Wine is seldom appreciated by those unacclimated to its taste. The complexity of its flavor overwhelms the palate, causing its layered subtleties to be lost on those unaccustomed to the vintage. Thus it is, that despite songs and poems being dedicated to this most ancient of arts, most would fail in sensing the difference between a fine French Bordeaux and a glass of common table wine. On first taste, many might actually prefer the simpler, less hearty bite of the screw-top variety. Alas, the failure of something so beautiful to be appreciated for the empty sweetness of something far more base.
The truth of it is that wine is an acquired taste. Passion for the grape rarely strikes the neophyte when its fragrant perfection first graces her lips. Indeed, any passion worth the cost of obsession isn’t easily acquired. If it were, the idea of love at first sight would be met with far less cynicism than it has throughout the ages.
Even I, a man whose love of romance never waned, had passed decades without belief such a thing could be more than the poetic vapor it so clearly seemed to be. I had hope. Oh, lord, how I did I cling to that. But that hope was little more than a distant reach of belief, much like one might have in the luck of a four-leaf clover or in having their very own Fairy God Mother.
Of course, a man does have needs. Drives and desires that comfort him while love eludes. As anyone who has read my previous work might guess, I was no saint. While I dedicated my online moments to the site I served and the art I pursued, I fooled myself into believing that lust could replace the love I so desperately desired. It was with this misguided notion that I cynically committed myself to pursuits that had more in common with lecherous leprechauns than finding my hard-sought Juliet.
Ah, but therein lies the twist. For when one holds no belief in the leprechaun, he will inevitably fail to realize he’s standing at the bottom of his rainbow. So it was for me when the lightning chose to strike.
I was online that day, flipping through the forum in lazy distraction. It was then that one of those ubiquitous black boxes appeared. Gazing at the name, I realized the sender was one I had not seen before. Her avatar, a teasingly seductive, bespectacled beauty caught my eye. The rhythmically pleasing name, Simplicity, headed the otherwise bland and monochromatic box of text.
A man might get a rise in his blood from being contacted by a fair beauty, but alas, it was not for love or desire that she clicked ‘send’ that day. In those overly brief and limited communiqués, she explained it was for my help that she made her presence known.
For those who might recall, on Lush, I was a man of some import in those days. Quickly tapping out in black letters on white screen, she explained that her most recent story had received that dreaded ‘1’, the mark of bane all who post here silently fear.
Normally, I would have politely brushed aside such a complaint, regardless of the tasty little morsel making it. What kept my interest was the scathing comment accompanying the score. It was one full of venom and rage, not about the quality of Simplicity’s work, but rather of the very content she chose to relate. Well, Cheating may be a sensitive wound for some, but as a subject, it is only to be respected on this site, should anyone care to compose a story in that vein.
As a moderator, I knew this was a violation of site policy. Opinions can be stated freely as to a writer's work, but the site frowns on lowballing stories simply because the reader detests the category it was written in. Tapping away at my iPad screen, I followed this member's commenting history, a simple task not requiring moderation tools to complete. It wasn’t long before I realized his comment on Simplicity’s work was one of many hateful and vindictive diatribes he had left that day. Clearly, he was on a mission to punish by proxy those his irrational rapture had led him to despise. This, I dutifully reported and, voilà, said comments, and their accompanied votes, were soon relegated to the void of digital nothingness that is the final doom of all internet misdeeds.
Yes! I could then return to this new, sexy minx of sexual energy and have my way, could I not?
Um, no. While Simplicity was grateful for my help, she gave no hint of being game for the cyber-quickie some men might have desired. Indeed, at another time, I might have been such a man, but not that night. My quest for love had just before led me into another woman’s arms, and my hope for love with her meant my veil of professionalism toward Simplicity had to remain in place.
More is the pity, but still, we did chat. Innocently. And for hours. My God, did we chat.
Simplicity, who had no interest in dirty minded release, was instead open to relating to me who she was. Incredibly, her quiet honesty broke down my walls, and we shared our deepest and darkest pains into the early hours of the dawn.
When I finally signed off, I was smiling like a fool. I felt high in a way no drug or drink could match, yet despaired because this amazing woman existed only in pixels on my iPad screen. Fate is a fickle bitch, and right about then I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry.
As I mused above, love at first sight was a vapor to me, a thing to be dreamed but never to be believed. Doubly so in the all too often insincere and fantastical fantasies of a sex-for-play, cyber world version of Peyton Place. I loved Lush, but I could never believe my heart would be snared in the first banter of black box conversation with a woman I’d never before heard of. Impossible, I said afterward, and oh, so many times repeated this to myself as the lie of it all rang increasingly hollow.
Back I went to the relationship I was in, trying my best to make it real and knowing with each passing month it was not. I was faithful and put my heart into it, but its failure can only be blamed on the fact that I already loved another. Men aren’t perfect, and Simplicity will be the first to note I am no exception. I can truly say, I never acted dishonorably toward my ex. I simply ended that relationship once the truth of my feelings could no longer be ignored.
To my shock, Simplicity answered my direct expression of love with the quiet surprise of a woman who suspected the truth all along. Nevertheless, she was insistent that my slate was clean before accepting my romantic overture. In our case, passion was not the first stop on the express train our love became. Sexual fantasy grew entwined with our love, guiding us, and being guided by the ever increasing gravity we felt for each other.
We had many friends in those days. Most of these shared in our happiness, but others found fault in our devotion. I’ll never understand why some around us chose to cause us pain, but the damage done was severe. Simplicity was shunned by so many that she might have doubted our path, but to her credit, her love for me never wavered.
As for myself, I was cocky in my success and perhaps ignored signs I should have seen. Forces were testing us, as if actively trying to make us part, but our love grew stronger with each powerful, but equally futile attempt. We felt anger in response, but in the end, we were always thankful to Lush for bringing us together,
