Doing research the other day for a screenplay — a racy romantic dramedy — something possessed me to join the controversial Ashley Madison (“Life is short. Have an affair”) online cheating/dating site. Sure, I’d heard all of the stories about virtual relationships, from perfect matches to crafty sex scams and everything in between, but all I was looking for was some seductive banter I could steal.

I was ready for anything I might encounter in the way of original dialogue, including playful chatter, a proposition too good to turn down, a creative scam or even cruel rejection.

Of course, I was aware that these sites are notorious for women, or men posing as women (usually foreign), ripping off innocent novices (probably American), with promises of love (or at least sexual abandon) before mentioning money (preferably dollars). But this would be my first personal experience with online dating, and I was open to finding out for myself.

I chose as my online pseudonym PassionatelyMature. I was a “Single Male Seeking Females,” and I admitted that I’m Caucasian and over 18 (both beyond my control). I have a “muscular” build and indicated that I’d be satisfied with any kind of frequent sexual activity, as well as deep conversation, and visits to museums of course, with any woman between 35 and 70.

My profile conveyed, I thought, a debonair hunk with a thirst for adventure…

To complete my profile, I uploaded pictures from a recent trip to the French Riviera of me hiking, tantalizingly eating an almond croissant in the Antibes market and dining at the Yacht Club in Monaco. My profile conveyed, I thought, a debonair hunk with a thirst for adventure and the connections, wealth and worldly know-how to procure it. Heck, I thought when I read it, I’d even date myself.

During the night, I had a “wink” from a woman who said she was a “Single Female Seeking Males” and described herself as 36, 5’4”, 120 pounds, shapely toned, and “looking for a man who would enable me to feel secure, protected, sexy and loved.”

Moreover, using a bit of camouflaged wordplay she had imbedded an email address in her profile, enabling me to circumvent the controls at Ashley Madison, which I hadn’t joined. (Men pay, women don’t).

No fool, or at least not that kind, I sent a note asking if she’d indeed contacted me. She acknowledged winking, adding, “You’re very handsome” and inviting me to contact her directly on Google Chat. Goodbye Ashley Madison.

I suggested we meet on Zoom; I needed to see if she was for real – and, if so, whether she matched her profile photos, one of which fully revealed the physique of a ’70s Playboy playmate.

Have I mentioned the screenplay’s title is The Curse of Abnormally High Testosterone? (I was diagnosed with Abnormally High Testosterone, or AHT, fifteen years ago and have it monitored at my annual physical…it’s still off the charts for someone my age.) And that it is autobiographical?

She said we could video chat on Google Chat, but only after we first got to know each other by text.

Okaaaay…

“My real name is Sarah,” she wrote. “I am living in Sarasota and looking for new friends to see where it goes. How long have you been on the dating site? Are u single or married?”

This seemed straightforward enough. “This is my first time on a dating site, you’re my first contact and I’m in Northern California,” I wrote. “I was divorced in 2009 and both my kids are older than you. Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“Ages are just numbers, It doesn’t matter honestly. I have been on this site for just five days and you are my first contact. I’m looking to try again and start all over.”

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And, then, a busty selfie showed up in my in-box, confirming that her breasts, at least, certainly were under forty.

“I’m single and never married (no kids),” she followed up. “I was born and raised in Santa Monica (CA) but had to move to Florida because i needed to get out from the toxic relationship I was in.”

“I am very sorry about your toxic relationship,” I replied, ever the gentleman. “So glad you’re out of it.”

Then she started bombarding me with questions. One at a time.

“What makes you happy?”

“Being compassionate and helping others,” I replied – honestly, but also with intent – “which is why I start every day with meditation.”

“Do you like sports?”

“Everything. Swimming, walking, cycling, weights. My golf stinks. I spent twenty years walking around the Mediterranean to avoid playing golf.”

“What was your biggest achievement?”

“Kids, grandkids, and being serene and content about everything I do today, including texting you.”

Each of my mostly candid replies received hearts and kiss emojis. It was like I was being auditioned to be her boyfriend .

But it wasn’t just her. Maybe what started out as a short scene in my screenplay could lead to a real love story, or at least to serious sexual fireworks.

She sent two more photos, one innocent, the other putting herself on full display in a skimpy blue bikini top. How did she guess blue is my favorite color?

“Your short hair looks fantastic,” I replied, and attached a decade-old photo of myself atop Mount Etna. “I’m not as handsome as you are beautiful. Time for a video chat?”

By now my AHT was seriously kicking in – it doesn’t take much – and I’d started asking myself questions. For instance, where would I take her skinny dipping? And what kind of lingerie will she wear?

“What’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for a girl?”came her text.

“Actually I’m  thinking of doing it right now: flying someone I hardly know (and with whom I’ve never even video chatted) to CA for the weekend. Just so you know, I give fabulous, intimate, non-sexual massages. It’s an ideal way to kick things off.”

This wasn’t just a line. There’s no better way to break the ice with anyone, male or female, than with my intimate, non-sexual (patent-pending) massage which I perfected in the 1990s.

“Will you believe if I tell you I have never had an orgasm in my whole life?” she replied.

“Really?” I asked. “Elaborate if you feel like it. But no pressure.”

“But I want to, if I ever make love to another man. I’d love to be gently caressed and fucked slowly while we are talking to each other.”

Okay, enough. Either I had to help her get over that toxic relationship, or it was time to cut bait.

“Since we’re being completely truthful,” I wrote, “before we go any further, I have a medical issue I should tell you about. It’s called Abnormally High Testosterone.”

This time it took her fifteen minutes to respond.

“Sounds wonderful – California here I cum! But first can you please send me $500 for food stuffs?”

Well, at least a great line for the screenplay!