How It’s Done: Last Words To An Ex

2 Aug

One
Dear “You”,

Now that you and I are no longer together and have been apart, we can now see things differently and clearer. Well, at least I can. So the purpose of this letter is to hopefully give you a through explanation and response to a text you recently messaged me.

It didn’t bother me when I had to call an ambulance because my boyfriend didn’t believe me, or take me to the hospital when I told him I was very sick and needed immediate attention. Instead, my only excuse for you is it’s very inhumane for someone to do such a thing. After all, most people would answer a cry of help from their worst enemy.
It also didn’t bother me that you told your mother lies about me, which she then inappropriately tried to bash me in the presence of a friend who arrived promptly for an appointment to get some of my things. (Thankfully my friend respectfully, and with class put your mother in the place she deserved) Instead, I excused your behavior as childish.

Nor did it bother me that you allowed me only 30 minutes to collect my things from the apartment the last time we saw one another so you could meet your rugby friends out for a few drinks. Instead, I excused it as inconsiderate.

It also didn’t bother me that you flew across the world to meet women from the internet, aside from texting a picture of your dick to six women and then penetrating it into nine other women, (that I know about) and then lying about it. Instead, I looked at that as immature.

Therefore, the above is only icing on the cake as to why I am unhappy about not being able to properly pack and remove my things from our apartment. Instead, your behavior is excused as irresponsible.

But what’s really inappropriate, inexcusable and very assholish of someone is when a person does the following:

• Does not properly pack one’s belongings which causes items to break.
• Packs things, and then stores it in a room that is not climate controlled so the candles that are in boxes can melt and ruin everything else inside.
• A person does not return everything another person owns. Instead of receiving a text or email that one did not return everything such as a lamp, table, chair, fan, kitchen items etc, the owner must recognize items are missing, contact that person, wait at their convenience and drive two hours to pick up their belongings. So, your last text which consisted of apologizing that “a few items” were missed is not excusable, especially since they were BIG items.

To the above, my only excuse for such behavior is downright disrespectful!

The biggest problem now is it has been three months and I STILL have not yet received all my things. For a week I wasn’t even given a courtesy reply until I re-contacted you. Instead, you pranced around in a green dress and drank with your rugby friends while hustling something that is hard for you to get now days. You were very capable of having the time to gather my things and return them but opted not too. This alone…..is NOT excusable.

Everything listed above is not, nor will this ever be deserving of a person, no matter what that person thinks they did while in the relationship. Instead, this behavior displays the utmost disrespect for someone and says “Fuck You”.

As a result, I am honored to have now disassociated myself with such a person who in the eye’s of society, strives NOT to mock such animal-like behavior. In the meantime, I will see you in a courtroom so get a lawyer. And I highly suggest a damn good one.

My Best Fuck EVER!!!!

11 Jun

I arrived at the parking garage of the hospital near the emergency room entrance about to visit my parents. I was anxious to visit them if only I could get out of the FUCKING car, something I’ve done thousands of times but NOT in this condition.

I swung my feet on the concrete pavement, lifting myself with my legs that were numb and arms that were about to fall off. The last time I couldn’t get out of the car was when I ended the night as my first day as a stripper wearing those six-inch stripper heels. Three minutes later I’m now standing up. I can somewhat breathe.

I cautiously walk towards the light exiting the garage. I am going to kill my Pilates instructor! I believe she hasn’t been hard enough on me. I follow the light, the sun beaming outside the garage if only I can get there.

Oh Shit!!! I dropped my keys.

Nice and easy, nice and easy I thought. My abs felt like rocks, my arms are swinging and my thighs are about to give out any second if only my nails would loop around my key ring that helplessly laid on the pavement.

I believe in GOD. There is a GOD, right? If so, please help me!!!! I don’t ask for much.

I slowly stand up and my back pops, ohhhh….I will deal with that pain later.

Now I am in the sunlight and out of the parking garage. The light gives me the “walk” signal and of course I walk. After about three steps into it the “walk” sign changes to “stop.” Yes, I know I’m a little slow but if I can survive last night than I think I can live another day if only I can make it across the street.

Horns are honking.

Shut your pie hole I yell!!

A line at the intersection is now forming waiting for me to cross the fucking street. Geez…you Texans really are horn happy, be considerate for someone who is hurt and making their way to the emergency room.

Yeah, I saw that asshole….there really is no need to flip me the bird!!!

Okay, I’m across the street. I made it. I’m alive…..still.

Now I have to walk across the side of the emergency room to the main entrance of the hospital. Alright….give me a second, I’m getting there.

Geez, grandma….do you workout, I thought as she strolled past me on her walker? Perhaps I should ask who her Pilates instructor is.

Ohhh noooo!!! Ohhhh nooo…. there are kids running towards me…..noooooo….noooo……don’t hit me!!!!! Please!!!! If you knock me down I won’t be able to get up!

Whew….close call but I’m still standing.

Now I am at the entrance of the building.

Awww…thank you sir for holding the door open for a weak and hurt young woman. I know your about 50 years older than I but one of these days I promise to repay the favor as I always do.

Ohhhhh nooooo!!!! Hold the elevator, hold the elevator!!!

Oh, your such a nice, kind young man I said to the five-year old boy. You are so sweet to your elders.

I think I need to write a thank you letter to the person who invented elevators!!

Five please, I told the young man.

Ohhh….okay so a few pit stops. People off, on, off, on….okay…I’m leaning against the elevator rail now not sure if I can make it to the fifth floor just standing still. Then….the light for the fifth floor lights up. FINALLY, I thought NOOOOOOOO…..hold the elevator doors please! Moving a little slow but I will make it.

