What started as a friendly note to a blogger, had turned into a daily, erotic exchange for me. Eric was sending me pics almost daily, of himself in various states of arousal. I was enthralled by his physical presence, and captivated by his open, honest exchange. Within a few days, we were talking daily. I knew his schedule, and he mine. I would often keep him occupied on his lengthy commute to work in the morning, and/or his commute at home in the evening. I grew to expect that connection. At that time, I was working in the field quite a bit, away from the office, and could chat at almost any time he was available. He was available a lot.
Our discussions nearly always centered around sex at first. If we were in a position to do so, we talked each other through an orgasm, and then often sent pictures of the result. But our discussions also quickly progressed to other issues. We learned about our families, our jobs, our fears, and our triumphs. He had quickly become a friend, confidant, and a long distance lover.
Even considering the mental state I was in, I recognized that what I had fallen in love with, may not actually exist. I was in a 'pinch me' state when we weren't talking, pessimistically fearing that I would wake one day, and what I had quickly fallen to depend on would be gone. But when we were talking or texting, I was like a giddy school girl. I repeatedly questioned to myself how I could be so 'taken' by him when we had not even met. Then he would call or send a naked picture or text me and my fears would disappear.
Then, near Christmas, all of my fears came true. It was Christmas family time, and he did not communicate for days. I was devastated. I spent hours looking through what communication I still had from him, mostly emails, some texts, as well as the pictures. But, my despondence initiated by my separation from my family and kids at Christmas, was only heightened by his absence. I questioned my value, worth, future, past, and saw my convictions diminish. And yet, I knew that what I had come to expect could never actually be.
During that time of little or no communication with him, I started writing him emails, journals, of my thoughts and feelings. I sent none of them, but still kept them. I realize now that it was therapy for me to actually put those feelings on paper. When I look back on them and read them now, I realize how truly fucked up I was.
In early January, we finally talked. I came close to telling him how I felt, but I couldn't...the time was not right...he had said something like, when it stops being fun, then we need to quit. I didn't want to quit. So, I accommodated. But...in my heart, I knew that there was nothing there even remotely close to what I once thought was there.
More to come in part 3.
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