Crazy Sex Calls and a Trip to Scotland
It's a long one.

Eighteen months ago or so, I was near completing an A Level English course. There was a shy girl who never really said much, but I started to become quite attracted to her. We'll call her Shy Girl. One time, I saw her walking in the street. She was wearing a low cut top and a very long, flowing skirt. Being the master of words and literacy that I am, I came up with a genius chat-up line.

"I like your skirt".

After this, we went for coffee. Three hours passed, and it turned out she was a lesbian. Gah. All this time wasted on nothing. Nevertheless, she became one of my best friends. We chatted about everything, set each other up on dates, ringing each other to chat and occasionally went on nights out, getting very drunk. Ah, the wonderful platonic relationship. Then it got a bit weird.

In 2005, Bob Geldof decided to announce Live 8. The only way to get a ticket was to answer a hideously easy music question (it was something like "Is Chris Martin [a] a singer, or [b] a pineapple). I entered the competition to go to the Edinburgh Live 8 on July 6th. Luckily, I won two tickets. Huzzah! So, I thought I'd bring Shy Girl along. She was ecstatic. I thought shed be excited to see Feeder or any other teeny bop band that was playing. But no, she was excited to see Wet Wet Wet.

To be honest, I should have noticed she was a bit crazy from there.

A couple of weeks before the event, our regular friendly phone calls were getting a bit weird. A bit.. sexy. She began saying stuff like "you know, when we share our hotel, we can play a game...". What kind of game? She didn't say.

To be honest, I should have realised she was getting a bit more crazy here. But let's continue the story.

The phone calls began getting even weirder. She started saying stuff that I usually pay 75p a minute for. Honestly? I was loving it. My attractive so-called lesbian friend was pretty much offering herself to me just for taking her along to a free competition gig that I won. Magic! Then came the day of the event itself. As soon as we got on the train, she grabbed my junk, pointed between her legs and said "tonight, this is miiiine".

Okay, now I was scared. Shy Girl was turning into Slut Girl. During The Scariest Train Ride Ever (TM), she began to say all sorts of stuff to me. What she wants to do to me at the hotel. How she wants to give me a handjob during Daniel Bedingfield (I'm glad this never happened in the end to be honest. I would kill myself if afterwards, I listen to the whining git and get aroused). She then confessed she was a virgin. Fuck's sake. This was getting weird.

Then, the hotel room came. Hmm. She started whispering kinky shit like "take off my knickers.. but only with your teeth". You guys would probably love this, but this is coming from a girl who I've established a platonic relationship with, and who wouldn't say boo to a goose. She'd never ever swore before. I was then recieving the worst blow job ever (you know.. the one where they just hold it inside their mouth). Not nice.

Then we went to the gig. She started proceeding to touch my junk as Ronan Keating was warbling his crazy Irish chanting. Urk.

We got back to the hotel after two hours of looking for a taxi, and just before she wanted to start Round Two of the Awkward Sex Game, I confessed that I didn't really want to. She was lovely and all... she was just... crap. At this news, she proceeded to be very upset. We stayed in seperate beds that night.

I woke up with her on the phone. She was talking to someone (who I later found out to be her mum), and saying stuff like "No! He used me. He humped and dumped me! He's been using me all along!"

Grr.

I got angry, and told her (and I'm paraphrasing), to "Piss the fuck out of my sight, you lesbian fucking prickface."

And that's how Shy Girl's parents found out she was gay.

Beautiful, but a fucking headcase.

(Go on.. click that you like this.. don't shun me just because of the newbieness...)
( __, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 15:39, Reply)

Lego Nutter
Last year I was sitting alone in my basement thinking about apartheid when I came across the idea of building myself a girlfriend out of Lego. I'd seen the film 'Weird Science' so I knew that stuff like that was possible so I got to work.

After about 10 minutes I had built her lego tits and lego head. She was quite a looker but was slightly ginger. This upset me a bit and I toyed briefly with the idea of dumping her. "No Brady" I thought to myself "you cant dump a bird comprised only of lego tits and a lego head. Besides, you made her ginger! What did you do that for if you don't like gingers? Fucking idiot!"

"Good point" I said out loud in response to my own statement and carried on working. I got busy grafting her legs and arms and then begun the most important job of all - her lego fanny.
This was a work of art. "i'll give her 3 labias" I thought to myself before deciding against it and just sticking to the basics.

Soon she was completely finished and I tried to fuck her. She was having none of it and just lay there completely rigid. "Come on you Lego bastard" I bellowed in her face. Nothing.

Not even a word of thanks for building her. I got angry at this point and punched her in the tit, knocking her lego nipple clean off. It made a pinging sound as it bounced off the wall.

Still nothing!!! Couldn't believe it. "dont you ever say anything? You idiot? I don't know why I go out with you". At this point I had a moment of epiphany. I realised she was completely deranged and I decided to end it there and then. I knocked her down and built a car out of her. Vroom vroom!!
(Andrew Avetoom, Sun 19 Nov 2006, 14:19, Reply)

love hurts.
Years ago now i met a girl in the pub on a Saturday night, as you do. She wasnt particularly stunning but she wasnt bad, especially after a few pints.

