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This is a question Stalked

Have you been stalked? Or have you done the stalking? Is that you in the bushes outside with the nightvision goggles?

(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 15:40)
Pages: Latest, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, ... 1

This question is now closed.

scientology;I worked there briefly a few years back, really got into the books , looked up the nearest center and bingo - was going a few times during the week and training up as an 'auditor' (a dianetic one not the scientology ones with the e-meters)

as the books got me in, it was curiousity and some healthy scepticism that got me out( reading Russell Miller's brilliant 'Bare Faced Messiah' played a good part - plus hearing of OT* level people who'd left as well as some internal scandals)

one of the notable events during my stay was a meeting with two representatives from Saint Hill (Mind fuck HQ in East Grinstead) - two gorgeous girls in quasi naval uniforms asking me to sign their '1 billion year contract '-( Scientolgists believe in reincarnation ), no doubt if I was a gal or gay they'd have been two hunks to try to persuade me

needless to say I politely declined

to cut a long story short I left and near the end I found myself being send to the 'ethics officer' (like the stasi, with bells on) with increasing frequency, no doubt because I was asking too many questions at this stage

the stalking came later with phone calls to my family and any other numbers they found they could reach me on from very dedicated members at Saint Hill, asking me if I'd like to return

it only stopped after I had a lengthy discussion with the guy on the other end of the phone trying to convince him about some home truths the org likes to hide from its members - no doubt my file was stamped SP (supressive personality) and 'Enemy of Scientolgy' from that point onwards, which means I now have little hope of achieving OT level 8 and the ability to exteriorise my mind from my body - which is a shame

operation clambake is a good website to expose the org :) and the name is derived from a scientology in joke

some more info I've posted before for the curious:

that said some techniques within scientology do work but only because they're based on little known truths (alot like Derren Brown operates - discovering esoteric info the majority of us are seldom exposed to in this narrow educational structure and system - and that's a bigger and more interesting story in itself ;)) and I still have yet to find a better explaination of how hypnotism works than the one contained in Hubbard's original Dianetics book

NB: OT* means Operating Thetan (EDIT: Theta is the greek letter Hubbard adopted for spirit) which is a being who has complete control over the 'MEST' universe as Hubbard calls it (Matter. Energy. Space and Time), which is nice

BTW: it only became a 'church' in the 60s after Hubbard realised he could avoid being taxed by the IRS if he achieved religion status - before then it was deemed 'a new branch of science'(Dianetics/ the science of the mind)
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 15:35, 18 replies)
…Is always being stalked. He’s in an up and coming rock band and is quite handsome so he has had a lot of girlfriends over the years.

I’m constantly getting the evils from dizzy young girls who fancy him or getting aggro from his ex’s/old one night stands. I wouldn’t mind if they were still raw about things but we’ve been together for 4 years now so we're talking relationships from a long time back.

The worst culprit - One of his old `ten to two’ers’ (you know the kind – you’re single and on a night out and are desperate not to go home empty handed so you grab someone lower than your regular standard at 10 to 2 before the club closes)

She works in our local pub and we often used go there for Sun lunch. Every time we went the stupid cow would plonk herself opposite him and remind him in front of me how she took him home once and met his parents (not willingly on his part-she wouldn’t go until he’d agreed to let her into his house where he lived with his Ma and Pa the morning after) It was a one night stand FFS!

I make it quite clear that I don't like her and yet she still does it. We barely speak to her and often walk away whilst she’s talking – I can’t quite bring myself to just tell her to FUCK OFF! We stopped going there in the end and now go to a local pub in the opposite direction. Amazingly we have spotted her in her car there an a few occasions. She waves and screams `Hiya Jonny!!!’ so we stopped going there too.

We were out at a club last weekend when she flounced in and tried talking to us. I said Hi and then turned my back and my boy did the same. I went off to dance and she was just stood by the dance floor staring at me for 10 minutes. Can’t blame her really since I am a blonde fetish model and she is quite odd looking. I stopped dancing, stood still and glared back at her til she fucked off.

