Time and again, the Internet proves itself a poor way for me to meet men. Yet, every few months or so, I give it another chance, encouraged by friends who meet nice, long-term boyfriends online. But after last night, I'm done. And please don't ever let me forget it.

I signed up for this free site several months ago, met a man who became my first stalker, and abandoned the whole idea Then, inexplicably, the African stopped calling. Que sera sera, I told myself, he didn’t mean all that much to me anyway.

A week later, I crossed paths in a city park with a dark-haired, handsome man with three children in tow. He spoke to them, giving me a passing glance as he did so, and I heard a musical accent – Australian, African, British, German, or something. To my horror, I shot him a killer glare.

I realized on that day a distraction was in order.

So I popped back onto the free site, unhid my profile and waited. I received a dozen or so e-mails. Most of them were men in their 50s. One was 29 – too young, even, for me. But one was 39, a mortgage broker, cute smile, semi-witty profile. He shot me a nice, respectful compliment about my smile. I was charmed.

We agreed to meet. My first red flag came quickly when he responded to my, ‘Sure, let’s have a drink’ e-mail with 5 e-mails of his own. The last, sent an hour after mine, said, “Did I scare you off? I didn’t mean to. Please write.”

At this point, however, I could not think of a polite way to back out.

We met at an English pub near his office. His name was Gary, and he looked exactly like his picture. He opened the door. The smell of cologne wafted from him as he walked into the pub. He was nervous.

I found it all endearing.

Perhaps I had been wrong, I thought.

The bar was dimly lit and artfully decorated. He led me to a pair of love seats near a fireplace in the very back section of it, and we sat opposite each other, with a heavy coffee table between us – a seating arrangement with which I was completely comfortable. We ordered two dark ales.

The conversation flowed smoothly, with neither of us taking more than our share of air time. He told me about his job, his recent victory over smoking, the family that lived in Denver and with whom he spent much of his time. He complimented my smile again.

We talked about beer. He was relieved, he said, to hear I was not a teetotaler. Not, he added hastily, that there was anything wrong with that.

I was, to my surprise, enjoying myself.

“Ya know,” he said, “I think I’ve seen your byline. I used to work in the Springs and I’d page through the Gazette from time to time. Just skimming it, ya know. Now, if it’d had pictures of naked women in it, I’d have read it from cover to cover.”

Gary laughed jovially.

I smiled, and swallowed. Hard.

“Am I wrong here, or do we have a vibe going?” he asked.

Startled, I didn’t answer for a moment.

“We may,” I said, pleased with my careful response.

“Well listen, if that’s the case, I gotta tell you something,” he said, and stood to move closer to me. Clearly, he expected me to scoot over and make room for him on the love seat. I sat statute still. He perched awkwardly on the leather arm and leaned down to talk softly.

“I like to let the girls know this up front, just in case they have a problem with it,” he said. “I take the little blue pill, ya know? I’ve had a problem since I was in junior high. The main blood vessel just never formed correctly. The doctor said there’s no way for it to get enough blood. The drive is there. Believe me. But the blood can’t get to it to make it happen.

“So I take the pill and everything is fine. Really, really fine.”

He moved back over to his love seat, sat down and smiled at me. “I just think it’s better to be honest about these things,” he said.

I smiled. “Well, isn’t it amazing all the great medications they have out there these days for – everything.

“I mean, think about all the antidepressants there are now. Things like that.”

He snorted. “Well, at least I’m alright mentally,” he said, and, pointing an index finger at his temple, twirled it in a circle.

Without asking me, he ordered two more beers. I asked for a water.

He smiled at me and shook his head. “Wow, you are just about perfect,” he said. “Not that you were being tested!

“You’re attractive. You’re funny. You drink beer. You understand my shortcomings. Not that there’s anything short about it – trust me, that is not an issue.”

Then, he made a pumping motion with his arms. His hips slid back and forth on the love seat. He was thrusting.

At that very moment, my cell phone rang, loud and insistent.

“It’s OK. You can answer it,” he said.

“No, no,” I shook my head, reaching for my purse. “I’ll just see who it is.”

I stared at the number. Area code: Summit County. Prefix: cell phone. 3031: Roger.

I set it down, let it go to voicemail.

Gary looked at my face. “It’s a guy, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “It’s someone I was seeing until about a month ago.”

“Well,” he said. “I guess he missed out.”

It was not a question. It was a statement.

Hastily, I excused myself to go to the bathroom.

The door had not yet closed by the time I hit “New Message.” The African’s voice, his tone happy and excited, floated out to me. A shot of adrenalin zipped through my legs, straight to my toes.

He said he had dropped his phone in water a few weeks ago and had spent all his time since regathering lost numbers. “I had to wait until I got my statement today to look through it and find yours, but I’ve found you! How are you? Call me sometime, OK?”

I heard the unmistakable tremor of nerves in his last few words. He was uncertain that I would call.

And that, I thought, was just as it should be. The tables were turned now. I would make him wait, sweat and wonder - just as I had.

Two hours seemed punishment enough.

That gave me time to flee from Gary. When I came back from the table, he looked at me, suspiciously. “You’re getting ready to tell me you have to go somewhere, aren’t you?”

Really, I did admire his powers of perception. He had a strong instinct, it seemed, for women who were about to blow him off.

“Yes,” I said. I explained to him I'd already arranged to meet a girlfriend who needed to talk about some difficult issues in her life. This was true, but I had met with her the night before and we'd made no arrangements to meet again so soon. It was, however, an explanation with which I knew he wouldn't argue.

“Oh,” he said. “I understand. You barely touched your second beer?”

“Well, I’m guessing you won’t let it go to waste,” I said. “You seem like a smart man.”

He grinned. “You are right about that. I’ll walk you to your car, then I’ll come back and make sure that gets a good home.”

Gary followed me out, and I hastily unlocked my door. He moved closer.

“I’m wondering now if I should try to kiss her,” he said. “I want to, but …”

I smiled and stepped forward. “How about a hug?”

“OK,” he said, and hugged me tight. “I’ll e-mail you tomorrow.”

He stood back and winked at me. “Don’t meet any other guys.”

I laughed, waved and stepped into the sweet security of my car.

Gary had sent me two e-mails by the time I got up this morning. I e-mailed him back to tell him I had talked to the guy who called during our date, and we were back on. He responded almost immediately.

"Geez, I find the perfect girl and poof! She's gone. This has happened to me before and I'm trying not to be bitter, but I just don't get it."

Sadly, I believe he never will.