She sauntered over and stated bluntly that she was lonely and wanted to know if i would go back to hers.

I had been trying unsuccessfully for hours to get myself some action then suddenly the girl of my dreams (alive and willing) serves it up on a plate.

Before i even finished stammering "Y, y, yeah, OK" we were in a taxi on our way to hers.

We got back to her flat and before i could say anything she pounced on me. A full on crazed and frantic blow job ensued. By this point i had no idea what had hit me, i was just going with the flow. Just as i was getting close to the finish post she stops, sits on the bed next to me and looks me right in the eye and says "I have a confession... i've got a boyfriend. He is in the next room"

"WHAT?" i said in a sort of muted whispering shout.

THEN SHE CALLS HIM INTO THE ROOM!! My heart sank and i began to get very nervous.

The boyfriend comes in and he is BIG. He was dressed in nothing but his dressing gown and he stares at me like im a turd on his dinner plate.

Then he flies at me and knocks me on the floor. He then proceeds to beat the living bejaisus out of me.

The girl on the bed who just seconds ago was making all my birthdays come at once was now sat there with a little vibrator going like the clappers and shes having a wonderful time. Boyfriend stops and then goes to help her out. I sat quietly on the floor unable to get to the door because the bed was in the way and did i already say he was BIG.

After they both had a screaming good time, (I have to admit this made me a bit horny) they told me to piss off and the boyfriend escorted me to the door.

It was months afterwards that i was talking to a friend of mine. He told me that he has heard about this woman and she is known for this kind of thing and does it a lot. Apparently she gets sexual satisfaction from seeing her lump of a boyfriend beat the cr@p of some poor horny unfortunate, in this case ME!
(RoadKillChicken, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 14:43, Reply)

Gospel Truth
I'm relieved (and saddened) to discover that I'm not the only weapons-grade nutter magnet on the planet.

The most outstanding example being "L". Apologies for the lack of humour, maybe the jaw-dropping horror will make up for it:-

1) She stabbed me with a penknife, stubbed a fag out on my arm, and eventually tried to bite my nose off. I still have the scars.

2) The nose-biting incident resulted in her getting my blood in and all round her mouth. She immediately went round to my house and told my housemates that I'd punched her in the mouth, which they believed until they started to help clean her up. The truth became evident when I got back a few minutes later.

3) She told everybody that I was beating her up regularly. See No. 1) - the truth was exactly the opposite, but who do most blokes believe - the 6' rocker or the gorgeous tiny goth girl? I came about this close to getting a kicking from an ad-hoc posse of wannabe vigilantes.

4) She came off the pill without telling me, and got pregnant.

5) She punched herself repeatedly in the stomach in an attempt to kill the baby, but of course told the police that attended with the ambulance she called that I'd done it.

6) She threw a tin of baked beans at my subsequent girlfriend in the supermarket, and then launched herself at her. Security had to drag her out, hissing and spitting.

7) Finally she decided to get an abortion (after flipping between "I'll be a good mother" and "I'm going to dump it on your doorstep" for a couple of weeks), but decided to get a friend of hers to inject her with smack the night before. She was quite crestfallen when she discovered this doesn't stop the doctors going ahead with the procedure. I was amazed.

8) About this time I discovered she'd slept with two other blokes, also telling them that she was on the pill, so the baby might not even have been mine. Ho-hum, off for an HIV test then (negtive, luckily - especially considering the smack thing).

9) Told the hospital she was 15 (she was 18), so they sent her down to Paediatrics for her preganacy checkup - which of course gave her the opportunity to then accuse me of being a kiddie-fiddler. That only all got cleared up when the police asked her to supply her birth certificate - which she altered in biro. She only got a caution for trying to torpedo my life.

10) Oh yeah - cue another ad-hoc vigilante posse for the kiddie-fiddler accusation.

11) Finally she moved away and - get this - did almost exactly the same thing to the next bloke she met - she had the child eventually, but only after he had taken out an injunction against her to prevent her coming near his home.

It still makes me shiver now.
(Undecided MORE POWER to the Interrossiter, Bosun., Tue 21 Nov 2006, 10:28, Reply)

Saturday morning Tribulations.
I, as many of you know - Live in Sweden.

...and, have dated many swedes... *hooray for me*.
one of whom gets a mention here.. b3ta.com/questions/misunderstood/post41070/

Anyway.. I woke up this morning in a similar state to last week... badly hung over and still regretting the balcony incident that appeared to be popular last week.

This morning it appears that god, through the medium of my neighbour is exacting some sort of revenge...

My neighbour must be ... ooohhh... 23 or 24.. single (I assume) and, I promise you this.. she is absoloutly stunning. by Swedish Standards, This lass is a beauty.

However, as of 9:00am I'm beginning to suspect that she's not all there. Apparement buildings here in Sweden usually have general rules, and what with Swedes following rules to the letter... people stick to them. (In Sweden pedestrians wouldn't run accross a road to escape an axe-wielding maniac unless the little green man was showing... but hey.. it's sweden. Axe-wielding maniacs don't exist) I digress.

