professional network

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…?

Mr Tale of Two Cities

There was once a boy-man that I met through my professional network. We had passing pleasant conversations. We worked (and still do) in the same sector and profession – so really there was no escape…

I met him in City 1. At the time he made it clear he was interested in me, but as I was in a long term relationship and living with my other half, I wasn’t going to risk it. Especially as Mr ToTC wasn’t flipping my switch massively.

Years passed, we kept in touch through professional circles.

A couple of years ago he was in City 2 for work. As I live in City 2, I said drop me a line and we’ll do drinks / dinner. I know what it’s like to be away from home for work – pretty fucking miserable if you’ve got no friends, social life etc.

We went out in the nice part of town and had a nice meal. We then went for cocktails. A very decent evening, the kind of thing I do with my close girl friends.

As the night drew to a close, he asked me if I wanted to see the hotel he was staying in. He knew from various conversations I’d wanted to see the interior of said hotel for quite awhile as it was supposed to be pretty special.

That was probably the only smooth move of the night…

Once up in his room and after surveying the building, I said I’d sit and watch some TV whilst I waited for my taxi. It was an awfully hot night and absolutely everywhere seemed stuffy – I certainly wasn’t in a sexy time mood.

However, he was.

Somehow he managed to whip everything off down to his boxers in a really short space of time. I was somewhat amused by the magic striptease. He asked me to stay as he had waited years to spend the night with me. We wouldn’t do anything, this would be the start of something no doubt, etc etc.

The heat had obviously gone to my head (it wasn’t the sight of his near naked gangly self I can assure you) so I agreed, ignoring all the weird comments about “the start of something” presuming he was pissed or suffering from heatstroke. It was really late and a taxi would take a while to arrive anyway.

So, we went to bed. I insisted on being given something to wear so ended up in one of his t-shirts. I kept my bra and knickers on as well. I thought this sent an obvious signal.

My signal was lost in translation. After starting to kiss me – one of the most awful kissers ever, like some sort of dry, mouthy fish – he proceeded to put his hand up my t-shirt. It was like being 12 again and behind the bike sheds at school. I couldn’t believe quite how bad a fully grown man could be at simple things. I couldn’t find the words to stop the car crash without being so very rude so tried to feign tiredness and kept rolling away from him.

Tiredness and rolling was unsuccessful.

He then inserted his hand into my knickers, “just to see what it felt like.” I felt like some sort of science experiment, freak and paedophile all at once. Mr ToTC is a fair few years older than me, but I still felt like I was deflowering him or something. I had to tell him I had to get to sleep as I had plans the next morning.

The next morning, after him trying to stick to me all night like a peasant to a loaf of bread, I made my excuses. I don’t think I’ve voluntarily sprung out of bed that quickly ever, or been that awake so early. I scuttled off home filled with relief.

Luckily he got the message that the night had been a bit crap once in the hotel. We still chat occasionally (the professional network can be painfully small) but there has been no request for another “dinner.” I’m incredibly grateful for this as I think with age I have become meaner and its unlikely I’d be able to bite my tongue on his complete lack of skills in the bedroom and why it wasn’t “the start of something…”

Thank god for geographical distance as well…

Mr Agent


Mr Agent is one of my latest sources of irritation.

After flirting horrendously with me for near on 2 hours in a 1-2-1 work setting , and texting me repeatedly with “x’s” on the end of every text, he got his mate to ring me. And try to get me to come to his work drinks.

It’s true what they say about male levels of maturity – this one was a grown man clearly still acting the cheeky boy on the playground and operating the “my mate likes you”model of interaction.

I never could stand children…

Mr 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 Baby Maker

I once had liaisons with a man I knew through my professional network. I have called him “Mr Baby Maker” as by his early 30s he already had about 6 kids. So he’d clearly put the hours (or minutes) in before being on the martial break he was on when we met. (And yes. Genuine martial break – confirmed through the grapevine.) 

All was somewhat normal with Mr BM until late one night it was getting a bit filthy on the phone, and the phrase “it’ll feel like I’m raping you” was uttered. Queue me being completely floored. This is not a turn on. Am I supposed to find it one? What the hell do I say now? Is this…normal?! 

It turns out rape fantasies are “a thing.” Unfortunately(!), as they aren’t mine, I stopped liaisons with Mr BM and am fortunate not to come across him very often professionally anymore. 

Ever find yourself in the same situation on the phone by the way, do what I did. Start snoring.