I Should Really Give Him A Chance

He’s such a good guy, my Someone New. I have finally made the decision to give him more of a chance. I keep him at an arm’s length all the time, and if I continue to do so, I think I’m going to push him away too far. He’s trying so hard to win over my affections, and slowly but surely, it’s working.

Most guys would have given up on me by now. I blow him out more often than I don’t. He’s always buying me little gifts and cute little trinkets and I barely remember the dates he asks me to schedule me in, weeks in advance. When I blew him out last night for a work related drama, he took it so well. Much better than I had anticipated, especially after the amount of effort he had put into the occasion. I would have been raging mad. And I often have been in the past. God, I’m such a hypocrite.

He was planning a nighttime picnic under the stars in his backyard, completely with (citronella) candles (to keep the bugs away), soft music, aphrodisiac food, wine, etc. All I needed to do was bring a picnic blanket and some croutons. Oh and turn up. I couldn’t even manage that.

What is wrong with me? This guy is too perfect for words. I really should be giving him more of a chance. Rather than focusing on the ridiculously stupid things he does wrong; those little things that aren’t even worth mentioning because they are so insignificant, I should focus on the stuff he does right. Which is an awful lot, now I come to think of it.

There was the beautiful Pandora Daisy ring he bought me for my birthday… Whilst in the store a while back, I happened to mention the pretty rings (whilst looking for a gift for someone else), that they didn’t have there to show him. Despite this, he not only remembered the ring, but also which particular style I had said I liked. And, and, and, he got my size right too. I don’t know how but he did.

Then there was the beautiful pink Parker pen he bought me, complete with pink unicorn notepad. All because I told him the story of the one I had when I was younger, that my Lil Sis broke. Bitch.

He listens. He learns. I can tell him anything and I know he will take it on board like an adult, and deal with the information appropriately… For the most part. He remembers things and buys little gifts, not because he’s trying to buy me over, but because he’s thinking of me and wants me to know as much. I really should more shit like that for him. Although the other day, I did send him a ‘love letter’…. One that didn’t actually contain the word ‘love’. That meant a lot to him, I could tell. It seemed appropriate, you know, seeing as he bought me a beautiful ink pen and all.

It was the pen that did the trick, and the letter was meant to be a way of me telling him that I was starting to catch up with him. That maybe, just maybe, he might be someone I could fall in love with. I think somehow, considering I didn’t think I was that interested to begin with, I think I already am. The unspoken hanging L-word seems to be hanging around us constantly. I’m not sure from which side…?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’ve fallen in love with this guy. I just think that maybe I am on my way to. Falling, if you like – I’ve been slightly tipped over the edge and I have started to make my descent.

Let’s face it – he deserves this chance, doesn’t he? He’s been such an adoring boyfriend up until this point, and he’s had more than his fair share of shit to deal with. For someone I didn’t think would last that long, he seems to be lasting just fine.

Cupid Was Busy Today.

Five years ago today, I flew to the other side of the world for Big Love. Today would also have been my two-year anniversary with my Beautiful Tattooed Jock. Pretty busy day for Cupid, it would seem.

Today was a weird day for me. I woke up to my TimeHop reminding me of my past failed relationships once again. I should probably just delete that application from my phone. On most days, it does more harm than good. This morning it was the first photos of me on the other side of the world. It was also the 365 little love notes I wrote Jock, and gave him on our one year anniversary last year.

I stalked him today, Jock I mean. Nothing has changed on his Facebook page since we broke up. I guess he made it private when we broke up. Once upon a time, all of his stuff was public. Not that it matters. He’s blocked on my Facebook. I couldn’t cope if he ever tried to message me again. My head, or my heart, would probably explode.

One day these special dates won’t bug me. In fact, that’s a lie. Some dates I won’t ever forget, but you know what I mean. They’ll just be a distant memory. They won’t be a stabbing reminder like they are now; like a gut to the heart every time I wake up and my phone reminds me of something yet again.

It’s funny when you think about how much has changed for me in five years. For some people, five years goes by like the blink of an eye but for me, everything has changed. Multiple times. I didn’t just stalk Jock today. I stalked One Ball too.