9:00am to 9:00pm... That's when it is permitted to use hammer drills and make lots of noise in my building. No problem. It's not unusual to be woken up by someone playing with Mr Bosch next door. Today was no different.

Ms Next-door sparked up her powertool at 9:00am on the dot. She drilled ten holes... no problem. They were ALL in the wall that adjoins my livingroom. Again.. it's only ten.. i can deal with that.

... But she didn't stop at ten. Since then I've been counting M&M's into a pint glass for each hole she has drilled. (hey... i'm hungover... i needed something to do.)

Being an engineer and having been on this job for 3 hours .. (at time of writing) i've taken the libery to weigh said sweeties, the kind of glass i'm usign, and asmple of 10 "control" sweeties... and calculate the amount of holes so far.

I shit you not.. at the moment, she's done 134 holes in the wall behind me.. and it seems as though she's not planning on stopping just yet.

136.

Jesus titty-fucking christ.

140.

I'll recalculate and then re-count later... but WHY on earth does ANYONE need to drill 142 fucking holes in a wall that only measures 4x2 meters??

you know the film "ice age" that has the adorable sabre-tooth Squirrel trying to bury his acorn in everything?... and how he occasionally "looks at the camera" with a comicly forlorn, worried and scared little face and whimpers? -that's me right now.

143.

I mean.. REALLY... what the hell is she up to??

EDIT: 151 holes.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Sat 18 Nov 2006, 11:09, Reply)

put it this way

I would've had a less stressful and more normal five years if I'd literally gone out with a box of frogs.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 15:34, Reply)

Kate
Kate she liked to be called. She was a supermodel, and a mum. She was, for a time, the most desireable woman on earth for several years. I took vast amounts of heroin which somehow allowed me to pass off my mediocre ramblings as music and poetry. I became moderately successful. I gave Kate drugs, we took them together. We never had sex because my genitals were all but destroyed after 3 years of injecting smack in to them. Eventually, she was taking as much as me and to the point where she barely recognised her own daughter. I continued in my talentless quest for recognition only to end up being known for the junkie that fucked Kate up. She was beautiful and I drove her bonkers. I am a cunt of the lowest order.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 16:18, Reply)

Psycho-boy
This question seems a bit geared towards psycho-girls so i'm turning the tables on you boys. There are a lot of freakish weirdo men out there too, and all of them have been out with me. Here is the best of the bunch:

Gorgeous, blue eyes, amazing body. Total fucking nutter.
Here are just a few of the best bits of our 5 month relationship:
1) He threw a lampshade at me becuse I told him I wasn't hungry to eat the pizza he ordered without asking me.
2)He was jealous of my cat and kicked it once when it jumped up to sit on my knee.
3)He stopped me from seeing any of my male friends. Then he decided I couldn't see my females friends.
4)He banned me from looking at magazines ?!
5)He inspected my bed and claimed to have found "man-hairs" in it. He then thumped me.
6)He was Spanish. His parents told him that, because I was of the English persuasion, then I must be (to quote) "A fucking dirty whore".

These are just the biggies, but after I eventually stopped being such a knob and dumped him he stalked me for a further four bleeding months.

I got my own back though... I decided that the old motto "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" was the best course of action and set about being the worst kind of psychotic bitch possible with the help of one of my mad exes. We sent him rabbit's feet (the keyring type) covered in fake blood, we waited for him all over town, I called constantly wailing and asking to be forgiven... Result? He moved away. 400km away! Apparently he needed some counselling so I feel really quite bad about that. Hang on, no I don't. That guy kicked my kitty.
Now that's a result!
(The Apeface Cherub is not a cunty-uber-cunt, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 14:33, Reply)

Tasty
Another quick one that springs to mind. Not a girlfriend, but she was hot as hell. A girl in my year at school and sixth form: Picture her as 5'11", face like an even prettier Mischa Barton, the most unbelievable sexy figure, perfect breasts, long skinny legs, and my god - the ass still comes to me in my dreams...

So, one day, her (lucky, lucky) boyfriend at the time decided to "spice things up" and buy her some fruit flavoured condoms. On showing them to her, she replied:

"Oh my god! That's amazing! I had no idea you can taste down there!"...
(Ant Marching And for my next trick... GWARGGHHGWWGGGH!, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 14:32, Reply)

Kelly...
Kelly was, without doubt, one of the more stunning lasses in history... She was as far as i remeber a fantasticly tallented music student, and she happend to live in teh same halls as my then girlfriend.

One night a REALLY frantic Kelly comes bursting in to the communal area... in TEARS.

"I just had a nightmare"...
"really?"
"Yes.. I dreamed that I woke up... and I was a cabbage.."
"What... like... retarded?"
"No.. don't be so stupid... like green and leafy, just sat on my pillow"

There was a moment of hushed silence.. then Hannah laughed at the stupidity....

"DON'T LAUGH.... what if it REALLY happend.. What would you do?"
Ogwen piped up saying that she'd be safe from him.. as boiled cabbage made him fart terribly... and Kelly broke down in tears.

Before going to bed.. Kelly made up promise that If - in the eventuality of her nightmare coming true - we woke up to find a big leafy cabbagehead on her bed instead of her usual well-formed self, we'd feed her... and not eat her.

