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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.

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!!!

Always remember, You’re Just Part of the Pussy Collective

30 Jul
GUEST BLOGGER
 
I got involved with a player against my better judgment. I first observed him drunkenly stagger out of a bar with some girl he had just met. He took her home, and one-night standed her—then never called. He did that sort of thing routinely.
He chased me until I went out with him.  He was educated, funny and had a great job. Like most players, he was charming, and we had a blast together singing Elvis songs. From our first date, we were inseparable. We went everywhere together. I completely forgot about his being a player until….
We had been seeing each other for three months. We had pet nicknames, and had both said, “I love you.” We seemed to have a genuine connection—or so I thought. It was time to take our relationship to the next level.
We’re asleep in his bed, after a hot night of passionate first-time sex. I’m a light sleeper, so I instantly wake up when he slips out of bed. He doesn’t go to the bathroom or to get a drink of water. No. He gets up to call another woman.
While I’m laying in his bed in the pitch dark, I hear him say in a baby-talk voice, “I love you. I miss you, sweetheart. I wish I could be with you right now.”
I lay there, in his bed, stunned. I thought we had something special. I thought we loved each other. I had also asked him pointedly a few weeks prior if there was anyone else he was still interested him. He denied it. “No, baby, there’s no one but you.Why would you ask such a question?”
I didn’t confront him that night. I waited a couple weeks until his phone bill came in the mail. It was hard to pretend everything was okay during that time when all I wanted to do was scream at him. I used the bill to find the phone number, and searched through his address book until I matched it with her name.
I also discovered something else shocking from looking over his phone bill. He had several women he called regularly. In fact, the same exact minuteI left his house he would be on the phone to some other woman. He literally couldn’t wait 45 seconds for me to be out the door before he had to speak to another woman.
I wanted to see how much of a liar he was, so I set him up. Armed with my new information, I asked him again if there was anyone else. I hid how angry I was. I gently urged him to go ahead and tell me, that I would understand.
He lied his ass off, categorically denying it. It didn’t even register in his head that I might have overheard him talking to her. So, he was a liar and a dumbass.
Finally, I couldn’t take his lies anymore. I snarled, “I heard you call Ashley and tell her you loved her!! What was that about?!”
The Liar weakly sighed. Once he knew the gig was up, he freely spilled the truth. He showed me Ashley’s photo, and commented on what a “nice girl” she was. He’d met her over the summer on vacation, and they had a two week fling. It was winter when he made his infamous midnight call, and he hadn’t seen her since. He kept repeating how “nice” she was, as if I was somehow didn’t measure up. I dumped him right there.
Later on, I found out from mutual friends that The Liar had sex with a woman in a hot tub when he was on the phone to me. (I didn’t know this at the time he called, because he pretended he was alone and missing me.) Turns out she was a hooker his friends had bought him as a practical joke. I was lucky I didn’t get AIDS.
This is what you get when you become involved with a player—there’s always other women. You’re never going to be The Only One. Like the Borg from Star Trek, you’re just one of many. You’re part of The Pussy Collective. You’re nothing special. Your designation is Number 234 of 567 of The Unipussy Matrix 01.
I’m not sure how many readers would get the Borg reference. The final blog will have images to go along with the story, cause I love to do that.

A JOURNEY OF SELF-DISCOVERY

28 Jul

GUEST BLOGGER

As a person who has been told “You are so smart!” over and over again by numerous people, ex-wife, supervisors, etc., my “career” leaves a lot to be desired at this stage of my life. My biggest work accomplishments include winning a couple of awards for excellence in customer service and being promoted for two positions that I had NO prior qualifications for. That’s it. Part of the reason for this lack of achievement is a lack of focus on my part; or as I like to call it, having too many interests and abilities.

See, I have been told my whole life that I am exceptional (I learned how to read before I got to kindergarten. Kiddie Class of ’78!) and that has translated into a mixture of confidence and a belief that eventually my talents would be recognized and be rewarded. So I’ve kind of let myself drift along and indulging many, many different interests as they showed up. You might say I suffer from a bit of ADHD in some ways, although I have never been formally diagnosed. IF I do have it, it is a very mild case as I am able to focus on certain tasks for long periods of time, but only as long as they interest me. Once a project no longer interests me or if I cannot see any value in continuing it, I am likely to abandon it no matter how much work went into it up to that juncture. Case in point: During high school I was obsessed with architecture and designing cool-ass buildings. I went to an out-of-state technical school for architectural drafting but because my dad had died the week I graduated from high school and it was such a struggle to get parent and student loans, I only went to school for one year. I left before I could get instruction in computer-aided drafting, which of course would have given me more skills and made the likelihood of me being able to obtain a job in that field much better, so after I arrived home from school, I took a job at McDonald’s. I had worked there before leaving for school; therefore it was familiar and comfortable. In addition, it gave me an income while I lived at home and I had friends that worked there, so it filled a social role for me as well. But I realize now, it was not challenging me mentally. Intelligence can only take you so far. You also need to make sure you challenge yourself on a continual basis.

Posted by:  What I Desired To Say