A Woman Scorned #2

Incident Twenty: The End

Suffice to say things were reaching a bit of a dead end with Mr Weirdo. He was seeing another girl behind my back regularly, we hadn’t slept together in just over a year and following the fallout of Mr Xbox I was once again too nervous to leave.

That was until my cat died. I know it sounds pathetic, but my cat was 15 years old, I’d had him since I was a child, and where everything else in my life had seemed so chaotic, the cat was my one constant. I firmly believe that as we buried him, we buried a large part of me too.

I stopped eating. I lay in bed all day but rarely slept. I ignored messages from AWS1 and my few remaining other friends, as well as Mr Weirdo. I remember wanting to die but feeling it would be so much effort that I couldnn’t even do that.

Mr Weirdo began losing his temper. He barged his way into my home and dragged me physically from my home, forcing me to go to dinner at his. I sat all evening at their table weeping until even his mum took pity on me and told me I was excused.

Mr Weirdo demanded I start taking antidepressants, otherwise he would have no choice but to leave, “And believe me, nobody else will put up with this kind of behaviour”. I went to the GP, was given a course of Citaloprams, and hid them in my room. I never touched a single pill, but luckily showing Mr Weirdo the box had convinced him enough.

Onne of Mr Weirdos friends suggested to him that we should go on a date, the idea being that you treat it like a fresh start and new life is pumped back into the dead relationship.

I dressed up, did my hair and make up, then as soon as we got to the restaraunt (“I’m not paying for you, this is your fault, not mine”) realised I was too broke to pay and didn’t want to treat it as a new start. At all.

I began demanding to know why he was cheating on me. Mr Weirdo denied it even as he was texting her under the table. A frosty silence ensued. After the starters, I’d had enough. I insisted he drive me back home.

The journey was silent and tense, and then he took a wrong turn. I waited for him to turn back round, but he carried on. He stopped outside the house of the other girl. He parked.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then” he said.

I stared at him in disbelief, “This isn’t my house”.

He looked at me, looked at the house and blushed before cracking up laughing.

“Oops!” He says.

I kicked the car stereo in with my heels, and believe me that stopped him laughing. I had to walk back to my own home.

As soon as I got in, I changed the setting on my Facebook to “single” and ignored all his calls. After 3 days of being rejected he sent me a message saying he understood we needed to take a break so I could “fix myself” and then come back when I was ready. Much like the broken car stereo.

I held strong, fighting against my now automatic instincts to just go back because I had no energy for confrontation.

ASW1 was, as always, brilliant. She firmly told me I was right not to take him back, even though I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough or if it really was “just a break”.

That’s when I got the email from Dear Diedre.

Advertisements

Incident Nineteen: Mr Xbox

Around the same time as I was making friends with AWS2, I also made friends with a guy called Mr Xbox. He was short for a guy, about my height, quiet and shy but with a great sense of humour. He had this way of finding a joke in any situation and when he told it to you it would feel immediatly like an in joke, something that the two of you alone shared. He had a way of making you feel like you were the closest person to him in the room.

We had been friends since the first break up with Mr Weirdo. Both of us by nature are flirtatious and so we quickly established a teasing/flirting dynamic which appeared promising. When Mr Weirdo came slithering back, we dampened the friendship a bit but not for long.

Whenever he got a girlfriend, Mr Xbox seemed very quick and very picky to dump them. Seemingly whenever they both disagreed on something. I’d heard rumours that he’d slapped one of them, but scoffed at the idea. He was so quiet! So short and slender! Him? No way!

However I couldn’t deny he had an intensity. Whilst Mr Weirdo finished Uni, me and Mr Xbox formed an unusually close relationship back at home. We would go out together occassionally in the group (before I edged out from them), and photos at the time show us always sitting together, his arm encircling my waist or me sitting on his lap. He didn’t really like big social outings so a lot of the time we’d sit at his house playing video games or sitting curled up in each others arms watching films at 3am.

We never slept together or even kissed, but everyone who knew us considered it a relationship, because in every other respect it was. We did almost kiss once- that awkward rom-com esque thing where you both stare into each others eyes and know if nothing breaks it, a kiss will ensue. But someone came into the room, we jumped apart and the momment was gone.