We promised.. and a rather distraught and shivvering Kelly stumbled back into her room.

The wheel was definately spinning... but the hamster was long dead.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Fri 17 Nov 2006, 14:17, Reply)

"Look at this photo. He Made Me Cry. And my mother cry. Are you going to cry?"
I pulled this girl, Jackie. She has big tits. She was known, rather unoriginally, as Jackie Bigtits. She was gorgeous, half-oriental, with long flowign black hair, alluring exotic eyes and great big tits.

Somehow I managed to keep my natural girl-repellent in check and found myself back at her place, kissing and fumbling like a good'un. We end up on her bed, with only her panties and my boxers separating us. All is going well. I'm going to fuck Jackie Bigtits! I'm already a legend for getting those jubblies out, when the lads find out I fucked her too, I'll be a cooler than fucking Fonzy!

Everything is red hot when she, for some unfathomable reason I can't see now, gets up, wanders over to her dresser and grabs a photo. She shows me the photo. It's an Indian man, 50-60, in white pajamas with a floral necklace.
"What do you see?"
I tell her what I see "An old Indian guy" said with more than a hint of 'less talking, more fondling'
"No," she says more forcefully "What do you SEE?"

I realise now that I should have seen said something, anything. But all I could muster was a shrug. A silent shrug.

"This is guru Mbalmlalmbala [or somthing]. He's amazing. When I saw this photo, I cried. My mother cried too. Do you want to cry?"

Again, all I needed to do was make a noise, anything remotely sympathetic, encouraging. Again, she looked at me with those deep eyes, willing me not to fuck it up. And again, all I did was shrug. Silently.

Two, or five, or ten, or thirty minutes later, in a atmosphere so edgy you could have mistaken yourself for being in a morturary, we got dressed, and I left.

And walking home at 4am all I could think of was how that fucking old Indian twat had stopped me fucking Jackie Bigtits.

Found out a few weeks later she's gone gay after me. So not only did I get zero kudos for getting the Bigtits out, I got ribbed for being denied sex by an Indian Guru *and* for turning a honey into a lesbian. Thanks, Guru whateverthefuckyournamewas.
(TheCrownPrinceOfZanzibar, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 22:34, Reply)

Keep it in the family
One about a bloke for a change. Although it does involve a bonkers (well, borderline incestuous) woman too.

I embarked upon a tumultous and passionate relationship with D back when I was in college. Despite the best efforts of his extremely possessive family to split us up - including moving 200 miles away - we stuck together after we both left college. Said family were really the only fly in the ointment at that stage - but a fairly big one.

He had a twin sister. We'll call her Julie. Julie would continuously bemoan the fact she couldn't find anyone as attractive and wonderful as her brother. She'd smack his arse and call him sexy, and kiss him rather too lingeringly on the mouth. Sometimes, I'd spot her hand creeping up his inner thigh in the pub. Julie maintained a veneer of sweetness with me, but I was aware she really couldn't stand me.

Whilst such behaviour generated many an ucky shudder, I was blinded by love/ lust and reconciled myself to the fact they were a very tactile family. So, it was despite this, and the fact D could be slightly possessive (we had a few rows about the fact I worked with all men), we married 18 months later.

Julie wore black to the wedding.

Things quickly went tits up, as I realised D was as dysfunctional as the rest of his family. Some examples:

1. He was horrendously vain and I would catch himself staring in the mirror and saying "you're so gorgeous". However, if I tried to put make up on, he would deride me for looking slutty and trying to attract other men.

2. He ran up enormous phone bills fwapping to 0898 numbers whilst I was at work. These appeared on our itemised bill, interspersed with calls to his sister. Our phone was next to the front door, and many a time I would trip on his joyously discarded skiddy undercrackers when I came home from work.

3. Despite his insistence on working at his pissy job in Blockbuster Video till 4am in the morning (doing his "new release wall", allegedly) and various nights out with the boys, he was angry if I had any social life of my own.

4. He wanked off his cat the night before it got spayed ("It's the sort of thing a friend would do!").

5. Regardless of the fact I had a perfectly good job of my own, he told me he expected me to give it up and follow him wherever his career took him, like his mother had with his father. Missing the tiny detail that his father was a senior ranking officer in the Navy, whereas D had a pissy job in Blockbuster Video.

The final straw came when we went to stay with his family 8 months after we married. I had just undressed for bed when his father walked in without knocking, gave me a FAR too lingering kiss and groped me up ("You're my daughter now"). D didn't turn a hair.

I made it my business after that to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity and left him only weeks later.

He's onto his third divorce now, at the age of 33. I can't imagine why.

Length? Well, he had to have SOMETHING going for him.
( weebear1974 discovering the joy of cat rape since, Wed 22 Nov 2006, 10:35, Reply)

She liked my little brother.
She said one time, "How's your brother?"

I said, "Not bad, you know, he's just starting year 3."

She said, "He's so cute, your brother."

I said, "Yes, he's a nice kid. I like him a lot."

She said, "No seriously, I could just eat him up!"

