Why so many men? & "Lestat" 1998 - Chapter 1

I started asking myself that question in my 20's, but justified my choices with youth: Wasn't I suppose to be wild? Wasn't I too young to settle down? Wasn't I too naive to know what I really wanted? When my string of diverse and uncommon lovers bled into my 30's, I knew self- justification was no longer an option. Although my first bedpost notch arrived at the tender age of 15, I have not slowed down. And what do I have to show for it, but plenty of heartache. Well...There are the stories of the men themselves that breezed through my life like a train of dusty cowboys passing through a hollow ghost town, where the tumble weeds are the only sign of life. Turns out the ghost town is my love life, and the tumble weeds are the dried up remnants of what I had hoped love would be for me.

Although my romantic ghost town is in a sad state of affairs, there is no reason not to share what I have learned, gained, and yes, regretted and resented. These stories have begged to be told--oscillating in my mind as I turned them over one by one, futily ruminating the who, what, when, and how. Now...where shall I begin?

All names have been changed to protect the guilty!

While it might be very exciting to start with the most recent cowboy (he isn't really a cowboy, although, and I have never dated a REAL cowboy), I think the contrast from now to the past is much more stark, and a lot more fun.

"Lestat" 1998

The Vampire Lestat is one of my favorite tales. I have read all of Anne Rice's books, including every single one of her vampire chronicles. Her early vampire stories are about an impulsive and self-indulgent Lestate who loves love and is swept up by passion and the archetypal battle between good and evil. I fell in love with this character.

As a child I was intrigued by the vampire myth - the romantic and magical wonder of being spellbound under a powerful lover. I too longed to possess the same power over a mate--the ability to render a man incapable of resisting me thus guaranteeing adoration until the end of my days.

In 1998 I began exploring on-line dating and came across a profile of a young man who lived 3000 miles away from me. My initial reaction was to pass up his profile: who needs a long distance relationship? I already had my share of exasperating and ultimately draining long-distance love affairs. I had sworn off the complications of mating over miles. My curiosity compelled me to explore this young man nonetheless. His picture captured me under a powerful spell: he donned a white frilly shirt and cascades of golden curls flowed to his shoulders. He looked very much like what I imagined Lestat to be.

All my fantasies of forever-love came crashing over me in an instant through the pixels of a photograph. I had to know this man. And know him I did. We began dating and quickly made plans to spend the rest of our lives together. We seemed to have so much in common..our likes and dislikes seemed eerily connected. Even our beliefs about god and spiritual things were completely in sync, or so I thought.

Traveling back and forth from my western beach to his humid southern town became our regular routine. Oh, the plans we made, and the promises he showered upon me. Would I go with him to Jamaica? Would I help find a place for us to live near the beach? Could I love him forever? My Lestate, in his adoration of me, had me completely engulfed in unquestionable devotion to him. His vampire seduction worked wonders on my adolescent need for unconditional love.

A few months after we met, he visited me on a hot and sunny 4th of July weekend. We talked of marriage and his plans for moving across country. He told me of a job near my breezy beachy town he had secured well before our on-line encounter. Then I got the first phone call.