I enter the floor and the doctor and nurses are looking at me. Hey guys, I brought you 50 pizzas yesterday, the least you can do is DON”T ASK!!!.

They smile and look away.

Only twenty more feet and I’m in my mother’s room.

Now five, four, three, two, one….. and I plop into the chair next to my mother’s bed. Yes, if one didn’t know better I had just ran a 10k marathon. I huff and puff, relieved to finally be sitting down.

My mother turns her head towards me and says:

“Priscilla, what happened to you?”

Huh, I asked?

The bruises on your right arm she said nodding with her head in a weak voice.

I look down and well……OH FUCK ME!!!!

So what did happen last night?

Well….a few weeks ago I reblogged a post from the MLF Diary titled “Pin Me.”

Oh was it ever smoking HOT and made my pussy wet!!!

The night before, I told Mr. WordPress Blogger:

“Remember that post I sent you?”

He replied, “Yes!”

“Well…I desperately need and want that done to me.”

He was a little hesitant at first and said:

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

I cried out…… NOOOO…..PLEASE….PLEASE….hurt me……I BEG OF YOU!!!!

So here’s what happened……

Pin me down, (Oh you did and hard.)

throw my legs over your shoulders, (Is that the reason why my thighs are numb?)

choke me out, (I yelled more, more, more…..okay I died and you brought me back to life when you teased me with your cock.)

call me your whore, (Well….you said that amongst other words I had never heard.)

slap my ass, (Yeah, your hand left marks.)

grab my wrists, (Is that why my wrists are red?)

shove your cock in me, (Well I feel like you shoved it, grinded it, swirled it and other descriptive words that aren’t yet in the dictionary.)

fuck me hard. (Oh….is that why I feel like I gave birth to an unborn child?)

bruise me, (One, two, three, four, five…..and still counting.)

beat me, (The bruises are proof you did that.)

hurt me, (I think you all know I’m in enough pain to believe that happened.)

make me not walk. (What should have been a 7 minute walk from the parking garage to my mother’s hospital room was actually 45 minutes.)

fuck me till you cum, (Oh you did and it dripped out of me STILL two days later.)

pull out and shove it in my mouth, (Yup…you were shivering and about to stick it in my mouth.)

cum in my mouth, (My mouth, face, chin and hair.)

in the back of my throat. (And….my best part…..yes, it was the best fucking desert I ever had.)

I was interrupted….

“So what happened mother asked?”

“I’m sorry mom. I was a bit distracted,” I said.

Oh, that I said nodding to the bruises on my arm. That’s nothing. I just slightly fell down the stairs,” I said without thinking.

Mother’s head slightly jerked upward.

“You fell down the stairs,” mother yelled out?

Oh shit, now she’s worried.

It was either that or tell her the night before I had the BEST FUCKING SEX EVER!!!!

Mr. WordPress Blogger: I love you dearly :)

My Tits are a Legend in High School……

3 Jun

The auditorium was packed, the band was playing and I stood amongst my fellow high school cheerleaders during a pep rally. I was performing a cheer when I saw one of my classmates imitating me by stuffing tissue paper down his shirt. That was it, I had enough!! Some women may think I am blessed to have a small frame and LARGE natural breasts but I have always thought I was cursed with natural 36DD and it goes back to elementary school.

The curse of my large breasts began on my mother’s side whom have all had breast reductions. Yes, they may look great to you men but really they are a pain in my ASS!!! It’s hard to find a dress that accommodates both your waist AND breast size, a bathing suit with an underwire and you can never wear the cute strapless tops because you ALWAYS HAVE TO WEAR A FUCKING BRA!!!!

I was in the 6th grade when my male home room teacher approached me after pulling me aside beside from the rest of the class and said:

“Priscilla, you need to wear a bra.”

I was wearing a white turtle neck that day so perhaps my early development revealed too much. Then in middle school a rumor started that I stuffed my bra, also due to my cursed tits. One of my junior high teachers again pulled me aside after class and suggested I not wear a padded bra.

“I’m not,” I said lifting my shirt to show her.

There was a lot of heartache, pain and tears about these rumors in middle school and as a result, my mother transferred me to a different school in the middle of the year. In high school I tried out for the cheerleading squad, don’t know why, but I did, and made it. Some of my former classmates remembered the rumor in junior high and continued to carry out the legend. It was not a very good time for me in my life, it’s not like I could prove I DID NOT stuff my bra I thought.

Then that day, during the pep rally was when I had my breaking point. There is only so much I could take, and when I saw him in the stands stuffing tissue paper in his shirt I threw my pom-poms down, backed up to where the band was standing in front of the entire school and……….

Yes, I lifted the top of my cheerleading uniform and flashed the ENTIRE school.

Yeeeaaahhhh…..I was kinda expelled but at least I proved my point!!!

“Put your FUCKING wife on the phone,” I told him: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WOMEN!!!

27 Apr

Yesterday I decided to call an old guy friend whom I hadn’t seen or spoken to since I moved back to Texas six months ago. I was having a bad day and missed my friends in Florida.

I called and he answered. In the background was the musical sounds of a deranged out of control bitch screaming:

“Is that another one of your whores you fucked? Talk to her, talk to your little slutty whore,” the wife said.

Oh hell no. Not another jealous, egotistical, selfish and close minded female bitch I thought. Didn’t I just blog two days ago about how I’m embarrassed to be associated with the female gender for the reasons described above? I had also blogged two weeks ago suggesting men not marry jealous women or keep their fucking wife in line after I was falsely accused four times, from four different women that I was “fucking their husband”.

Aside from already having a bad day, I was not in the fucking mood to deal with the unnecessary drama and bullshit the wife was screaming in the background!

