Far Out Son of Lung...

In your Dreams?

I can't remember when, exactly, but about a year ago my ex-girlfriend from High School got back in touch with me. I hadn't seen or heard from her in seven years. We split up when we were at Tech and, truth be told, I was an asshole to her at the time. It was a deadend relationship, sex only at that point, and I wanted out. I didn't want to date her anymore but I didn't want to give up the sex either, it was easy and convenient... anyway, she gets back in touch me at random and the next thing I know we're emailing and shit.

She's married, has a kid and lives in Austin. So we worked out some of those old lingering issues and there we were, it was a little strange and didn't much care if we corresponded or not. When I did the first MS150 event from Houston to Austin she met up with me in Austin after the ride. It wasawkward but it was nice to see her again, if only to know that her life wasn't in shambles as a result of my actions.

Then, it started. It being emails about her dreams. Her dreams, or rather her emails about her dreams, consisted of very detailed, explicit sex. With me. I got these emails weekly at first and more or less ignored them. It was a little too much information. Then it was twice a week. I played them off in an attempt to make it go away but she persisted.

Then, in probably one of my biggest bonehead moves of my brief 28 year existence, I decided to respond to one of them. I egged her on. I was playing with her to see what would happen.

-Now, keep in mind I have a rather active imagination. Also keep in mind the fact that I have previously dated a woman who read vast amounts of fantasy books from the fun/naughty section of Barnes & Noble. After what may have amounted to hundreds of late night text messages I had been left me with vast stores of adjectives and metaphors that, to date, had not been utilized.-

The moment I hit send I was damned to perish in a private hell populated by ghoulish beings in lingerie, much like you'd see in an 80's B-movie. You know, the ones where the dead bride comes back to haunt her lovable yet estranged husband to be or, worse still, Kirstie Alley comes back from the dead... I don't know if that ever happend, but if it did it was inspired by this very situation. Nevermind the fact that the movie was written 20 years ago by some pot inspired hack, he got it from me.

So things progressed, as a result of my email, from interesting yet harmless to disturbing and problematic within about, oh... 12 hours.

I'm just going to give myself a little pat on the back for this bit of creativity as well. I mean, c'mon. We all have active imaginations but in the course of one email I think I completely out did myself. I don't know if I could make a career out of smut but it was some damn good shit, if I must say so myself. In retrospect, of course, I should ahve just tucked it away for use at a later date (with a better recipient) but as it stands I think the test run has proven rather successful.

But I digress. I had a reply within 12 hours. It too was steamier than the rest and only proved to make me want to try again. See, I thought of this as a curious experiment. So, I replied. This time I really broke out the smut thesaraus and created something beyond special. This was art folks. If porn could ever be considered an artform, I had just (for lack of a better metaphore) banged one home. Yeah, it was good.

This one pulled a response in even less time, but it also brought about an even more uncomfortable situation. A text message at 6 o'clock in the morning. Ok, its bad enough that I'm doing this with a married woman, harmless as it seems, but to then get a text message concerning her state of being (horny) that was pushing it.

Then I got more emails. And more. And some more text messages.

It wasn't the glut of information so much as the new content. Specifically, her desire to drive to Dallas and let me take advantage of her over the course of some weekend. Yikes. I told it it was a bit much, like all in good fun... and she tells me its ok with her husband because "he's a hippie"... She was then telling me how it was all so harmless and had gotten her out of her Mommy Mode and how nice that was... but I was still uncomfrtable with the situation.

Uh huh. Still... this was getting out of hand. So I stopped responding. She started to get the message and backed off. No more talk of being in Dallas or wanting me to visit in Austin. Phew, disaster averted.

Then I got another email today. More of the same. And another suggested trip to Dallas, even though she admits that I probably would not be up for the idea... I don't know if this would be classified as a stalker, but its the closest thing I have to one and, truth be told, I've always wanted one.

No seriously. I've always thought it'd be great if a woman were so taken by me that she had to sit outside my apartment spying on me and sending me psychotic love letters full of confetti and photoshopped pitures of us. See, I don't think I've ever had someone that completely enamoured with my prescence that she was off her rocker and couldn't think about anything else besides, well... me. I know, I know... that's supposed to happen when you are in love and shit, but seeing as how that situation brings with it a whole host of problems of its own, I thought maybe this would be an interesting alternative.

I figure if I've got some chic in love with me I'm probably having to put up with a lot of her shit. Complaining, whining and then the cost of dates and all, man... that can add up fast! And who knows if all that effort (on my part) will even be worth it in the end or if she'll just turn out to be another flake. So, why not find a flake (or let a flake find me) first! Then, I don't have to wonder if or when she'll flake out, because she already has! No more evenings spent wondering if she's out with someone else or if she's being honest about one thing or another... Just eliminate those awkward face-to-face arguments over nothing, but keep the erotic email and suggestive photographs (those are big with stalkers) and things just seem so much easier! And when things start to get real hairy and maybe she starts thinking about kidnapping me or killing me, just drop the cops a note and get a restraining order against her. Problem solved!

Yeah, so that's the long and short of it. Now, if I could just get someone more desirable to think this way about me, life would be groovy. Only in my dreams, huh?

posted by GreSam @ 19:06