Missed

First, the Loser missed her. Then, he missed hearing from her, talking about things on the phone, planning the next time they'd meet. Then he missed emails. (She was smart and wrote good ones.)
Now he misses the fact of getting messages from someone who likes him in that way, proof that she was thinking of him. 

The world is a big, lonely place.

The post break-up email

It is polite and friendly and comes no less than two days after the last one. 
The one who dumped (her) is casual and upbeat, which comes off as distant: "My week was busier than usual and I've enrolled in a new course. It's not something I need to know now but if I ever want to teach I'll be glad I did. How was your day off?"
The one dumped (me) tries to avoid a bitter and sad phrase yet fails: "That's good that you're taking that class. More education never hurts and usually helps! Didn't do much on my day off. Just puttered around, took a nap." 

Dealing with pain

It's 1970 and the Complete and Total Loser is twelve years old. His crippled right leg, stunted by three operations to remove cartilaginous tumors, has ceased growth. X-rays show that the Loser may reach a height of six-feet-two-inches. The discrepancy would be debilitating, as the Loser already wears a shoe with a lift of over three inches. 
The solution is to cut clean through the bones of the Loser's left leg, five times at both the ankle and knee, shattering the growth plates to stop the leg's growth. The orthopedic surgeon is, like many bone guys, a tough man; his last name is Steel. He performs the operation with a drill and chisel and the Loser awakes in a cast that immobilizes the leg and goes around his hips. Blood leaks from four long incisions and soaks though the cast at both joints.
Even when done with clean instruments and skill, a major bone break hurts, and the Loser is in intense pain. This being a different era, they are reluctant to give much pain medication. The Loser howls in agony off and on for two weeks and is in much discomfort for another three weeks after that. He doesn't crap the first week. His adult height will be five-feet-nine-inches, and he'll wear a shoe with a seven-inch lift for the rest of his life.
The lesson learned is that pain of all kinds subsides. It takes longer than you think, much longer, but it does go away. Recently dumped by the first woman to like him in years, the Loser hurts now. He knows, however, that in a year or so he'll start keying in a name similar to hers in an email address line and when her name pops up he'll think of her for only a few seconds. Then he'll resume and think of a catchy subject line for the person he means to write.

Now what?

It seems that the Complete and Total Loser, in his mid-fifties, is in his first relationship. He's not sure what this means or where it's supposed to go or where it will go. The woman involved likes him a lot and the Loser likes that she feels so full and happy when she's with him. She's the mother of four children, who sound like good kids, yet the Loser is important to her when he's with her.
The Loser likes the way he feels when he's with her. She brings out his better qualities. He finds her interesting and listens to her with an open mind. She likes his jokes. 
They're getting along well sexually, too, though the Loser's libido has serious problems. When it comes to sex, his mind is nineteen, but his body is closer to eighty, and if not for the Cialis he secretly takes just before she arrives ($8 a pill!), they wouldn't be having the degree of intimacy they're having. Honestly, it's not her, it's him.

A farm couple on a warm day.

 Major problems are that she lives in a house an hour away. The Loser doesn't see himself selling his late parents' house anytime soon and can't imagine her uprooting her life to live with him in a house that's too small for her children, the oldest of which is just fifteen. 
She's smart and knows all this but is happy to take things as they come. That's rare.

Relationships (Poem)

It’s not easy being a couple,
Making one of two.
Your bodies may be supple
But not ready for love’s glue.
Some freedom’s put asunder,
You must like the other’s art.
Don’t you often wonder,
When do the married fart?

A bride and groom pose for wedding photographs.

The Loser Has Sex

Despite his deformity, the Complete and Total Loser has had sex with five women. None of these relationships lasted longer than a few weeks and the last one was a dozen years ago, but that wasn't because the sex was bad.

The Loser found sex is hard to get but easy to do. He likes women. They're soft and have pleasing voices, usually. It stuns him when one of them lets him help her disrobe. When things progress and he feels between their legs and finds moisture he is as happy as he is astonished. It's as if he's rubbed a stone and it's produced water.

This will probably never happen again. He's poor now, with no prospects. Time has not been kind to him. Complexion splotchy, though he avoided sunlight from his teens on, sagging muscles at 50.

This is all right. His desire has waned. There's the surge when he spots a target, then the quick realization of how impossible it would be for him to get her (he is choosy, of all things).

He last tried a year ago. He was a disaster in bed and never successfully completed the act. This wounded her immeasurably, but she's since realized that it was indeed him and not her. The two remain friends. Sometimes, when he emails her, she answers.