Put your FUCKING wife on the phone,” I told him.

When the screaming demon came to the phone I yelled, “I’M, NOT FUCKING YOUR HUSBAND.”

For the next hour the “wife” and I were in a screaming match. Below are the words that were most frequently used and the number of times they were said:

Wife: Slut 24 Wife: Whore 17 Me: I’m not sleeping with your husband 37 Me: You fucking bitch 14

After an hour of name calling, the conversation shifted to the following:

Wife: My EX husband is a cheating asshole….divorced was finalized in December….my Ex husband is a fucking asshole….

I set the phone down to rotate the laundry from the washer to the dryer. I can still hear her screaming ten feet away.

I pick up the phone to hear…..

Wife: my EX husband is a liar….my EX husband fucked a 23-year old last week….my EX husband will rot in hell….

I need to go to the bathroom. I set the phone down, do my business while I read that Katie Holmes may be preganant, walk back downstairs and rejoin the conversation.

Wife: My EX husband is a piece of shit….glad I divorced him…..I wouldn’t stick that dick in my mouth if he was the last man on earth.

Finally silence. Was she done? Nope the ramblings of the EX wife continued.

I set the phone down again to make me a stiff drink, ten minutes later I made another, then another. Wouldn’t you need a drink to listen and tolerate this bullshit?

Three hours later, my laundry was hung, lasagna cooked, wrote and sent a few emails and now slightly buzzed from the four gin and tonics.

Again the receiving end goes silent. The “wife” is not talking but now she is crying.

Now mentally exhausted, for the 38th I tell the “wife” unconvincingly, “I’m am not, nor did I ever fuck your EX husband.”

Wife: I know but every other woman has, she said sobbing.

Did you notice the trend? Why does this woman care about her EX husbands sex life? Bitch you divorced him, his sex life is none of your business!! What a psycho bitch!

And the classic comment the “wife” made that is humorous and will never forget is…..

Wife: My EX husband told me he paid every time you guys went to dinner. You couldn’t pay for your own damn meal? It pisses me off he was using “our” money to take you to dinner.

My response to this statement was a no brainer. I told her:

Me: At first I tried to pay for my meals but stopped offering when I became beaten down with the stories he told about his psychotic wife. WOMAN, I DESERVED EVERY ONE OF THOSE MEALS!

As for my friend and the EX husband, I feel sorry that he is living this agony even after the divorce, however, dude fucking grow some balls, the pussy can’t be that good!!

This morning I woke up with a hoarse voice, a “Thank you, have a blessed day,” text and a Facebook friend request from the “wife”.

And women wander why men think we are bipolar, psychotic, drama queen BITCHES!!!!

Where Have I Been

30 Jun

111
My lack of blogging is an easy answer.

You know those challenges that life throws you here and there? Well in my life recently those “challenges” to me is bullshit and the “here and there” has become always.

My life recently has been overwhelmed with so much bullshit/drama that I haven’t had the energy to write about my life. At times I think it would be time efficient to post video(s) on youtube about my life, instead of this blog. But in a nutshell, the following is what you should look forward to reading.

In the past six month:
• I experienced death of a loved one
• Had a habitual cheater as a boyfriend
• Hospitalized for three weeks (medical problems)
• Had a meltdown
• Car accident
• Left cheating boyfriend
• Falsely arrested
• Relocated temporarily
• Hospitalized again for a week (medical problems)
• Lawyers, more lawyers
• Filed three lawsuits
• Hospitalized yet again for four days (medical problems

I’m exhausted just writing those bullet points.

The good in my life:
• I’m alive
• I have one good friend (That’s all I need)
• Advocate of Justice
• I feel safe

Now you can better understand my life has pulled me in every which direction. I’ve started on the series of this journey, but it’s taking me awhile to complete.

But before I go, I have one last thing to say to a certain someone—you know who you are:

It’s good to hear from you again. I’m sorry for your downward misfortunes this past year—you obviously are not alone.

I Have Become The Woman I Said I Would NEVER Be!!

30 Mar

depressed
I promised myself I would never be “that” woman.

And today I am her.

Yesterday was a bad day. I was in a car accident, thankfully nobody was hurt. I guess my nerves got the best of me. I should have been paying attention to the road but instead I was thinking about the “other” women. The woman I found out about a month ago came to mind, followed by woman #2 and woman #3 who I discovered in the past three days.
When I returned home I was already distraught. My boyfriend was packing for a mini trip he told me about the night before, but little did he know what I knew.

“Do you want me to take you to the airport,” I asked?
“No, meeting my mother for lunch,” he replied.
“Want me to get you my carryon bag,” I said as he was picking out clothes from the closet?
“Yes, that would be great,” he responded.
I went to the laundry room, grabbed my carryon bag and handed it to him.
“Thanks sweetie,” he said as he was folding his clothes about to put it in the suitcase.

I started to walk away when I stopped. It disgusted me that he was wearing the button down shirt I hated the most. The shirt I had ironed the day he cheated on me with woman #1. I sighed in exhaustion, turned around and said:
“Oh baby, when you get to Washington D.C. tell Susan that’s my suitcase.”

I walked out the door with the shocked look on his face still in mind.

Then four hours later my nerves got the best of me yet again. This time I was walking and paid no attention to the car coming at towards me. Sorry but I couldn’t help but think he was with “her” at that moment. That’s when I was hit by the car, but thankfully not seriously injured.

You see, I’m not ENTIRELY stupid.
Friends and family told me to leave him after the first woman, but I didn’t. Instead I gave him a second chance. It was hard and more problems evolved. Then when I found out about women 2 and 3 I started to plan my escape.
It wasn’t until yesterday morning when I woke up, wide awake when I had a brilliant idea.