Mr Xbox wasn’t used to having female friends. He would get jealous (mostly of my other friends as oppose to Mr Weirdo) and possessive. Although I was treated much better than any of his real girlfriends (he took me on a daytrip to the City and bought me an expensive lunch for my birthday, his girlfriend got a phone sock from an HMV sale), there were rows.

The rows would escalate to screaming and being very vindictive. This one time I gave him the wrong directions during a drive and he stopped the car and pushed me out in the middle of nowhere, forcing me to call a friend for help. Another time he got so angry at me teasing him, his brother had to drive me back from his house.

But when we made up we very quickly fell back into something that felt oddly “special”, nobody else in either of our lives was able to compete with each other.

“It’s not about whether you sleep together,” a friend at the time said, “Neither of your relationships are positive. One is cold and controlling, the other is passionate but damaging. You get what you’re missing out of one from the other”

After almost a year of this, Mr Weirdo finished Uni and it became harder to keep the two relationships apart. Mr Xbox had already demanded once that I leave everyone else to be wuth him, and although it was too big a demand for my tastes, the relationship was druglike. I thought to myself, I’m going to end it with Mr Weirdo. Even if I don’t get with Mr Xbox, when I’m single I can at least have space to figure out how I feel about him.

And then, the punchline. Mr Xbox got a girlfriend. And his girlfriend was the same girl Mr Weirdo was sleeping with behind my back.

I found myself part of an awful situation, admittedly my own fault, where Mr Weirdo would tell me how sorry he felt for his mistress, how Mr Xbox didn’t treat her how she deserved and she needed a man (like him, just as an example!) who would love and respect her. Worse, all our mutual friends who knew that we had been “together” were messaging me asking was I okay. I felt humiliated.

I begged Mr Xbox to see reason, but from my position it wasn’t exactly a convincing argument. In a moment of regretable childishness, I told him his girlfriend was sleeping with my boyfriend and intoned we should have each others backs in such a situation. Like I say, convincing!

Anyway, Mr Xbox lost it and the final argument ensued. He threatened to text all my friends all the secrets I had told him, only for it to backfire when he realised I had told him none. I guess we hadn’t been as close as either of us thought. He and his family moved up North and although we did hash it all out years later, it was never really the same.

When he and his girlfriend inevitably broke up (her citing distance, him citing infidelity), she fell straight back into just being Mr Weirdos mistress.

Incident Eighteen: Sherlock Holmes vs. AWS1

I met AWS1 at a night out. She was invited by other members of the group we hung out in. Although we had attended the same school, we had never really spoken.

I remember one morning logging onto Facebook to see photos from an event the night before, which I had been too ill to attend. There was this girl in all these brightly coloured clothes jumping around in a few of them. “She looks crazy” I thought, admiringly. She reminded me of how I’d been a few years back before Mr Weirdo had infiltrated the group.

You know when you’re at school and you see another kid you like, and you want to be friends, but aren’t sure what to say? That was pretty much how it was with AWS1. Eventually I blurted out that I’d like her to come out for my birthday in a weeks time and she agreed.

We clicked pretty much straight away. AWS1 was (still is!) smart, creative, a little bit quirky and wore her heart on her sleeve. She seemed to make choices based on what she felt in her heart. I admired her greatly for all these qualities. Mr Weirdo, of course, did not.

“She’s a bad influence on you,” he sneered, “She forgets that just because she’s single, you’re not. I don’t want you hanging around her whilst she’s out looking for men”

So, much like an affair in itself, we used to sneak out on nights out. It wasn’t so much about looking for guys either. We abandoned the other group and just went out dancing and joking with (or about) the strange people we’d meet in the city.

Mr Weirdo became increasingly irate until eventually he demanded to be guest to one of these nights out, as proof of my loyalty. AWS1, not knowing really what he was like at this stage, invited him to a Halloween fancy dress party.

I’d kept Mr Weirdo at arms length a bit with AWS1. She had met him a few times, but I was embarrassed to disclose how the relationship truly was, and was already edgy by the time it came round.