When I saw Jonny a little while later he said she had been giving her grief about the way he treated her all those 8 years ago and how he’s a nasty piece of work, etc etc.

Next time I see her I’m just gonna tell her to FUCK OFF and save myself the misery!

Glad to get that off my chest! Cheers guys!
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 15:26, 6 replies)
Not quite on topic, but as Che says, it's nearly Thursday....

I had a call a couple of weeks ago from a bloke called Gordon, who said he represented the local self-help association for sufferers of paranoia. They were holding a function to raise money for the association and wanted a band to play at it, hence the call to me. I said I'd check with the boys in the band and asked him to call back in a day or two.

A couple of days later, the drummer happened to be round at my house, and I was telling him about the gig, when the phone went. I answered it.

"Hello, this is Gordon from the paranoia association", said the caller.

"Oh, hi Gordon", I replied, "We were just talking about you."

He put the phone down.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 15:13, 8 replies)
A very readable account of one honest man's fight, against huge odds, in trying to get to the root of the probable 'shoot to kill' policy in Northern Ireland, and subsequently clear his name from false allegations of sleaze.

/well, it's nearly Thursday...
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 13:52, 5 replies)
I think my boss is stalking me...
She's doing a bloody good job of it though, I've not seen her or caught her at it.

The only thing that gives me suspicion is that when I started, she wants loads of my details. Phone number, address, e-mail address, national insurance number, bank details. It was slightly worrying to be honest, but then she gave me a look of "I hired you, I can fire you!" so I handed it over.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 11:43, 3 replies)
stalked by gayers
At uni, our house backed on to a terrace in which a trio of light-footed gents lived. Engorged by the sight of our pasty and withered limbs in our back garden, they began to post homo-erotic magazines through our letter box inviting us to the next gay club night in town (usually called "Thrust" or "Twink" or "Ream" or suchlike).

I recall glancing through said magazines (as a purely cultural exercise) and being struck by the number of apparently very young, clean-shaven boys looking for something in their (or someone else's) trousers. A few of them looked very like people I knew.

This went on for some days and my conservative, uptight housemates became so paranoid that they barricaded the doors and locked windows at night in case there was an SAS-style homo raid during the night, during which their arses would be violated.

In the end, we opted to paste up a massive sign in the windows proclaiming our straightness. They apologised and left us alone after that.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 11:42, 1 reply)
Purple Aki
Has anyone heard of this guy? He strolls the streets of liverpool stopping and asking young lads to feel his muscles, or vice versa...

He normally asks them to perform squat thrusts and lunges whilst he mentions how strong they are.... if you think im messing your wrong, hes been in and out of jail for his actions, and also been mentioned on BBC North West Tonight.

he even has a wiki on wikipedia....


What troubles me - is that people actually do as they are told and perform stupid exercises - in the middle of liverpools main shopping street. Saying that- he is about 6'6" and about 20st.... :S

edit: ive just noticed B3TA is on the wikipedia references list.... B3TA - used as a reference!!!!... people use that site for coursework hahahaha...
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 11:28, 15 replies)
I'm stalking recruitment agencies
One of the agencies who held my application to ransom for all my personal details is fond of sending me little ditties and tips about how best to find a job. These include such stellar hints as "Don't go to the interview loaded on smack and puke in the panel's faces." And these little notes are always utterly illiterate, clunking pieces of badly punctuated crap. So I return each of them to a named person, correcting each mistake and lambasting them for insulting my intelligence with such patronising shite. But they still keep sending them, along with 'suitable jobs' such as "Sprat Fisherman, Aberdeen."

The other day, the computer at Reed Recruitment send me a list of suitable jobs, not one of which met my profile, So I applied for some of them anyway, advising a huge corporate accountants in London that I lacked every single one of their requirements but that they should employ me anyway because Reed say I'm a match.

