I was trying to feel something for someone, but I couldn’t muster up the excitement. This guy is six and a half feet tall. He is covered in Aquarius and Bhudda tattoos. His eyes are blue like a winter sky. He’s a reiki master for Christ’s sake. But I have declined the opportunities to meet him. We just started talking on a dating site one day, back when I was living with my ex, post breakup.
He’s the perfect guy to hookup with. He lives about an hour away. He is terrified of commitment. He has a beautiful penis. I’ve seen it in pictures and videos. And that’s what worries me, I guess. He has only seen the perfectly orchestrated snapshots of my body. He has a really big idea about a very tiny piece of me. He doesn’t know the girl who flies into work with no makeup on, bags under my eyes, craters in the skin on my nose. And my hair always pulled in an ugly ass bun. He has only seen the side of me with perfectly done makeup and a snapchat filter. I’ve also figured out how to angle my camera in such a way, he has no idea that my stetchmarked, muffin topped belly looks like Freddy Crueger and the Michelin man made a baby. It’s terrifying to reveal your real self, your entire self, to an Internet friend.
On top of my slightly enhanced photos, I’m also terrified of his bedroom expectations. I have talked some shit with this guy. He and I had some very intense conversations. I would sneak out to the garage where my kids couldn’t hear me, and have orgasm after orgasm, just listening to his dark sexy voice say the very dirtiest things through my phone. The garage was my happy place, towards the end of that situation. Please don’t judge me. I had been held captive for the past year by an asexual man. I couldn’t really date while I was living there. So I sought out exactly what I needed from the vast reaches of the Internet. And the internet delivered. This guy would talk about doing reiki on my pussy. Could you imagine?! This old hippie was completely hooked!
The thing is though, I couldn’t have dreamed up a more perfect man for myself. The height, the eyes, the mind. His brain is the kind of brain that creeps into the deepest crevices in my heart. He loves astrology so much, he tattooed his ruling planet on his arm. Who fucking does that? My fucking soulmate. That’s who.
But I don’t believe in soulmates. And I don’t even know this guy. And guess what his fucking ruling planet is? That’s right. Uranus. Fucking Uranus. In my seventh house. And that’s why this will be the greatest love story I’ve never told. Because it’s not happening. I don’t need this anymore.