My boyfriend was still asleep when I grabbed his phone from the night table. Despite everything, I NEVER went through his phone. Shortly after I became lightheaded and dizzy.
I shouldn’t of been shocked but I was. There were even MORE women, not including the woman he had been talking to from the internet and was flying to meet yesterday for the first time. I couldn’t help but ask myself:

“How many more women are there?”

I am hurt, shaking, confused, disgusted and angry. BUT I still have my pride and dignity. That’s two things he didn’t take away from me.

Now going forward, when “that” woman enters my life, the woman I ridiculed for staying with the cheater, the woman I gave a dumbfounded look at when she said she wasn’t leaving the cheater, I will now smile, take her hand into mine and love her. That’s when I will tell my story and make a new friend.

Unexpected Betrayal

18 Mar

couple-arguing
I just woke up. Three hours sleep in the past two days is actually really good given what I discovered and the emotional roller-coaster I rode and still continue to ride.
I rubbed my head, it was pounding. My eyes hurt, they were puffy from crying. I cleared my throat, it was scratched and hoarse from all the yelling. More importantly, my heart….my heart….well….I don’t think I no longer have one as it’s now shattered.
I glanced around the apartment. There was glass everywhere and sentimental objects of mine were now broken, but I didn’t care. On the surface one might think the apartment which my boyfriend and I shared was ransacked and robbed. I only wish that was the reason for the disorder.
I glanced at my phone. I had received many texts from friends asking:
“Priscilla, I am worried. Are you okay?”
I appreciated their concern but it was now a topic I no longer wanted to discuss or think about. I now pleaded the heartbreaking flashbacks from the past two days would only disappear. I shook my head still in disbelief and shock despite the proof that proved otherwise. I laid my head back on my pillow, repositioned my back on the uncomfortable couch that I recently made my new bed and draped the blanket around my shivering body for comfort pretending it was a friend holding me to reassure everything would be okay.
My mind was still clouded by all the questions and emotions that I still pondered. I could ask myself again and again the questions I wanted answers to such as:
How?
Or
Why?
But instead of trying to make reasoning of everything, I had to face the truth…. and the facts.
I had to ask myself, “Priscilla what are you going to do?”
I didn’t yet have an answer. I still wasn’t thinking clearly. I pulled the blanket over my face, closed my eyes when the first tear fell, then another and another.
Now I know how it feels. So….. this is what it feels like when the one you love betrays you.
************
My boyfriend and I just finished hanging a heavy mirror in the entryway I brought two months ago when I moved in to “his” but now “our” residence. When I saw it hung steadily on the wall, I sighed and finally felt at home. We were both exhausted and hungry so we began to prepare dinner.
We were in the kitchen preparing fresh vegetables when my phone lit up, it was a text from my cousin. I responded when my boyfriend said “Stop texting your other boyfriends,” a phrase he used at least once a day. I laughed as usual and shook my head as we proceeded to cook.
He was frying meat and I was chopping lettuce for our taco dinner with our Maltese , Abby, (the new addition to “our” family) who was lurking at our feet searching for scraps when my boyfriend said:
“I meant to tell you the other day, my friend Kristen is best friends with your friend Tucker. What a small world,” he said with a chuckle.
“Who’s Kristen? Do I know her,” I asked casually?
“Don’t think so. It’s a chic I met on the dating site we met on. We went out once but NEVER slept together,” he said in addition to mentioning they were Facebook friends.
I was curious if I knew her since we had a mutual friend who I hadn’t talked to in six months. I pulled up my boyfriend’s friend list on Facebook and asked:
“Which one is she,” as there were four Kristen’s in his friend list?
He pointed to a specific woman with a profile picture of a landscape.
According to the picture and limited information on her page I couldn’t confirm if I knew her so I clicked the “add friend” button. I disregarded my phone on the counter and returned to my boyfriend to help cook dinner. A few minutes later my phone lit up and at a glance I noticed it was a notification she had accepted my friend request.
I skipped looking at her pictures and immediately started to message her when the messenger window revealed she was already typing to send me a message. I continued to type when I received her first message:
“You need to talk to your man, not me!”
I was a little taken back by this comment but didn’t read anything into it. Instead I replied:
“I did, Chris told me you guys met from the site and your best friends with my friend Tucker. I was wondering if I knew you,” giving a smiley face symbol at the end.
I put my phone back on the counter to finish chopping lettuce when she replied:
“Why did you send me a friend request?”
I felt slightly attacked and was unsure why. My boyfriend was beside me stirring meat with his ears plugged with ear phones listening to music when I wiped my hands, picked up my phone and said:
“If you’re a friend of Chris and Tucker then you’re a friend of mine.”
Seconds later she sent the following message:
“Again, why did you send me a friend request?”
I was still slightly confused. Why did I feel like I’m being interrogated?
I repeated my previous message to her question but this time I added:
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal. If you don’t want me as your Facebook friend then unfriend me. Sorry for the bother.”
I laid my phone yet again on the counter about to walk to the refrigerator when she wrote back:
“Want to do lunch?”
What, I thought?
Now I started to have serious doubts about this woman. I scrolled up to reread the series of texts wondering if this woman was bipolar when I replied:
“I guess but I’m a little hesitant now lol.”
She quickly replied:
“There’s a lot you don’t know. Call me, Chris has my number.”
Instantly I knew I wasn’t going to ask Chris for her number as he would ask a lot of questions, questions that I didn’t know so instead I replied:
“He’s dozing off and not going to wake him,” I said lying. I ended the message with supplying her with my number.
Moments later she messaged:
“Chris just texted me.”
She gave her number and insisted I call. I announced I would after dinner.
