I spent the last forty-five minutes watching a classic episode of X-Files on iTunes. At heart, I'm a complete geek. I found myself getting misty-eyed, at the end, when Mulder danced with Scully. They're just the perfect couple. They know each other so well. They're partners, in every sense of the word. They have only each other in this dark, menacing world. And, there's no sex. It's all intellectual. There's no passion, but there's so much love.

This weekend has been strangely nostalgic. I read a post on Friday about someone finding their pedophile online. I tried, but I had no luck. Or, maybe I was lucky. He has a fairly common name. Partly relieved, partly disappointed, I Googled my former crushes. One was a man in college. One was a lesbian I met at a bar. I found a photo of the man pretty easily. I bumped into him a few years ago, and learned he was straight. Still, his photo stirred me: he was so thin and pale, ghostly, haunting. I think he was sexually abused. I think he doubts his sexuality.

I didn't know the last name of the lesbian, but I found her anyway. She has a rare first name and I knew the grad school she graduated from. I became choked up when I saw her picture. I think she was sexually abused too. I got that impression when I met her. She was so beautiful: impossible to have, but I wished I had gotten to know her better. She was smart and funny and, like the man in college, like myself, complex.

I went to a gay bar yesterday. I saw the player that I liked for many years. He seemed happy, with his boyfriend. His boyfriend glares at me everytime I walk by. I saw my most recent crush, who looks at me when he thinks I can't see, but walks away when I'm near. I think he's shy, defensive, scared. It moves me, but I won't force him to talk to me.

I saw a girl. She stared at me. She seemed embarrassed, for finding me attractive. She giggled. She was pretty and had an innocent look about her. I watched her. I regretted that our eyes met here, instead of somewhere else. I sensed something, but the setting ruined it.

All these lost opportunities...

In each case, I'm sure there was some kind of connection. As unlikely as it might seem, I felt it. I think part of the problem is that it's such a blurry line between sex and friendship for me. I've read from other survivors how boundaries are destroyed by abuse. My longing is never sexual. It's for wholeness. It's to be understood and to understand someone utterly. With men and women, it's the same. I honestly don't get why I can't love a lesbian. I know it, but I don't believe it. I think my sexuality never developed past eight-years-old.

I'm fucked up even down to the most basic level of what arouses me. The acts that excite me most are the ones that make want to barf. The ones that do nothing for me, except give me a slight discomfort, are the ones I have the least problem performing. That's the best I can hope from sex: a slight discomfort.

With each crush, I think I imagined Scully and Mulder: sexless, but too profound to be platonic. With the guy in college, I think he couldn't deal with being a man's partner. Ditto, the lesbian awhile back. The player could give sex freely. He wasn't ready to be anybody's best friend. My most recent crush isn't ready for anything. I think that girl considered being my Scully, for half a second, before she decided it was just weird.

Well, others have their Prince Charmings, and their Jessica Albas. I have my Agent Scully. I believe she's out there, somewhere. But maybe I'd have better luck tracking UFOs.