I replied with an affectionate laugh.

She said "If I was a paedophile he'd be right on the top of my list."










Well, that killed a little more than just the conversation.
( Reid got it going on like Donkey Kong, Sun 19 Nov 2006, 16:22, Reply)

Not me but an ex...
I once went out with a guy whilst at uni and everything was going swimmingly..except for one thing. Every time we went somewhere for the evening he seemed to...well...glow. It was like he glittered. Having a tendancy to set my sights on those who are about to 'come out' I became concerned he was wearing make up or dabbling with the New Romantics. Even thought it was 2001 and not the 80's. Other people had started to notice that whenever he moved in a well lit bar/club little shiny reflections covered the walls.

I eventually plucked up the courage to ask him why he always looks like a human glitterball and he tells me about his psycho ex and the revenge she had decided to wreak on him.

When he had split up with her she had snuck into his house with a spare key and sprayed glitter spray ALL through his clothes drawers and wardrobes. This had happened FIVE years previously and he had moved house three times and done countless washes but...as we all know from annoying greetings cards...glitter is persistant. It is for life and not just for xmas.

I just laughed as I thought this was the best thought out (and therefore slightly bonkers) revenge I had ever heard of.

Well done to that girl as he did turn out to be a real Twunt.


Its not very big but I'm a ginger so my psychotic nature compensates more than enough.
(gingerclaire I wanna go out bouncin', Mon 20 Nov 2006, 17:15, Reply)

There have been many
In fact, enough to warrant this

And I'm not naming any, for fear of being murdered.
( Hankster, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 17:41, Reply)

Not beautiful but utterly nuts
I have had far more than my fair share of scrapes with emotionally challenged ladies, some of whom can be described as beautiful but mostly not unfortunately. I appear to have been born with a bright neon sign above my head saying "Nutters Here!".

One however takes the proverbial biscuit...

Ex-Mrs PJM:

1) Owning a vast menagerie of animals which I was expected to fund and also clean as she was unable to lift the heavy cages. Scrubbing a cage clean from rat-piss every week soon loses it's appeal, not to mention finding that the snakes kept in an aquarium in the bedroom had escaped in the middle of the night.

2) Causing a massive scene at a friends engagement do. Why? Because I had the audacity to talk to my best mate, who ex-Mrs PJM didn't like. Indeed, she had a strong dislike of most of my friends, who stopped inviting us out because she'd invariably offend someone.

3) Insisting that there was something badly wrong with me because I was less than enthusiastic about bum fun, being tied up and flogged, not to mention my cool response to the sight of my sagging/overflowing wife squeezed into all manner of shiny gear, looking about as erotic as a freshly trussed turkey in a butchers shop window.

4) When asked to accompany me on a course of relationship counselling in an effort to save the marriage I was informed that I should seek counselling alone seeing as I was the source of all the problems within the marriage.

5) Her frequent verbal abuse in front of friends, relatives, colleagues, mortgage advisers etc.

6) Being told when I could and when I could not exercise.

7) Sleeping with one of my mates while I was out of town one weekend, then telling me it was all my fault. And then having a go at me because none of our friends would talk to her afterward. Like, er yeah.

8) Upon my decision to move out into my brother's vacant home I agreed to pay her an allowance money to help with her paying for our house, she helped herself to about a grand's worth of my salary over two months to pay my shre of £250 mortgage and £175 of council tax. While she had over twelve fucking grand in the bank and treated herself to a new car.

9) As she "didn't do" washing up (fair enough as she cooked dinner) I was responsible for scrubbing the dishes. One evening a glass broke in the bowl, gouging a inch and a half long gash in my hand that required stitches. The very next day I was handed a pair of yellow marigolds, a size too small and ordered to wash up - wounded hands not withstanding.

10) She had personal habits which would make a monkey blush including peeing in the shower, not scrubbing the bowl clean after use, the daily obsession with plucking at her minge with a pair of tweezers and discarding the resulting fuzz all over the sofa.

The list goes on and on, much like this post really but it's healthy to talk. My mother in law was lovely though, bizarrely enough.

Apologies for width of ex.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 17 Nov 2006, 13:55, Reply)

Shitrape
This one isn't about my wife (who is beautiful and bonkers) but about her friend. This girl is not beautiful for sure--a hideous rash covers most of her body. But everyone was pretty sure this girl was bonkers because she'd married and divorced one of Korea's most eligible bachelors.

She'd met her husband online (warning bells for you but not over here) and he was perfect: handsome, successful, a very competent prosecutor, and most importantly from a rich family. They hit it off and he was the perfect gentleman, meaning they waited until marriage before humping (warning bells you say? Not in this country).

So the wedding came, and it was perfect. He took her on a dream vacation to a resort in the Philippines. And what did she do? She left him there, on the first night, no explanation given. Her (ex-)mother-in-law would call her all the time and say "Are you crazy? You can't leave my son! Don't you know how rich he is? Whatever he wants from you, you must give it to him!"

Years pass. One night, my wife met her at the bar and they drank a lot, and this girl said what really happened on their wedding night.

