break ups

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…?

Incident Nine: She looks like you

The first proper break up with Mr Weirdo left me crushed. I had lost all my Uni friends, and all the ones I had made at his Uni were more his friends than mine. My self esteem was diminished.
Luckily, friends I had known at school before Mr Weirdo got back in touch. This was pure coincidence- one guy had found out his girlfriend had cheated on him around the same time and was keen to rally friends around as much as I was. Through this time I made back a lot of friends who I would not have made with Mr Weirdo.

Two in particular are important. One is a guy. He needs more than one incident. I’ll save him for later.

The other person was a girl a couple of years below me. I had befriended her after finding out she had a crush on Mr Weirdo (yay, that makes me seem less insane for going out with him) and that she’d been slagging me off behind my back.

Nowadays if someone dislikes me I don’t really give a shit, but back then I put a lot of work into finding this girl and speaking to her. It turned out we had a fair bit in common and we hung out a couple of times before the break up. She was a cosplayer and overtly sexual. We’ll refer to her as Miss Kitty, because she glued velcro-detachable cat ears to her head and wore them out permenantly.

When Miss Kitty heard of the break up she was right there. Literally, she jumped straight on a bus to my house. She stayed with me for the next week to make sure I was ok, helped me eat, helped me get a quicker appointment with my counsellor. For all that went wrong, she was truly a good friend in that time.

However, Miss Kitty had a habit of “falling in love” with any person she got close to. I didn’t notice at first, but soon the signs were too big to ignore.

She drew an anime style picture of me, my chest very generously enlarged and my clothes very much reduced. She sent me links to lesbian porno and said “Don’t you think they look like you and me?”

After a while, she admitted to me over Instant Messaging that she was in love with me but that the friendship was more important. I was flattered but relieved. I’m not really that into women.

Sadly I behaved badly during the break up to her. I was so insecure that anyone who showed any level of affection, no matter how I did or didn’t feel about them, was spectacularly led on.

I made out with Miss Kitty in a playful manner during a game of “Pass the Ice Cube” in a pub. After that, Mr Weirdo came crawling back, affair spent and tail between his legs. Poor Miss Kitty was devestated.

She began calling constantly, 20 times in a day, pleading to hang out and to know when I was free. Maybe she could see me quickly before Uni, or after? She missed me, she didn’t understand why I was pushing her away.

After a while I think she understood it was Mr Weirdo. She tried even then by inviting us both to hang out at her home, no hard feelings etc. We went, and Mr Weirdo behaved appallingly. He insulted her family for their council estate home, insulted Miss Kitty for having dropped out of school early. He insulted their neighbours who then scratched his car in response. That was it. I was no longer allowed contact with her.

At the time I guess I was relieved. Eventually the phone calls stopped. I found out recently that Miss Kitty is married with a beautiful young son. I consider speaking to her, to tell her I’m sorry. But I figure it’s better to let go. She’s finally free.

Incident Four: Let me tell you your life story

So after a successful dumping of Mr Weirdo, I had a good chance for freedom. Looking back now, I want to shake my younger self by the shoulders, crying, begging her to keep running.

Sadly fate intervened. I fell out with my best friend.

Falling out with a friend is, in my opinion, more painful than any romantic break up. The stakes are higher, the intimacy greater. You’ve shared too much and the loss affects every part of your life and identity.

Mr Weirdo did not cause the break up, but he wasted no time in taking full advantage of it. At the same time, a five year crush I had been pursuing finally gave me an official decline. I was doubly rejected. I ran blindly, foolishly, back into Mr Weirdos arms. He seemed to be the only stable thing.

One day about a month into the relationship, I stood by a window in his house, a little dewey eyed. I missed my best friend. He patted his lap like I was a dog.

“Let me tell you a story, to cheer you up” he soothed. I sat and he held me and stroked my hair.

“You had a friend who you thought cared about you, but she just used you. You thought you were in love, but you were wrong. Nothing was going right for you. But then, you fell in love. For real. And it was the happiest day of your life. From now on, nothing else will hurt you”

And I started to believe it.

The lesson is this. Never, ever, EVER let anybody else narrate your life. Be your own narrator. Write your own story. Be your own hero.