The Potential Affair Partner that Didn’t Have Potential
“Meet me at the beach? I’ll bring my dog,” I texted. “Should be a warm day.”
“Sure, sounds like a great plan,” he responded.
This guy was perfect on paper — smart, tall, educated, well-traveled, and most importantly, looking for an affair partner.
“So, why are you looking?” I asked in our first conversation — my standard opener.
“Wife and I are separating. We still live together, but that’s just until we iron out the details. We’ve grown apart. She doesn’t share any of my interests and no intimacy at all,” he said.
“Yeah, my life too, in reverse.”
I should just write “ditto” to everything he texted.
“I’d like someone to have a mental and physical connection with.”
That’s what all the guys said…
“I’d like more, as well. Tough to find,” I wrote.
“How long have you been looking?” he asked.
Shit. I wasn’t telling the truth. “A few months or so.” I had been looking since the winter, and now it was getting warm in May.
It was a never-ending slog of responding hopefully, texting artfully, convo’s dying, and meetings with no rapport. I had hoped it might end soon. Maybe he’s the one, I prayed. I was so tired of looking.
Not sure if I’m attracted to him but let’s give him a chance.
“I’ll be in yoga gear with a black dog,” I said.
“I’ll be with my laptop doing work, and I’m bald.”
I walked over to the bench he was sitting on. “Hey, what’s up? I’m Mona…”
His face fell. I usually saw men’s faces light up when they saw me for the first time.
I thought I looked halfway decent today. That’s a blow to the ego. Plus he was tall and nerdy looking. No male model.
“Want to take a stroll?” I recovered, pointing to my dog. This isn’t going to pan out. No way. Another waste of time. I sent him pics — he knew what I looked like. I didn’t lie or alter them.
“Sure,” he picked up his computer. “Let me put this away,” he said. I almost thought he’d get in his car and drive away.
“She sounds hideous.” I felt like the Jake from the State Farm commercial. “She’s a guy,” he says to his shrill wife.
At least my dog gets a nice walk at the beach.
“So…” I started. Let’s make this short and sweet. I don’t need to be tortured. “Have you had any success on Ashley Madison?” I asked. “Met any other women?” Since I’m a disappointment.
“I met one other lady. It wasn’t there, unfortunately.”
“Ah. I understand.” Just like this.
What did he want? I wondered. What kind of woman flipped his switch? I didn’t even wish it could have been me. I was already mentally preparing myself for the next guy. There wasn’t any shortage of men looking to get laid. I had numbers in my favor — the one constant in adultery land.
Yet, I would miss his texts. Like this one:
“I just wanted you to have this message when you wake up to let you know how much I have enjoyed getting to know you…and how much I am looking forward to our meet on Wednesday. You are certainly an unexpectedly wonderful discovery.”
He wrote me the sweetest things anyone had ever written. Would anyone ever write me such tender comments again? I didn’t know. Maybe it wouldn’t matter.
As we parted in the parking lot, I knew I would long for the potential of his words far more than I could admit. I’d look at my phone longingly for the next few weeks thinking maybe he’d come around to “being friends.”
“Send me some of your writing,” he said as he walked to his car.
How could I? I couldn’t share my head without part of my heart.
It’s too bad we weren’t meant to be.
This is the story of our texting.
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