affair

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.

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The IT Guy – Part One

it-guy-0013This will be the last sad story I write for awhile – as I will revert to the deviance chapters of my life to date: those stories make me gleeful and are no doubt less depressing.

The IT Guy is the other male creature (Ref: Mr Northerner) that has had a notable impact on my life. But for all the wrong reasons.

TIG was the one that made me into the distrusting, scorned, generally unimpressed woman that I still am when it comes to men. He showed me what utter pigs men could be for no real, decent reason. I think a lot of women have *this guy* in their past, and he somewhat ruins them for future males due to the complete rotting to the core that takes place in certain respects.

Anyway. My TIG.

I was a lot younger than I am now, in many ways. I’d just broken up with a guy I’d been with for near on 4 years. TIG was a guy I knew (as ever, through “the professional network”) and we’d historically had a few chats and laughs. We had contacts in common as well so sort of orbited around each other in a larger social circle.

He asked me out one day. I said yes. After a couple of weeks we started seeing each other. All was going ok until I heard mutterings on the grapevine that his ex was coming back to the area – predominantly to get back with him. I heard nothing of this from him, naturally. Alarm bells should have started to ring at this point – they didn’t.

After a couple of months, things sort of fizzled out between us as a couple. Apart from the sex. The sex, throughout everything, was brilliant. Sometime after things fizzled out, we started hooking up casually. A lot. Everywhere. At pretty much every opportunity.

However, by this point, unbeknown to me, he’d gotten back with his ex – again, I heard rumblings on the grapevine but was somewhat uninterested in paying attention to them. What did complicate the situation was that his ex returned to working in the same organisation as him, meaning things had to be kept very discreet, especially in our shared circle.

TIG and I continued to hook up. There’s a saying about time being spent with someone, and how that grows emotion. I’d agree with this. By this point we admitted that we loved each other, and I knew he was back with his ex. He wasn’t prepared to rock the boat and risk his relationship with her, following how ours hadn’t worked out. He also claimed that my temper was quite terrifying to be on the end of – a stance he would use extensively in difficult situations with me over the coming…years.

To Be Continued….

Mr Northerner

There are two men that I will write about on this blog that had very notable impacts on my life. Mr Northerner is one of them.

As you will know, I quite like married men. There’s no relationship pressure, you don’t have to wash their socks, you generally get the best of them and they tend to be reasonable conversationalists.

Mr N was the perfect married man. How I met him is irrelevant, but we spent a lot of time together “in the line of duty” and things came to a point after a couple of months of our meeting when we both knew we liked each other and enjoyed each other’s company. It helped that he had a northern accent and stunning blue / green eyes. Both things that I am an absolute sucker for. He was also a lot older than me and worldly wise which I still approve of.

The first time we had sex was amazing. Most men suffer from “opening night nerves” – not Mr N. The foreplay was spot on (!) and we had sex throughout the night in his hotel room. No doubt the neighbours loved it, I’m sure they enjoyed the show as much as I did…

By this point I already knew Mr N and I were going to be involved for awhile. We got jealous when we saw the other flirting with people. We often didn’t need to speak to communicate with each other in a room full of people. I used to make him baked goods as he liked sugar as much as me. He stayed round mine at least 2 nights a week as he worked away from home – his wife thought he was in accommodation with a male work colleague or something along those lines.

But it wasn’t all plain sailing – when Mr N and I rowed, did we row. People knew all about it and didn’t half hear it – the fact that no one ever actually sat us down and questioned our “relationship” was a small miracle.

So, we had a very passionate, fulfilling (on many levels) affair. It went on for about a year and a half. We were generally quite happy with each other during this time, and supported each other through some hellish situations. There are things he did for me that I never properly thanked him for and I wish I had.

However, as the saying goes, all good things come to an end. I stopped communicating with him properly because I’m prone to such things, and he put two and two together and got five – deciding I was cheating on him. Despite the fact that I hadn’t been, after accusing me of it, I promptly went off and slept with multiple people. To say things crashed and burned would be an understatement.