I'll bring them down. If if it's the last thing I do.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 11:09, 16 replies)
I was stalked once.
I was in a relationshit with a rather posh, rich and to be fair, a fairly attractive woman for several years. The relationshit was not perfect, I never really cared that much for her, but it had become routine I suppose. After a few years I had had enough of her selfishness and her fucking spoilt kids and I decided to end it.

Several months later I met my lovely partner, Mrs Hood-Butter, who I now live with and adore. In the early days of us being together, my ex heard about it and began sending me notes, texts and the occasional phone call. I completely ignored it as this woman was so up her own arse, she probably only wanted me back to score points. Why should I be lucky enough to find happiness and not her?

The ex then began a campaign to get me back. She even offered to sell her house, worth about three quaters of a million quid and buy me a house with a studio. Something she knew I had always wanted. No ammount of money would ever be enough to leave Mrs HB and she knew this, so she decided to start playing dirty. First she would ring me to ask where I had been whenever I went to stay with my new partner. Then, one night on my way home from work in London, I got a call from her, rather upset as she had got a letter from my ex telling her how we were still together and that we had been sleeping together behind her back. The damn woman seemed to know where I was all the time and had used this information to gain credibility too.

One evening, we were all (Me, Mrs HB and her two boys) sitting in the front room eating dinner when my ex appeared at the door. She walked right in, uninvited and started to blurt out more crap to try to split us up. She had told Mrs HB about all the imaginary times we had spent nights together, some of them were when I was not about but she dropped a clanger when she said that I had been with her the previous weekend, when we had been away together. I was quite relieved as I was getting concerned that it was only a matter of time before my lovely woman would begin to think there may be some truth behind it all. I slung her out of the house and told her never to return. The stalking continued until she realised that there was no way she would ever win, and a strong letter telling her that I would report this to the police and have her arrested. I honestly think that if it weren't for her mistake, she would have continued the stalking for who knows how long.

Mrs HB and I are still living together in a new house and I now have my own studio at the back of the house. It's actually one of the best production studios around. You can hear some of our work on our myspaz www.myspace.com/fasttracksstudios

The ex? She began dating some of my old friends, spouting crap about me and losing them very quickly as a result. I can only say that maybe I should have acted differently when I split with my ex, by lauching by boot up her clunge, hard, and repeated several times. I'm so lucky. Most women would not be too keen on my work. My ex was definately one of them and even managed to get me sacked from a well known London studio. I work in the music business, managing stages at rock festivals, I'm 55 soon and still play in bands and she wants to be a part of it. She now does the backstage catering while I'm running the stage. She never insists on turning the TV over when I'm watching Top Gear or The Gadget Show, or a good old filthy comedy as they are her favourite programmes too. She is even a b3tan and we run regular bashes together and she now supports my latest venture as a filthy mouthed stand up comic. How cool is that!?
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 11:00, 8 replies)
I suppose I was stalked.
I had a girlfriend I didn't seem to be able to break up with. Every day I'd make sure she was clear that we'd split, then every morning I'd wake up with her next to me in bed. My flatmate would let her in because she felt sorry for her. Then she'd just hang around and talk crap at me all day while I tried to think of a dumping solution that wasn't too mean.
Sometimes I'd pick up my phone and see she'd called me 30 times in the last hour. The phone would ring again, I'd grudgingly answer and she would always have nothing to say to me besides "I'm watching TV".
Then one day I didn't hear from her at all. Instead of being relieved I grew increasingly worried. After a couple of days her friend called me. It turned out she'd had a complete schitzophrenic breakdown and was locked up in a pretty appalling mental hospital, so drugged up she couldn't even talk.
Now it's 6 years later and she's out of the hospital. After extensive ECT she's well enough to be out in the real world, but I doubt she'll ever be able to get a normal job, for example. I still keep in contact with her and she has long stopped following me around, but I'll always have this feeling guilt that I'm to blame.
Sorry, not a very funny story.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 10:03, 1 reply)
Stalked by mobile
Met someone through t'interweb who seemed (I know, I know...) very nice. After some months chatting, we swapped phone numbers, had some fairly steamy calls, then met up - fun times were had by both.