Mr Weirdo was wealthy and loved to show this off. He paid a local tailor to handsew him a complete Sherlock Holmes outfit. He made disparaging remarks about me and AWS1s store bought costumes.

At the event, the co-ordinater asked me if I knew Mr Weirdo. I said yes, and the co-ordinater grinned apologetically.

“That’s a shame! You would have won the females best costume otherwise!”

Mr Weirdo won best male costume. He spent the whole evening glaring at all the other guests, grimacing when they asked to pose with him, and sniffing at the bottle of wine he won as a prize. The photographer tried to take a photo of the three of us, but Mr Weirdo pushed me away savagely.

“It isn’t your competition” he snarled.

At one point I lost sight of AWS1 where she’d gone to the toilets. I went to sit with Mr Weirdo, who began lecturing me to pick better friends, as this one had clearly gone off to find men and just left me alone. Only he was here to look after me, he said, and sighed at the weight of this burden.

AWS1 of course returned and eventually we drove home. We were all dead silent in the car. As soon as she pulled up outside my house, before AWS1 had even turned the ignition off, Mr Weirdo was out of the vehicle.

“Give me your keys. Don’t take forever.” He snapped, and stormed inside.

I was horrified because it was like having to show a friend a vulnerability you aren’t ready to show them. I was terrified AWS1 really would dissappear, disgusted by how horrible he was, and surely by extension, how pathetic I was.

Instead, AWS1 looked at me kindly and said, “Don’t worry. We’re never inviting him again”

In my relief I became very tearful. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about Rome, or the affairs, or the whole unconcious rape thing, but I expressed how lonely and trapped I felt.

The whole time, my phone was buzzing with furious messages; WHERE R U? HURRY UP. TELL HER YOU NEED TO GO TO BED.

AWS1 said to me, just before she drove away, “I’m making a wish for you that you’ll find someone better, who treats you how you deserve”

That wish was truly a lifeline.

Incident Seventeen: List of people sexier than you

At one point Mr Weirdo started getting a kick out of letting me know he thought other women were more attractive than me.

Now don’t get me wrong. I know if you’re in a relationship you don’t stop seeing other people as attractive. But at the same time it’s pretty impolite to advertise, no, declare it to your partner.
He wouldn’t do it with strangers, only with my friends. He’d say things to me like, “Susan’s* a really attractive creature, don’t you think?” or sonetimes as bold as “You should grow your hair long like Lacey*”

One day he said to me, “Out of our male friends, list five of them you’d most like to sleep with”.

I didn’t particularly want to sleep with any of them so I laughed it off and tried to change the subject, but Mr Weirdo was oddly fixated on this point. He pressed the question unwaveringly until I started to feel uneasy.

I thought about my male friends and decided if I had to sleep with anyone, better the ones I trusted most. Falteringly, I named a guy I was close to (and would later almost end things with Mr Weirdo for). Mr Weirdo’s mouth fell open, appalled.

“Him?! No. No, you’d much rather sleep with Mick or Dan*” These two boys were considered good looking, popular, brash and charming. They were everything Mr Weirdo aspired to be. He would loiter near them at house parties, laughing a little too long and too loud at everything they said, looking for any excuse to be in their corner.

“Do you know who, I would sleep with?” He asked me, and without awaiting a response he listed some of the slender, quiet but attractive girls in our group. Not any I was close to, but the ones I didn’t know that well. In a way of course, this was worse, because the girls I was closest to I wouldn’t feel were a threat. I knew them. I trusted them.

It was another way of isolating me from the wider circle whilst desperately trying to get himself further in. He started drinking copious amounts on nights out, revelling in the attention ot got him. Even if they were laughing at him, better that than the idea of them talking to me.

As I mentioned before, Mr Weirdo had become involved with an ex friend of mine in the group. She was a horrible person, quick to use her female friends and run them down behind their backs. She was very easy to hate, which of course worked well for Mr Weirdo as all the blame for the affair was easily shifted onto her.

I let Mr Weirdo have his affair, like I said. I sincerely felt relief that he could sleep with someone else and I could sit unhindered in the background. I was too shy and unkind to myself to leave.

