If I were one of your friends, I’d tell you not to do this.

I’m not good boyfriend material. I’m even worse as a fuck-buddy. Want some names to get references? They’d tell you not to do this too. If you could actually contact them. Which you can’t. Because I’ve been so thoroughly excised from their lives that they have essentially disappeared. And no, I’m not a stalker. Women who get involved with me get hurt. And they invariably decide it’s best to pretend I never existed at all. I don’t do this on purpose. I’m a passionate guy. I fall easily and hard. If there’s a spark, I’m pretty good at lighting a bonfire with it. They never complain in the beginning.

But I really don’t do well with the follow-up. And I’m not quite sure why. It’s not a lack of interest. I love women. I enjoy relationships. In whatever form they may take. But there’s a problem I can’t seem to overcome. See, this “we absolutely must be in contact every day over text message” culture just offends my sense of propriety.

I grew up as an only son with five sisters. I keep my life very close to my vest. It’s safer that way, when you have to fear the next oldest in line (she dealt out physical pain like a grandma giving cookies). I let everyone in, but only to a point. When my mother met my last girlfriend she pulled her down and whispered in her ear “keep an eye on him, he doesn’t even tell me what’s going on in his life.” Can you say emotionally immature? Yea, most likely. But I think the culture is at least partly to blame too. I didn’t have any of this trouble being married to my late wife for nineteen years.

Anyway, my last several relationships have faltered over a simple lack of communication. And I am completely at fault. I used to think I preferred to text. But that was before I realized that it’s expected, every day and several times a day at that. Now I’d be okay with orgasms every day (this is a great couple’s activity, by the way). But words on a screen? No, call me. I’d much rather hear your voice. Actually, I’d rather be sitting with you, sipping a beer and spending time together In Real Life. It’s become so impersonal that I just can’t feel like I’m actually in a relationship. The women begin to feel like I just can’t be bothered.

So this time, I’m going to try a new experiment. Don’t invite me to be a friend on FaceBook (I only use it to send links to these stories). E-mail me if you’d like. There’s at least some semblance of an attempt at a conversation. You can have my cell phone number but an actual call will probably be answered long before a text message (if I even bother with the text). But hey, how about we give this a try? Let’s actually get together, have real conversations where we can look into each other’s eyes, feel the connection, and hey, maybe we’ll fall in love. Now wouldn’t that be cool?

Still, maybe you should just listen to your friends. They’ll tell you this won’t end well.

Written by

father, motorcyclist, old retired guy who’s just a little lost on a blue marble corkscrewing its way to oblivion

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