By ANNA DAVIES
October 3, 2008
October 3, 2008
“I’M moving to California,” I lied to John. It was 2 a.m., and he had called as I was leaving a bachelorette party to ask me over for the night. That was the nature of our three-year-plus “friends with benefits” relationship: every couple of months we got together at his place for sex and not much else. This time, he breathed in stunned silence at the other end of the line. I had met him at a particularly rocky juncture in my life, the summer between college and the real world when, at 22, I was spending my days looking for apartments and jobs, and generally feeling sorry for myself.
On a whim one evening, I clicked away from the apartment rental listings on Craigslist to the “Casual Encounters” section, the online destination for those seeking one-night stands or ongoing casual relationships. I hadn’t really thought through where it might lead or if I would even post anything. All I wanted was a diversion from my rising panic over my future. John responded, and after getting to know each other a bit online, we agreed to meet. He was in his early 40s, a workaholic with a messy past and a string of failed relationships. Spending time with him immediately put all my post-collegiate ennui into perspective.
Soon we had established our pattern. Every few months he would appear in my life through an initial call that would lead to spending two or three nights together. Whenever I would convince myself that maybe, despite our age difference, despite our unconventional introduction, our pseudo-relationship could turn into something more, he would disappear again. Or I would. Like the time he confessed to hiring a nude cleaner off the Internet, and when he invited a woman from a wedding to move into his apartment with her toddler, which kept us apart for the better part of a year.
On a whim one evening, I clicked away from the apartment rental listings on Craigslist to the “Casual Encounters” section, the online destination for those seeking one-night stands or ongoing casual relationships. I hadn’t really thought through where it might lead or if I would even post anything. All I wanted was a diversion from my rising panic over my future. John responded, and after getting to know each other a bit online, we agreed to meet. He was in his early 40s, a workaholic with a messy past and a string of failed relationships. Spending time with him immediately put all my post-collegiate ennui into perspective.
Soon we had established our pattern. Every few months he would appear in my life through an initial call that would lead to spending two or three nights together. Whenever I would convince myself that maybe, despite our age difference, despite our unconventional introduction, our pseudo-relationship could turn into something more, he would disappear again. Or I would. Like the time he confessed to hiring a nude cleaner off the Internet, and when he invited a woman from a wedding to move into his apartment with her toddler, which kept us apart for the better part of a year.
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