And then I met Scorned Woman #1.

* All the names in this post are fake/generic pseudonyms

Incident Sixteen: The Danger of Routines

By this point in the Mr Weirdo saga, all the niceties that trick you into staying in the first place had evaporated.

Mr Weirdo wouldn’t touch me in public, if I brushed against him he would make a big show of flinching and rubbing the affected area with pantomime disgust. I had always been the more popular and I found myself pleading with the friends I had made at home whilst he lived on campus to like him. Just give him another chance, please. He doesn’t mean to be like this. I gave him every validation to treat me like dirt, and sadly once you do that it is extremely hard to go back.

He came back home after Uni and we both found ourselves unemployed in the epicentre of a huge recession. In the same breath Mr Weirdo would curse my mixed race heritage (“I can’t find a job because I’m a white priviliged male!”) and insult me all in one go (“You can’t find a job because you have no skills”). I used to do writing as a hobby. He told a group of friends I had recently met that my writing was “uninspired, all very much the same, dull” and I soon threw away much of the writing I had done at University with shame.

We started staying round his parents a lot. I suddenly found I didn’t want him around mine anymore, in hindsight it was my only refuge. He had another take on it of course (“They live in such a low class house, she prefers to stay here”). After a while, towards the last few months of the relationship, he sold the guest bed in his room for money. He turned down his mothers offer to buy a double bed. He would put a thin single sheet and a pillow on the floor. I would sleep there like a dog on the scratchy carpet whilst he slept above me in the remaining bed.

I lie. The dog had it’s own bed, so actually I was kind of worse off.

This is really hard for me to write. It’s so hard to acknowledge, even on an anonymous front.

He started cheating on me again, of course. With a girl I used to be friends with. This time he knew he didn’t need to conceal it. He would text her in front of me, giggling and hiding the phone. Sometimes he showed me her messages. “Aren’t you going to fight for me, then?” He laughed once.

I should have said no. I really wish I had.

I did start demanding he stop. It was humiliating. I would kick off in pubs and at nights out after he’d spent an hour goading me on. I’d call him every name under the sun and then burst into tears. He’d give a look to my friends, now his friends. Look what I have to put up with. Mad woman.

One time we were at a house party and he and the girl in question got drunk. They were all over each other to the point where even the other guests became uncomfortable and turned a blind eye. I sat, frosty in the corner, scowling over my drink.

“I’m going home” I hissed at him eventually. He scowled.

“What the hell is your problem? Lighten up, it’s a party” he said quietly.

I looked at the other girl and said, “You’re making a fool out of me and worse, a fool of yourself. You look like a fucking drunk idiot”

It was the first time I had really turned any proper venom on him and he looked shocked. I don’t think he knew what to do, really.

So he said, “Don’t talk to me like that” and slapped me across the face.

It wasn’t a hard slap, but it stung and made a sound enough for people to turn round. I always used to think people would rush to someones defense in such a scenario. Sad news is, they don’t. They are scared to get involved.

I had to get a lift off a person I didn’t really know, my cheek pink and my eyeliner running.

He only ever hit me again once. In our local high street when I made a joke at his expense about him taking a long time to get ready. It was more discreet, over the side of my face. Just enough to let me know I’d spoken out of turn, not enough to get in trouble with the people about town. Again, if anyone saw, they didn’t step in.

My medical records around these years show an increasing amount of urinary tact infections, anxiety, self harm, eating problems and depression. It was a phase, and my mother wished I would grow out of it and my doctors reassured her I would.

When I was a kid, I nearly drowned after getting stuck in a pool. I fought like crazy at first, but then after a while everything felt very still and calm. I stopped fighting and sort of accepted, this is it. I could see the lught coming through the top of the water and it was pretty, but I didn’t need it. Not meaning to sound melodramatic, but that’s how dating Mr Weirdo ended up. You stop fighting and accept this is how you will be shown love. Love isn’t like in the movies. And even once it’s gone and you’re back on the land and in the light, you kind of don’t believe it because you have been under there where it is dark. It takes a lot of your faith in goodness and kindness from you.

But I didn’t drown. I’m on the land. I guess it’s got to count for something.

