Light, Shadow & Internet Porn

The other day someone was looking for ShatAKing again (The Saga of the Wall Street Rockstar, Stonerdate 09.06.08). This individual has read the tale a few times over the past few months. I know because of the statcounter.

I suspect The Narcissist (Stonerdates 01.10.09 and 01.12.09) has been checking in consistently since St. Patrick's Day, but I may be misinterpreting the data. I've misinterpreted data before.
Even if it's not The Narcissist, this returning visitor uses the same internet service provider and browser as he did. Whenever this person appears, I wonder if it's The Narcissist and why he'd be looking at the blog so much when he's declared he is done with me.

In any case, The Narcissist's screen name popped into my head this week. Naturally, I googled it. I was not surprised to find several pages listing his activities on adult dating sites, dating forums, personal ads etc. I was surprised to find that he alleges he is 38 years old and calls himself an epicurean. He's 47 and has been known to live on Pop Tarts, for chrissakes.

I have enough experience of my own with adult dating sites to know that it's not unusual for people to live out a fantasy life on line. Some fellows, however, apparently adopt the persona of James Bond or Eric Clapton as if a brief fling can turn him into someone other than a miserable 45 or 53 year old man attempting to reconnect with the potential of youth. If he can convince a woman that he's who he wishes he were, then maybe he can convince himself he's someone he can like and respect. In these cases, NSA Sex (no strings attached) is probably crucial because once a partner starts to peel away the persona, that same old fart is waiting.

I like old farts, myself, and when he wasn't defended by his persona, The Narcissist was pretty endearing. Some would say that his vulnerable humanity was simulated in order to secure a supply source.

I'm not bent out of shape because someone I was sincerely attached to was cruising the internet in pursuit of a white gang bang for an ebony beauty, a huge clit to suck and a woman with a flaming red bush. People say all kinds of things when they think they are anonymous, and some famous Medieval Catholic said something along the lines of Porn being necessary so that humans could flush out their baser impulses and concentrate on their work. It might have been St. Thomas Aquinas.

Talking dirty in some chat room is something I can understand, much the same as I can understand that a recently separated man might need a woman to tell him he's great and help with his laundry. I could also understand that The Narcissist needed to remain free to recapture his mojo after the collapse of his marriage. He and I had an ongoing conversation over some months about my wanting a relationship while he couldn't deal with the obligations involved. The obligation to his almost ex-wife and children were all he could manage. I could understand and accept all that because I had my own emotional gestalt to worry about, and he fit in nicely to the sitcom of life over here at Menopausal Stoners World Headquarters.

What I can't understand is why he took me to South Beach and told me my eyes looked like the ocean and came with me to Austin last summer if he was so opposed to being in a relationship that he built a wall between us and fortified it by chasing gang bangs with strangers. I call that selfishly stringing a woman along for a couple of years.

When I saw him back in January, he made a point of letting me know just how badly I treated him when he'd been nice enough to come to Austin. He conveniently forgot how disrespectful and hurtful he'd been while we were there. He's not the kind of person to accept any responsibility when something turns out badly, and I have learned that trying to point out his role in a situation is a waste of breath.

It's like Carolyn Myss explains in Sacred Contracts. Life sends you a teacher, and if you don't learn the lesson, it will send you another one who will be worse. What I learned from The Narcissist is that I was afraid to look at the hole in my soul. Like many people, I tried to fill the hole with a relationship - but others try to fill it with stuff, or alcohol or sex.

We need that hole, though, to let in the light. Once we find our own light, the hole in the soul is filled. Is it God or Grace, Consciousness or Acceptance? Who knows and who cares? I'm just grateful to have found it and found myself, finally outside of someone else's shadow.

The sad thing is that when a girl feels emotionally secure, she might go places with a man where he'd be shy to go by himself and I ain't talking about the altar. I learned that from Granny the Ho.