In 42 years, or I guess 22 years of dating (my first kiss was at 21), I've lost the love of my life twice.

[ Skip the prologue if you want to read the story chronologically, but I'm inserting out-of-order content here so the main love story won't have as much negativity. ]

Before you assume that, because I was a late bloomer, I now fall in love with any opportunity that comes my way: No. I've made up for lost time. After 50+ lovers, many looped back around and became casual friends and acquaintances.

But, those rare actual girlfriends... my twin flames... the real soulmates... they do not come back.

This blog is called "It's Best If You Don't Reach Out" because that is what my ex-girlfriend at the time said to me after I broke our no contact agreement. She was perfect for me in nearly every way except she has genital herpes and I don't. I dumped her, fearful for my health, spent three months in the throes of depression, then hyped myself up enough to write her intending to beg for another chance. I was going to tell her I would be honored to receive her genital herpes, but she rejected my outreach and I've been despondent for years. I don't know how I accomplish anything because I am never fully focused. My biggest train of thought is always going around her.

Except for the ten month break I enjoyed when - for the first time in four years - my goddess with genital herpes wasn't on my mind! That ten months was a gift.

Black Friday 2023 contained an Earth-shattering surprise for me. I accidentally went on a date with a homeless lady and was pretty much done with meeting women altogether. I was six months away from pulling off a move from Arizona to Oregon that was two years in the making, and my excitement for escape exceeded everything else. After the morning folly with the homeless lady, I considered canceling my final date of Thanksgiving weekend and uninstalling the app. Over it, I asked my next match if she'd come out earlier than we planned (so I could get home sooner), and she accommodated me. However, I did not get home sooner than I planned because we closed the bar.

I don't consider Alice a legitimate ex-girlfriend (how can she date me when she's already in a decade long relationship with somebody else?), but this woman who granted me a ten month reprieve from missing my goddess with genital herpes had only one real flaw: She was absolutely mesmerized by her former fiance. Maybe because she holds some resentment toward her real dad, she completely lights up like a Christmas tree every time this much older man she once tried to marry comes around. And whether we were sitting on the couch, lying in bed, about to have sex, had sex, driving, eating dinner... he came around all the fucking time.

I disdainfully call him Republican Luke. She affectionately calls him by his full name, Luke Puke.

Queen, the only reason you sit in second place in the pantheon of my greatest loves is because I can't even fantasize about you in the middle of the night because our beautiful memories are polluted with that stupid baby voice you use to bleat out your former fiance's name every time he graces you with his call.

"HeLLo LuKE puKEEE!!"

Your enthusiasm to receive his daily (and nightly) volley of calls plays on repeat in my brain whenever I try and relax into thoughts of our time together. "Luke Puke!! LUKE PUKE!! LUKEY PUKIE!!" Then I remember how you'd leap off the couch and run away giggling to talk to him. A 60 year old man. A 60 year old Republican man. A 60 year old, Republican, Trump supporting man. You think our relationship failed because I walk away from conflict. Our relationship failed because it was boxed in by your primary relationship and couldn't expand. We only had three fights in ten months and two of them were about him. I'd even argue the other fight wouldn't have happened without him in the chain of events leading up to it. No matter what's going on in a day, we better drop everything and answer every call from "LUKE PUUUKE!!"

While I want to drift off to sleep with you on my mind because I still love you very much, I can't do it without remembering you already had a relationship that was more important than ours. Ultimately, occupying my mind with memories of my goddess with genital herpes is far less painful than thinking about you. She didn't get notified on her smart watch ten times a day that somebody is calling, and it's, "YAYYY!! LUKE PUUUKE!!"

You listing him in your phone as "In Case of Emergency - Luke Puke" made me realize you came with an infection worse than genital herpes. A whole ass fiance! How dare you pretend to be single, spend ten months gaslighting me on your emotional relationship with a senior citizen, and then ruin my dream only to tell me we aren't moving forward without him. Just be honest! I never would have consented to any of that. You could have found a proper third. You weirdo polygamist!