It seems he’s now full-time daddy to at least a couple of his kids now, and from his photos, looks happier than ever. I’m glad really. He didn’t desire the harsh brush-off I gave him. Sometimes Someone New reminds me of him. I just hope he doesn’t disappear out of my life in the same way. He doesn’t deserve it either.

I’m starting to wonder if there is a part of me refusing to move on from Jock because I’m still waiting for him. I’m still convinced we were ‘meant to be’, whatever that means. I’m still 100% convinced of it. I know we failed, and I know the reasons why, but in so many ways, he was the PERFECT man for me. You know when you just know? I just knew. I’m sure of it. Even now, seven or eight months after the split, I’m still convinced he was the perfect person for me to spend the rest of my life with, and if he turned up at my door right now, I’d melt into his arms in a heartbeat. I wonder if he knows that?

Today would have been the last love note that he opened from that jar. That’s assuming I did the maths right, of course. 365 tiny little hand-written love notes in 365 miniature handmade envelopes is hard work. I’m not entirely convinced there were 365 in there to begin with.

But today would have been the last one he opened. I’m still furious he didn’t give those back to me. I wonder what he did with them? I wonder if he threw them out after I told him I was getting rid of the handmade Ducati shoes he made me? I never did get rid of them of course. They mean so much to me. Everything from him does. I wonder if the same could be said for him. He seemed to get over me pretty quick so I doubt it, but I wonder if he ever pined for me in the same way I pined for him? I wonder if he ever thinks about me like I think about him?

Sometimes I wonder why I even care.

But what if I don’t ever get over him? What if I always cling to the last fading memories of him, letting every good guy pass me by? Every good guy like Someone New. In so many ways he’s the perfect man. But do I see myself spending the rest of my life with him? Marrying him? Having babies with him? No I don’t think so. Am I allowed to say that?

I hate days like today.

The Etiquette of Sex

Right, I want to talk about the etiquette of sex. To be more precise, I want to talk about why guys feel the need to climax inside me after just three minutes of rampant bonking, ruining the rest of my night.

Let me set the scene…

It was a few weeks ago, and Someone New and I had been out for dinner and a few cocktails. More than a few, if I’m honest. I was undisputedly pissed. We headed back to his where he did his thing on the couch like he does, and it wasn’t long before we were heading to bed. It was my birthday just two days later, and because I wasn’t going to see him on the actual day, we made Thursday my birthday.

I was expecting some serious birthday sex. I had packed the We Vibe, a very clever little toy that I seem to have great results with. He brought the popping candy, ready to make my vagina tingle later on that night. I straddled him, and gave him his preview ‘dip-in, dip-out’ except it felt good…. So I carried on.

Two and a half minutes later, he apologised. What a fucking prick. He’d only gone and climaxed inside me. Yep, spunked his load right inside me. Great, thanks for that. Now he won’t go down on me. That’s it. He’s going to fall asleep now. He can’t touch me because I’m all gungy. That was my birthday sex? Three minutes of grunting, and thats it? I may have already done my thing (because he’d already preheated my oven on the couch, and I was raring to go before I even touched him) but that’s not the point.

THAT was my birthday sex?!

I got really annoyed by this because I like to think of myself as a VERY considerate lover. I may come across selfish at first but that’s because I’m super shy about my body, and about sex. I never used to be like this, but with the weight loss and awful bowel condition has come a lot of self-esteem issues. I also blame Jock a bit. Why not?

I don’t get to see my boyfriend very often, so when I do, I like to make it a REALLY good time. I put a lot of effort into getting ready after all, it’s only once a week / every couple of weeks. I shave EVERYWHERE. I make sure I’m baby-smooth. I lotion myself up so that I feel good and smell good. I wear nice and pretty makeup that I know he likes. I wear dresses and skirts for him, so that means extra leg-work and fake tan. I paint my toe nails so that they are a different colour or style every time I see him. I like to make sure I’ve had my acrylic nails done, and that my hair looks nice too. It might seem like a lot of hard work but that’s just what I like to do. I have a routine. I look forward to doing it. I put happy music on and smoke a joint as I get ready, excited to see him (at times).

So, when I get there, he’d best have put in some hard work too. He should have manscaped. At the very least, he should have shaved his balls. Someone New doesn’t do this, and I don’t really know how to broach the conversation with him.

