Third Times The Charm
---Warnings for length and slight lack of funnies---

Lemme see, stalkers...Going forwards, from first to most recent:

1. 'The Sniffer'. So dubbed, aptly enough, for the fact that if I ever went out without her and returned home, she would begin smelling my clothes for perfume and other 'obvious' signs of foul play. At first it was subtle, she'd pick up a shirt I'd tossed to the floor and pass it off as smelling what cologne I'd been wearing that night. More the fool, I guess. After a while, it became much more obvious what she was doing, as she started sniffing my clothes with a fervour saved only for fetishists, then moved on to sniffing ME, literally striding up to me and catching a sniff at my neck for any scents of lipstick, makeup or perfume.

She wasn't entirely nuts, though, and when I did break it off she only threw a mild fit, involving one of my favourite ashtrays being introduced to my cheek. Thankfully she threw like a girl, and I was spared dental dramas.

Oh, it gets better, don't worry...

2. 'Lady Text-a-lot'. I think the name speaks for itself, but neglects to inform that this isn't just for text messaging. Plenty of stories on here about stalkers who lurk your Bebo/Facebook/Myspace, send unwanted and irritating text messages, emails, that whole stint. Yeah, I do wonder these days whether there was a night class they learned it, and whether Lady Text-a-lot was the instructor. I had to daily wipe my cellphones inbox to clear space for REAL messages, my Bebo (since I'm a philistine and refuse to bother using Facebook properly) was inundated by shite little messages which, as would be expected, followed the basic pattern of 'Hey how r u? xxx', moving on to 'Y havnt u msged me bk yet?', to my favourite, 'Fyne, f u, dickhed'.

Wouldn't mind, would even understand if I was actively dodging her, but despite her ultra-clinginess, she was actually a fairly pleasant person to chat with, and got the drift quickly that it was strictly 'drinking buddies' turf only for her and I. However, her messages would span a grand total of half an hour from start to finish...

Almost immediately followed by 'Im sorry, I jus miss u'.

The cuckoos were singing, but the brain wasn't listening...Eventually, she moved away, and in a rather anti-climactic finish, she simply dwindled from the radar. Kinda glad, really. She seemed like the sort who'd have been a real bunny-boiler, and after a friend of a friend had a brief fling with her shortly before her move, it had been strongly hinted to be true.

Finally, my finale, and my tale of two years of absolute hell.

3. 'The Loon'. No insults to our own TRL, this name was there long before I ever graced b3ta.

As a young Downie, of a whole, grand 17 years of age and around the time of my first real, big-boy job, I was involved with a nice little strumpet named Jones (for that was what we called her prior to 'The Loon'.). Nice lass, not exactly the sharpest knife in the block, but nice all the same.

So I thought, anyway.

It started simple, and things that you get used to expecting in relationships once the 'honeymoon period' ends, a little mood change if you were out too long on a night out, a few loaded questions if you were late from work...I was prepared for such things, and having not actually done anything wrong, simply took it with a smile and a nod. My new job kept me late once or twice a fortnight, so I wasn't able to phone/text or pop round to see her, instead opting to just get some sleep for the next day.

After a while, this quickly progressed to the sharp texts, hinting that I was 'cheating on her with some slapper from work'. Now, I'm not an ugly bloke, but I'm certainly no Brad Pitt. Female attention is always welcome, but I know better than to piss off the ones who actually tolerate you. Besides, there was only one 'girl' at my job (as a junior sales consultant, which at 17 is about as fancy as you can get), and the 'girl' was around 40, morbidly obese and with the general demeanour of a Rottweiler with PMS. Constantly.

Yeah, I was apparently pumping the arse off of this on a nightly basis.

-sigh-

Moving on, once that drama subsided (after actually SHOWING her the PMS-ridden hound), I think there was a grace period where she must have thought "I'm being irrational, surely I'm overreacting somewhat.".

I thought, but then, it was probably the medication she was put on. Enough said.

After the typical escalation into paranoia at my actions and general suspiciousness at all of my female friends, some of whom were in relationships longer than I'd known them to which it didn't stop the Loon from effectively cutting all my ties with them, not to mention getting me a kicking from one of said friends partners over certain disparaging remarks I'd made. Needless to say, I'd made no such remarks.

Yep, you guessed it.

Said beating now a little while down the road, and me still none the wiser as to the purpose for it, I returned late from work one last time for what was inevitably the straw to break the camels back. Rather inebriated on a mixture of cheap vodka and whatever other concoctions she'd thrown together, I was charged at with a bread knife.

Now, I'm a reasonably large guy, just shy of six feet and built well enough to look after myself, she was about five feet six on her tiptoes and about 90 pounds soaking wet.

I'm not ashamed to say I ran like a girl, frankly, she'd have done it, and I quite like my oxygen habit.

Cue around three, four more months of phone calls and persistent grovelling apologies, mixed with a good dose of threats of suicide and the like, before her mum had her 'evaluated' for her own safety.

Bloody mental, but the sex was worth it. I also thankfully managed to reconcile with the friends she alienated me from, and am reasonably good friends with the boyfriend who dealt me a kicking after things came to light.

Just glad I didn't end up getting the John Bobbit treatment, goodness knows it was threatened once or twice.

No apologies for length, the ladies love it.
(HomeWithTheDownies A towering inferno of penisy pleasure, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 3:09, 3 replies)

Heh. The Loon.
My name is from more innocent reasons- namely, my ability to spin funny stories and come out with somewhat outrageous things that gave people the giggles.

Can't say I envy your experience with your loon.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 6 Feb 2008, 14:24, closed)

Heh
I've seen my 'Loon' once or twice since then, she's quickly developing 'Crazy Cat Lady' mentalities. Not quite the full shilling these days, or then again, in those days either for that matter.

Done alright for meself these days though, found a nice little Canadian who is (as of yet) showing no signs of mental imbalance or bunny-boiling tendencies.

I believe a 'yay' is in order.

-ahem-

Yay
(HomeWithTheDownies A towering inferno of penisy pleasure, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 0:02, closed)

My friends think I'm a loon
I said to one of them earlier 'I tell you Enid, he was pissing biscuits'. His name is Andy, and frankly nobody has ever pissed biscuits. That I'm aware of.
(Stu Moo winner of five nobble piece prizes, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 6:08, closed)