Six days. One ruined dream. I was home for six days. You courted me back from Oregon for two months, never granting me a day of quiet reflection, then after only six days back in Arizona, with a well of tears in yours eyes, you asked me if we could give Luke Puke a bigger role in our relationship. For the rest of my life, I'll never understand why you stole Oregon from me just to keep Republican Luke at the center of everything.

Truth be told, I wish this Black Friday was a Happy Anniversary Black Friday and not a personal crisis across psychological, financial, and suicidal spectrums Black Friday. Suicidal might be a stretch, but there's no word that means I'd kill myself if I didn't have a child to live for. Children really are the most precious gift of life. But, last year at this time, I met a woman in Arizona who made me believe in love again. She made me want to get married for real this time, not to defraud the government (as was the case with my Guatemalan wife). Three months ago, I was offered a dream job as a middle school counselor in Oregon at a school overlooking the Pacific Ocean! I lived in a beautiful house surrounded by forests. I volunteered at the weekly Farmers Market and maintained many friendships. How did I leave a hot streak like that and fall down broken, broke, and alone?? Working in a cubicle and living in an efficiency apartment again?? There was an Arizona road to happiness. There was an Oregon road to happiness. I trusted someone who said my heart would be safe with them, and they knifed me in the spleen and shoved me back into an elevator to hell.

I'm sitting here trying to check my math, and I swear it went like this, as improbable as it sounds. She and I were scheduled to meet at 8 p.m. at a bar I usually suggest to my online dates due to its close proximity to my apartment (where I was living on Black Friday 2023). However, I accidentally went on a date with a homeless lady that morning, and lost a massive interest in any more dates. I asked her if we could move our date up to 7 p.m. and she agreed. When all was said and done, I didn't get home until 2 a.m.! I'm sitting here like, no, that's a seven hour date. That can't be right. Let's see, we talked across a table, made out, played pool, made out, messed with the jukebox, touched each other's privates on the couch, made out, at some point there was a fight in the bar and we laughed about that. Maybe I got home at midnight? No, because I remember my son was like, "Dude, wtf have you been up to?" Which he wouldn't have said at midnight. I had never left my son alone that long, but under normal circumstances I'd just be sleeping and he'd still be doing whatever while wide awake. From 10 p.m. forward, I made sure to at least text home every hour. In fact, needing to get home to my son is the only reason this shockingly sexy new woman and I didn't change locations and have sex on the first date. No worries, though, we sure did on the second date and every date thereafter. Her name is Alice.

When Alice walked into the bar that night, she took my breath away. Time stood still like in a movie. She is tall. She is classy. She is smart. She is graceful. She is witty. I didn't know yet, but she is kinky. She is a total smokeshow. I'm kind of aware of my own Peter Pan-syndrome, but it's sort of OK because often the women I date have whatever the gender swapped version is called. Actually, it's probably still called Peter Pan-syndrome. I'm not a doctor, but Alice is a doctor. Her dating profile said she was looking for her equal and then listed an insurmountable mountain of accomplishments and interests. World traveling. Helicopter expeditions. Ocean cruises. Languages. Collecting. Gourmet cooking. Interior design. Weightlifting. Stock Market shit. I was like, "Uhhh... how did we match?" I'd describe my writing skill as "mid," but describing Alice's depth would challenge any writer. Especially if they're straight, because she's so hot there's the urge to gravitate toward that feature even though her other traits are really impressive, too. I'll simply say she's super smart and smells good. Her ex-husband had been an equal, and also excelled in a career and engaged in adventurous activity, and in her new phase she wasn't looking for a partner that would try and out-alpha her. She admired that I taught kindergarten, but sometimes I thought her admiration was a little insulting. She frequently dropped comments that sounded like, "Wow, Jason! I was so burdened by my own incredible success, I really needed an inconsequential kindergarten teacher to come along and add levity to my life." She'd even call me her personal clown or cartoon character. Excuse me, am I a joke? I have 23 students who worship me and one who is indifferent. Without me, they wouldn't know how to read, write or do math! Anyway, her affection was very flattering. Apparently, I beat out a cardiologist and corporate attorney. Alice is an amazing, beautiful, thoughtful, and generous* woman.

*More on her generosity later.

