The Free Lunch Lover Doesn’t Exist
Finding the Perfect Lover that checks every box
Am I always on the prowl for the “perfect” lover? YES. I cheat to get what I want. And I want it all.
Is there a “right” person out there who checks every box?
Handsome but not arrogant? Check. Assertive but not controlling? Check. Stable but also exciting? Check. Manly but also emotional? Check. Communicative but not clingy? Check. Sexual beyond belief but not a player? Check.
A whole mash-up of contradictory traits. 12 boxes.
What will I settle for?
Do I want to wait? I suspect I’ll hang around Ashley Madison and the Naughty From Neglect subreddit for a long time. I can’t wait for perfection because I would never get laid. Nothing is perfect in life, in an affair, or in my marriage.
I have dull and dependable at home. I have stability and status. I don’t have an ounce of passion, though. Exhilaration? Not a teeny bit. Everything has its costs. I’ve learned the hard way.
Lovers are no different.
Guys think, “She’s fucking hot!” Yet, “She’s also a drunk, smokes, and is rude.”
Ladies think, “He’s fine beyond belief.” Yet, “He’s also a flake, and runs hot and cold.”
There isn’t a free lunch. We can’t get everything we want, even in an affair.
I hope to find that elusive guy who is made for me. My problem is that he’s probably “looking” along with everyone else. Heck, I am too.
Is it liberating to let go of the fruitless search?
I haven’t entirely made it there yet. In other ways, I have. Compromises are the calling card for all affairs. One lover I had was perfect — a Doctor who sent me articles and links that made me think or laugh had excellent recovery in bed, and was handsome to boot. Yet, he was terrible at texting regularly and kept me at arm's length emotionally. The good outweighed the bad until it didn’t any longer.
After not hearing from him in days, I’d grow so angry. “Hey, what’s up?” I’d text. I’d want to use every exclamation point.
“You know I’m busy,” he’d write back. “I can’t text often.”
“But you only text when you want to get laid. This is getting old.”
“My schedule is so tied up. I know, I have to do better,” he’d promise.
We’d meet for a hotel “date,” and I would ride off my sex high happily for as long as I could until the cycle would repeat itself.
When would I get tired of this game?
It happened about a year later. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s not enough,” I said. I had the balls to do this in person, I might add. Since I’ve been dumped via text and it’s not pretty.
My Doctor and I ended amicably. We’re still friends. We text on holidays and say hello, mostly me checking in on him. It’s the same dynamic. Nothing had changed except that I didn’t care as much since I wasn’t fucking him any longer. He still has a piece of my heart, though. His periodic check-ins bring a smile to my face. What can I say? I’m sentimental.
Did I stop looking for another lover when I was with the Doctor? I did most of my affair until towards the end, where I could see it all falling apart. I better line someone up, I figured. I’d like to get laid occasionally.
Will he have “this and that?” Probably not. I’ll need to take the good with the bad until the bad outweighs the good. Perfect is the enemy of just okay. I’m old enough to realize the “next best thing” is not going to happen. My options are limited by my patience.
I haven’t found the perfect lover yet.
I settled for 6 out of the 12 imaginary boxes.
But I’m okay with that. Lunch is never free.
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