“Hey honey, how are you doing today? Any chance you can de-fuzz your balls for the next time I’m around, so I don’t gag on the hairs in my mouth. Otherwise, I won’t be putting them in my mouth at all. Please and thank you!”

You can’t really say that to your boyfriend of six months, can you? I’ve not even farted in front of him yet. Considering I have a bowel issue, I’ve only pooped there twice. Trust me on this, it’s been emotional.

There’s a rule here – the etiquette of sex. If you haven’t seen your beloved for a while, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to cum within three minutes of thrusting into her, you get the blowjob out the way nice and early. If she doesn’t like doing it to you, just request it once. Make sure you haven’t jerked off earlier on that day. You’ll only last three minutes in her mouth because it’s such a rare treat, she won’t get bored or get a sore jaw, you’ll praise her and return the favour, she’ll learn that blowjobs work well to get her what she wants and be more likely to do them again in the future. Seriously, if it only takes three minutes (which it normally does), she won’t mind so much.

I did the blowjob thing and he stopped me! He pulled me on top of him! It was his fault he slid right on inside me, and it was his fault that he came and ruined my birthday sex night. We had toys and treats and it was over in three minutes. Not surprisingly, I turned right on over, with my back to him, and huffed myself to sleep. That’ll teach him. He can sit there and listen to me grumpy.

He made it up to me the next morning, of course. He’s a great guy. There’s still no real connection between us, but I think I am starting to like him a bit more. Or maybe it was just the real good sex we had the next day….? That shower sex!

Come back for that – its another story for another day.

The moral of this story – blowjobs have their place. If he’d let me finish my oral work, he would never have cum inside me, and the night would have gone very differently.

The Etiquette of Sex

Just saying.

Do You Want To Come In For A Smoke?

I want to have sex with my drug dealer I think. You know those weird passing crushes I seem to have? One Ball’s best friend, and Jock’s too – the Redneck. Now it’s my drug dealer. Great.

I’m trying to work out how old he is, and whether or not it would be acceptable to bang him. It’s a crush that has been bubbling away under the surface for a while now, and we’re at a stage where I won’t answer the door to him without makeup on, or my hair done. Today however, the crush hit a new high.

He was waiting at the door when I got home, and I let us both in, trying to chit-chat as I dropped my bags, rummaged for my keys, tried to find my purse, and generally made a right fuck-up of it all.

See, I stumble a lot when I like someone. I was stumbly. Epic fail.

He was stumbly too, that’s what made me smile. I suddenly realised the attraction could very well have been there for both of us, and our flirty chit-chat continued. He gave me my pick of the bags of green in his outstretched hands ‘coz he’s a gentleman like that, and he told me to be careful, as it ‘knocked him on his ass’ the day before. He was a social smoker, not a regular smoker.

Then the invite just fell out of my mouth….

“Do you want to come in for a smoke?”

Fuuuuuuck. I just invited my drug dealer into my house ALONE, to have a smoke. If that wasn’t an invitation to fuck, I don’t know what was. I didn’t mean for it to come out quite like that and thankfully, he politely declined telling me had other drop-off’s to do. He knew though – he knew what it meant. I had just opened the flood gates. In fact, I hadn’t. I’d probably just confused the boy. I would imagine he assumed Bestie and I were a couple, just like everyone else does.

He’s kinda bad-boy looking, with a whole bunch of what might or might not be really bad tattoos. The only tattoo I can remember is the one of the bright red lips on his neck. I wanna leave bright red lips on his neck.

He’s tall. Taller than me anyway, although it’s not hard. I’m about 5 foot 3. Or 4 depending on how pouffy my hair is. He’s quite skinny too. I don’t like skinny guys. At all. He dresses really well most of the time, with named-brands. None of this Primark shit. Some days it’ll be jeans, a smart tee, and a pair of sunnies, with his red jacket casually thrown over one shoulder. Others it’ll be an all-grey tracksuit, still smart though – nothing ripped or scruffy. I might not think much of his sense of style but at least his clothes are decent.

Plus, none of that matters. I don’t want to have a relationship with the guy, I just want to fuck him. What’s so bad about that? Well, first I need to find out how old he is. I’m 29 now. I won’t have a relationship with a younger guy, but even for a casual bang, my lowest is 25. I’d feel like proper Cougar if I went any lower than that, and I don’t think I’m the Cougar type.