When I walked into the bar that night, I was just a dad. I mean, the kindergarten teacher-thing is cute, but I can only cash that in so much. Teaching kindergarten wasn't a passion, it was a convenience. The school was half a mile from my apartment. I had never wanted a career. Or if I did, I didn't know how to go about choosing one since none of my interests have enough gravitational pull on me. We live on this big beautiful planet, and possess consciousness. And consciousness is how the universe experiences itself. My hobbies are walking, looking at nature, and daydreaming. I live in low resource-mode, and try not to own so many things that I can't up and move on a three hours' notice. When my son was born, I fully invested in him. We were at the zoo every single weekend, both Saturday and Sunday. My son was convinced feeding the giraffes was his personal job and if he didn't show up they wouldn't eat. When my son turned 10, the COVID-19 pandemic shook things up and he moved into my parents' house. I had a public facing job in social work. My mom and dad didn't have to leave their house. My son never fully came back to me. By the time I met Alice, I was one and a half years deep into saving up money to move from Arizona to Oregon. I thought I could best take care of my son by creating a safe summer home for him in the Pacific Northwest. The idea being, he'd go to school from my parents' house in Arizona then fly up to Oregon every summer when climate change cranks up the desert heat. This goal was extremely important to me. No goal had ever been more important to me.

Despite my plans to skip town, Alice and I kept seeing each other. Our sex life was explosive. Honestly, when the sex is that good, you automatically try and make everything else work. Why was our sex so good? I'm not even sure. Chemistry, obviously. Pure desire for each other, and insatiable appetites. And we did EVERYTHING. Stuff I previously had no interest exploring, like peeing on each other. I couldn't get enough Alice, and I go through withdrawals being away from her. Oh, there was this time I received a costochondral injury from roughhousing with older students, so I couldn't lead our sex for a punishingly long time. Oh my goodness, Alice sat me on a chair and then spun herself around by the tiptoes like Spider-Woman all while staying on my dick. Despite this hardcore sexual connection, our many cute dates were also magical.*

*More on our cute dates later.

The awkward side of trying to date Alice was her working late morning to late night marathon shifts four days a week while I worked a very early morning to afternoon standard school schedule. I was always tired when she wanted to get together during the week and then when her midweek day off came, she didn't understand why I couldn't just fly out of the schoolhouse and go directly to her. I tried to explain that I leave the kindergarten classroom completely touched out and even shell-shocked from noise and I need a minimum of 90 minutes to recover (and frequently even more time is necessary). I would explain this and other similar things about me over the months, and she always had an "answer" or thought she knew better. Then on the rare occasion when she was unhappy with how I approached something to do with her, she'd shoot back, "I'm giving you my instruction manual, but you aren't reading it!" She had a lot of "rules for thee, but not for me" on the topic of conflict management. I think when people bow down to you at work, and you're high enough up the totem pole that your word is unchallenged and holy, you expect the people in your personal life to automatically agree with you, too. A firm and fast rule she had, was that if she came to me in an emotional state, and spoke out against something she perceived I had done wrong, I wasn't allowed to defend myself, couldn't show my own emotion, and wasn't to respond in any way other than an immediate embrace and apology for putting her in that position. If I didn't follow the script exactly as expected, she'd say, "You failed our recovery process in the first two minutes. You're not following my manual! Read it, learn it, know it."

The sex engine in our relationship car kept us from really feeling these speedbumps, but the biggest obstacle was still my anticipated move to Oregon. Knowing our relationship had an off-ramp ahead helped me ignore Alice's biggest red flag. She has a former fiance in her life, but not like the casual friendships I maintain with my exes. Alice and Republican Luke ended their engagement because she couldn't stomach him voting for Donald Trump in 2016. However, "breaking up" in their situation only means they stopped having sex with each other... which I'll just accept at her word even though she did send me some naked selfies from his house among other suspicious events. They still co-own a dog, they still call and tell each other goodnight, they still sleepover at each other's houses, they still do "find my phone" shit to keep tabs on each other (saying that it's necessary since they both live alone), and if anything ever happens like the sudden loss of air conditioning, there's no question where the other one is headed until a resolution is scheduled. Republican Luke is also 20 years older than her. In my observation, her interest in him is oedipal. She resents aspects of her dad not taking adequate care of the family growing up, and now looks to Republican Luke to fill a fatherly void. I thought their relationship was weird, icky, and annoying, but only asked Alice to leave me out of it.

