Two writers, clothed in their personas, incinerated a place called 'Heat's Forum.' Reacting to the other's words in stories and by response kicked up the heat, were in heat, wrote heatedly of love and lust; erotica kicked up a notch. Digger and angel:) quickly burned out the pages, garnered interest, gathered their followers, and in the way of being perceived online were conceived as a couple; and all believed. We were good. Our words kicked temperatures up, set pulses racing-- imaginations creating a reality so true that it was thought we merely did what writer's do best: we wrote what we knew. When first we talked via phone line, hearing each other's voices; reality replaced imagination-- filled in missing gaps. His scots-aussie accent, perfect for reading John Donne poetry, was the type where one listened to the mere sound as well as to what was said. Enough to make one drool as hormones raced inciting grand passions that in turn became true friendship. In true cyber/rt fashion we'd made love before we knew each other's name. Events in our separate lives would negate this on-line affair, but then dreams came true after a fashion. We met and explored each other as we explored castles across England and Scotland for three weeks and several lifetimes. Real time sparks flew-- entire worlds could have been consumed had the burning intensities been let loose. Beyond banked fires friendship burned true and deep and hot. Being noble or faithful we chose not to fully explore what we both desired and just simply enjoyed each other's company. Except that we were good. Years later we continue our real time lives, catch up via messengers; the occasional phone calls. Only recently did we ever actually voice that decision, that choice we made. Honorable actions aside, I fully expressed how much I'd wanted to consummate that which we had, how much I still, in all honesty, kick myself for not exploring. Wanting so badly, beyond mere desire, beyond yearning. So close, so unfulfilled. So empty. I wish we'd shared that ultimate bonding. And then to find out he did too. What we set fire on paper, still burns in the corner of our collective subconscious. Embers forever glowing, never to be stoked yet never turning to ash. |