Then the weirdness started - she went back home to Scotland (I live near Cambridge) and I started getting calls from her saying she KNEW I was seeing someone else (I wasn't). I of course denied this and next time we met up all was sexy goodness once more...until she got home again - then the psycho rants began in earnest.

Now at this point I should have cut my losses and run for the hills (well, I did spend some time in Beirut which was a nice change...), instead I tried reasoning with her - to no avail.

It all came on top when I was playing snooker with a mate one Saturday - my phone was going non-stop with texts from her, all accusing me of being with another woman. As my protests got me nowhere, I told her I'd had enough and it was over, then turned off my phone to continue the game (of snooker).

Switched on my phone after the game to find numerous messages, all ranting. Then I got a call from a strange number...it was her brothers (!) who then proceeded to threaten me over the phone from nearly 400 miles away. I laughed at them and suggested they get a little closer and try saying the same. They seemed to get a little miffed at me laughing like a loon down the phone at them.

A few days later, I was returning home from an evening imbibing some of the local brews in town and I got another call from yet another strange number...now, bearing in mind I was the one being accused of cheating, this really took the biscuit - it was her HUSBAND.

After the initial shock, I found this completely hilarious - he also made some threatening noises at me (I'm sure not all you Scots are lunatics, but seems I've met/spoke to a fair few). I interrupted him to say I'd told her to fuck off, leave me alone and delete my numbers and requested that he do the same.

Anyhoo, wasn't for another 8 months or so that her calls stopped when I lent my phone to the present significant other - to this day I've not been told exactly what was said, but it worked...

Sorry for the boring post, just had to let it out (phnar, phnar)

Oh yeah, the length thing...think I got a 34 break at snooker that day.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 9:17, Reply)
Hope I'm not fucking up the rules.
Interesting short story in a similar vein to this QOTW.

(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 8:23, Reply)
STALKER!! "She really should consider seeing a good psychologist!"
When Sir Pig and I first started seeing each other, he had a stalker. Everywhere we went she'd show up.

Now, if we had kept our outings within the same suburb, or even within the immediate proximity of a suburb, you could quite easily rationalise this as being a simple example of probability put into practice. However, when your venue varies from 25-30 km away, and in differing directions, it becomes quite disconcerting when "the stalker" just happens to "bump" into you. Especially when the choice of venue has been decided upon in an incredibly spontaneous manner!!

Had she been with friends at any of these times, you could, I guess, argue that it was just one of life's uncanny circumstances (although I really do think you'd be clutching at straws), but when "the stalker", is 99% of the time by herself, it really stands out all the more.

At the time I didn't think to check in the shadows of the night when we'd been parking, though in hindsight, I think this is a good thing, if for no other reason other than to preserve my sanity.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 6:48, Reply)
in no uncertain terms.
so i was at the cattle market, dreamily watching cows do cowy things when out jumped this ratty looking whealer dealer of a man, claiming he would sell me the very stuff of dreams.

maybe it was the subtle aroma of cow-pat in the air, but one look at those beans and all thoughts of cow left my mind.

i got back, excited to tell how rich we'd be... magic beans! imagine that! but it turns out i was on my own, and after a swift cuff round the ear i was slightly disheartened.

still, waste not want not...i made chille con carne and put it away to eat later. psch... who needs a cow stinkin' up the place when you've got home-made chille con carne right?

i settled down for a well earned nap.

next thing i know i awake to hear people outside screaming 'AAARRRGGGHHHH GIANT!'
turns out one had been fee-fi-fo-fumming his way across the neighbourhood eating people like vol-au-vents.

but, curiously, that hadn't caught my attention.
nor was it the structural damage to the house, nor, in fact, the enourmous plant growing upwards through the house.

