I’ve never “broken up with” a distant buddy. The nature of these relationships is almost structurally overdetermined not to get old for me. But several of them have ended. This was in some ways the most painful/interesting:
There was a moment when the idea that we wouldn’t fuck seemed laughable. We were emailing constantly. She sent me pictures. I heard her orgasms. Saw them. Owned them. We recorded voice messages to one another frequently and got to know a fair amount about one another’s real lives.
Hers was, at the time, in considerable stress. A recent divorce, multiple family illnesses, relocation, a new job, all added up to a lot on her plate. She used me as a distracting relief, just as I used her. I was grateful.
We seemed well matched. Our conversations, mostly, but not exclusively, about sex, were compelling to both of us. She was worried, both about sustaining interest long-term, and about the possibility of meeting, once, and shooting our proverbial wad, never setting one another again.
With her, more than any distant buddy, I felt a genuine friendship.
When she began to date two different guys, I had the opportunity to explore my jealousy. That was hard, but rewarding. When she started to fall for one of them, I saw it coming before she admitted it (to me, at least).
And I was happy for her.
Then our communication inevitably, inexorably slowed down. Most of her messages were the same: “Sorry I can’t write more now, but I’ll be able to soon.” Then, even those dropped off. The last email from her, in December, was a lament that she was “doing a terribly slow job of getting that ball to [my] court.”
And she was gone.
I’m a slut, for sure. I try to keep pretty clear boundaries in my extramarital sexual relationships. But when they end, inevitably, I feel sadness. I invest those relationships, in general, with some emotional import. And this one especially.
I understood moving on, concluding that what we had was incompatible with what she wanted with him. But I confess, my fragile heart (cock? ego?) was wounded by her simple disappearance, her preference for (self?-) deception over honest closure.
I miss her, and hope she’s happy, doing well.