Breaking up is hard to do...
I was sitting there, in my pyjamas. These weren’t any ordinary pyjamas, no – these were super-straight, grey and flannel. They were about as unsexy as pyjamas can get. The covers of the bed were pulled up to my chin, the only concession I had made was to have my arms free to so I would be able to read. I snatched a quick glance up as I heard the rooms door open, and saw her enter. Her hair was straight and black in the dim light, her body still glistening slightly with moisture from the shower she had just taken. The towel she wore around her waist, leaving her bare breasts exposed, fell to the floor, revealing her to be resplendent in her nakedness. Looking down, I noticed that she was wearing high, black shoes – knowing, as she did, that I really, really, liked that – and watched as she made her way over to the bed,

She placed a knee on the mattress and, balancing herself with a hand on the pillow, raised her other leg and drew it across me. She straddled me there, looking deep in to my eyes, playing with her hair and letting her hands flow across the swell of her breast and down towards that special haven that nestled between her lean, long legs.

“So,” she breathed, “here I am. How do you want me?”

If anything, I pulled the covers even higher. Impossibly, I had been trying to escape the clutches of this relationship for well over four months. It had been my first ever ‘proper’ relationship, my first ever foray in to the strange landscape that I knew as ‘Love’. The sex was intense, the passion deep, the friendship solid. But.

But.

She was mad. Madder than a ferret in a trouser factory. In the space of six months, I had been beaten up (and could never bring myself to retaliate or restrain – you just don’t do that to women), accused of serial misdemeanours involving people I’d never even met, been told I was to be a father on no less than four occasions (each of which miscarried after a day or two), been told that I’d never get anyone better than her, been told that I’d never make it through my college course let alone make it to University, been followed by her and her Dad and been physically thrown out of a pub because she told the landlord that I was bothering her and she’d never met me before. She found this funny.

I could not dump her myself, not if I wanted to live. This was one of those situations where you have to convince the other person that the dumping is their idea, and their idea only. And so I found myself taking her to work with me and have her sit at the bar while I did what barmen do best – flirt with barmaids and patrons. She came to a play I was in where I had to kiss another girl. I started becoming distant, disappearing to make phone calls to ‘no-one’. All of which lead me to being sat in a bed, the covers pulled up to my chin, being straddled by a girl in nothing but high-heeled black shoes.

She looked deep in to me, in to my soul. And she said “this isn’t working, is it?”

I took a deep breath. Even then, I didn’t do so well with confrontation. “No,” I said “it isn’t.”

I then had the most bizarre break up ever. She sat in front of me, stark naked, and we talked out our relationship. I was finally honest about why I thought it wasn’t working, and was honest about my behaviour. The strange thing was that she understood – she had, in her own way, been trying to show me that she cared for me and wanted to be happy with me, and sometimes took it too far.

The talk turned deeper and deeper and deeper, and we ended up in each other’s arms, crying like small children.

This was the only time that I ever proceeded to have break up sex. Which, given the circumstances, was the most intimate, honest moment we ever shared with each other. We’re still friends now. She’s a child psychologist, yet whenever I see her I can’t help but remember the high heeled black shoes...
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 13:33, 8 replies)

you
lucky, lucky bastard.

have a click
(Bazongaloid, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 13:39, closed)

*Click
Not just for the shoes, oh no. Not just because of their black leather shininess...
( Fireflier La la la la, not listening on, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 13:39, closed)

After I'd read only the first paragraph
I thought this was a Frankspencer post.

But then it got serious instead of ridiculous.

*click*
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 13:39, closed)

*click*
To be honest though, mostly for the phrase "madder than a ferret in a trouser factory".
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 13:43, closed)

awww
that seems mad yet scarily normal, somehow.
*compassions*
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 13:46, closed)

^K2k6
I thought the same thing! Franks plan to mess with everyones mind is obviously working...
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 14:10, closed)

wow.
you deserve a medal, mate. not just for putting up with all her craziness(btw, if a girl hits you, i think you should be allowed to hit her back), but for the frank, honest and open way you finally ended it.
well done.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 7 Jun 2008, 0:18, closed)