Online sex dating camera on phone
Jamie and I chatted for a minute, then I passed the phone to her. Afterward, I said to Patty, "Hey, you don't like to go out, either. After that, I cut him off entirely and distanced myself from Patty. The one thing that had helped me get over him was the notion that he couldn't have a real physical relationship with anyone. I hired a new therapist, trying to get to the root of the whole twisted experience. Nearly a year later, I heard from friends that they'd broken up. "Jamie is one sick guy," she said when she called back, adding that he would tell her he loved her one minute, then pull away the next. "I wish I'd never met him." Over time, I came to forgive Patty for what I saw as a temporary lapse of sanity. Eventually, I stopped thinking about her role in things altogether—and about Jamie's culpability, too.
You two should talk to each other when I'm not around." I'd handed her the phone on impulse, but on some level, I did want her to get to know Jamie—he was my quasi-boyfriend, after all. After several months of silence, Patty called and said she needed to talk. All along, I'd thought of myself as having been lured into a half-baked attempt at intimacy because Jamie wasn't willing to meet, when in reality, it was me who was afraid to take the relationship further.
But just to be sure, a few months into our "relationship," I sent my friend Dana, who lived in the same city as Jamie, on a reconnaissance mission to the opening of one of his stores. It was something I'd never done before—at least not to this degree.
She called me later, saying she'd shaken his wedding-ringless hand. "A little surprised to hear that you'd sent me, but otherwise just a nice, normal guy." That night, Jamie and I laughed about my deviousness, and he asked what else I needed him to do to prove he was who he said he was. We shared our deepest, most creative fantasies..of which involved an 18th-century doctor and the invention of the vibrator (let's just say embarrassment was never an issue).
This guy had already managed to hurt me, in the space of just two weeks. We spoke for hours about everything, from our damaged childhoods to jobs to exes to first kisses.
Then he'd found me—a woman he might want to have a real relationship with. "Please," he begged, "give me another chance." I hesitated. I'd planned to merely dip my toe in the water, but instead, I cannonballed right in.
"Nope," I said, "I'm satisfied." Then one night, he asked, "What are you wearing? Within six months, we were saying "I love you." I kept meaning to ask when we were going to meet in person, but I also kept putting it off.
" "Well, everything is at the Laundromat, so a pair of boxers, my roommate's 'Virginia Is for Lovers' T-shirt, and black socks," I admitted. Partly, I didn't want to pressure him; partly, I didn't want to risk meeting him and not liking him in person; and partly, I felt vulnerable.
He said he'd joined determined to overcome his intimacy fears but hadn't been moved by any of the women he'd met. I want to hear your voice." He called me that night, and was even smarter and funnier on the phone.
"Ever since my father died, I've been terrified to get too close to anyone..." The e-mail was long and apologetic, full of searing self-criticism and shamefaced confessions.
Being treated as my father's intellectual and emotional equal was heady stuff, and I'm guessing it was then that I developed a taste for the whispered intimacy of a forbidden nighttime chat.