This is the last update about MAGA Man. (Here’s Chapter 1 and Chapter 2). And no, we don’t hate each other, although I’m pretty sure some folks wish we did. I’m sorry to disappoint them, especially the pearl clutcher who told me I gave new life to the old anti-feminist trope “she just needs a good fuck.” (I’m not actually sorry).
Is it perfect? No. Do we want to strangle one another sometimes because one of us doesn’t see what the other one sees? Yup. Are we dating in a traditional way that will lead to a committed relationship? I don’t think so, but he’s likely gonna read this, so that’s all I’ll say about that. But have our politics caused a rift so great that we’ll never talk again? Nope. In fact, we have another sexy escapade planned next week. Again, sorry to disappoint everyone who was hoping otherwise. (Again, not actually sorry).
But this is the last update because MAGA Man — and this will come to a shock in this Kardashianized, Oprah-fied era — pointed out that it’s hard to be real with each other if I’m reporting on it later. He has a point. Before I started opening up my veins and bleeding on the page aka writing online, I too believed in privacy. Leading a private life allows us to lead an authentic life.
After all, if no one is watching, well — no one is watching. Even though MAGA Man is obviously not his real name, and even though Adeline Dimond is not my real name, writing about sexy time makes me self-conscious. He can’t speak freely without wondering if I’m taking notes (Bathtub Dan learned that the hard way) and I don’t want to be ripped out of the moment by wondering what adjectives best describe how fun he is in bed.
Of course, I started it all. No one put a gun to my head and forced me to write about MAGA Man in the first place, let alone twice. I was just so excited about the idea of two people who were supposed to hate each other not only not hating each other, but getting kinda hot and bothered by each other. It felt like a rebellion.