I can’t work out how old he is. I reckon he might be 25-ish, but that might be wishful thinking. Bestie seems to think he’s 22 tops. Would it be really inappropriate for me to just ask him?

Flirty chit-chat aside, I don’t even think it’s about banging my drug dealer at all. Yeah I think he’s kinda hot, and I’d quite like to bounce on top of him a few times, but it’s not really about him, is it? Its about boredom. Boredom with Someone New because he’s not quite man enough for me. Boredom with the sex I don’t seem to be able to have because of that fucking LEEP / LLETZ procedure. The one that has left me bleeding after sex EVERY TIME, and irregular patches of bleeding whenever my body damn well feels like it.

I just want to have sex with someone. Someone good. Someone exciting and interesting. Someone like Jock or My Mr. Grey. Someone that drives me wild. Someone New is good in bed, but we don’t have enough of a connection out of it to have that real connection in it. You know? Plus, I’d quite like my body to go back to how it was before I got sick – before they took bits out of me and created new problems that weren’t even problems in the first place.

But yeah, I’m crushing on my drug dealer today. Not really sure what to do about this.

Do You Want To Come In For A Smoke?

Why Do You Like It When I Watch?

One thing that is becoming increasingly apparent about my new boyfriend, Someone New, is that he has quite the fetish for being watched. Not us together like dogging or anything seedy like that. Nope, he likes it when I watch him jerk off.

I’ve never been with this kinda guy before; the likes-to-be watched guy. To be honest, I’m not 100% sure how I feel about it. I’ve never been asked before. I’ve never been put in a situation where the guy would rather touch himself up than let me touch him before. I’m not sure how it makes me feel.

Does he want me to watch him because I’m not doing it right? I know if I were repeatedly asking a guy to watch me flick the bean, it would be more than likely because he wasn’t hitting the button quite right, and I thought I could give him a few little pointers. Is that what he is doing with me? Giving me a few little cheeky pointers?

Maybe I’m doing it just fine, and he just wants me to show him what else he likes? Maybe he does little things to himself that I don’t do to him, and although he likes what I do, he wants me to try that too?

Maybe I’m just reading too much into it, and he really just likes to be watched? It’s something I try to avoid to be honest, and when he pushes me back and grabs his cock with his hand, I normally just fight to put it in my mouth. He has such a beautiful cock, it would be a shame to let it go to waste…

I get uncomfortable. He’s watching me, watching him, and I’m not doing anything. I’m not allowed to touch him, even though I want to, and I’m too scared to touch myself in front of him. I need to be sure he’s staying before I let him too far in. Plus, I’m still learning about my new, slimmer body. I still don’t know how I feel about it.

I feel like a spare part. Like what am I meant to do? Sit there in front of him with a weird, gormless look on my face? I hardly think that’s attractive, do you?

I’m trying to open my mind to the new things this guy is bringing to the table, but as much as I like to think I’ve experienced everything that sex has to offer, I’m constantly surprised. He’s always making suggestions no one else has made before, and I think that’s what has kept me somewhat interested all this time. It’s definitely not boring.

I decided to just ask him outright and stop being a pussy:

“Why do you like it when I watch?”

He took forever to message back, because guys are fuckers like that, aren’t they? But when he did, the response wasn’t quite what I expected:

“Because I’m doing it for you, hopefully turning you on. I’ve got your full attention, and myself hotter and hornier, and seeing the look it gives you…

You get a look in your eyes, and you bite your lip. It’s when you’re on the verge of sucking my cock, normally just before you run your nails across my bare flesh. It makes me shake.”

Is it a control thing? He has my full attention? Doesn’t he? If we’re in bed together, where else does he think my attention is going to go?

Is it about not letting me touch him? I don’t think so – he never normally puts up much of a fight when I do.

So, what’s the deal? Why does it keep coming up? Why is he so intent on me watching him. Just watching him? From start to finish – floppy to climax, no touching, just watching. Isn’t that a bit weird? Who wants that much focus anyway? I’ve seen the faces I pull when I jerk off. I certainly wouldn’t want someone watching. Not unless I was drunk anyway.

