The Curious Story of Oliver and Lila

Hello once again, Dear Reader.

Please excuse my long absence.

I've been making a radical change in my life.

I have recently moved to a new city, a new state. It has required some adjustments, to say the least.

But...that is not why you are here, to read about my current state of affairs.

But instead to hear the juicy details of my dating life.

And so I shall deliver.

This is a story about Oliver and Lila.

Just who is Oliver and Lila? You ask.

Lila is me, Dear Reader. Oliver is the man I had been talking to.

We had been communicating for about three weeks or so before I finally had to break it off.

Let's back up shall we?

I "met" Oliver on a dating site. We exchanged messages like crazy.

At first it was innocent enough. I really wasn't interested in anything more.

He became a friend in my mind.

A silly kind of friend. He wanted us to call each other by our favorite names.

I chose Oliver for him - as in Oliver Twist.

He chose Lila for me - from August Rush.

Okay. Whatever. I'm game.

He is an unhappily married man.

(Stick around, Dear Reader, you may find that married men will be a reoccurring theme.)

I'm a single woman with an active dating life.

We started talking about the intimate details of our lives.

Well...he asked questions, I answered.

We never exchanged pictures so the anonymous factor helped me open up and tell him things I normally wouldn't have.

Maybe I told him too much.

Soon he wanted my phone number.

Being the dummy that I am I consented and gave it to him.

Maybe that was a bad idea.

He called me right away. We had a normal conversation about what was going on with us.

But...I could tell that while I was talking that he was...ahem...how do I put this delicately?

Ummm...having fun with himself?

It was a bit disconcerting.

But did I quit talking to him?

No.

Oliver called a couple of days later and wanted my help. (I'm blushing right now as I write this)

Dear Reader you are smart, I'm sure you can figure it out.

Did I "help" him?

Yes.

Did I quit talking to him?

No.

A week passes. Oliver texts me everyday. Soon, he wants to know more and more about my dating/sex life. I keep telling him. I'm having fun.

One day I don't tell him everything. I tell him that what I do with a certain person is personal and if I tell him it won't feel special.

Oliver flips out. Doesn't get angry but depressed. He threatens to do himself in.

I now realize this fun little semi-anonymous exchange has now reached epic proportions. Obsessive proportions. On his end.

Oliver has become obsessed with me and what I'm doing.

I feel bad. Not scared. And a part of me feels guilty for not telling him everything. In fact, he texts me that very thing: 'I thought we told each other everything.'

We exchange texts for over an hour. I send him jokes and feel like I did my job on making him feel better.

Do I quit talking to him?

No. Not yet.

We talk on the phone a few days after that. Again, it's a conversation that I feel like I should get paid for.

Now here it comes. I've been thinking of his little episode. I don't have time in my life to deal with that. I send him a text saying: 'My privacy and morals have finally caught up to me and I don't think we should talk anymore.'

Again, Oliver gets depressed. 'Wow! What did I do to deserve that! You just made me instantly depressed, Lila.'

How does one respond to that?

Diplomatically, of course. 'You didn't do anything. It's me.'

And that is it.

Or was it.

Four days later Oliver texts me.

Do I answer?

Yes.

Do I quit talking to him?

No.

Stay tuned,
Shelby