There's No Fool Like An April Fool (Meeting the Black Queen)

Today is the tenth anniversary of my initial "meeting" with the woman who would go on to become the Black Queen. I say "meeting," but it wasn't face to face. it was a virtual meeting, in a chat room. As it was just over three months after the end of my relationship with Paula, I was looking to meet someone new. When she first spoke with me, I thought she was a guy, so I was a bit standoffish. Once I realized she was female, my usual charm offensive took over. Learning that she was half English and half Chinese intensified my interest. I love British accents and I have always been partial to oriental females. We exchanged photos and I found her attractive in her picture.
Everything wasn't clear sailing. I learned that she was separated from her husband and had two young children. Not letting myself be deterred, I called her on the phone. We continued talking over the internet and by telephone, every day, over the next two weeks. By then, I was certain I wanted to meet this enticing woman. I told her that I was prepared to fly to Britain and meet face to face. She agreed and I purchased a ticket to fly to London, before the end of the month. We planned on seeing each other over a weekend, then I would drive to Wales and visit the Great Michelle's brother for four days. I would return to the London area the following Thursday and spend a four day weekend with her, before flying back to New York. The visit to Wales was necessitated by the fact that my prospective girlfriend was still living with he husband she was separated from. She didn't want him to know about me, yet.
I flew to London's Gatwick airport with high hopes. When I entered the arrivals hall, I scanned the crowd for my internet girlfriend. As I first spotted her and we exchanged initial eye contact, I could tell by the expression on her face that she was disappointed. It seemed obvious that I didn't look as good as she had been expecting. My heart sank. At least I would get to see Michelle's brother, so I figured the trip wouldn't be a complete waste of time. My reaction was the opposite. She looked much better than I was expecting. The photo she had sent me hadn't done her justice. As we walked to the multi-story car park at Gatwick's South Terminal, she was very quiet. For safety, she had a friend drive her to Gatwick, so she wasn't alone. Her friend, another woman, drove away from the airport with me and my intended sitting together in the back seat. A hotel room had been reserved for me in a town called Langley, not far from where my intended's parents lived. During the drive there, I reached out to her and we kissed for the first time. It was a good move, as once I kissed her, she melted into my arms, all her disappointment in my looks forgotten.
At the hotel, I checked into my room. My blind date had arranged for some food to be waiting for me, when I arrived, as the hotel restaurant was closed, due to the late hour. She also had arranged for a bottle of champagne to be waiting in my room. We shared the champagne, then continued intimately kissing. I was impressed with how competently this half-oriental beauty had arranged everything. She stayed with me until the early hours of the morning, then drove home, promising to return later, during the day.
We spent as much time as possible together, during that first weekend. Then it was time for me to drive to Wales in a rented car. It was good to see Michelle's brother again, but my thoughts were occupied with my internet sweetheart. I told him about the girl who was stealing my heart. Soon it was time to head back to the London area. I drove back east, on the M4 motorway, as fast as I could. She had arranged for us to spend the weekend together at the Hilton hotel in Bracknell, Berkshire, just outside London. Ironically, I now live less than a mile from this hotel. Again, it was close to her parents' home, yet it was a much nicer hotel than I had stayed in at Langley. I checked in first, then she joined me, later. The next day, Friday of the first weekend in May, we met her parents for dinner at a local restaurant. It was her mother and her step-father, as her mother was on her second marriage. They seemed friendly enough. By then, I was thinking of my internet beauty as my girlfriend. She had planned for us to attend the theatre in Windsor, across the street from the Queen's castle, on Saturday. She dressed very classy, in black and I enjoyed going to a play with her.
Soon it was Monday morning and time for me to head home. During my visit, after the first time we made love, she had cried tears of happiness. She told me it was the first time in her life that she had been orgasmic with a man. I felt honored. That Monday, we sat in the car and she cried tears of sadness that I was leaving. We pledged to keep seeing each other and I flew home to New York a happy man. I was in love once again.

Why Say It If You Don't Mean It?