I have to squeeze in off-putting information here because it builds the story, so try not to let it sour the mood because I love this woman. Well, Alice's house is a torture chamber. Or like when the Looney Tunes go to Wackyland, and at first things appear normal but aren't. They might see a cat, but on closer inspection it recoils and reveals a bouncy accordion neck. Or they approach a seemingly normal bird except, when spooked, it unfolds itself into an umbrella and skates away. Alice's house is a mausoleum of her previous marriage, with every closet, nook, and cranny full of boxes of her ex-husband's forgotten belongings. On top of these bulky artifacts, she's overdecorated with her passions but doesn't really try to make appealing matches. So there will be a dead kangaroo hanging above some Russian dolls, and you feel proximity stress from every angle. She also won't pair a place to sit with a surface to set something down. There's nowhere to relax. I carved out a little corner of a spare room where I'd take a cutting board, sit on the floor, and try to exist with my coffee and phone for brief moments in time. To make that cup of coffee, I had to pull her pod machine out from under a low cabinet in order to access and fill the tank. She over-purchases gadgets and utensils to the point of no counter space left to accomplish anything. The first time I spent the night, I felt like I got locked in a mall. I was happy I visited, but I was more than ready to leave. My stomach bloated up like a balloon, my telltale response to anxiety, but I powered through and learned to deal with Alice's surroundings because she was worth the frequent trips to Wackyland. I fell in love with her cute quirks.

Half of our dates were in Alice's house.

Alice joked that as her expectations for online dating fell into oblivion, she pushed herself to keep swiping in case there was at least a man willing to help her hang some fancy curtains (and knock out other house projects). I became that man, and we hung some fancy curtains (and knocked out other house projects). She's a sexy goofer, and likes to makeout and play with my dick while we're both standing on top of a ladder. I was aroused, but also thought I was going to die. After several hours of manual labor, she had left me with so many interrupted erections that my prostate couldn't take anymore edging and screamed in agony. I told her I'm in serious pain and needed to sit on a pillow. If you're not a middle aged man, you have no idea what I'm talking about but prolonged and heightened arousal causes intense pain in the butthole and interrupts the ability to pee freely. To her credit, Alice frequently checked in on my prostate problem after she knew about it. She'd ask, "How's your prostate? Do you want a blowjob? Do you need a handjob?" Working my ass off to make her cute and quirky house even cuter and quirkier always paid off. A true symbiotic relationship. So many great dates!

Other than dating in and around her home improvement projects, we enjoyed going to the zoo on regular days, going to the zoo on event nights, driving up Mt. Lemmon to look at city lights, hiking, day trips, cooking breakfast, trying new restaurants, going to the movies, and, yes, even playing Pokemon GO. I'm reticent to keep mentioning this obnoxious mobile game, but after I got a new gym and two stops approved in the neighborhood park behind her house, she became curious, hooked, and a champion. There were times I lost track of her when we needed to be walking out the door, only to find her hiding in a bathroom battling away. Damn, what a woman! I think she was above level thirty after only a week.

Alice pointed out that we were not only lovers, but also best friends. This was very new and nice for me. I was used to having lovers, used to having best friends, but never in the same person. Even with our conflicting work schedules and her uncommon floor plan, dating my best friend was probably the highest happiness I've reached.

Alice said I healed her in regards to her having traveled through life wondering why partners didn't want to have children with her. I think that's ludicrous because she would have been an amazing mom! And as smart and competitive as she is, I don't think becoming a mom would have subtracted anything from her career accomplishments. She still would have landed in the top of her field in one of society's most prestigious professions. If anything, she probably would have discovered a way to open even more doors with motherhood. She's just so nurturing, which will become apparent when I explain how she healed me.

