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And slowly, over weeks, he was learning more from me than just dirty talk.We talked all of the time, it seemed, through every medium we could get our hands on: instant messages, text messages, Facebook, Twitter, Skype, cell phone calls, work phone calls.We even had a song – Billie Holiday’s “Easy to Love.” It didn’t matter that we were nowhere near ready to use the loaded L-word.Later in August, I spent the majority of a free Death Cab for Cutie concert sending him text messages coded with meaning.I told him my secrets, my worries, the mean things people said to me at work (“There’s a supermodel buried in there somewhere!”) and the kind words of encouragement from others that I refused to let sink into my damaged psyche.In some respects, the week contained everything I imagined the relationship would be… After about twenty minutes, he excused himself for dinner plans. But he surprised us both by calling me back later that night at two a.m.
With a mere six words, he nailed my intentions to the floor.
It wasn’t love at first Tweet, but the attraction our conversations and Google searching generated caught me off guard. Here’s a word you’ll never read about in the more restrained online love stories – masturbation. Later that day, I woke up to a text message from him.
I didn’t think it would go any further than an unrequited crush. I mean, how else are two people – separated by thousands of miles but who nevertheless share immeasurable bursts of affection and passion – supposed to connect with each other? “I love the sounds you make,” he wrote, and he wasn’t talking about my Martha Generic impersonation.
yeah, that plan lasted all of five days before we met.
At first, I rationalized my guilt away: It’s only phone sex! But it was undeniably the most intimate contact I was allowing myself to share with another person during this self-induced bout of celibacy.