So, it's Valentine's Day, once again. If, like me, you're one of those people who is single, you may be tempted to say, "big deal." I am one of those foolishly romantic people, who goes around falling in love, all the while hoping that, one day, someone might truly love me back. I guess that makes me a "hopeless romantic," or just hopeless. Since, once again, I find myself alone on Valentine's Day, I tried to think of something appropriate to write about, while not becoming too negative. After all, my blog is supposed to be light-hearted. Without a current love in my life, I guess it's inevitable that I will focus on past loves. That got me thinking...why do people say "I love you," when they don't mean it?
Anyone with any dating experience at all has probably experienced having someone say, "I love you." I've taken more trips around the sun on this rock than I like to think about, so I've experienced it many times. Think about how many times you have heard that immortal phrase from someone, only for that person to willfully exit your day to day life. The phrase may be immortal, but the love wasn't. I tend to be a sentimental idiot, so back home, in America, I saved all the cards I ever got from people who claimed to love me. Not just Valentine's, I mean birthday cards, Christmas cards, the works. I had to leave that stuff in the States, because when I married the Black Queen, she wasn't real keen on me bringing that sort of stuff over here. Every once in a while, I used to look through my stash. I'd pull out cards from old loves, who swore undying love, at the time. Where are these people now?
When I say "I Love you," to someone, I mean it and I don't stop loving that person. Yet for many, it seems easy to say, "I love you" one day, then "I think we should go our separate ways," the next. Why do they do that? Why bother saying, "I love you," if you don't mean it? When I was married to the Black Queen, Valentine's Day was a big deal, every year. I used to take her out to dinner. We got into the habit of going to the same restaurant, every year, for that evening. It may sound silly, but the place became sentimental for us. There would be a card, some chocolates, flowers, sometimes a romantic gift, depending on how the finances were working out. They were little things, but the BQ used to get a kick out of it.
When I get someone a card, I put a lot of effort into picking the right one. I look at dozens of cards, sometimes visiting several shops, before I find the one that feels right. That reminds me of my last Valentine's Day with the Black Queen. I gave her a card, which, as usual, had taken me some time to pick out. She tossed it aside, unopened. I said, "the least you could do is open it. I spent forty-five minutes picking it out."
She chucked an envelope toward me and said, "I figured you'd get me a card, so I got you one. I spent five seconds picking it out."
Even my step-son, the Black Prince, noticed and asked me later why "mummy" was "being so horrible" to me. Never one to use the children as weapons, I covered for her, making excuses that she just wasn't feeling well. Each time I end up being let down by a woman, I try to steel myself against letting it happen again. Yet, time after time, I fall for it all over again. Sure, the other ones were full of it, but this time will be different. This time will be true love. It's amazing how we humans can con ourselves. On one occasion, I even had someone dump me on Valentine's Day. Ya gotta love the timing.
After the Black Queen filed for divorce, I had one decent conversation with her, where I tried to persuade her to reconcile. She asked me, "why should I stay married to you? How does it benefit me?" At the time, I couldn't think of a good answer. Maybe if I had, we'd still be married. I think I was too grief stricken to think clearly, then. Several months later, the answer came to me. By then, we were separated and I was living on my own. I wrote her one last letter, in which I made one last try to get her to reconcile. In it, I said that the answer to her question was that she should stay married to me because I love her. I pointed out that some people go through their entire lives without finding someone who truly loves them. When you do find someone who does love you, it's such a rare and precious thing, you should cherish it and never throw it away.
I sent her that last letter around Valentine's Day, 2003. Of course, it didn't make any difference and our divorce was finalized on the 17th of February, just three days later. It seems she didn't dig what I had to tell her. So, what keeps the hope alive? Why do I keep putting myself through the heartache and disappointment? Why do I keep foolishly ending up trusting the next person to con me with "I love you?" I guess I think I can't be the only person like me, out there. Surely, somewhere in this cold universe there must be a woman who is capable of loving me the way I love people. Nah! Who am I kidding? Myself, it seems. Enough of this romantic rubbish. I'm off downstairs to have some comfort food and watch TV with Nando. Happy Valentine's Day, suckers.