So come on – what’s the deal?! Why does this guy want me to watch him want so bad? And what the hell am I meant to do while I’m watching?

Answers on a postcard. Or just below, obviously.

Why Do I Hate Being Single?

I admitted something that no girl should ever admit to it one of my last posts, and it’s been bugging me a little so I feel the need to explain it. Slash talk it over.

I HATE being single. I actually hate it. But why? Why do I feel the need to bounce from relationship to relationship, often having the next guy lined up before I’ve even ditched the one I’m with? What’s up with that?

I actually Googled this, and I found one article which I feel the need to share. It was written by a guy who was asking the question – why can’t girls just be single, before going on to list a whole bunch of reasons why being single rocks.

The article in question: The Security Of Relationships: Why Can’t You Just Be Single?

Being single is cheaper. OK, I can’t deny that one. I seem to spend a fortune on my dates, even when we don’t do anything at all, and every single one of my male companions has destroyed my bank account. Big Love was one of the worst, but Jock was something else entirely. That guy couldn’t manage his own money if he tried.

“Being single allows you to feel more in control, more present within yourself. Most importantly, it allows you to get to know yourself; it introduces you to the real you.”

I DON’T feel more in control of things when I’m single. I feel like my life is running away from me, and I’m powerless to stop it. I’m going to be thirty next year, and then what? They say that life begins at 30, or 40, or whatever age you happen to be hitting at that time. They say that “30 is the new black” and other such bullshit. I’m meant to be happy about the fact I’m now in the last year of my twenties, but all I feel is dread. Fertility goes down after you reach 30, or so every single godamn daytime TV show is telling me. In the midst of a cervical cancer scare / situation, I’m now faced with the dilemma of whether or not I should freeze my eggs, and I’m starting to question whether my internal bits even work at all.

I get asked if I’m married, being one year away from thirty, and when I tell them no, well actually yes, but on my way to being divorced, they look at me like I’m some sort of weird alien. Almost thirty with no kids and no husband in tow? Shocker. In fact, that reminds me of my interview for the job I just quit. One man and one woman, both in their 30’s or over were interviewing me, and one of the questions I was forced to answer was why I hadn’t got a career sorted yet, or started a family? The question made me stumble and after I walked out of that job interview, I cried. I felt like I was failing at life. Mid-to-late twenties (at the time) and childless, husband-less, and career-less. What a failure.

Women are meant to be empowered these days, taking things at their own pace and having a career and going travelling before settling down later on to have a family. Take my mother and my aunt – my mother had me at 20, my sister 5 years later, and has bounced from man to man ever since. She’s skint, miserable, and wishes she was anywhere but here.

Her sister, my aunt, on the other hand, is a couple of years younger than my mother, never had kids, tried for kids with her ex-fiance but after ten years and no pitter-patter of tiny little feet even after IVF, they broke up. She’s had a wealth of shit since, dating a guy who then got a much younger girl pregnant behind her back, sending her a little crazy (or a lot), before finally settling down with the guy she’s with, that already has three kids in tow. They’re engaged now, but since she met him, I’ve barely heard from her. Bad woman.

She’s a lot richer than my mother, and is a lot more sensible with her money. They are like chalk and cheese, blonde and brunette. I always figured my aunt was my idol. I always envied her life of nice holidays, plus designer clothes, handbags and crockery. I just think she’s a bit of a bitch now.

My sister got engaged a few days ago. She’s a few years younger than me. We’re not talking, so I found out from Facebook which was nice (not), and it was just another kick in the teeth – she’s winning at life. I’m failing at life. I bet her marriage lasts longer than mine did too.

I don’t have time to be single. If a cervical cancer scare does anything, it certainly reminds you of your own mortality, and the fact that having children is a privilege and not a given right. Some people don’t deserve children, my absent father being one of them. I don’t care how great he is with the two kids (maybe more) that he has now. He was a waste of space father to me. I’ve always blamed his absence for my poor choices in love.

But I want children one day. I’ve had passing phases before, but there’s a longing somewhere, and I think it’s coming from my womb. It started when I was with Jock. It’s a shame he fucked that up.

