(a partial pearoast) The first Mr Maladicta
who I now prefer to refer to as Twat Ex With Child, was 30, and I was 18 when I met him. At the time I didn't think too much of it because I was too amazed that an older man was interested in me and quite flattered. Nor did I think anything weird of him being in his first year of uni at that age.

What I didn't know was that it seemed he considered me to be past it once I got towards 20, and promptly shacked up with a girl who was about 18 and to this day looks about twelve (strange looking little creature, dresses like an old woman, but who I've met out of context and is so infuriatingly nice that as much as I'd wanted to cunt her in the fuck when I met her, I couldn't). There are, in fact, two reasons why I call him Twat Ex With Child and that is but one of them.

Being 19 and, I thought, about to embark on a wonderful relationship that would be fluffeh and healthy, I was less than happy to run into TEWC in town one day, in the company of a glamorous looking woman not much older than me, plus a small child of about three, who he was holding in his arms and cooing to softly. The child was the spit of him - same hair, same nose, same everything, and it was blindingly obvious that he was doing something he shouldn't because of the look on his face when he saw me, which said "ohshitohshitohshitshe'sgoingtokillmeandIwillnevergetanysexytiemagain".

Naturally, I was not impressed, wanted to kill him and wasn't planning to ever give him any sexytiem again. Unfortunately, I chose to take the advice for my next step from Stalker Girl, the confirmed bunny-boiler, who suggested the sending of a very sarcastic text message which said "Something you're not telling me? :P"

Amazingly, TEWC texted back, as he normally preferred to ignore me and pretend to have no credit the next time he saw me, to say "Fancy meeting for a drink?" and half an hour later tramped into the pub I'd happened to be in at the time, looking utterly pissed off. He sat down, grunted a hello and a "how you been?" before launching into his obviously rehearsed speech: "About what you saw in town. I keep my private life private, OK? I like it that way."

He then leaned closer and launched into an equally pre-prepared whisper of what he'd like to do if we were somewhere more private, which, fortunately, my mind has scarred over, but he was determined to try to placate me with as much dirty talk as it took to stop me wanting to fling his pint in his face and say "Of course you can have a private life, darling, now let's go somewhere public and shag." While he did know how to push the buttons (verbally only, his only advantage was knowing how inexperienced I was made him automatically a sex god in my eyes), he soon realised it wasn't going to work on me and made his excuses, before legging it.

I did tell the story of how we met on a very, very old QOTW which was probably open at the time we were seeing one another, but I never posted the full, unexpurgated version, otherwise known as How Maladicta Got Herself Into Trouble, Part 1.

~~ Wavy lines ~~

One Friday night in my first term of uni, I'd sent the usual "bored, what are you up to tonight?" text to about ten people and mostly got the "home for the weekend, sorry hun" response. However, one came back with "we're in [bar] if you want to join us? You'd be more than welcome!"

Twenty minutes later, customary double shot of Baileys in hand, I am sitting in the bar feeling a lot happier. People are milling around, societies are meeting, it's a typical campus bar. Among the societies circulating are a group of ragtag gentlemen wearing a variety of ludicrous hats. We take little notice of them until we decide to move to another place, and find ourselves walking up the steps in the company of the aforementioned gentlemen.

They mill around us, and explain that this is an introductory social for new members and involves drinking in every bar on campus. One in particular, who is very inventively wearing two baseball caps, one on top of the other, takes a shine to me and chats to me most of the way downstairs, already revealing himself to be at least some of the way to Drunkstown. He dances around me, sings Uncle Fucker at the top of his voice, waxes lyrical about Monty Python and generally behaves like a child with ADD.

We reach the bar, and he offers to buy me a drink along with his own, and we head into the throng, where he tells me his name - R - and mentions that he is "very experienced with women" - something that, at this age, would at least put up a red flag in my head. After some brief haggling over his age, as I'd thought he was a lot younger (the years since have not been too kind to him) and after some incredulity, we head into the main room and commence dancing.

About five minutes later, claiming to be being blinded by the strobes, he ducks down to my level and asks "can I steal a kiss?". Thinking "aw, fuck it, he can have a peck on the cheek for having bought me a drink," I lean in to do so, and end up attached to his face. Shit. Didn't quite mean to do that.

This continues for some time until he suggests getting some air, and again grabs me before I can say anything, and before I know what's going on I'm saying goodbye to the girls I was out with and heading off with TEWC in the vague direction of home. Drunken staggering, more singing, and hand-holding later, we end up at my front door, whereupon he comes in, comes into my room (bounces all over my bed in his trainers) and the next thing I'm aware of is being half-naked with something small (very small*) and insistent, whose name is apparently "him", poking at me and quite insistent on paying a visit to the ladygarden.

"Hold on, hold on here. What do you think you're doing."

"What do you mean, baby?"

"You should know I've not done this before and I'm not really ready to get into all this right now."

"*siiiiiiiiiiiigh* But... you do want it, right?"

"Yes... but not right now."

TEWC then begins to back-pedal: "I promise you I'm not just after a one night stand, baby, you're special, I respect you..." and, being 18, I lap it up like a thirsty kitten. Afterwards, he is out the door at first light, claiming he had a train to catch, leaving me his number and blanking me the next time he saw me, a pattern that would repeat itself twice more.

Later, I might relate the story of the pervy swinger I met a few months later. It's cheaper than therapy.

* Length? Let's just say I'd never seen one before, and the voice of reason in my head's best advice was "If it's not going to go away, whatever you do, do not, repeat, not, laugh at it. Make sure you tell him it's enormous."
( Maladicta, Mon 8 Dec 2008, 0:27, 4 replies)

Sheesh!
What an introduction to the world of relationships that was! It's amazing what some people think they can get away with...and I don't mean jumping on the bed with trainers, although that's somewhat inconsiderate too...
(Ovaltina, Mon 8 Dec 2008, 3:50, closed)

I'm just ashamed I let him get away with it.
There have been numerous occasions when I could have cunted him in the fuck and didn't... like the time he asked me if I regretted what had happened between us, and then told me he was glad to see me happy with Mr Maladicta... and then asked for my number, or any of the times since when he's confused the hell out of me because he either talks to me like I'm his best friend in all the world or he flat out ignores me. I don't want nice, I want consistency!
( Maladicta, Tue 9 Dec 2008, 0:13, closed)

erm...
"...Make sure you tell him it's enormous..."
*thinks about previous relationships.
*gets sad
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Mon 8 Dec 2008, 13:24, closed)

Aww, I'm sure your ladies meant every word.
*nods very hard*
( Maladicta, Tue 9 Dec 2008, 0:13, closed)