For the next twenty minutes I was antsy and curious as I wondered if something had happened to our friend Tucker. I excused myself from my boyfriend and went to our sunroom to smoke when I pressed the send button on my phone to call the woman I had not yet met.
When she answered I couldn’t help but notice her tone of voice wasn’t as perky as mine and it sounded as if she had something serious to say, so I remained quiet and listened. There were several pauses in her voice before she proceeded to say:
“I don’t know how to tell you this.” It was then I learned when someone starts a conversation with this sentence it’s never good.
My eyes started to burn, the only thing that came to mind was Tucker had passed being the last time we spoke was when he learned he had cancer. I listened to her stumbling again when she told me what I had LEAST expected to hear. The more I heard the less I could see, followed by loss of hearing and an overwhelming numbness throughout my body. Finally she concluded with specific details, followed by sending me picture texts and a recording that supported her accusations.
I heard enough. I saw enough. I then entered a state of shock. She was still talking when I interrupted her and said:
“Let me leave and I will call you back.”
I pressed the end button on my phone before I waited for her to reply. I walked back into the apartment where my boyfriend was sitting on the couch watching TV. I went into the bedroom and grabbed my purse with one arm and scooped our dog in the other. Thankfully my car keys were visible on the dining room table instead of me searching for them as usual. I had no plan other than to quietly leave and not say a word. I knew if I opened my mouth I wouldn’t be able to control what I might say and thereafter. I was three-fourths from the front door when my boyfriend asked:
“Where are you going?”
Calmly, I turned around, looked my boyfriend in the eye trying to fight back tears when I said:
“Kristen told me everything. Don’t deny it, she showed me all the proof.”
I had no expectations as to how he would or should react, but this was the moment my heart shattered.
You see, he underestimated how well I knew and understood him including the meaning of all his facial expressions, laughs and awkward silence. It was at that moment, he didn’t have much to say, and in fact he was speechless. He didn’t have to explain, his face said it all. He was guilty. It was a look I will never forget and still haunts me to this day. I started to feel faintish when I excused myself from his presence and continued to walk towards the front door as I originally planned.
I knew I exited the gates of hell when the door slammed behind me broadcasting a loud echo throughout the hall but I didn’t take another step. I turned around, reentered the apartment, laid my purse on the foyer table, carefully placed my dog on the kitchen floor and charged towards my boyfriend who was still sitting on the couch.
This was when I blacked out.
I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure I said something like:
“You fucking cheating asshole. You bastard, I hate you and hope you go to hell.”
I don’t remember if he responded or the following order of events. It was then when I remembered grabbing my first object, the granite stone statue my father gave me when I was five-years old. It shattered when it flew across the room hitting our apartment window leaving a large crack. Next was the picture of my grandmother and me, taken just before she died. The window now had another but larger crack. I continued to throw candle holders, vases, bottles of wine, anything that was breakable and would break that fucking window.
I was on a mission.
Finally the academic award I received in college went flying. It hit the window, glass shattered and it bounced back two feet from where I was standing. I paused when a gust of wind and showered the apartment not noticing my right hand was covered in blood. (It’s not good when you live on the 31 floor on the corner of a skyscraper and your walls are all windows from ceiling to floor)
I took a deep breathe when I realized I was the big bad wolf who huffed and puffed and almost blew the apartment down and would have had I not taken a moment to breathe. I was shocked by my reaction and I’m sure my boyfriend was just as shocked from what he too just witnessed.
I continued to scream at him before charging again to the front door slamming it shut to call the “woman” he obviously wanted to be with. To avoid waking up neighbors and preventing my boyfriend from easderopping, I escaped to the stairway. I sat at the top of the stairs and called the woman who should be my enemy but was now my friend. We talked for the next hour, the more questions I asked and answers I received, the more things started to make sense. My phone began to beep that the battery was low so I ended the conversation with a promise to call the following morning.
I decided to retire from the stairway and turned the knob when I realized it was locked. I had never entered the stairway so I was unaware I needed my key fob to exit. I started to call my boyfriend to rescue me but no answer. For the next ten minutes I walked down 13 flights of stairs when I saw a door that was slightly open which was my sigh of relief for an exit. I approached the elevator, the doors opened, I entered and the doors closed behind me. I pressed the button to the 31st floor when I realized I didn’t have my fob to travel back up to my apartment. (We live in a very tight security building which contains three different keys for different access and I didn’t have any of them) I pressed the button pointing in opposite directions to open the elevator doors….. but they didn’t open.
It was 2:30AM Wednesday morning and the chances of a neighbor entering the elevator to leave or return home was very unlikely. Needless to say my only option was to press the red “Help” button on the elevator.
“Are you in trouble,” the operator asked?
“Yes the elevator won’t open,” I proclaimed.
For the next fifteen minutes I followed the operator’s instructions in hopes for the doors to open but no work.
“I am sending the police and fire department your way.”
I sighed heavily. I plopped on the elevator floor and rested my back against the doors. I grabbed my phone from my pocket which revealed three percent of battery.
I hesitated before I re-examined the evidence. It was hard but I persevered. I wanted to make sure my eyes were NOT playing tricks on me, but they weren’t as I hoped they were. The first picture text revealed itself.

IMG_5511

I sighed.
I scrolled to the second.

IMG_4787

My eyes began to water. I scrolled to the third.

IMG_1303

I closed my eyes when the first tear fell yet again.