I've been love-bombed by successful women before, but Alice was different. She didn't spoil me with meals and trips, like what I'm used to when I happen upon a match with money (but, she also spoiled me with meals and trips). No, I caught her systematically assessing my needs and filling in the gaps in my own self care. First up, a new professional wardrobe. Next, an updated glasses prescription and new frames and lenses (turns out she was even more beautiful when I could actually see her). After that, doctors and dentist appointments since I've been raw-dogging life ever since my mom stopped making appointments for me. I buy my son health insurance, but my own plan is called Recover or Die. There was even talk of a new car for me if I became a permanent boyfriend instead of moving to Oregon. And I have to believe, if Alice hadn't been rich when we started our relationship, she still would have tried to care for me to the best of her ability. This woman made me feel LOVED. Until Alice, no woman other than my mother has tried to mend me when I'm broken. I'll be chasing that feeling forever. Alice would hold me, lovingly look at me, and say, "Jason, you're so special to me."

Alice accepts I hate going to work. She gets the nuance that I did enjoy my kindergartners, and was proud of them, but I'm not meant to earn a living through capitalism. Some people ARE doctors. Some people ARE engineers. I've only worked as a teacher. I've only worked as a counselor. I've only worked as a social worker. But, I'm not those things. I engage with jobs because I need to make rent and like helping people (a little bit). The only identity I embrace is DAD. Taking care of my son is the only enjoyable labor I do. So when Alice said when my school year ends, I could choose to live in her house and my only job would be taking care of her and my son, I realized that my career calling is HOMEMAKER. Add a couple adopted kids for me and Alice? Some future grandkids?? HEAVEN.

Honestly, the main reason I stayed locked on my Oregon dream, instead of fully embracing Alice's offer, was the presence of Republican Luke - her 60 years old, Trump-voting, former fiance that wouldn't fuck off. I just realized when I introduced him in the prologue, while struggling to come up with a fake name as stupid sounding as his real name, I accidentally landed on a name already taken by a late seventies TV show. There's no relation! Unlike Republican Luke, I never owned a TV with knobs on it.

Anyway, most of those great dates I described above were in some way marred by constant back-and-forth outreach between Alice and Republican Luke. He had to know what we were up to at all times, and apparently we needed to know about him, too. Despite all the great dates and healing, Republican Luke was a stain on my happiness.

Not to end a section called "Healing" on a wound, let me share another of Alice's selfless acts. She's afraid of snakes, and a rattlesnake scared us on a hike. Instinct took over, and she pushed me out of the way before saving herself. Since we live in Arizona, I got to repay the favor and kill a rattlesnake in her backyard. Watching me clobber it with a shovel awakened something primal in her, and we had wild sex like cave people. But, the way she faced a fear to ensure my safety... she had to step toward that snake to get me away from it. She put herself in danger to protect me, and she did it without hesitation.

I know for a fact nobody will ever love me like Alice (did).

Dating my best friend with an end date was a bittersweet feeling. I saw an opportunity in the ability to script the finale we wanted. We could wrap this relationship up in a bow, and let it stand as a life best for both of us. Alice didn't quite see things the same way, and we had a few spats. One such argument took place on the way to her nephew's high school graduation, so she spun her car around like she was going to miss the ceremony taking me home. I told her to just pull over and I'd figure out a way home so she could still join her family, but she refused. So I did the reasonable thing and jumped out of her moving car. I wasn't going to let her blame me for missing her nephew's graduation! Think of our fights like the fights in The Notebook. Conflict between soulmates.

The few weeks of summer we had between the end of my kindergarten teaching and the start of my Oregon move offered a solid preview of what life could be like if I stayed. Alice and I spent copious amounts of time together, and I wasn't exhausted from trying to acclimate to her awake hours after teaching in an elementary school all day. However, I pressed forward with my climate change plans because people are living a long time these days and I didn't want to be stuck in a throuple relationship that included Republican Luke for thirty more years.

With both Alice and I accepting of the end, we made plans to repeat our first three dates in reverse order and then say goodbye before going no-contact. I loved every minute of it. Remember the bar where we first met? That's where we returned to say goodbye. We were even more inappropriate this time. Around the pool table, I chalked up my hands and left prints on her tits and ass. We took sexy photos in the men's restroom. I love her so much! Normally, I was more cautious about her reputation than she was. I'd be thinking, "OK, you're an important person in the community. You can't be caught slumming with me!" Even outside of dive bars, something Alice did that made me feel good was always acting like she wanted me with her. She's a "same side of the booth" girlfriend. An affectionate girlfriend. A cuddly girlfriend. A girlfriend who loves love. Really, the best girlfriend I've ever had. We got into a fight in the final five minutes of our relationship, so she asked for a mulligan.

