The mess gets messier.

So to recap, back in August, I was facing having an extremely unpleasant and gut-wrenching conversation with Alex, needing to dissuade him from coming to visit me, even though I really wanted him to visit me, but knowing full well that he was a bad idea all the way around having been the main source of inspiration for Britney's song: Womanizer and knowing that the only guy I could possibly hope to feel comfortable with was a virgin or a guy who had only bedded virgins, and so basically I was looking at pursuing a relationship with either a 12 year-old or a guy my own age who had time-travelled from the 17th century just so that I wouldn't live in fear of contracting herpes, although the plague wouldn't be out of the question.

I'm glad we're all caught up, and my God was that a lot of commas.

I put it off and put it off. Everybody who knew my story, and knew anything of my online friend Alex, tried to prepare me for his inevitable reaction. General consensus said the conversation would go something like this:

Bambi - I have to tell you something awkward and horrible. This is what happened to me, and this is the mess I'm left with. Hope you understand, but I'm not sure I can go near you at all, even though that's not how I've made it sound until this point, and how much I wish things were different.

Alex - Wow. Sucks to be you. Good luck with all that. Don't worry about me - a bus full of cheerleaders just broke down outside my house and I'm going to go help out. Don't call again.

Bambi - Glad we had this conversation. Nice to know you!

You can see why I was avoiding this. I liked the point we were at then where we'd call each other just to say good-night and argue over who missed the other one more. (And yes, as sweet as that little ritual was, I did want to kick my own ass.)

Finally, during one good-night conversation he asked me to tell him something about me that he didn't know. I had the feeling he was really wanting to know what I was wearing, but that's not the answer he got.

I told him everything. Every little detail I could remember. What had happened to me since. Every single doctor visit, every injury, every gory diagnoses. I told him what it felt like to try to run and even try to walk most days, and what it felt like to try to sleep without nightmares. I told him that he scared the shit out of me. That sex with him would scare me so bad I'd vomit afterward just because he slept around. I told him about the panic attacks and what happened to me every time I had one. I told him that being with him would make me tailspin just out of fear. I told him how sorry I was and that he must think I'm the biggest liar and the biggest scam artist. I told him how every sexy thing I said to him was true, that I really did feel those things too, but that he needed to know I'm just a little bit screwed up right now. Maybe even a lot screwed up. But it's been really great talking to him all this time.

Then I waited for the inevitable, and the silence was looong.

About 30 seconds passed, and that's a long time when you have a phone to your ear and a pillow over your head. Finally, Alex proceeded to blow my mind.

He was horrified for me. All that time, every doctor, every counsellor, every person I had to tell my story to - none of them were as horrified as he was. I had only ever had to deal with the clinical side to my story. Only what goes on a medical chart. This is what happens when your pubic symphysis bone is wrenched apart. This is what happens during a panic attack. This is how you wipe yourself when you don't want to reopen any abrasions. Everything cut and dry - no emotion because that will just prove that any lingering pain must be psychological and not physical.

Alex, however, was losing it on the other end of the phone. He was so, so sorry. He wanted to help. He wanted to fix it. This should never happen to a girl. Men shouldn't hurt girls. You take care of girls. You always take care of them. You never hurt them. He would never hurt me. Not ever. Did I know that? Why would I apologize to him? Didn't I know that he would be perfectly happy just to know what it's like to go to sleep next to me? I didn't have to touch him at all. We'd even have different covers if I wanted, he'd sleep in three layers of clothes if I wanted but he just wanted to lie next to me or have dinner with me or just kiss me but if I didn't want that even it would not change whether he'd want to see me again.

I was speechless. The moment called for something profound. Something sweet. Something somebody would say in the movies. All I could say was thank-you. But he wasn't done.

Alex wanted to come over that weekend so he could change my locks. Had I changed my locks? Was my door locked right now? Was I sure? Did I have a deadbolt? He could change my locks really easily, because he's good at stuff like that and he could do it that weekend. This fucking piece of shit knows where I live now and why hasn't anybody changed the locks for me? Why?

I didn't tell him the locks weren't changed because I hadn't told anybody. I did tell him that I was sure I was fine. Even though the guy brought me back to my apartment, meaning he found out where I lived, probably through the ID in my pocket, he wouldn't be back. I'd be conscious if he came back, and he's a coward.

Finally Alex was dissuaded about my locks. Now he wanted to know why my voice was all muffled. I told him it's because I was talking to him with my pillow over my head. Umm...why was I going to sleep with a pillow over my head?...that's not very safe you know.

