weekends.
The whole of the second one, all day Saturday and all day Sunday, we were in touch. I would wash the dishes or cook something, or deal with some other email, while I waited for her. I would read her emails to me several times, then again on and off several times. We filled each other with love. There was sex in there too, but essentially it was about love, with sex as a lovely extra element.
Then one morning I woke up, full of love for my Connie, and sent her a sexy message. She sent one back, happy and excited, which was how we made each other feel. But something inside me finally told me it could never really happen. We had hit the ceiling. We couldn’t go any higher and we couldn’t live together and consolidate what we had. Connie was – is – so precious to me. I felt I had to let her go, so that she could find a more realistic version of what we had. Or carry on as she had been before. I hoped and prayed that she would understand. Then I sent the hardest email of my life. I hardly dared look at her reply. But it was calm, taken aback but calm. I wavered and thought about retracting it, because what I really wanted was to be with this woman forever in the real world. Somewhere in her words I sensed that she felt the same.
So goodbye, Connie, my wonderful woman. I still believe in fairies and if we do end up sometime watching a test match together in England and going back to our hotel room to make love and declare our undying devotion to each other, you read it here first.
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/love-stories/connie-and-kit.aspx">Connie and Kit</a>