father quite likes his chille con carne
and he'd been stalked alright.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 3:54, 2 replies)
Third Times The Charm
---Warnings for length and slight lack of funnies---

Lemme see, stalkers...Going forwards, from first to most recent:

1. 'The Sniffer'. So dubbed, aptly enough, for the fact that if I ever went out without her and returned home, she would begin smelling my clothes for perfume and other 'obvious' signs of foul play. At first it was subtle, she'd pick up a shirt I'd tossed to the floor and pass it off as smelling what cologne I'd been wearing that night. More the fool, I guess. After a while, it became much more obvious what she was doing, as she started sniffing my clothes with a fervour saved only for fetishists, then moved on to sniffing ME, literally striding up to me and catching a sniff at my neck for any scents of lipstick, makeup or perfume.

She wasn't entirely nuts, though, and when I did break it off she only threw a mild fit, involving one of my favourite ashtrays being introduced to my cheek. Thankfully she threw like a girl, and I was spared dental dramas.

Oh, it gets better, don't worry...

2. 'Lady Text-a-lot'. I think the name speaks for itself, but neglects to inform that this isn't just for text messaging. Plenty of stories on here about stalkers who lurk your Bebo/Facebook/Myspace, send unwanted and irritating text messages, emails, that whole stint. Yeah, I do wonder these days whether there was a night class they learned it, and whether Lady Text-a-lot was the instructor. I had to daily wipe my cellphones inbox to clear space for REAL messages, my Bebo (since I'm a philistine and refuse to bother using Facebook properly) was inundated by shite little messages which, as would be expected, followed the basic pattern of 'Hey how r u? xxx', moving on to 'Y havnt u msged me bk yet?', to my favourite, 'Fyne, f u, dickhed'.

Wouldn't mind, would even understand if I was actively dodging her, but despite her ultra-clinginess, she was actually a fairly pleasant person to chat with, and got the drift quickly that it was strictly 'drinking buddies' turf only for her and I. However, her messages would span a grand total of half an hour from start to finish...

Almost immediately followed by 'Im sorry, I jus miss u'.

The cuckoos were singing, but the brain wasn't listening...Eventually, she moved away, and in a rather anti-climactic finish, she simply dwindled from the radar. Kinda glad, really. She seemed like the sort who'd have been a real bunny-boiler, and after a friend of a friend had a brief fling with her shortly before her move, it had been strongly hinted to be true.

Finally, my finale, and my tale of two years of absolute hell.

3. 'The Loon'. No insults to our own TRL, this name was there long before I ever graced b3ta.

As a young Downie, of a whole, grand 17 years of age and around the time of my first real, big-boy job, I was involved with a nice little strumpet named Jones (for that was what we called her prior to 'The Loon'.). Nice lass, not exactly the sharpest knife in the block, but nice all the same.

So I thought, anyway.

It started simple, and things that you get used to expecting in relationships once the 'honeymoon period' ends, a little mood change if you were out too long on a night out, a few loaded questions if you were late from work...I was prepared for such things, and having not actually done anything wrong, simply took it with a smile and a nod. My new job kept me late once or twice a fortnight, so I wasn't able to phone/text or pop round to see her, instead opting to just get some sleep for the next day.

After a while, this quickly progressed to the sharp texts, hinting that I was 'cheating on her with some slapper from work'. Now, I'm not an ugly bloke, but I'm certainly no Brad Pitt. Female attention is always welcome, but I know better than to piss off the ones who actually tolerate you. Besides, there was only one 'girl' at my job (as a junior sales consultant, which at 17 is about as fancy as you can get), and the 'girl' was around 40, morbidly obese and with the general demeanour of a Rottweiler with PMS. Constantly.

Yeah, I was apparently pumping the arse off of this on a nightly basis.


Moving on, once that drama subsided (after actually SHOWING her the PMS-ridden hound), I think there was a grace period where she must have thought "I'm being irrational, surely I'm overreacting somewhat.".