I closed my eyes and shifted my thoughts back to earlier that day.
“I have a headache,” my boyfriend proclaimed to the sexual advances I was initiating, not including his distant behavior which shortly followed. I was aware he had a meeting with distributor at noon which was not unusual. However, I found it odd he got ready an hour before his so-called “meeting” when he usually waits till the last minute to dress. I now know his “distributor” was her. I couldn’t get her words out of my mind.
“We met for lunch today, that’s when he confessed he had a girlfriend.
“Damn Priscilla, what a fool you are. You couldn’t see the signs,” I asked myself?
Truth is now looking back, I still don’t think I would have…..he mastered the art of manipulation.
I glanced back at my phone to listen to the recording from their date earlier that day when my phone begun to power off. However, I remember the conversation percisely. Phrases such as:
“I don’t like her.”
and
“It will not last.”
and
“I don’t love her.”
It kept replaying in my mind as a broken tape recorder. What excuse does he have I thought?
It was then I really needed a tissue but my shirt was a substitute.
At the time I had nothing more to do but cry and think before I would be rescued. As a result I had plenty of time to ponder on what I would do next, but I was still confused despite the evidence that was very clear.
Then my thought process started to shift. What would I tell my best friend who would me the same story seeking advice?
Well….that was easy. I would give her a dumbfounded look if she even made an excuse to stay with such an asshole. And there I was….that woman who would be an idiot to those around her if she even considered staying.
I didn’t, nor do I want to be that woman.
The elevator doors opened. Police and fire personnel were standing before me. For a moment I thought about asking if they could rescue me from a broken heart. I was escorted to the floor of my apartment when I personally thanked the firefighter for his help when the elevator doors closed. I cautiously walked back to my apartment.
I briefly hesitated before turning the knob to my front door.
‘Priscilla, you have a huge decision to make,” I told myself.
I entered my apartment and the front door slammed behind me leaving another echo throughout the hallway.
The question is…..am I going to be “that” woman who accepts forgiveness OR will I be brave and persevere for a greater and brighter future?

Don’t Want Love? Ha….Neither Did I!!!

12 Feb
That Damn Thing Called Love

That Damn Thing Called Love

Initially this blog was about I, “DatingBitch” and my fucked up world in the dating scene. After dates with psycho police officers, flower stalkers, men comparing chicken with pussy, without hesitation I said “NO MORE!!!! I can’t take it!!!!”

I’m not saying it was the fault of the “opposite sex”, not at all. In fact, I was privileged to obtain an unwanted “dick gallery” of over 300 pictures that were sent voluntarily, NOT upon request so I can’t complain, but maybe, just maybe, on those dates I didn’t say or act like a potential future bride, or I didn’t carefully screen my candidates prior to us meeting. Whatever the reasoning might have been, it was an adventure in the dating scene that screamed the beginning of a new reality show on prime T.V.

Now I‘m not a relationship expert, nor do I have a degree in psychology, but if you desperately desire a relationship…then listen closely because I guarantee no matter the color of your hair, (including ginger’s) how many times you’ve been married or kids you have, if you have a job or collecting from the government, if you are disabled or less than intelligent, no matter what your flaws or disabilities maybe,”I”, the “DatingBitch” have the secret, the cure, the manual of love, whatever you may call it “I” can bring you the man or woman of your dreams with my new dating book that I have not yet written but titled “How to Find Your Soul Mate Whether You Want Them Or Not.”

If you DO NOT follow my rules carefully and thoroughly….your love life could take an unexpected turn.

So if you DO NOT AND truly want to have fun without any commitment which concludes a curfew, followed by jealousy, overwhelming demands, the old ball and chain then the non-existent sex the day after the honeymoon, or maybe you made a vow to yourself to stay away from the gender that fancies your romantic desires as I did, then I want to preserve your happiness and perhaps save your life by my two rules for unwanted love:

Rule 1. Whatever you do protect your identity by providing a false name and purchasing a prepaid phone so you cannot be found.
And/Or
Rule 2. Follow the advice of relationship expert Jenna Marbles who says, and I paraphrase:
If a man/woman approaches you with as much as a wink, flirts and makes an excuse to touch you, asks you on a date or whatever the reason may be, this is your cue to draw your hidden sword and attack revenge against the enemy by giving them the following look….

Exhibit A

Exhibit A

From what I hear, Tthe Look” has an extremely high success rate, but I wouldn’t know because I didn’t apply this cardinal rule. Again if you do NOT want a relationship, whatever you do, DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT make the following face as Jenna Marbles outlines:

DO NOT SMILE!!!

DO NOT SMILE!!!

If you do smile, as I did, the consequences could be severe!!!

Now if you are seeking your soul mate as I clearly WASN”T and want to fall in love as I clearly DIDN’T, do what I did:

Rule 1. Date as many people as you can. The objective is to become jaded as much as possible!
Rule 2. You must, without a doubt in your mind BELIEVE, “I DO NOT want to date!!! I DO NOT want to fall in love!!! I DO NOT want to get married!!! I just want to be ALONE!!!!!” Repetition is important. Tell yourself this throughout the day. Practice when getting ready in mornings, say out loud during traffic, the key is to feel, imagine and believe you do NOT want love or a relationship because unexpectedly…..

imagesCA14CWOF

Congradulations…..you are now in love and you may have found your soul mate. See, if you don’t apply “the look” by Jenna Marbles as shown in Exhibit A, as I clearly DID NOT, then expect the following:

A second date, sex on the fifth date, two weeks later saying “I Love You” and combining ONE residence two months later.

Then when you’re head over heels in love, you will turn to your new love and ask:

“When did you fall in love with me?”

Don’t be shocked if you get the following answer:

“The day we met!!”

So please take caution for what you wish for when it comes to love because if you don’t give “The Look” you may get the opposite as I desired…..LOVE!

And you just may have a new Valentine!!

I Love You Chris!!!!

I Love You Chris!!!!