On the eve of my move from Arizona to Oregon, Alice came over one last time after I had cleared out my loft apartment. The only thing left was a mattress on the floor and a toothbrush. In the morning, the mattress would be dumpstered and the toothbrush would leave in my pocket. Alice, this woman who from day one was way too good for me, beckoned me to the floor mattress and we made love all night.

Outside of the effort I'll need to finish Part Three of this story, that night of June 30th, 2024 will be the only ending I think of when I remember Alice for the rest of my life.

In happier times, Alice asked me if I'd ever write a book about her. I said I would, and I'd call it, "Memoirs of a Male Sugar Baby." The first chapter would be titled, "Alice is a Poop Criminal."

"I'm not a poop criminal!" She'd yell, and I'd remind her that her butthole is way too small for her suspiciously enormous dumps.

One of my metrics to determine if I'm truly in love, is if my partner's bodily functions turn me on or off. I was once resting my head on Alice's lap, and she meekly asked, "Uh, Jason...? Can you move? I need to go poop."

My ears and my penis perked up, and I begged her to let me watch. After my pleading, she granted my request and evacuated her bowels into that bowl like controversial hydraulic fracking. I wanted to lick the little beads of sweat off her temples.

You can't shoot up that much Ozempic, eat nothing but fiber, and not allow a witness.

What. A. Woman.

Oregon deserves its own entry, but probably won't ever get one because I'm too sad to think about what happened. I just tell people I failed in Oregon, and endure their snickers and armchair quarterbacking about my poor planning, but the truth is I didn't fail. The truth is more humiliating. I came back to Arizona for love, and that love had a hidden fee. Look through my YouTube or TikTok if you're curious about Oregon. I will forever feel the shame and sadness from giving up the dreams I had for me and my son living in the Pacific Northwest.

Portland came together like the missing puzzle piece. I had friends. I had community. I had new opportunities in old fields (substitute teaching now paid $300 a day, and I was also offered the role of middle school counselor at a beach-facing school) and new opportunities in new fields (I was offered the role of public liaison for the city's light rail system). In Oregon, my future was bright. Now marooned in Arizona, I work in a dingy cubicle for minimum wage. Thank you, Alice!

Despite Alice and I successfully directing the perfectly scripted end to our relationship, she never stopped texting and calling me. I inquired as to why she was still reaching out, and her response - in summary - was that she has moved more than me and knows what I need better than I do. She said moving to a new place unfolds in phases, and I'd be a lot happier having her in my corner when the more difficult phase arrives.

I asked Alice what would happen if she gets asked out by an exciting new guy at the gym, or if she gets lonely and turns her dating apps back on, and she said either of us could meet anybody at any time and we'd just let our connection wilt, wither, and die. I said that sounded horrible, and is exactly what I wanted to avoid by us sharing such a beautiful and permanent goodbye. But, Alice does what Alice wants! Her trickle of texts and calls turned into a flood. I started having constant anxiety, panic attacks, and chest pain thinking she was going to share that she met somebody, in which case I'd lose the vision I held of us saying goodbye as soulmates that special final night in June.

I proposed a compromise. I asked Alice if she was going to continue texting and calling me from Arizona then could we possibly put our communication on a schedule instead of her popping up throughout my day while I'm trying to make important decisions regarding my new life. I suggested we pick two times in a week to hold cute phone dates, and the conversations could be shorter and more focused than me hanging on the line while she drives her car or bangs pots and pans together. She loves using Apple earpieces that don't work well with my Android phone, and so her voice volume is quiet while her sound effects are seismically obnoxious. One of her favorite hands-free systems assaults my eardrums with unpredictable static bursts. But, Alice was not agreeable to my proposed compromise. The texts and calls were going to continue whenever she was in the mood... which was always. I suffer from massive phone anxiety, and struggle with a mental block against answering my phone in public. Many days, staying home and waiting for Alice to call was easier than going out and dealing with a cascade of constant interruptions.