Incident Fifteen: “Don’t you remember?”

(Apologies for the long hiatus)

There was this one time I went to visit Mr Weirdo at his Uni. He had just started the second year of his course and the student accomodation he had landed was pretty nice, as far as student places go.

I had travelled 3 hours to get there and was feeling tired. I have a medical condition which means on occassion I get very dizzy and disoriented and confused and sometimes pass out. I sometimes get so confusedI don’t recognise I am getting unwell. I felt a biy headachey and tired so I sat on his bed to read a book whilst he played games on his computer in the background. I soon drifted off and fell unconcious.

Luckily when this happens, my liver eventually floods out a back up supply of sugar into the body to bring it back round. It can sometimes take a while but it’s a good back up to have. You wake up as though you’ve been asleep but with a pounding headache and feeling very weak and ill.

On this occassion, I woke up and felt cold. Really cold. I opened my eyes and realised the window was open. And I was naked. Um. What the hell??

I sat up and pulled a blanket over me. My clothes were all over the floor and my head hurt so bad I could barely move. Not to be too graphic but there was a slightly uncomfortable sensation further down too.

Mr Weirdo was back on his computer as though nothing had happened, although his jumper was off and slung on the floor too.

“What happened?” I asked. I knew, I think, deep down I did know. But I was still so groggy and confused I couldn’t really believe it.

He turned and grinned mischevously, like a schoolboy playing a prank.

“Don’t you remember?” He said, “We had sex and then you said you were tired so I let you sleep”

“I was reading my book…” I looked around for it and saw it was on his desk, next to the computer. I was feeling really sick by now.

“I think I was having a hypo…”

He laughed. He actually laughed.

“Oh shit,” he goes, “Well, you didn’t say no”

I tried to process it, but at that time I couldn’t. Pathetic as it sounds, it took me years to come back to it. Back then, I just needed to focus on the immediate issues to cope.

“Shut the window,” I muttered, “It’s fucking freezing”

Incident Fourteen: The Online Blog

In the time Mr Weirdo and I dated, the world of social media was vastly expanding. Facebook was still in the early stages and hadn’t quite caught on yet, MySpace and Bebo were the ones people were using most. Twitter was a distant nightmare.
I was on social media quite often writing to friends and posting selfies. Mr Weirdo resisted setting an account up until I begged and pleaded. When he did, however, because he had so few friends he had nobody to interact with.
So he began writing a strange long diary on there that nobody would read except him.

The site he used has since shut down but I saved a copy of the diary just before it did.

I’m sure previous blog entries have already shown what kind of person he is, but here are some gems straight from the horses mouth:

** I have changed names of people and places for confidentiality**

“I’m a bit worried about most everything, things seem very much out of place at the moment, I need to talk to someone. Well what I need is some kind of etheral being to read my thoughts and to guide me, no-one seems to be around to guide me anymore, I am alone in the matter.”

” You know what, I went to sleep yesterday when everyone else was asleep and I swear I saw a ghost, a small spectre which was staring at me, its head shook and vibrated quickly then it changed faces and it was doing it faster and faster so I turned the lights on. After this I was haunted by another shadow glaring and again it went, thirdly it was a lady wearing nothing IO saw appear in my sheets before I slept with the light on all night. I’ve never felt so scared, well not for a while.
I feel pretty scared and very very cold, I think I will get a jumper about now”

“Well yes I’m feeling down, I think I’m gonig to struggle to make it if I don’t see Scorned Woman #2 for too long. She may not be able to see me but I think I’m going to have to beg to see her at least Sunday or something if not Saturday… That could work, she could come Sunday and go home Monday back to her university for lectures. Gah, I’m soo fucking selfish”

** I had seen him two days before, and bear in mind I was the only person following him on social media. Would it not have been easier just to message and ask to hang out?

“Hey been a while since updating, but guess what I got no friends so I got enoguh time to do as such . Actually I got a few girls who pity me in farness […] I just can’t socialise, I can make enemies and annoy people without trying”

 

“Yikes {bewildered and worried facial expressions from the crowd (or not)}, just come to my attention that I’m actually really not very popular . Not sure how to treat that really.”