Let’s say I decide to be single for a while though, to ‘find myself’ and other such bullshit. What would happen? That takes me to what, my early to mid thirties? I wouldn’t want to have a baby with someone that I hadn’t known for a few years first, so that takes me to mid to late thirties. And what happens then if it takes a while? Before you know it, I’ll be 40, and having children is something that will never happen for me.

That aside, I don’t think I need to ‘find myself’. I’ve found myself, and I quite like the person I am right now. I’m just me now, no pretence, no bullshit. I’ve had too much crap over the years, and I’m too tired to have a drama-filled life. That’s exactly why I’m not talking to half of my family, and also why I just quit my job. I just can’t handle the drama anymore, and neither can my body.

There was one paragraph that really stood out for me. It actually made me quite mad.

“But you can’t force love. It simply doesn’t work like that. So why force relationships? What’s the point of having a partner for 6 months at a time? You can’t get to really know most people within 6 months — at least not enough to date them, get fed up with them and have a reason to split up. If you can’t stay in a relationship with someone for at least a year then you shouldn’t have been dating them in the first place.”

OK, so to some degree, I can understand why this guy would say this. But, and there’s a massive but here, the REAL WORLD doesn’t work anything like that.

I’ve been dating Someone New for five months now, and I’m still in the in-between stage where I’m just not sure if he’s someone I would want to be with long-term. There is NOTHING wrong with him, he’s not a bad guy, and he’s been nothing but a great boyfriend to me, but there is something missing. If I break up with him now, I’ll be saving him a whole world of pain. I’ve been at the receiving end of someone dragging out the end of a relationship, and I’ve also given someone else that same awful treatment. It’s not nice. If I stay in this relationship, continuing to be unsure of whether we will work, he’s going to fall in love with me. He’s already made it clear he is falling. Why would I want to wait for that to happen to ditch him? Isn’t that much crueler?

Plus he’s older than I am by a couple of years. Why would I want to waste his time? He’s told me he doesn’t want kids, but at times he talks as if maybe he would change his mind. But surely we are doomed right from the start? If I kinda want kids, and he kinda doesn’t, isn’t that just a time-wasting recipe for disaster?

Plus, the writer kinda criticises his own point when he says this:

“One of my least favorite feelings is that feeling when you understand the relationship isn’t going anywhere and you can already see it crumbling at the edges, yet still being reluctant to end things — or maybe just scared to do so.”

Just saying.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not bashing this guy. If I wasn’t in my current situation right now, I’d probably totally agree with him. I know that relationship-hopping isn’t good. I’m not deluded enough to think that this is a healthy approach to dating. But at the same time, what other option do I have? Sit back and wait for love to find me? Because I’m an anonymous full-time writer with social anxiety and a weird bowel disorder. I barely leave my house. In fact, I barely leave my bed. I’ve never been happier! 🙂

But yeah, unless he’s my postman, he’s gonna have a hard time finding me. And my postman is a prick. So I wouldn’t image we’ll fall in love.

Being single scares me. I’m a woman approaching her thirties and I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to say that. Loving yourself – yeah, that’s cool. I love the fact I love myself now, even though I am fine-tuning and tweaking a few bits around the edges. But surely having someone else love you, warts and all, is the ultimate validation that you are pretty much a decent person? The fact that I’ve failed at every relationship I’ve ever been, and there have been more than a few, doesn’t bode well for me, and although I know I’m not entirely to blame for all the shit that went down, I can put my hand up to a great deal of it. I was a bitch. I was a crazy bitch.

I don’t have time to be single. I don’t want to be single either. I like being part of something – a special little partnership for two. Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t mean I’ll stay in a relationship even though I’m not happy, but if I’m single, it generally won’t stay that way for very long. It never has.

Plus circumstance plays a massive part. The day I ditched one of my last boyfriends, I went on to POF to delete my dating profile, and up popped my Beautiful Tattooed Jock into my life. My heart might be hurting for him right now, but he was a very big and beautiful part of my life, and I wouldn’t change a single bit of it. Well, apart from the horrid ending of course.

I guess that answers the question – why can’t I just be single? I’m too scared of not having kids to be single, too scared I’ll miss what might end up being the love of my life. What if I’ve already met him and passed him by? What if he is living and breathing right under my nose with each and every that passes?

Who knows?