A few months after, I moved away from the area for a job, one of the reasons being that being so close to him in location was too difficult. I didn’t tell him I’d resigned, and when he heard it from a mutual acquaintance, the texts I got were pissed. This put further distance between us as we were as bad as each other at being stubborn – he wouldn’t tell me why it angered him so much that I hadn’t told him direct, and I wouldn’t tell him why I hadn’t told him direct. We both still liked each other but were too proud to say it. We probably both knew as well that there had been too much water under the bridge at this point – what we’d once had was shattered into a thousand pieces by harsh words and sustained periods of silence from both of us. Despite that, on the day I said goodbye to him, I nearly cried in front of him. I didn’t think he was far off it either.

I’ve never asked a married man to leave his wife for me – it’s a line I’ll never cross – but I know no one has made me think about the concept like Mr N did. I knew he loved me although I’d often throw it back at him when he said it, as it seemed pointless.

I’ve pretty much lost contact with Mr N now, although awhile ago he messaged me out of the blue to wish me happy birthday, on the day itself. It made me smile and we exchanged a pleasant few messages. I know he’s no longer with his wife, they’ve divorced and he is now seeing someone I know and I believe they are reasonably happy together, which does please me as even after the vile ending…I didn’t wish him ill.

He always used to say “why let the truth get in the way of a good story?” – maybe one day he’ll discover this blog and this true (yet good?) story will make him smile…?

Oh Baby: Mid-fuck Mutterings

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Some of the things I have heard whilst having a shag:

“That’s all you’re getting tonight” (After 5 minutes of rampant activity only)

“Can you feel that baby, that’s my big cock full of something special for you” (speechless…)

“Where shall I put it?” (…?!)

“You are so much hotter than my wife!” (Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind)

“Oh Baby, Oh, Oh, Oh, Mmmmm Mmmmm, scream for me…” (No.)

“Is that the cat?” (Of the pussy variety, or have you got a fetish?!)

And my personal favourite:

“Do you mind if I wear my mask?” (Yes. Yes I do.)

Mr Hotel Room

Hotel-Room

Fittingly named as all of our interactions were in a hotel room!

Mr Hotel Room was another man I met via my professional network. He was highly respected for his intelligence and his knowledge in his field, and rightfully so. He was also a very good friend to me when I was struggling with some stuff and I will always be grateful to him for the kindness and support he showed me. He was my best friend for a while, and someone I confided in often.

However, when I went to end things with him, he tried to force himself on me in a hotel room. I was hit by ending the affair with him, and losing him as someone I could trust as well, both at once.

Dark days followed and we were both fortunate when we fell our off each other’s immediate networks. However, a couple of months afterwards we made our peace and got to a point where we used to have lunch together occasionally.

I was scorned in this instance by the way he treated me that night when I wanted to end the affair. Yes he was married (a very complicated and cold marriage – something I knew from various sources) but no woman ever expects a man she is intimate with to turn on her like that, regardless of the situation. It however reiterated to me that I was making the right decision by ending the affair, as any sort of sexual activity forced on you against your will is never ok. Do not listen to Robin Thicke!

Mr OJ

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Mr Orange Juice (OJ) is my most recent married man fuck. Worryingly, we had A LOT in common and were somewhat kindred spirits. Apart from the sex, we used to lie on my sofa together and watch TOWIE (“What the hell is that plastic bimbo doing now?!”) and Cheaters – we both have the similar slightly sick sense of humour which explains the latter.

The sex was pretty good, and he was a quick learner as to what I liked in bed which is always a bonus.

He was however exceptionally secretive. All married men are to an extent, but Mr OJ was to an extreme. It was this that eventually caused me to call time on it. There was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on that unsettled me somewhat.

And the name? He loved coming round and drinking Innocent Orange Juice, which I always used to have in the fridge. It was a bit of a joke between us – as in essence it was code for “I’m coming over to fuck you…then raid your fridge. ”

And that’s how I was scorned – I constantly never got to drink my own OJ…