For 16 Years, I Didn’t Know I Ruined a Young Man’s Life

19 Nov

I didn’t sleep last night. Mother and I arrived at the police station thirty minutes before the administrative office opened. I told the clerk I wanted to speak to a detective about something that happened 16 years ago. Mother and I were lead into what looked like the same room I was interrogated in so long ago. We sat quietly in the closed room waiting for the detective as I glanced at my phone to reread the Facebook instant message conversation from last night pertaining to why we were there. I couldn’t get the last two sentences out of my mind:

“You ruined my life. Please fuck off.”

I couldn’t help but ask myself how this happened? I was just thankful that his friend from that night recognized me yesterday at the grocery store and confronted me. I had only seen both of them once, the same night all this happened. I was surprised he recognized me and knew my name because I couldn’t remember what either one looked like to save my life.

“Priscilla,” an unfamiliar voice called out. I turned around to face a man whom I had no recollection of knowing.

“Do I know you,” I asked confused?

“You put my best friend in jail way back when,” he said.

There was only one person I had put in jail and now everything came together.

“How is he,” I asked not remembering his name?

“He’s been struggling with the charges but he’s doing okay. Maybe you should send him a message on Facebook. He probably won’t respond but it’s worth a try,” he said writing his friend’s full name on a scrap of paper.

Although I had wanted to talk to him after all these years, I didn’t know what to say and messaged him the following:

“Sorry for that night, that was wild.”

He responded back a few times and proclaimed to know who I was as he too didn’t remember.

I was unsure how to put it so I messaged “Cops, you went to jail. I was there.”

Minutes later I received the following response:

“I spent a night in jail. I had to get lawyer and pay court fees. I went back to jail. I was charged with sexual Assault with a minor. You ruined my life. Please fuck off.”

The first time I read that I froze. Sexual Assault with a Minor????

How, I thought? The last time I had walked out of the police station with my mother a detective told us the young man would be released and all charges would be dropped. I hadn’t seen him nor had I heard about it since. I was confused. I continued to ask questions but the only response I got was “Please fuck off or I will file charges for harassment.”

Something wasn’t right, it wasn’t making sense. I went to my computer, put his name in the database and it was confirmed. He was convicted of “Sexual Assault with a Minor”, the same time the incident happened. I called my mother and informed her of this revelation. We agreed to meet at the police station to make things right even though we were both confused.

This moment couldn’t have come sooner. It seemed like it took the detective forever to approach the closed room we had been waiting in for the past hour. The door opens, a chubby man wearing slacks and a tie throws a pad of paper and pen on the table, sits down, removes the pen cap ready to take notes and says “I hear you have something to tell that happened 16 years ago.”

I took a deep breathe, swallowed hard. It was the same story I had told police with mother sitting next to me but this time 16 years later. A night that was supposed to of been innocent fun, but ruined a young man’s life forever…..

I was sixteen years old, three months from turning 17. My mother dropped me off at a friend’s house where I was supposed to spend the night and watch movies. Little did mother know I had packed an extra set of clothes because my friend and I were going to meet some guys. After she dropped me off I changed into a black shirt and leather pants that I had a hard time keeping the button and zipper closed because they were so tight. I topped off the outfit with my friends high heels because I didn’t own a pair. Half an hour later we were dressed and the guys were at her house to pick us up. I don’t remember how my friend and I met the two guys or where we were going but everything else about that night is clear in my mind.

The guys came in separate cars. I rode with one guy and my friend rode with the other. Yes, I was young and stupid, not realizing what a dangerous situation I could be putting myself in. My friend who was riding with his friend were following us to a deserted wooded area at the lake. It was midnight and no one else was around. We noticed they took a left turn and was confused as to where they were going. (I later learned they say a cop on the side of the road and made a detour. It was before cell phones.) At this point I started to grow a little concerned for my friend and for myself. We park and he turns on the car radio. He grabs a beer in a cooler behind his seat which I didn’t notice was there. He offered me a beer but I declined, I hadn’t yet tasted alcohol at this point in my life. We move to the backseat where we proceeded to make out. We were kissing and my shirt came off. He began to fondle my breasts as he was still fully clothed. That was as far as it was going to go. I was still a virgin and hadn’t yet seen a penis. He was very sweet and gentle, never forceful. We heard a car coming and peeked our head out the window. What we thought was our friends were actually the police, six squad cars to be exact. An officer had already approached the window when I was still trying to find my shirt. We were asked to get out of the car and were separated by two different groups of officers asking us questions. The officers that pulled me aside asked questions like: “How do you know him?” “What were you both doing?” “Have you been drinking?” etc.

I didn’t know where this was going and or why we were in trouble. Another officer approached the officer interrogating me and said:

“When I approached the car, her shirt was off,” he said nodding at me.

The officer began to shine his flashlight in my face.

“How old are you,” he asked suspiciously?

“I will be 17 in a few months,” I proclaimed.

The officer got on his radio and asked his fellow officer how old the guy was. The officer shortly responded on the radio that he was 17 years of age. I knew that. So what I thought?

The officer continued to ask me repeatedly what happened between the young man and me. I told the truth. Nothing really.

“Did he take off your shirt or did you,” the officer asked?

“I don’t know, I can’t remember,” I exclaimed.

The officer continues to shine his flash light at me but this time shining it up and down my body.

“Your pant button and zipper is undone,” the offer announced,

I looked down and noticed it was.

“Yeah, these leather pants are tight and they always do that,” I said zipping and buttoning them back up.

“Stay here, I will be back,” the officer said. He walked over to the other officer talking to my guy friend. We briefly made eye contact, I was still unsure what was going on.

I was cold, nervous and shaking. I thought we were in trouble because he had beer in his car and both underage but unsure why all the sexual questions.