I had to try so hard not to laugh at that one, because it was laugh or cry time. I went with doing both, but kept the pillow in place.

We talked about him getting tested for STDs, and he said he'd do it. Anything I wanted. Anything at all. Anything to make me comfortable. He would never hurt me. He would never hurt any girl. I told him I was going to keep harassing him about it. I wouldn't be able to drop it, he had to do it for me and he said I was allowed to harass him all I wanted.

He wanted me to ask him anything I wanted then, because he wanted that to be the last time we talked about this - just because he didn't know what to do and he hated it. I reminded him that I was allowed to bring up him getting tested before we met or did anything as often as I wanted. He agreed. Then he said he wished he was there with me, and I agreed with that.

We stayed on the phone for another couple of hours, until both of us were asleep on the line.

Believe it or not, what happened next was an even bigger surprise than Alex not being a total jerk.

It was like a dam had broke with both of us. We had talked all the time, but now we were talking for real.

We wanted to know everything about each other. Childhood, pet peeves, first kiss, allergies, daily routines, favourite brand names...there wasn't anything that we did not want to know.

We'd spend entire days on the phone and on webcam - we'd make lunch together, clean house together, watch the same TV show...it was like meeting him all over again only better.

He was screamingly funny. I'd make him tell me stories more than once. I thought it was charming how he'd always want to know what had made me laugh, what part was so funny, just so he could hear me laugh again.

We tried to share our musical tastes, but that didn't work so well. He only listens to music crowds can riot to, but according to him my music can incite riots too - providing the riot takes place in a gay bar with too many people trying to speaker dance. He won that one. It's true.

He told me how glad he was that I wasn't just a sex toy to him. I told him he was still a sex toy to me and he loved that. Months went by like this. Somewhere in all of this, I decided I loved him. It wasn't that big of a decision really.

I was obnoxiously happy. Bambi in love is a sight to behold - from a great distance. I could not stop talking about him, and I could find ways to bring him up in any kind of conversation. Friends would reserve five minutes for me out of every conversation, just so I could try to get the giggling joy of talking about him out of my system. I'm sure my co-workers thought I was on drugs.

I thought I must of have been on drugs too when I got a three-word message from Alex at work one morning over MSN. I love you. That was it. No preamble, no good morning, just that. I didn't handle it well, because I didn't know if he was serious -- and if I answered him seriously I would mean it. So I changed the subject and we talked about something else entirely.

And then, about a month or two ago, Alex stopped calling. Crushing for me. Vindicating for my shrink. The withdrawal was excruciating - but at least it felt typical. What had been happening with him before was not typical at all.

I know he's busy. Hockey. Skiing. Job issues after the economy tanked. Having a whole lot of sex with random partners. Not talking to me. Obviously these things are taking up a lot of his time.

So this sudden silence is something to consider when I meet him at the end of this month. January 24th I'm going to Kelowna, close enough to where he lives for us to have a visit -- and I'm not sure what I'm going to do.

I'll be in Kelowna visiting a dear friend I haven't seen in way too long. She doesn't read this blog, she doesn't know what's been happening with me but she knows there's a guy I may have to see at some point during our girls weekend.

He knows I'm coming and he's happy. We've kept in touch a little - it hasn't been total silence. We've even managed to say dirty things to one another once or twice. He knows about the firefighter too - and he thinks it's awesome. More specifically, he thinks the idea of the firefigher's wife and me is fantastic. At least that's typical too, and we still aren't keeping any secrets.

We managed to talk for five minutes on the phone the other night, long enough for him to tell me he had some girl coming over. My heart used to just twinge a little bit when I knew he was with some girl. Now it stops beating entirely, collects its belongings, exits through my mouth and kicks me in the ankle on the way out.

But then he told me he'd rather just stay talking to me. He'd have more fun and he knew it. But I was going to be there soon right? He'd get to see me? I reminded him how long it had been since we talked on the phone at all - that I was sure he must have got bored of me. The reply was a gratifying, "Are you effing kidding me? Not you Bambi. I don't get bored of you."

I had one more question before the doorbell rang and whatever girl he was going to have sex with that night arrived. For all of our conversations, for every thing we spent hours talking about, we never mentioned the bad stuff again. Did he remember what I needed him to do for me before we met?

Of course he did. He remembered, and he will and it'll be recent. And then the doorbell rang.

And for some reason, I don't think I'm going to feel much safer.