I can tell you this though. I’m not waiting around to find out. I’ll be moving on.


Historical Child Abuse.

I don’t know how to talk about this. I don’t even know if I’m ALLOWED to talk about this. But I really need to. This post is going to contain information about what the title states. If that makes you uneasy, you may want to skip reading it.

I don’t really know where to start. How about the beginning?

A couple of weeks ago, Number 42’s sister came into my work and told me something. She needed me to call her brother, get access to an account, and play around with some stuff. Oh, and 20 years ago, she was sexually abused by her step-dad. She’d blocked it out for 20 years and it’s just come popping back up in her mind.

Why the fuck would you just come out with that, like that? Why would you tell someone like me? Even if she did know that Number 42 and I had slept together, and that our relationship was no longer entirely platonic, she knew we weren’t in a relationship. We were friends on Facebook for fucks sake, she knew I was dating Someone New.

I didn’t know whether or not to bring it up with him, but he’d had a hard enough time with some other stuff I didn’t know about, so I figured I’d leave it alone for just now, and mention it to him if the situation ever arose.

Well, it did.

“I can’t talk about the shit going on, I’m so lonely and down though so just want someone to talk to me about normal stuff…”

My heart sunk to my toes. Although we fight like cat and dog, and we have a very odd kinda-relationship, I actually adore this guy. Maybe not in an I-could-be-with-him-way, but definitely in some way. He’s like one of my top five people in life, I reckon. I trust him. Not with my website, but with other stuff. He’s a trust-worthy person. I wouldn’t have fucked him otherwise. I do love him a little bit.

Well, it turns out, his batshit crazy sister hasn’t just accused their step-dad of sexually abusing her as a 13 year old child, but also her brother (Number 42) and another guy. He explained to me the occasions she had described, and the plentiful reasons why those situations couldn’t have happened.

I don’t believe it for a second. Honestly, genuinely, 100% will vouch for this guy. I’ve never met a more stable, responsible, decent human being. Don’t get me wrong, he can be a real cunt from time to time, but he’s a good guy. He’s one of the good guys. He’d be the shittest of boyfriends, and he doesn’t have a romantic, boyfy-like bone in his body, but as a father, he’s amazing, and as a man, he’s one of the best.

I told him what his sister had said to me, and he said a line that actually made me secretly shed a tear….

“OK, I’ll tell you what’s going on. I can trust you now. I believe that….” 

He actually said those words to me. Mr. UnBreakable has been broken. He TRUSTS me. To be fair, I’ve put in three years of patient-friend-time with this guy, but that compliment was one of the best I’ve received recently. If we had been face to face, I probably would have kissed him.

But, all that crap aside. What the actual fuck? OK, let’s just say this HAD happened all those years ago. I’ve slept with a sex offender. Well, that’s great. That’s an all-time low for even me. Number 42 told me that while he was at the police station willingly (I must add) answering all of their questions, the police woman handed him a counselling card for a charity helping paedophiles not to find children sexually appealing anymore. He’s not even been arrested yet, just answering questions, and they’ve branded him a sex offender – a fucking CHILD ABUSER already?! Surely they can’t do that. Why would they do that? Isn’t the justice system meant to be that you’re innocent until proven guilty?

Now let’s imagine he HASN’T done these horrible things she’s accusing him of. Things that I genuinely don’t believe happened. I can’t stress that to you enough. I don’t think he did those things. She is ruining his life. She’s put him in a situation where he could potentially get his little boy taken away from him. There’s a whole fucking story there too. Crack-whore mother, child appears at his door at like six years old or whatever, DNA testing, court cases…. He now has the kid, they have a brilliantly beautiful relationship although a little up and down, and he’s become an amazing man, and an amazing father. Why, fucking why, would she do that to him…?

I genuinely didn’t know what to say to him on the phone. Especially after a recent friend of mine and Bestie’s had just been sent down for a similar offence which again, we didn’t believe a word of. I probably shouldn’t have said that to him in hindsight, but I’m one of those real honest kinda gals that says whatever is on her mind. There is very little in the form of a filter going on between my head and my mouth.

But why on earth would she say that? Why would she accuse him of that? What the hell is going on? Surely this is just a big misunderstanding?

I don’t believe a fucking word of it.