Read Love Virtually for Free Online Page B

entrenched in some building across the road, but actually at the bar or in the lounge, standing or sitting, squatting or kneeling, whatever?
    One minute later
    Re:
    Yes Emmi, I really was there. Which of the men did you think might have been Leo Leike, if I may ask?
    Twelve minutes later
    Re:
    Dear Leo,
    I don’t feel comfortable about going into details. But tell me you weren’t that—how can I put it?—stocky gentleman, well, stunted really, with all-over body hair that looked like a Brillo pad? He was wearing a T-shirt that was once white and had a mauve ski sweater tied around his waist, standing at one end of the bar drinking a Campari or some other red concoction. I mean, if that was you, all I can say is this: to each his own. I’m sure there are plenty of women who would find a guy like that utterly fascinating and irresistibly attractive. I’ve no doubt that one day you’ll find a woman to spend the rest of your life with. But I have to be frank: you wouldn’t be my type, I’m sorry to say.
    Eighteen minutes later
    Re:
    Dear Emmi,
    All respect to your disarming and revealing honesty. But “not offending people” is not one of your strengths. It’s quite clear that looks really are your highest priority. You’re behaving as if your future love life depended on how physically attractive you find your email friend. But first let me reassure you that the hairy beast at the bar and I are not one and the same person. But go ahead, feel free to continue with the descriptions—who else might I have been? And second, a related question: If I’m one of the “no-no’s,” does that signal the end of our correspondence?
    Thirteen minutes later
    Re:
    No, Leo, we can go on emailing each other with abandon, of course. You know me: I’m prone to wild exaggeration. I’m getting all excited, and I don’t want my flow interrupted. The fact is, I didn’t see a single man at the café yesterday I thought could be even half as exciting as the way you write to me. And that’s exactly what I was afraid of. Not one of those dreary Sunday afternoon faces in Café Huber came remotely close to the way you write to me: shy and attentive on the one hand, on the other sure-footed and forthright, charmingly snow-bearish and once in a while even sensual, but always uncannily sensitive.
    Five minutes later
    Re:
    Really, not one? Perhaps you just missed me.
    Eight minutes later
    Re:
    Dear Leo,
    You’ve given me renewed hope. But sadly I don’t think I’ve overlooked anyone who didn’t deserve to be overlooked. I found the two pierced freaks sitting at the third table on the left quite sweet. But they couldn’t have been more than twenty. There was an interesting-looking guy, maybe the only interesting-looking guy, standing with one of those leggy blond angel-vamp model types at the bar toward the back on the right. They were holding hands, and he only had eyes for her. Then there was another quite nice-looking man—looked like a rowing champ, built like a yield sign—but he had an unfortunate moronic grin. No Leo, that definitely wasn’t you! So who else was there? Lawn-mowing and gardening enthusiasts, men who collect beer mats and have shares in breweries, guys in dark suits with briefcases, do-it-yourself fanatics with fingers that look like they’ve been mutilated in a wrench. Guys who go windsurfing, with childishly dreamy faces, permanent kids, in other words. But not one charismatic man to be seen. Hence my bold question: which of these was my language psychologist? Which one was my Leo Leike? Did I lose him to Café Huber on this fateful Sunday afternoon?
    An hour and a half later
    Re:
    Without wishing to sound arrogant, my dear Emmi, I knew that you wouldn’t identify me!
    Forty seconds later
    Re:
    WHICH ONE WERE YOU LEO? TELL ME!!!
    One minute later
    Re:
    Let’s talk more tomorrow, Emmi, I’ve got to