"Alice, you're hurting me."

"No, Jason, I'm helping you."

Anybody with half a brain read what I just wrote and knows I should have blocked Alice and moved on with my life. But, I do love this woman.

Everything about our potential life in Arizona was perfect except for her close relationship with Republican Luke, a former fiance twenty years her senior who voted for Donald Trump in 2016. I refused to warm up to somebody whose lifelong political position (as evidenced by the party for whom they vote) is that teachers, counselors, and social workers have no value. I don't make my money from marketable skills (I possess none). I help people for my income, and so my value is determined by the representatives society elects. There were so many times when I was close to getting some financial relief, only for Republicans to snatch it away. Famously, the Democrats during Obama's time tried to prevent employers from calling anything less than $40,000 a salary. My fellow group home supervisors and I celebrated, because our incomes, as newly minted hourly workers, would have doubled overnight. The Republican courts took this new overtime pay rule away from us before the next paycheck. While Republican Luke was a permanent fixture in the in-person relationship between me and Alice, she actually didn't mention him that much while I was in Oregon. She would send me selfies from his house, but that confirmed for me she was hanging out with her longtime friend instead of dating to replace me. Without hearing about Republican Luke, I easily forgot the annoying douchebag exists.

I fell in love with Alice all over again. She worked so hard to stay in my life, I came to think of Oregon as my first solo vacation. Now I looked forward to her texts and calls. We started having hot phone sex, too! We never felt closer. We both concluded that the time apart was the best thing that ever happened to us because now we know we can't live without each other. I rebuffed anything Oregonian that would make me permanent. I turned down exciting opportunities, and worked rekindling my most important adult relationship into conversations with friends. I wasn't concerned about my dwindling funds because I wouldn't need them if I moved into Alice's house in Arizona. She would take care of us financially. I would take care of us emotionally. We would share a love envied by everyone!

I'm coming home, Alice!

Let me debunk "Memoirs of a Male Sugar Baby" real fast.

Alice wasn't dealing me a royal flush or dispensing a golden ticket. I was going to work just as hard as her in the relationship. On top of paying all the bills, she was going to give me $1,000 each month in discretionary spending money. Except, she makes $180,000 a year. Giving me $12,000 a year is actually not that generous considering my duties are now 24/7. My whole compensation with room, board, entertainment, healthcare, and cashflow is still way less than minimum wage. I have to manage her household and its chores during the day then manage her meals and her moods overnight and throughout the weekend. If I didn't love her then our arrangement falls closer to incarceration than it does freedom from capitalism.

And her house had no space whatsoever to accommodate me due to the ubiquitous bulk of the ex-husband's boxes. I suggested we order a pod service where a dumpster gets left outside, for you to fill up, then a week later hauled away. She reacted, "Wow, really? You think there's that much stuff?" Did she not realize we park on the driveway because the garage resembles Raiders of the Lost Ark? Alice is completely blind to her hoarding habit.

Another reason I wanted to take care of Alice is that, despite her being a brilliant scholar and doctor, she lacks an astonishing amount of common sense. For example, one of our favorite activities is sharing romantic baths. At the start of each bath, she hovers above the faucet because she thinks if you let the water reach the overflow drain it will pool in a void between the wall and the floor and warp the wood and soften the foundation. I'd hear her on work related calls sounding like a genius, and wonder, "How does this boss ass bitch not know how a bathtub works?"

Alice also loses money right and left pursuing her art collecting hobby. She'll get a counterfeit work of art delivered and then realize the sellers with whom she was communicating are suddenly ghosts. She will ask me to help contact the FBI, and I'll go through the motions knowing nothing can be done when the blame rests 100 percent with her. Reading the chat transcripts is beyond cringe because the scammers waved infinite red flags in her face.

"Hunny, did you not notice they spelled the name of both the painting and its artist wrong?"

But, I love her, so I moved back from Oregon and into her house in Arizona. We lasted six days.