A few minutes later another squad car pulls up but a female officer gets out and approaches me. I proceed to tell the her the same story I had told the past three times.

I kept glancing at my guy friend who was surrounded by officers, still being questioned like myself.

“Don’t look at him, look at me,” the female officer said. Your safe now, you’re not in any trouble. You can tell me the truth.”

But I already told the truth I thought. What did these officers want me to say?

She continued to assure me I wasn’t in trouble and not to protect him. Then she asked:

“Did he have sex with you?”

I paused, looked her dead in the eye and said “NO!” Again, I was a virgin and the word “sex” scared me.

She walked back over to the other officers who were talking to my guy friend. When she started walking back to me I saw the officers handcuff him.

I grew scared. I thought she would handcuff me for what I didn’t know, but she didn’t. Instead she told me to get in front seat of the squad car, she was taking me back to the station so my mother could pick me up.

Mother? They are going to call my mother? Now I knew I was in serious trouble. I lied to my mother about watching movies with friend who I wasn’t with, and being dressed up like I was to meet a guy.

I was brought back to the station and was asked the same questions repeatedly. My story never changed.  Then I was asked to write a statement about what happened. I did and it ended with us kissing and he touching my breasts before the police came. When asked what was going on I never got an answer but rather asked another question. I became even more confused.

The officers read the statement I wrote and left the room. Minutes later an unfamiliar officer walked in the room. I will never forget him. He started yelling at me, calling me a liar etc. Then he said:

Your shirt was off, your pants were unbuttoned and zipped. You’re going to sit here and lie and say he didn’t have sex with you? You are going to lie to an officer? If you are lying you will be faced with criminal charges.

At the time I had no idea they were trying to get me to confess and convict my friend of sexual assault of a minor even though he did nothing wrong. At the time I was not aware of the laws. In the state in which I live, at the age of 17 you are considered an adult which he was, and, I, a minor despite I would be an “adult” in three months.

The officer interrogating me never sat down. Instead he leaned over the table and said:

“I’m going to ask you one more time, did he have sex with you. Don’t lie to me because I know you are.”

“No, nothing happened,” I yelled back, now crying harder and requesting my mother.

Half an hour later I heard my heard my mother talking to detectives in the hallway. When she came in the room she was appalled by the way I was dressed and that I lied to her.

The drive home was silent. When we got home mother asked the following question:

“Did the two of you have sex?”

I continued to cry not realizing the situation. “No mother. I’m still a virgin,” I answered honestly. That’s when she began to explain the law and our ages.

The following morning mother had to take me back to the station for further questioning with another detective. He continued to ask several questions and my answer to all of them again were “NO.” They were all pertaining to sex, most of which I had no idea what he was referring to being I didn’t become sexual active and lose my virginity until six years later. The last question the detective asked was:

“Did his penis penetrate your vagina?”

My mother was sitting next to me when he asked this question. I remember crying and screaming:

“No he did not. I’m a virgin. How many times do I have to tell you?”

The detective leaned back in his chair and announced the young man would be released and all charges would be dropped. Mother and I left the police station relieved this was all over.

Now 16 years later, I sit next to my mother in the same room I was interrogated in that night and I ask the detective sitting before us who knows nothing about the case the following question:

“Why were charges filed when we were told otherwise? Nothing happened.”

He hiked up his leg, cleared his throat and proceed to tell me the initial charges which were much harsher such as indecency of a child, rape etc were dropped. However, he was arrested and charged with a lesser charge which was “sexual assault with a minor” for fondling a minor. He proceeded to explain that at that time the law read if the “complaining person” aka “victim” (me) proclaimed nothing happened but officers believed it did, the state could proceed with charges with “reasonable doubt” and a conviction could be made without the consent of the “complaining person” especially if they are a minor.

Because my shirt was removed when police arrived, and I admitted he fondled my breasts WITH MY CONSENT, the state continued to press charges.

I sat in shock as the officer continued to explain the state law to me.

“The kissing and fondling was consensual. What can I do to make this right,” I asked the officer?

He stared back at me, shook his head and said:

“Unfortunately nothing, even if it was consensual. The law is the law. He was charged with “Sexual Assault of a Minor” for fondling you. You were a minor, he was guilty.”

As a recent victim of rape, it can be difficult to receive justice for such a harsh crime, yet it is easy for a man to be charged with “sexual assault of a minor” because the “victim” was three months under the legal age even though it was consensual and no sexual contact was made.

The officer proceeded to tell me he plead guilty, and because of the laws at that time it will never be expunged from his criminal record. I spoke to several lawyers who did research and they all said the same. “There’s nothing that can be done.”

This man will forever have these charges on his record, and since he was 17 years-old there are limitation on what he can and can‘t do due to this fucked up charge.

Mother and I returned to the car and left the police station. Again we were quiet, same as when she picked me up that night 16 years ago. I saw mother glance over at me a few times. She knew I was hurt, mad and upset.

She took my hand into hers and said: “You tried to make things right, that’s all you can do.”

My eyes started to tear up and I replied, “I ruined an innocent man’s life.”

“No, YOU didn’t, the law did,” mother said squeezing my hand tighter.

I didn’t respond. I don’t know what to do or say after discovering such nonsense.

I stared out the car window and only one thing came to mind:

The law is fucked up in more ways than one, and something needs to be done!!!

My Loss

14 Aug

What did you do to me?
I can’t get you out of my head.
It wasn’t suppose to go beyond that night.
Were you too kind, loving and caring?
Or did your sincere words win me over?
You were the biggest blessing,
But the person I’m, now trying to forget.
Why couldn’t you of been at fault?
Instead I can’t help but think,
I lost a great man.

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