I’m in love with a hooker named Sheila. Or, I should say a sex worker, as that sounds less judgmental. I fell in love with her before she took up this career, and that’s why I respect her. She sings, dances, and plays bass guitar. She performed in venues around Boston and Cambridge, but the competition is fierce and she lost her apartment when she couldn’t pay the rent. She’s not in love with me, and therein lies the problem. I want to rescue her, but she doesn’t want to be rescued.

I keep trying to find ways to make her fall in love with me, but female psychology is a puzzle. Buying her things doesn’t work, nor does being extra nice. I helped her move into her new place a week ago, not asking for a single dime in return. It’s ordinary courtesy to buy movers you don’t pay pizza and beer, but she didn’t even do that. Am I worthless to her? My friends tell me I’m making myself too available, but I can’t see any other way to stay by her. I don’t have just romantic interest, I really want to give her a better life. I’m a software engineer, and I make good money. Her financial problems would be over if she just moved in with me. I wouldn’t even demand marriage, and she could keep her current friends as far as I’m concerned. This represents a rational choice, and she won’t make it. Hence my frustration.

I don’t think I’m repulsive. I’m a little taller than average, a little chunky, and have a square jaw in a masculine face. I drive a sensible Audi, not a flashy sports car, though I could afford one. I volunteer for the Cambridge Film Festival, so I do have a respectable hobby. I don’t drink or do drugs, I’m disease free, and I like children, though I haven’t had any yet. What more do women want? I believe in feminism. To top it all off, I’ve only had one partner by the age of 30. In short, I think I’m an ideal partner, at least for many women. Despite all this, I can never get a second date. The idea that Sheila is willing to have sex with filthy criminals drives me nuts. Even stinking outlaw bikers have partners.

Sheila’s children were taken away. The state is willing to restore them to her providing she meets certain conditions. I told her I’m more than willing to help, but she ignored me. What’s wrong with her? The future of her children is at stake, and she still rejects me? She can’t tell me why she rejects me. She told me, “Don’t be so heavy. It’s not attractive.” Then what is? An offer of a kilo of cocaine? She used to have sex with me for money, but not any more.

I don’t know how she can’t recognize or believe that I’m in love with her. I write her love poems, and post them on Facebook. Not too many, because I don’t want to be labeled a stalker. I usually post once a week, which seems restrained to me. When I can’t write one, I post one from literature.

I know a lot of guys who like guns, and it doesn’t seem to affect their chances of finding a spouse. I think Sheila is afraid of guns, so I got rid of the ones I had. I thought she might respect me more if I became a vegetarian, which I did. Ha! That had no effect either. I am jumping through hoops for her, and she doesn’t even notice!

I had an astrologer analyze our horoscopes and compared them in a technique called synastry. According to her, we’re well matched. Her Venus is conjunct to my Sun and Mars, and you can’t get much better than that. But I might as well as live on a different planet.

I’ve been studying her for years. I know her measurements. I have nude photos that she posted online, and one day several years ago I stole her underwear from the laundromat. Just a couple of pairs of panties, and I got them before they were washed. They’re some of my most prized possessions. I haven’t told her this, for she’ll probably call me a creep. But really, what’s so creepy about liking women’s underwear? It’s the closest I can get to her kitty cat.

I dream about her kitty. Shaved or hairy, don’t matter to me. It’s hers, and that’s all I care about. She hasn’t even seen the poems I write about her kitty — that’s for later. “Kitty oh kitty, waken to me/ You are so pretty/ Juicy and free…” and so on,

Do you think she’d move in with me if I offered her a $100,000 cash bonus? James said this is an excellent way to nab a gold digger. The thing is, I don’t believe she is, as she’s refused all help so far. Fred says I’m desperate, and that this is undignified. But I don’t care about dignity, I only care about her.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.