>>22
Oh God, I'm sorry, I take it all back. PLEASE continue to "pray for me".

These hints that you drop about how I'd "hate you even more if I met you" have PROVEN now, of course (we're on the Internet here, so I imagine we're accepting Internet standards of proof) that you are a square-jawed, sun-burnished King Leonidas of a man, probably often mistaken in daily life for the young Sean Connery.

I imagine you almost never use a computer, spending most of your time wrestling lions and making love on windswept beaches with beautiful, genteel maidens transformed into insatiable, corrupt love-vixens by your animal magnetism - and to think that, when you did, I repudiated your intervention on my behalf!

But honestly, I actually AM coming round now to the view that you COULD possibly believe all the "Sky Queen" and "drawing strength from the Goddess" bullshit.

It would appear you really ARE one of those many pathetic, ruined borderline psychotics who manage to hold down an office job, trundling your flabby, spotty ass down the corridor every day for decades smirking to yourself with anticipation about the "encounter charged with sexual tension" that you believe is about to occur between you and a woman who - sorry to break it to you - surely sees you as what you ARE, not as what you turn yourself into in your wish-fulfulment fantasies, or as what you believe you can get away with claiming to be on the Internet, where no one can see you or know any real fact about you.

Not that it isn't just as possible to be honest with oneself and with others on the Internet as it is anywhere else. MY personal appearance is nothing that "significant hints" need to be dropped about and my relationships with women, on the Internet and elsewhere, are equally out in the open.

That may mean, concretely, that I'm a flabby, rather weak- and bookish-looking guy in his early 50s who pays money to and performs numerous services for girls 30 years younger than him in exchange for the solitary masochistic thrill of hearing, on Skype, the details of the sex they have with their boyfriends.

But my life is free, at least, of that saddest and ugliest thing of all that squats, Shelob-like, over your life: cowardly self-delusion, and the pathetic unmanly need to cling to the belief - if only by trying to make blind and ignorant Internet "anons" believe it - that you are what you are not, and will never be.