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This is not a love story

by Flashy 

Posted: 25 April 2006
Word Count: 1090
Summary: Denial?

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No, don’t be concerned… no, not a problem at all, no, please don’t worry I know this game and I know I'm now as guilty as anyone of it … this flirting game or whatever you want to call it.

Oh and you flirt exceptionally well young lady. And god you’re beautiful, smart, raven haired, everything stacked, curved and contained perfectly within your 5ft 8 frame. A man, who didn’t know what I know, would fall hopelessly in love with you.


Yes that is important too, and don’t worry, I knew from the start that nothing of substance, would come from our own little version, of this online chatting game.

Glad we were both clear on that. Neither of us wants to go down that path again, do we? That path we both spoke about before, yeah?

But listen… If only for a short while.

I'm already … well I consider I am your friend, and boy can I tell you, I am concerned, and already I'm really worrying about you.

Be very careful though won’t you, not every guy knows like me, I mean, you have all the physical, seductive and technical attributes for luring guys in. Yeah, so be so very careful, for some guys this is harmless fun… but for others, you might become just as important as life or death honey.

I mean I have learned from the past haven’t I? Not to be so sentimental, prudish and judgemental on people who enjoy this game. I mean we’re all adults aren’t we? We should know the difference between what is reality and what is only game.


Before I was overly harsh on someone, well perhaps I was? And ok she knew I was naïve, vulnerable and weak, but as a victim herself… you know, really why should she have shown trust for an unknown… commodity, for a stranger, who on the surface was just an average 41 yr old man. But she herself… well she knows no depths. Into which she will drag her own self respect, de-grading herself, and all this is, just to attract perceived male adulation that she desperately needed then and still does now.

And with you…well…

All I have is a single picture of you…and these oh so few text conversations; I mean really how on earth could that ever be the basis for falling head over heels for you… or anyone for that matter. I mean really?

Ok these conversations can and do get quite graphic, intimate, explicit and sensual even, and for those brief moments we perhaps both get lost in the heady potential … of that oh so exquisite unique union. Perhaps me more than you, maybe just me?

Yeah I think that is true. When I say I want you so, so much and you say you do too…well in those moments I know I am almost lost, dreamy and wistful. In truth I’m dumbstruck, and I just look at this picture of you and almost believe it’s true.

But hey we’re both adults, and ok in the excitement of lust and desire, things are said, that perhaps shouldn’t be said. Oh we can thank god for the cold harsh reality of next day winter mornings, where our conversations begin again, a fresh, with all the awkward newborn caution of two people and something new.

Funny thing is I have begun to loathe it when you go, and I'm hating it more and more each day, and all it is, is text, just a lonely woman’s words reaching out across the highway, linking, sharing and empathising with this lonely man, and yet… now I am almost desperate when you go. I think what it must be is, is that… I just really enjoy your company…yes that must be it, that is all it is.

Neither of us wants to meet anyone from this murky Internet mire, not anyone! That is definite… nothing could be clearer, an opinion we both stand by firmly. We both know the potential pitfalls of real life meetings, where image and illusion can be shattered or enhanced even, tragically for one but not the other, where surging unrequited obsession is met by the contrast of a now returned distant empty nothing. The warm bond of virtuality built up over months, becomes instantly, a cold aversion in reality.

As we get know each other, doors open, puzzles get solved, defences lower, souls and kindred hearts help us unravel what both of us really are, then being economical with the truth suddenly seems silly and dishonest. But openness and sharing can be precarious, and some… not me might find the introduction of new information self revealing to say the least, and some… not me will suddenly find that they have underestimated their feelings, and some… not me will suffer as latent emotion comes roaring to the fore, raw and exposed to the bone.

And so it is… tonight I look at my screen and take in and digest slowly all that you are saying, and…

I am so very happy that you say you are going back to him; it would be churlish for me not to say that is so…but if you could physically see me right now, you might think my expression was one of anguish and that my wishes were not heart felt. But no, my head is in my hands not because I am jealous, obsessive or want to possess you; for my thinking is this, for your return to him to work…then all that we have must end, and all of that, although so very little, means so very much to me, and losing it all …makes me so very sad.

And so…

No more, late night word play, or sharing of the day, joking, teasing. The text flowing like there was never enough hours, to express what we to wanted in one day.

No more moments where we say things that we didn’t mean to say.

No more awkward pauses where the silence said so much more than words could ever do.

No more stunned revelation, where one is not sure how the other might react, and what they might say.

No more tender moments, where the walls of denial are shaken by our mutual yearning and longing?

In essence all of this means… for me there is…

No more…


So this never quite got to be a love story, and with deep regret, I never did, quite get to fall hopelessly in love with you.

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