** Might help if you stopped being such a twat?

“My mum doesn’t trust me in that she asks my sister and brother to find out how far I’m getting and if I’m stupid enough to get a Scorned Woman #2 pregnant.”

“I feel good right now, grinning like some genetically mutated Cheshire Cat… Oh phooey (as Donald Duck would say).”

“I’ve come along way, over the years. I’ve climbed out of my own essence, I’ve become something powerful I think. Yet still its not in its prime. This is a random mumble about a memory. It is a memory of what once was.”

“It’s been so long since I last prayed. Not to God but to the God, not a God, not a known God but the God I know who keeps me company. Me I guess, do I pray to myself?”

“Maybe its a more femine trait, being concerned so much about what you look like and how you approach situations, aren’t men meant to go in much more all guns blazing style? Mayhaps I am a mere coward. Or maybe even more strange I am slowly becoming a woman.”

“Trust me when I tell you this but alcohol, food and even playstation and Personal Computer is no substitute for friendships.”

There is also a worrying amount of times he just refers to me as Girl. It wasn’t a nickname, and never “The Girl” which seems a bit sweeter. But literally like, “Girl, you need to get your work done so you can see me” or “Girl is sad today”. It’s like when aliens in movies try to be human.

He kept up this strange diary up until the last year or so of the relationship. We rarely spoke about it.

Incident Thirteen: Dead Donkey Drum

Following the joy that was the Roman Holiday, we didn’t travel away together again. Mr Weirdo eventually got sick of me “holding him back” and booked one himself.

He booked a trip to Africa. I couldn’t tell you which bit. He thought it was a country rather than a continent so I never knew anything more than that. He was set to go on a safari type scheme for other tourists where they all band together and make friends over their shared travel experience.

He made no contact during the couple of weeks he was away. I didn’t even miss him as far as I remember, I was hanging out with the friends he disapproved of.

When he came home he gave me a phonecall and arranged to come over to pick me up and bring me to his (we both still lived with our parents), as he had presents for me.

He literally swaggered through the door and started bragging about his holiday in a barely concealed racist tone. He only just held back from referring to the local people he’d met as ignorant savages. My mum said to me after, “I could actually see you rolling your eyes with annoyance everytime he said anything”.

We went back to his to get my present. First he showed me a load of chocolates, watches and posh perfume he had bought all his family from the airport on the way home.

And then he goes, “Close your eyes and hold out your hands”, I’ve learned to dread this request from experience.

I felt something firm and weirdly furry. Oh jesus.

I opened my eyes and looked down. It was a small tribal drum covered in fur. I am a firm vegetarian of several decades now. I don’t buy real leather or fur anything.

“You don’t like it?” snapped Mr Weirdo, as my face didn’t really give room for interpretation, “You’re so ungrateful. It’s made of real donkey. You like animals!”

I threw it on the floor and stormed out. The tragedy is that as a cruel joke I might have at least respected it a bit. You know, buying your vegetarian girlfriend a dead donkey drum. Cruel! But genius!

Except the thing was he genuinely couldn’t see why it was a big deal. Of course I liked animals! Why wouldn’t I like a drum made of one??

So ungrateful.

I insisted I wouldn’t take it and to prevent an argument ensuing, he traded me the box of chocolates he had bought for his mum.

But she didn’t want it either. So there it sat, on his bedside table for the entire remainder of our time together.

The Dead Donkey Drum.

Incident Twelve: When in Rome

I hadn’t been on a proper holiday with Mr Weirdo in the whole time we had dated before this. We had been a couple of times to a cottage his family owned in Scotland, which had no working bathroom, where they made us pick up leaves in the garden all day before an awkward family dinner.

In contrast Rome sounded romantic and far away so I was keen to go. To this day it remains my favourite holiday destination, it is a truly beautiful city with kind people living there. Going with Mr Weirdo was an obvously bad choice.

Everyday he woke me up at 5am so we would leave the hotel at 6am and take a long walk to all the tourist attractions. He planned out a schedule which we could not deviate from, leaving little time to just wander around and soak up the City. They were all places he had chosen, my suggestions to visit Keats grave were brushed off as a waste of time.