They reached the wedding suite, and the groom went into the toilet. Meanwhile, the bride prepared for her first time. She undressed and got into bed. Then the bathroom door opened, and the husband said "I'm ready, come in here."

Oh, the shower--how erotic, she thought. Walking in, she noticed the toilet was totally clogged with her new husband's shit. That's not normal.

The next part messed her up for life. Her husband scooped out a handful of shit and started rubbing it on her. She tried to resist and screamed, but he held her up against the wall. He proceeded to rub shit all over her, and continued doing this until finally it brought him to orgasm.

She left him immediately, but the shit had damaged her skin, leaving her with a rash all over her body. For years she was too humiliated to tell her story.

Now that I know, I want to use this guy as a trampoline. The main problem: he's a prosecutor.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Wed 22 Nov 2006, 12:43, Reply)

One for the girls
This is my ex.

I rest my case.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Mon 20 Nov 2006, 16:22, Reply)

Body of a model, behaviour of a psycho
She was 18 & I was 24, I was a bit worried about the age difference at the time but she had a stunning models body & I hadn’t had sex in 3 years. She had just started uni so I only saw her every 2 weeks for weekends packed with sex, it was great. I was the envy of my friends and I was getting dirty weekends regular as clockwork.

It's amazing how quickly time passes when you're getting laid every other weekend and before I knew it, 3 years had passed & she was back home in spitting distance of my abode.

Perhaps I should have seen that she was mental sooner, the evidence was there if I had looked for it; the nightly phone conversations where she would cry hysterically, the time she held a kitchen knife to my cock, the threat to get pregnant if she thought I was going to dump her, the time she held a kitchen knife to my cock, all the ridiculous public-place sex she demanded, the time she held a kitchen knife to my cock, the drunken rages where she would yell "you just don’t get it do you!?", the time she held a kitchen knife to my cock...

By the time she graduated the sexy teenager with the models figure had become a fat-arsed fully paid up mentalist control-freak, and seeing her every day finally confirmed this. Enough was enough & I finished with her. A couple of days later she left a drunken voice-mail on my phone telling me she was having a miscarriage (she wasn’t) then a few days after that drove her car through some poor sods house & phoned me from the scene. For the next month or so she would phone me & give me abuse, then call the next day to apologise, then phone to give me abuse and so on.

I would love to end this with some witty conclusion about redemption and lessons learnt, but quite frankly I wasted 3 years of my life on a mentalist because I was thinking with my cock.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 15:18, Reply)

I had a boyfriend who was mad on golf.
He played it every evening in the summer, every weekend in the winter: when it was too dark to see the ball he'd go to the driving range or watch golf on TV. If all else failed he'd play his Tiger Woods golf game.

All his spare money went on golf clubs, shoes, club membership, golf clothes, and other associated paraphernalia.

He read golf magazines in bed, in the bath and on the bog.

Every time the phone rang, it was blokes arranging golf games with him. I took hundreds of messages - 'Bill rang, he'll see you on the course at 6' - and off Boyf'd go, whistling, balls in hand.

I hardly saw him, winter or summer, and was left to my own devices most of the time.

How did I put up with it?

Reader, I married him. Last thing I want is a man under my feet!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 14:45, Reply)

She was a lap dancer called Corinne
She had an off-the-scale body straight out of my fantasies, a beautiful face with black eyes and full lips, and long dark hair: a Latina princess. Think Salma Hayek with more height.

We met in the supermarket of all places and got talking about stem ginger. She invited me to watch her dance and my eyes stood out on stalks when I saw her in her micro G-string giving every guy in the place a boner.

We became lovers. I say love, but it was an inferno of lust. She was the first to moan as I came on her face, the first to beg me for anal, the first to offer her pretty pink tongue for me to come on as she stared at me imploringly.

But she was demanding. it started with asking me to use cosmetics to make my skin softer. I'm from Sheffield - such shit isn't easy to accept. She made me get highlights in my hair and shave my parts; she called me 'Daddy' when we had sex ... but she was so red hot, I couldn't say no.

Then the 'normal' sex wasn't enough for her. She wanted me to watch her as she fellated some guy in a back alley because it made her 'feel dirty'. She'd strip with all the curtains open so that the street became full of guys with cameras. And she was jealous, too.

She'd follow me in her car and call my friends to check up on where I'd been. A woman I'd laughed with in a shop ended up with a black eye from an unknown assailant. Then there was the time I came round from an orgasm so strong I'd almost blacked out to discover her holding a handgun and asking me, "You'll never leave me, will you?"

Sex or death? The sex was worth it. She was an animal. Being between her legs was like riding a hurricane; her ever-liquid parts were a phenomenon of nature, milking my weary schlong of every last drop.

But I had to have her put down when she got the rabies ... oh wait a minute, that doesn't really work, does it? I saw someone else do something similar and ... oh, never mind.
(frankspencer, Mon 20 Nov 2006, 14:32, Reply)

Mrs ST
I’d been with a girl for a few months, and we were asleep in bed. I’m a naturally heavy sleeper – hurricanes, cars crashing into the front wall a few feet from where I’m sleeping with the window open, foxes mating – You name it, I’ve slept through it.

