It was a dating site that brought me my last boyfriend. There was a time when I would have never admitted that, but I guess now I’m happy to acknowledge that it actually worked. The online profile I spent so much time editing, and fine tuning, and tinkering with, did the trick.
He was cute. Sincere. Sweet. Our private messages turned quickly to flirtation. The getting to know one another stage seemed unnecessary. We already knew each other on at least one level, and that level was arousal. When we finally met in person, on a spectacularly romantic evening, we were already boyfriends. We dated for five months, and would be dating still if he had not found someone else. Probably on the same site.
I closed down my account after about a year, and left it closed for as long again. Recently, I decided to re-open it, and welcomed the opportunity to create a new profile. I answered the essay questions again, this time taking a lighter and briefer approach. Not so deep, nor soul searching. More witty and playful.
I also decided to reach out to contact a wider range of potential matches. No need to feel as if I am looking for a soulmate. Instead, I simply start up a conversation with anyone who sparks my interest for whatever reason, and don’t attach expectations to the note. Seems to be working. I’m having fun writing back and forth with a few guys, and there are two who are promising as real life, in person, potential dates.
Probably because of this renewed search, I have been thinking a great deal about my last boyfriend. There is a section on this dating site where you answer questions about yourself. These questions cover a dazzling array of topics. All of them provided by other members. As conversation starters. Questions about politics. Religion. Habits. Idiosyncrasies. Hypothetical situations. Some of them are funny. Some are provocative. Some are thoughtful. The site compares your answers for you, rating your levels of compatibility in the process.
When I deleted my profile, those questions remained, so I now had the chance to review what I had written the first time around. Most of my answers I held to. There was really only one glaring exception. The question was, “If you could go back and spend one night with any of your ex boyfriends, would you?”
I had written “No.”
It was true. At the time. There really was no ex I wanted to revisit. Not that there were many to choose from, but I’d always believed ex boyfriends were not present boyfriends for good reason. Until now. My last boyfriend, I do still dream about. Although we were never in love, I miss him. Painfully. The feel of him. The scent of him. My arms around him. His body. Warm. Comfortable. Pressed against mine. Snuggling with him in bed. Soaping him up in the shower. Drying him off with a towel.
I can recreate entire passages of physical action between us. Small, subtle exchanges, described in my mind in great detail, as if I am reading them off a page in a romance novel. The way he would reach around me to get something off a table. How he would lower his chin and gaze seductively up at me. His eyes sparkling. How soft and arousing his kisses. The color of his cotton boxer briefs. How he would bend over so the waistband of his jeans would drop down to expose them. Hugging his perfectly shaped butt. The feel of his touch. Gentle. Teasing. The palm of his hand slapping my butt. The whispered “Bad boy,” as he reprimanded me for whatever I had done. Or had not done. The way he would wiggle his hips, pressing his erection against mine, fully dressed. Knowing perfectly well how insanely aroused it would make me.
How the temperature in his bedroom was always too hot. He would never open the windows because of the traffic noise, and it was summer. An oscillating fan would be blowing warm air onto us, as we sweated in his rather uncomfortable, decidedly too hard, memory foam mattress bed.
How much I would love to be back there now. Just one more time. One more night, sweating and being teased and aroused by this sweet boy that I used to date. So we weren’t soul mates? So what? He was magic. I was lucky to have him. Unlucky to have lost him. Longing for him now. Missing him. Wanting him again.
“If you could go back and spend one night with any of your ex boyfriends, would you?”
I clicked on the option to change an answer and typed in an emphatic “Yes!”
A couple of days ago, he sent me a text. Out of the blue. While I am enjoying the courtship with the two guys who are most promising as real life, off-line, potential dates. He asked what I have been up to, was I seeing anyone? Suggested we get together for coffee. He knows I don’t drink coffee.
It doesn’t matter to me, whether or not he is in a relationship with someone else. Honestly, it doesn’t matter at all. I will be happy to respect that. What I hope for is to hold him close, for as long as I can, as if I don’t have to let him go. To see that seductive sparkle in his eyes. To taste those soft gentle kisses. To feel his heart beating against my chest. Just for a few minutes. A hour. A night. To pretend he is still mine.
Maybe that is something I need to do before I can have a relationship again.