Dear G___ Letter

Dear G___

By now you've most likely written me off as simply a shallow, self-pitying old man with a poorly concealed, frustrated sexual agenda. You wouldn't be wrong in that assessment. I probably started out a little more innocently optimistic, glad to just have a friend to who seemed sympathetic to talk to. My perception that you initially seemed receptive to something more, even if only brief and physical, was fueled, in part, by your sending of racy photos and by the wild stories you shared with me. 

Hearing about your casual sex, the fact that you can indulge in it so randomly, of course gave me some fantasy about being able to insert myself into some scenario at some point. 

Meanwhile, you shared with me just about everything about your life, from your mental health to your somewhat unconventional relationship with N___, daily chit-chat and thoughts on a variety of topics. I felt comfortable enough to share with you things I've told only one other person in my life, and not even a therapist.  

I guess what I feel was most hurtful, and I'm not saying that it was intentional on your part, but to me, was the cold delivery of the news that I'd always and only be an intellectual curiosity to you. A science project behind glass. What do those lab animals feel, do you suppose? 

I realize that I can't write a letter to you without sounding pouty, petty and pitiful. And my nice guy status is laughable. 

I kept hearing you say how you were touch deprived, starved and what a tactile person you were. You were waving a flag and, I like a dumb bull, took the bait. It didn't seem unreasonable to think that, if you didn't find me physically repulsive or too mentally damaged, you might find it in your heart to think of me as a candidate to receive some purely physical expression of affection from you. A hug, some cuddles--anything.

I don't think all of your kinky storytelling and racy photos did me any good. It just made me want something that I would have been better off not knowing about. I'm not such a good friend as to be able to put my own desires aside and listen to your exploits without the pangs of unrequited desire.

Maybe in some future timeline, when I've become stable enough, when I'm not frustrated by my own lack of fulfillment, I will have a more altruistic base from which to be your friend. Altruistic, not alterous. I don't do half-way. 

But at the moment my amicable wizened sage status has been rescinded and membership privileges revoked. Moral high ground was a self-deception anyway, but it is always tempting to mythologize one's pain into some kind of righteous suffering, some unjust persecution that guarantees the sufferer's saintly status. 

I'm not buying into that, though. I'll freely admit my own emotional shortcomings. I felt teased and led on by you. Then hurt and pouty at your cool, scientific rejection of me. It would have been nicer to lie. Or better yet, don't put the fruit out on display with a sign that says "FREE, take one" with a line of impossibly small text at the bottom that says, "But not you, Andrew."  

I get that you are a person, and not a fruit stand. You may offer yourself freely, cheapening your sexual currency to fiat levels, but you still have value. As a person. Not a sex object. 

Whatever makes you tick and makes you OK with random stuff, group stuff and yet be simultaneously UN-attracted to me, well, I guess that's a nut I'm not meant to crack. And perhaps you can't crack it either.  

Calling it fray is just hanging a name on a set of characteristics. It makes it easier to label and identify people with certain tendencies. It's not a disease, like the flu, caused by a discreet organism. It's not a gene (or maybe it is, who knows). It is an observable behavior pattern. 

But how it translates into human social dynamics is--a lot of people get hurt by the likes of you. The more someone likes you, the less likely you are to feel attracted to them. The inverted formula for a loving relationship.  

This is sad, I feel, for you. Part of you probably aches for something like what "normal" people have. Stability. Lasting emotional connection. You can't really feel that people are so disposable. Or can you? 

Anyway, I'm not trying to start a debate, or argue with your lifestyle choices. I'm just probably not mature enough to engage in any more sex talk with you. And since that seems to be the biggest area of interest in your life, maybe we are not meant to have much more in the way of dialogue.  

I've learned a lot from you. And I feel the worse for it. I had a semblance of innocent naivete that is irretrievably gone. The things I learned about myself were pretty ugly as well.  

This isn't to make you feel bad about yourself. I'm just letting you know how I feel. And since I'm sure you will go away thinking poorly of me anyway, at least this email can be your justification. No sense making up ideas about what you may not like about me when I've spelled it out for you.

Feel free to respond, not respond, correct, debate, ignore -- whatever. I'm not writing you off as a person. I'm just saying how I feel in this moment of time. And it's not so good. You'd probably do better moving on to other "intellectual curiosities." 

I guess time will tell if there's something that can resemble a friendship between us.