Yet just a few months into a relationship with a girl, she woke up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever been startled awake by anything.

“Help, help. Babe, wake up!” she was shouting, simultaneously hitting me to wake me up. I shot up in bed, convinced that she was about to be raped or murdered.

“What? What’s the matter?” I asked, worriedly looking around the room and being unable to see the cause of her distress.

She continued to cry. “I’ve swallowed a carrier bag!” she wailed.

The incredulity of this hit me after a few seconds.

“What?”

“I’ve swallowed a carrier bag!” she repeated, rubbing her hands round her throat despite there being nothing there, no pieces of carrier bag on the bed, no distortion to her voice and – most importantly – no crinkly carrier-bag sound.

Still, love keeps you together and I’m pleased to say she is now Mrs SeasonTicketless. And she’s still weird and prone to waking me in the middle of the night to tell me about the monks that are surrounding the bed, or the ninja perched on the wardrobe.

It’s been almost seven years now, and yet I still refer to her as the mad one.
( SeasonTicketless is too often the statue, and rarely the pigeon., Sun 19 Nov 2006, 19:54, Reply)

I can't remember her name
she worked in a bar called Bliss in stalis, crete greece, and has done for a few summers
Whilst I was helping a friend out in a bar at the other end of stalis (coyotes) for high season and on her days off she would come and see me for a bit, we'd have a chat, this was probably due to the fact that our first meeting was her boss talking her into giving me a lift back to the bar I was working in after I'd carried his lost dog (which had wandered into our bar and was not only enormous but very un manageable) the quarter mile back to him - I think she was impressed.

She had an astounding dark beauty and enormous breasts, and an amazing sense of humour

alarm bells never rang

I somehow ended up meeting her one night with a few friends, one by one they dispersed and we were finally alone, snogging like schoolkids - she had a ferociously sensual kiss that set the heart aflame, and the libido a frenzy! We went back to mine, and began coitus.

Unfortunately I lived with two "Hilarious" flatmates that came home from the piss and hadn't pulled, so they decided to bang on my door and generally disturb us, which I thought was quite funny if not a little irritating

she did not

at his point the funny, sexy girl I'd took home changed into a strangely squirming sexbeast that was suddenly clambering away and screaming with a devilish look in her eyes of fury and hate combined

MAKE THEM STOP I did - I'm no surprise sexer

I'm talking SCREAMING "I'll fucking kill you" and trying to TEAR out of the room still naked to hurt my flatmates - who deserved it really

I calmed her down (a little) and gor her to at least put her knickers back on

my (greek) landlady was awake now and came out to see what all the commotion was about, I come out to apologise to her and warn my flatmates that they MAY SOON DIE - at this precise moment she then sneaks out of my room with a 2 LITRE FUCKING WINE BOTTLE and chases the flatmate that's standing outside his room into it - where he then stood making faces at the window, so she threw the bottle at the window - he wasn't hurt (luckily) just a little shocked at being almost bottled by a large breasted half naked brunette psychopath who obviously had "issues"


that's when I decided to get her the fuck out of there

I drove her home, it took me about 2 hours to calm her down and yes


I did still shag her

She was fucking fantastic


sorry for length etcetera - she wasn't! PLEASE CLICK "I LIKE THIS" AS THIS IS PROBABLY ONE OF THE 100 PER CENT TRUE QOTW answers YOU WILL READ
( SickRik float like a camembert sting like a brie, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 15:31, Reply)

Pillow killer
While at university, I had a spare pillow which I dressed in a T-shirt (with a face on it) and referred to as 'Ashley'. Sort of thing that seems hilarious when you're 20.

Anyway, my then boyfriend took a dislike to Ashley. Whenever he was left alone in my room, I would return and find him enacting bizarre and sometimes violent fantasies with Ashley. The pillow.

Examples:
- Balancing Ashley against an upturned breadknife and informing me that he was committing hara-kiri.
- Emptying my bottle of paracetamol and leaving the empty bottle (with a few scattered pills) on Ashley. And writing a suicide note to go with it.
- Dressing Ashley up in my lingerie and hiding him in my wardrobe, then informing me that he was 'coming out of the closet ... he's gay now and doesn't like you any more'.
(Turangalila, Wed 22 Nov 2006, 20:25, Reply)

Firey Red Head Nurse
It seems such a cliche.. but also seems so true. Red heads are friggin' loopy. My delightful but deranged fling was with an Irish nurse called Kiara.. we only saw each other for about 4 months but it was 4 months I shall never, ever forget. She lived in Northern Ireland in 'Bandit Country' as she used to call it, basically the place was full of Republican balaclava botherers who hated the English. I'm English. Bugger.

Visiting her was always interesting, arriving at Belfast airport I always wondered if I'd ever return back to England in one piece, soldiers everywhere, graffiti and such on every street telling you in no uncertain terms how much they wished harm upon the English scum striding around their country.

