I always vowed, as a young naïve little thing, never to get into a long-distance relationship. Touch is one of my major love languages, and I’m not the type to need a lot of “space” in my relationships: if I love someone enough to want to be their girlfriend, usually I want them as close as possible, in every way possible.
So it was a surprise when I met a boy who lived in New York and wanted him to be my boyfriend. I knew more-or-less what that would entail, and I still wanted it. I knew how hard it would be, and I still wanted it. I had often wondered, unempathetically, of friends in LDRs, “Why can’t you just find someone closer to date?” and I see now that that’s a question akin to when folks used to ask me, “You’re attracted to butch women? Why not just date men?” The answer is, you can’t control who you fall for. When you want that specific person, it’s neither appealing nor always possible to find a passable stand-in. You want who you want, and you love who you love.
Like the relationship nerds we are, my partner and I have experimented with lots of strategies for feeling closer when we’re far apart. Here are five things I’ve found helpful…
Phone dates. My partner and I talk on the phone almost every day for at least an hour or two, which – oddly – means I’m in touch with him more consistently and intensely than I have been with anyone else I’ve dated, despite him living 500 miles away from me. It’s so nice!
Like in-person dates with a nearby beau, these can be either pre-planned or impromptu, and they’re delicious either way. Sometimes we talk aimlessly for hours while we’re both lying in bed; sometimes I get dressed up for a jaunt to my favorite restaurant and he chats with me throughout my meal; sometimes we have raucous phone sex (see below). In the early days of our relationship, we frequently stayed up all night talking for six or seven or eight hours, and it felt akin to those love-drunk dates where you watch the sunrise together on a rooftop or some romantic shit like that. Aww!
We also do weird-cute things like hanging out on the phone while we’re each separately working on our own stuff. Or like… I’m screensharing with him right now as I type this. (We’re nerds, okay?) Jasdev Singh uses the term “ambient intimacy” which reminds me of this kind of low-pressure, casual “date.”
Whether you go with Skype, FaceTime, or the actual goddamn phone, I think the real-time aspect is important here. Texting is fun, but it can feel like your partner lives in your phone – and you want them to feel real to you. So make the time for actual, meaningful chats.
Physical mementos. I have a T-shirt of my partner’s that I keep in a Ziploc bag so it’ll continue to smell like him, and when I take it out and press it to my face, I almost always burst into tears. #OverEmotionalSlutLyfe, amirite?
I collect other little tokens, too: love notes he’s written me, tickets from shows we’ve gone to together, room keys from hotels we’ve stayed in, li’l gifts he’s given me, and so on. The ones that are flat enough get carried around with me in the back pocket of my Moleskine journal, so I can take ’em out whenever I need a reminder that I am loved. (Not sure what the people on the subway think I’m doing when I giggle awkwardly at a postcard I produce from the back of my notebook, but whatevs.)
Sending each other gifts in the mail is also adorable when feasible. I will never forget the time my partner sent me an enormous flower arrangement on Valentine’s Day, for example, and it still makes me smile to flip through the book he bought me just a few days after our first date. These keepsakes make our mostly-digital relationship feel more rooted in the material world. Like hickeys, bite marks, and bruises, they remind me that someone cares about me, even when he isn’t physically there to tell me so.
Digital intimacy. I used to staunchly believe you shouldn’t follow your beaux on Twitter, but, uh, I met this one on Twitter, sooo… maybe I should reconsider that policy. I get a li’l rush of adrenaline every time my love faves or replies to one of my tweets. Likewise when he texts me, emails me, Snapchats me, makes me Spotify playlists of songs that remind him of us… um, you get the picture.
We do nerdier shit, too, like using iOS’s “share location” feature so we can keep an eye on each other throughout our days, and adding continuously to a shared photostream that chronicles our relationship in snapshots and screenshots. (And, uh, cumshots.)
Lots of my LDR-experienced friends enjoy watching shows and movies online with their partner, by screensharing or using a service like Rabb.it. Could be a cute date night!
A lot of archaic h8erz will tell you that connecting via the internet is less legitimate than connecting physically, but a) I’ll take what I can get and b) they’re wrong. It all strengthens our relationship and makes us feel closer to each other so it’s all valid and important.
Phone sex. I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT PHONE SEX. Eventually I will write some kind of how-to, although I don’t think I’m very good at it. (Suz is, though, and she wrote a good piece about it.)
Like in-person sex, phone sex can be whatever you want it to be. It can be as standardly vanilla or as deviantly kinky as you please. It can be hypothetical and distanced (“If I was there, I would…”) or immersively in-the-moment (“Get on your knees and suck my cock, little girl”). You can use toys (including app-compatible, LDR-friendly toys like the We-Vibe Sync!) or just get off the old-fashioned way. You can be yourselves, or play roles. You can craft detailed storylines, or just touch yourself and lapse into breathy moans.
Even though what we do during phone sex is essentially masturbation, it feels entirely different to me. The psychological and emotional aspects are much closer to my experience of partnered sex, and the orgasms are extra satisfying and exhausting the way that orgasms with partners usually are for me. Post-orgasm, when all that oxytocin is flooding my body, it’s so lovely to feel like I’m auditorily curling up with my partner for sweet cuddly aftercare. The whole process makes me feel so much closer to him and is often so good that I only miss fucking him IRL a little. (…Okay, more than a little. But less than I would if we weren’t having so damn much phone sex, that’s for sure.)
Proper goodbyes. The goodbyes my partner and I exchanged at the end of our second date were so disastrously bad that we vowed to never let that happen again. That farewell was rushed, took place in a crowded New York subway station, and ended on the sad note of us commiserating about how much we would miss each other and how hard it was to say goodbye. Then I got on the subway and he got into a cab and we both cried while texting each other about how hard we were crying. Not good!
In relationship-nerding about how to fix this issue for next time, we decided we needed to look at our in-person dates as if they were kink scenes – since they were just as emotionally and sexually intense as most kink scenes – and do proper aftercare. We needed a structured process to help us work through what we’d just experienced and float back into our regular lives without the harsh emotional drop we’d experienced that previous time.
Here’s what this looks like for us. We leave ourselves lots of time at the end of a date so we don’t have to rush our goodbye. We go for a leisurely meal or coffee. We talk about our favorite parts of the time we just spent together, both sexual and nonsexual. If possible, we try to nail down when our next date will be, even if it’s a month or more away, so we’ll have that to look forward to. We don’t say goodbye on the subway or in a cab, if possible, because that abruptness is the worst. Our goodbye on our third date took place outside his office building, where we could hug and kiss and stare moonily into each other’s eyes, etc., and we both left it feeling happy, hopeful, and only a little bit sad. Developing a farewell ritual that works for you is crucial, and worth taking the time to do!
What do you like to do to make long-distance relationships easier and more fun?