I know I signed up for a domestic experience but, on our very first weekend, she put on her ex-husband's soccer uniform, plopped down on her couch, turned on a marathon of cooking shows, buried her nose in her phone, and farted excessively. This time, I was not that turned on. This is how she wants to spend our FIRST weekend? She spent two months convincing me to give up my dreams and we aren't even going to celebrate our FIRST WEEKEND?

I got busy on her chores, and we each did our own thing. Off the top of my head, I fixed handles on her cabinets, went grocery shopping, installed a new float valve in her bedroom toilet (which had been hissing for two months), took one of her cars in for emissions testing, scheduled factory recall-related maintenance, installed new headlights, swapped an old water filter for a new one under her kitchen sink, deep cleaned several rooms, and did some preliminary weeding in her front and back yards.

Eventually, as Sunday night came to a close, Alice asked me, "Jason, I want to take you on a date to show I appreciate you. What would you like to do?"

I enthusiastically answered, "Let's get pizza and then go to the arcade!"

"Ugh. Can you just pick one of those things?"

Her response gutted me, but I wasn't going to let this weird first weekend we were having turn me off from our happily ever after. The pizza-only date went well, felt like us again, and restored my vision for a future with my true love.

I was feeling happiness with Alice when we stepped off the pavement to get back in her car after our pizza-but-no-arcade date, but then she grabbed my arm. I turned to look at her, our faces met, and I saw her eyes were shimmering as if they were about to well up with tears.

She said, "Jason, I want you to give (Republican) Luke a chance. You'll like him. I want us to be able to go to his house and all hang out. You two will have a lot of fun being able to joke about dating me. Just promise me you'll give him a chance, OK?"

Suddenly, my vibrant and sexy older woman became very old and wrinkly. I saw her as a 46 year old going on 60 whose favorite activity is fermenting like a piece of fruit on a cruise ship. I told her I wasn't interested in a friendship with Republican Luke. I have been consistent on this issue from the first day I knew about him. I never asked her not to be his friend, I just asked not to be included in the friendship. I suppose she thought she had more leverage now that I lived in her house. That night, I wept silently in "our" bed. When Alice went to work the next day, I cleaned her kitchen with a lot of love and then secretly moved into a motel. I tweaked some apps so I'd never see an inbound message from her. We haven't spoken. In my mind, she's young and sexy again. Not evil, just careless.

Alice always told me if I moved back to Arizona and we didn't make it as a couple, she'd refund my lost savings. If I subtract the $500 she gave me that first week then she still owes me $9,500. For the life of me, I can't figure out why she hasn't sent me any money. She knows my bank account and routing number. She knows my Venmo. She knows she and Republican Luke left me in the biggest lurch of my life. I've always been scrappy and lived below my means. I've never ever until now been afraid of not having enough at the end of the month. Now I go to bed and wake up terrified that I'm going to be homeless and without transportation (my car is kaput after traveling across the country twice this summer). The only entry-level minimum wage job I could get doesn't even cover my apartment that I had to rent sight unseen. Alice and Republican Luke took EVERYTHING from me.

Queen, if you're reading this, and you can recall a recent uncomfortable conversation with your boss, it's because one night when I felt like un-aliving myself I instead reported that unethical shit you do on the downlow for your coworker. I thought I'd feel better if I could return a little bit of the crippling anxiety you gave me. However, I just feel worse. If you want to get even, I suggest posting my masturbation videos online. I'd be even more unemployable and embarrassed. Just cover your tracks because revenge porn is a crime. I can't write "I'm sorry" and mean it yet.

You ruined my life.

Maybe I deserve everything bad that happened to me.

I was actually touching my dream that I worked so hard for and then I gave it up for Alice. I abandoned my new life already knowing she has both feet firmly planted in her past life. She is undatable while living in her marital home and maintaining an engagement with Republican Luke. I knew this to be true, but I let my heart overpower my brain and my gut then steer me off a cliff.

I'm broken, broke, and alone.

And, as pathetic as it sounds, if Alice reached out and let me know she moved out of her marital home, and Republican Luke is dead and buried, I'd want to get back together with her.

Nobody else has ever held me, cared for me, and told me I'm special to them.

In another universe, I think Alice moved to Oregon with me...

and we lived happily ever after.