bad boyfriend

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 Feline

catApologies for the absence. I have (unintentionally obviously) been off collecting subjects for this blog.

Mr Feline was named so due to his love of cats. I love cats too so this was a welcome quality.

Mr F and I saw each other for a good few months, things were generally ok and there were no significant issues.

Until last week, when he repeatedly forced his hand between my legs and touched me intimately without my expressed consent, when I was half asleep in bed. I was fully clothed and had given no indication that I “was in the mood.”

I feel stupid for allowing it to repeatedly happen, but at one point I thought I was imagining it like some sort of weird nightmare. And I felt guilty (as for medical reasons that don’t need to visit here) that we hadn’t had very much sex recently. And I thought he would stop. I was embarrassed at the thought of having to ask my partner to stop touching me. Or making a “drama” by saying no. Repeatedly telling him that I was asleep was not sufficient.

I left his house after the 3rd time he did it. I was so worried about upsetting him and prompting something unpleasant (as I know longer felt that I knew this man at all) I didn’t say anything. When I commented about his “attention” his reply was along the lines of “can’t blame me for trying / had to give it go.”

I spent the whole weekend in denial that it had happened. Then one morning in the following week, during my commute I started crying. I went to work, but the next day I took advantage of a private appointment to not attend work at all. It was that night I managed to get over my shame and embarrassment to speak to a few of my friends about it. The response was reassuring – it wasn’t my fault, I hadn’t given consent and he had taken advantage of the “lack of sex situation” in a very awful way.

When I messaged Mr F to end things, he apologised a lot but kept saying that he had “misread” the situation. He then said that he’d really miss me. This was somehow one of the worst parts. He couldn’t admit properly that he was in the wrong, and that there was a part of him that didn’t hear “no” – so it’s ok, right, to just access your partner intimately whenever it suits, basically? And sigh, how awful of me to break things off…

I hope to never see or hear from him again, but I fear for the next woman he has a relationship with, as he truly showed no indication of this character to me until it was literally too late.

Return of “It’s not me…it’s definitely you”


So, one of my first posts was about a guy that was a bit of an Internet stalker. (And I said other rude, yet true things in my original blog.)
It turns out he wanted a second chance…And the above was the outcome of this, dedicated to all of those women that like to see a male ego crushed into tiny, tiny pieces. Then go up in flames.

My Neighbour


My neighbour is a naughty boy. He lives with his other half yet is on a well known online dating site. How do I know this? As he looked at my profile. So I looked at his – to confirm that my eyes were not deceiving me and that it was not a “me and my girlfriend are looking for a sexy threesome” profile – which it wasn’t. 

So one night I got drunk and messaged him – it basically said “you’re my neighbour and you’re a naughty boy!” 

Haven’t seen him since.

Should mention this was all following him coming and having a go at me for some ridiculous neighbour gripe which was nothing to do with me.

Oh karma, you play the game so well…

“I’m good at sex, a prostitute told me so!”


“You might not like this story”, he opened with ominously, but with a twisted sense of pride that I was already weary of.

“Well don’t tell me then”, I sighed. I meant it as well.

You may already be familiar with who A Scorned Woman #4 refers to as ‘Mr Obsessed’. I also had the misfortune of dating him, luckily my exposure to him was for much less time, but more on that later.

For now, all you need to know is that Mr Obsessed has a penchant for spurting bullshit, and 90% of conversation is him boasting about various ‘fun’ nights out, which quite frankly a normal human would be ashamed of.

Anyway on this occasion he’d decided for some reason, to defend the size (or lack thereof) of his penis to me.

He decided to do this by telling me about a time that he and his friend were completely off their faces, on god knows what, and had decided to visit a brothel. Again, why anyone would tell their new girlfriend this is beyond me, but he was actually genuinely proud!

The story goes that his friend is more well endowed than Mr Obsessed, but had lasted for less time, whereas Mr Obsessed, with his micro penis, had lasted for ages. Apparently the prossie complimented him on how good he was with his stamina, and he thought this was genuinely a good reference that he should pass on to me!

Maybe if her holes were the size of our Lego lady I would’ve believed him…