text: It took me since the bang of our universe to fall in love, but it took the shortest of a second to completely and utterly lose my common sense. My fingers lingered the glowing backlit keyboard. On the screen flashed a simple confession and I exhaled both in relief and disbelief. What was I even doing? My feelings were like a language I didn’t speak. Yet these feelings were unreasonably potent and dangerously persistent. This whole thing started as a half-hearted excuse to touch the waters of online dating. That's what led me to Flame; a cyber playground for the lonely and hopeful. When prompted for a bio I chose a straightforward approach, simply stating: "Searching for a pen-pal." A few matches poked fun at it, but one gentleman took me seriously. Instead of engaging in typical small talk, he left his email address along with a cliffhanger: he’d pull back from our match and wait for my email. Under the strict condition of no online sleuthing. He didn’t sign his name to the message, actually it was lacking any formalities, ending with a straightforward “Email me”. Eager not to test his patience and fueled by curiosity I made a new e-mail address, using my Flame alias: GingerSpice. I wasn't feeling particularly creative or inspired when I set up my account. Reflecting on it, the choice of name seemed juvenile now. Or maybe I felt that way because of his gaze. Date: Wednesday, February 14, 2024, 06:45 AM To: MisterR@planet.org From: GingerSpice@wave.org Subject: Interesting 😊 To MisterR, To be honest, I wasn’t expecting this at all, but I do appreciate it. So, yeah, I'm in. I'm curious about where this will lead, about you, and about what stories we'll end up sharing. I paused, unsure how to continue. It felt like there should be more to say. In an effort to keep the conversation going, I decided to share something personal--a new recipe I'd been experimenting with that I called “Sweet Eggs”. It was a simple concoction of three eggs, heavy coconut cream, apples, and a dash of cinnamon. I hoped for nothing and pressed send. Date: Friday, February 16, 2024, 08:45 PM To: GingerSpice@wave.org From: MisterR@planet.org Subject: RE: Certainly 😊 Dear GingerSpice, Happy to have surprised you. Just out of curiosity, were you planning on snooping around online? And may I ask, why they are called ‘Sweet Eggs” without sugar? Until the next letter, MisterR And so it began. He remained an enigma throughout the exchange that followed and I was cautious not to probe too deeply. The ones I did ask, he answered sparsely. One time I did push him a little. I asked him about his name. We had yet to share identifiable details that would allow us to trace each other. The no-sleuthing rule still applied. He sidestepped the question about his name, deftly changing the subject. For an inquisitive soul like me, this was like catnip. Another thing I came to know is that he's not a morning person. He never responded before noon and often replied late at night. This tiny piece of information, as trivial as it may seem, lent a peculiar intimacy to our budding connection. But factually, I was holding on to nothing. His persistent reference to our emails as ‘letters’ somewhat annoyed me--they were clearly not letters. He's been doing this since the first exchange and hasn't deviated since. I kept my irritation to myself, though I was tempted to correct him. I even fantasized about telling him so in person. I wanted to tell him that while touching him. That was the first time I was terribly aware of the limits of our E-mail agreement. I remember the time when we were exchanging emails, and I wasn't consumed with thoughts of him. I can't identify the exact moment of change, but it occurred in the shortest of a second. Suddenly, I found myself thinking of him at the most random times, the frequency and intensity of these thoughts gradually escalating. The fantasies spicing up. Twice he had allured to fantasies about me as well. We hadn’t shared pictures, only descriptions. He was tall, blond and had several forearm tattoos. From what I gathered about his schedule, he sometimes worked night shifts, though not regularly, and his job required him to travel often. Unfortunately for me, I had started to care for this onion of a man. My heart was a battleground for two impulses: one that longed for his touch and kiss, while the other urged me to run away and never look back. But, from what? A shadow of my own making, a delusion of my own conjuring? As weeks turned into a blur of emails and daydreams, I found myself in a curious state of calm. The storm of my emotions had settled into something resembling clarity. Maybe, I realized, it had really been too long since I had felt the touch of a lover or even the thrill of sexual tension. What kept nagging me was that he didn’t strike me as the man who’d spend time emailing some stranger without also having some stake in the matter. The effort was there, but for what reason? He has a way of making me laugh, a genuine charm that I couldn't attribute to any ordinary online facade. Somehow, he'd cracked the code, letting me ramble in lengthy emails while offering back his succinct, yet impactful, replies. Still, I occasionally remind myself that he might just be a guy named Frank, sending emails from his mother's basement, surrounded by sour cream Doritos and the scent of canned mushroom soup. But, out of convenience I sidestepped skepticism for the sake of romance. After all, isn't there a saying that the most compelling romances involve a dash of danger? Truthfully, I'm no expert in matters of the heart. I just find myself hopelessly in love with someone whose real identity remains a complete mystery to me. With absolutely no