Her father too, sweet Christ, her father had fists like an anvil and took an instant dislike to me. Kiara told me that the only English people they really hated were the posh accented sort.. so my regional accent would protect me from the inevitable kneecapping. I laid on the thickest Yorkshire accent I could while trying to stay alive. Sadly the reason for all this trauma and strife, the sex with this slim, busty nurse that let me do anything I desired.. started to fade as she became more and more odd.
Sex became more and more violent, before she asked for the occasional spanking, now she wanted proper beating.. sometimes not happy until welts and bruises festooned her pert bottom. The real uncomfortable moments came when she asked me if I'd be interested in 'play-rape'. This apparently was where she would go to some prearranged secluded place, and wander around for a bit.. I would be lurking in the shadows and surprise her by jumping her and for all intents and purposes raping her in some alley or on some waste ground. She seemed thrilled with the exciting new love-game. I felt slightly uncomfortable about it and tried to discourage the idea.
After a while the trips back and forth to her little village took a financial toll and the emotional and physical toll of almost having to beat her senseless to 'get her off' was just too much. That and her father had noticed some bruises on her arms and concluded I was abusing his precious little girl. He phoned me while I was in England, threatened me rather successfully by saying ' I'm going to cut off everything you touched her with..'

I think I'd had enough by then.

I tried to end it nicely and calmly but she left me a voice message saying 'It's 3am Hicksion, I'm going down to the car park where all those drunks and thugs hang out at night and if I'm done over it'll be your fault cos you're not there to do it instead, yer shit!'

Now that's seriously bonkers.

Great breasts though.
(Hicksion, Mon 20 Nov 2006, 16:05, Reply)

She wasn't bonkers ...
But her mum was.

It was one of those fantastic moments. You just look at each other, and you know you have to do it. Right then. Right there. I was holding her tightly, kissing her fiercely and with passion, ignoring all the noises around me. Within just seconds I'd wrenched my shirt off and removed her t-shirt too. Up came her skirt as I kissed her and pushed her onto her bed. I was pulling down her underwear as I held her and kissed, removing my clothes quickly.

I fucked her senseless. It was so passionate, and I loved it, and I was so sure she loved it too. She must have.

I don't know why her mum was screaming "SHE'S ONLY 4! GET OFF OF HER!" the entire time though, while she was tied up at the other end of the room.

She was clearly at least 6.
(ratthingbazzterd, Sat 18 Nov 2006, 0:23, Reply)

Not a proper crazy, and just a girl I like...
came out yesterday with "I've started to cut stuff like you told me".

It turns out she just meant that she now cuts up the plastic bits that hold cans together, because I told her things strangle themselves with it. Still, for a second I knew terror.
( jme, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 15:25, Reply)

Badgerbadgerbadgerbagder!
Saw a gorgeous girl on the train this morning. She was wearing a badge that said 'I am not a badger!'

Does that count? I'm worried that she always needs something around to remind her.
(flimflam_machine, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 14:40, Reply)

More beautifully bonkers really
... as she wasn't a looker.

A work colleague was dumped only a month before her wedding. Apparently her fiance was already married, so had to call it off, but it would still be OK to keep seeing her, yes?

She told me about this at work, but when I asked assured me she was OK. No tantrums, no tears, no fuss.

Just an order for thousands of pounds of pink stationery that turned up a few days later. Pink paper, pens, rulers, tip-ex (yes, you can get pink tip-ex), ring binders, you see where I'm going with this.

Best. Breakdown. Ever.
(Throbbe, Tue 21 Nov 2006, 14:35, Reply)

Crazy dangerous boys.
Ok, going back a couple of years I met a lovely (I thought so at first, think Johnny Depp - YUMMY) boy at a friend’s party in north London. The usual party stuff was going on, drinking, dancing, smoking a little pot, you know the kind of thing. Anyhow I cornered him in the kitchen after dancing with him a few times over the last hour or so and went in for a snog. He responded in kind and the sparks flew.
One thing led to another as they invariably do, but sadly, it was a week when the painters were in town, so there was no horizontal tango to be had. Not wishing to loose my chance with the boy, I satisfied him (and very much, me) *ahem* orally, so to speak. (not much actual speaking, of course)
Anyhow, fast-forward to the next day, he has my number and calls. 7 times before 7am, asking to meet up then begging, then demanding to see me. I agreed to a lunch date in a public place with a friend of mine, he agreed, and all seemed to settle down again, nice conversation etc.
Imagine my shock when he turned up at my flat at midnight that night, drunk and shouty, insisting we were meant for each other and demanding to be let in so he could “move in some of his stuff”. After an hour of shouted arguments which involved him punching me in the face twice, breaking a tooth, I managed to get him out of the door and called the police. The cautioned him for breach of the peace.
Over the next 2 weeks he hounded my every move, attempted to rape me twice and slashed the tyres on my car. The police managed to arrest him and hold him in a cell for 24 hours, which gave me enough time to get out of the flat and over to my aunt’s place the other side of London.
I gave up the flat and my (shitty) job in London that week and I’m living with my other uncle in France, running his fish export business. The ex-“boyfriend” is still at large, although he now has a conviction for aggravated assault and a suspended sentence.
I don’t like coming back to London anymore.

Who said it’s us girls that are crazy?

Apologies for the length? Well he should, for the lack of it.
(Sock MONKEY, Tue 21 Nov 2006, 10:46, Reply)