Second day we went looking for the Vatican. With so many tourists, you’re unlikely to be lost too long in Rome so I suggested Mr Weirdo ask a local for directions. He grabbed a passing old man and said, loudly and slowly with the stereotypical hand gesture, “WHERE IS EL VATICANO?”.

I looked at this poor old bloke with horror, trying to convey apology with my eyes. The old man was very sweet about it and spoke to me, blanking Mr Weirdo, “Vatican” and pointing in the right direction. El Vaticano is not how it is said in Italian, obviously.

Later that day Mr Weirdo suggested we should scout out a pharmacy and buy some condoms. We hadn’t slept together much since he’d come back from the other girl at his Uni, and things were still a bit tense in that area. I figured, fuck it, we’re on holiday, it could be quite nice.

We bought the condoms and took them back to the hotel room. Things got started and then just as he went to get it in, I tensed up. I suddenly just didn’t want it, and a feeling of dread washed over me. I was alarmed at myself, I’d never experienced anything like it. He kept trying to get in and then found he couldn’t because I’d tensed up so much it was impossible. So he became quite forceful to try and get in by any means possible.

At this point I did say stop as it was quite painful to say the least. I said stop, then please stop. It was only when I started crying because it was so painful that he clambered off and sat on the other side of the bed. I sat up and pulled my pants back up. There was a bit of blood. The next day my period started and I was relieved as I knew there would be no more attempts in Rome after that.

“The problem with you is you never try” sighed Mr Weirdo as I stood up and went to the bathroom.

I told this story recently to a close male friend and he was absolutely horrified. The sad thing is, pretty much every female I know has been through at least one similar experience. Just look at Scorned Woman #3 and Mr Hotel Room. We start seeing these episodes as just part of modern day dating. I still feel angry about the whole thing, but it’s a resigned sort of anger.

And of course I still didn’t gather the common sense to leave him for another year. I guess in that sense I may as well be just as angry at myself as at him. Hopefully, we learn.

Incident Eleven: Sexual Oddities

So now Mr Weirdo was back in my life. Following his grovelling apology he started parking his car ten minutes away from my house (too scared of my parents to park any closer) and we carried on dating as though nothing had happened.

I think he must have been nice to me around this time. I certainly can’t remember anything odd or vile happenening for a few months. I guess he needed to make sure I was suckered back in.

I did however soon notice a few changes in our sex life. I put it down to the renewed relationship and him wanting to spice it up a bit. Amongst these new oddities:

He would change positions during sex roughly each 40 seconds (guys shouldn’t need to be told this surely, but this does not demonstrate prowess. It means we will never orgasm and it will get boring and tiresome)

He asked me to finger his butthole. Not during sex, but just as an act on its own. Which, you know, whatever I guess some guys are into it. But he only wanted me to do it just after he’d done a shit. I refused, FYI.

He became fascinated with tying me up or covering my eyes/face or both. I started to see a few elements of cruelty sneaking in. One time he tied me up and started trying to insert random objects while I tried to kick him away with just my legs and begged him to stop. You know, for realsies, not for role play.

Speaking of which, he also developed an interest in roleplay. Again I get this is a thing for people, and outside the bedroom I love fancy dress, but in the bedroom I just feel like a bit of a pratt and can’t really get into it.

But by this point I wasn’t exactly sticking up for myself. So one day Mr Weirdo says he likes the idea of me being a schoolgirl and him being a younger schoolboy. I find the whole suggestion a bit awkward and uncomfortably laughable. I try and put him off by saying I don’t own a school uniform costume.

He asked me to wear my sisters. My sister who at this stage was maybe like 13 or something, her real life uniform. We look uncannily alike anyway. The idea of having sex in my sisters clothes, needless to say, puts me right off so I refuse.

I later find some of my own clothes which, at a bit of a stretch, could pass for a schoolgirl outfit, but Mr Weirdo has by this point lost interest and claims it is not the same. Dressed as my underage sister would have been much sexier.

I remember even at my level of naivety, alarm bells were starting to ring. Sadly again I didn’t listen. Thats when Mr Weirdo booked the Rome trip…