guarantee that he's truly the person he claims to be. It did strike me as interesting that it lingered on. He had never outright ignored my detailed emails, which often contained several sections. Even though his replies had been short, from what I could tell was that he had read them, and more importantly had given what I told him some thought. That must mean someone was somewhat invested in what was going on. But why continue? Our discussions were not exceptional, sometimes even dubious. It was the underlying current beneath our casual comments and risky remarks what kept me coming back. But I was left wondering what kept him engaged. I remained patient and clueless, until I received a message where he did reveal more about himself. It was late on a Saturday night, and I guessed that a few drinks had led to his unexpected openness. Surprisingly, this made me less wary. Date: Friday, February 24, 2024, 02:45 AM To: GingerSpice@wave.org From: MisterR@planet.org Subject: I must admit that... "Would you take the risk again? It seems your main issue is not pursuing what you truly want. Perhaps that's what's holding you back, and everything else is merely a haze. Try to look past it. But, what do I know about anything. I can't even bring myself to admit how much I enjoy our conversations. Do you see what I'm trying to do here? You do, I'm sure. If there's one thing I admire about you, it's your cunning nature. Never lose that, no matter what comes next. Do you see what I'm trying to do here? You do, I'm sure. If there's one thing I admire about you, it's your cunning nature. Never lose that, no matter what comes next. Until the next letter, MisterR Someone’s got to draw first blood now and ask the other out, especially after such a confession. It was the only way to get a good reading from him. Meeting in person was the only way to separate reality from fantasy, and I desperately needed to know what was real and what was imaginary. It wasn’t going to be me, oh no. Hell would have to freeze over before I’d do that. No matter the amount of implicit encouragement or absence of rejection. I wondered, what I’d say if he’s start probing. Asking me to confess up. I doubt I'd lie. "What am I to you?" he might ask. "My surrogate boyfriend. When you've never met, by necessity, that's all there is to it." I'd say, half-joking. hoping he'd rise to the challenge. "Then, I want to surrogate-break up," he'd counter. “I'll pass it on to the projection room, but I doubt they'll listen.” Too scared, or too scarred to let my fantasy reciprocate my wishes I recognized the folly of my attachment and felt a new low. I couldn’t continue with this. I am only going to hurt myself in this confusion; falling for someone based on a fantasy, communicating through a medium that distorts reality. I replayed our conversations in my mind, trying to discern what I truly knew about him. An annoying issue that kept coming back was that I knew very little. It seemed deliberately done by him. Time passed as I mulled over our situation; was he simply satisfied with what we had? Playful flirtatiously by plain text. Back and forth, a few times a week. A reliable trickle of attention, but nothing more. Downplaying his confession, that I didn’t dare to reply to. I convinced myself that my hormones and desires were deceiving me. That was all there was to it, and nothing more. This reasoning sufficed for a while, yet it didn't calm the turmoil within. Which left me to the only way I knew how to cope with the feelings: confess. Starting with admitting it to myself. Because frankly I had been running in circles from the beginning. In my journal I drafted a confession not meant for his eyes, but mine alone. "I confess that I have fallen for the daydream I've conjured up." Well, that was the first step. The next step was talking about it to. ‘Put it out in the universe’ my friend had told me. I’d playfully added ‘and out of my head’ to her mantra. But, maybe I should toy with idea of telling him? And deal with the root of the disturbance in the force. I imagined him knocking on my door, I’d open up and say: "I find myself in a perplexing state, realizing my feelings for you are as deep as they are frightening to me, yet also knowing you deserve far more affection than what I’m able to give." And in my mind that would work. Entangled up more than ever. I silently pleaded for Cupid’s intervention; to strike us both down. Double arrows please. Maybe even Cupid was tired of my pining? Because something did happen. It wasn't a grand gesture or a dramatic declaration, but it shifted everything. An E-Vite popped into my inbox, a simple yet bold move from MisterR, inviting me for what would be our first date. He did label the E-Vite as a ‘Date’. This time, it felt real--no longer just words on a screen but a step into the world I’d so cautiously avoided. After a moment of contemplation I wrote: "I look forward to it. Before we set this date in stone, may I know your name?" For the first time he responded immediately, a response that came before eight A.M as well. Which I took as a positive sign. “My name is Frank. See you soon.” He accepted. And with that, this was really happening. I found myself smiling at my screen, bewildered by the whirlwind. My mind was barely processing what was happening. Escape was not an option. Friday loomed over me, equally exhilarating and terrifying. It had indeed been a while since I'd engaged in anything like this. So much time had passed that I had moved beyond feeling insecure about my relative inexperience in love. A vulnerability I had shared with him and he had respectfully acknowledged. For now that was all the assurance I needed to leap into the unknown.