I thought, but then, it was probably the medication she was put on. Enough said.

After the typical escalation into paranoia at my actions and general suspiciousness at all of my female friends, some of whom were in relationships longer than I'd known them to which it didn't stop the Loon from effectively cutting all my ties with them, not to mention getting me a kicking from one of said friends partners over certain disparaging remarks I'd made. Needless to say, I'd made no such remarks.

Yep, you guessed it.

Said beating now a little while down the road, and me still none the wiser as to the purpose for it, I returned late from work one last time for what was inevitably the straw to break the camels back. Rather inebriated on a mixture of cheap vodka and whatever other concoctions she'd thrown together, I was charged at with a bread knife.

Now, I'm a reasonably large guy, just shy of six feet and built well enough to look after myself, she was about five feet six on her tiptoes and about 90 pounds soaking wet.

I'm not ashamed to say I ran like a girl, frankly, she'd have done it, and I quite like my oxygen habit.

Cue around three, four more months of phone calls and persistent grovelling apologies, mixed with a good dose of threats of suicide and the like, before her mum had her 'evaluated' for her own safety.

Bloody mental, but the sex was worth it. I also thankfully managed to reconcile with the friends she alienated me from, and am reasonably good friends with the boyfriend who dealt me a kicking after things came to light.

Just glad I didn't end up getting the John Bobbit treatment, goodness knows it was threatened once or twice.

No apologies for length, the ladies love it.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 3:09, 3 replies)
I was replying to a post earlier
and I happened to mention a friend of mine who, while a nice, quiet fellow with a girlfriend of over a year, is a bit........ odd at times. Too much info about sex life, makes odd remarks (like talking about "bonding".... Scottish males do NOT bond) He's recently become unemployed, and as I am too, we've taken to dossing about some days, having a game of snooker, stuff like that, he's a fair bit younger than me and I've known him for a couple of years now, so I kind of thought he was just trying to impress the bigger boys at first, which is probably what it is. He's had a rough old life and I think... *think* he sees me as someone he can talk to without having the piss taken.

My other mate, his cousin, commented last week that he thinks this guy fancies me. This would not alarm me, but the thought had crossed my mind on it's own.

As I was writing my reply, a few hours ago, I got a text from him asking what I was up to. I said I was going out, which I was. Finished writing my reply and posted it.

Knock at the door.

First words were "What time are you going out at?"

Oddly, I was just leaving at that exact moment.........
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 2:13, 2 replies)
Motorway madness
First post and it's only little,
Driving down any motorway and getting stuck in any large jam involves boredom, lots of BoreDOM. So take out your trusty mobile telphonic and call / text any number written on the side of any van in site ..."I'm watching you, I know where you are". If you can see the driver as he/she checks mobile 'tis most amusing.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 0:07, Reply)
Ive realised over this week
that theres been a slight increase in new B3tans joining, perhaps the regulars's stalkers have caught up to em after they saw there names being mentioned?
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 23:41, 1 reply)
I've had a few experiences of stalkers
And not just my own. An ex colleague of mine used to work with 'misguided youths' who had a habit of attaching themselves to people who took an interest in them and appeared to really care about their well being. Many a time I've had to politely ask people to leave the office as it's the third time that week they have 'popped in for a chat' or continually ringing the phone.

But, discounting my ex, I have had two stalkers all of my very own. The first was when I was a just a girl of 16, newly engaged and then dumped, when I got an text inviting me to a bit of a shindig down the road. 'Excellent' methinks and off I toddle. When I get there, it seems to be a strictly lads only party and surprise surprise, I appear to be the entertainment. But being a boozehound, I stay for a few free drinks and a smoke before fucking off home. Out of the six boys there, there was only one I didn't know. Unbeknownst to me, he had taken a bit of a shine to me and had begged for my phone number, and had got it from a friend of a friend of a friend.

The texts started off pleasant enough, 'Hi, it's xxxx from the other night' etc before turning into filthy messages describing exactly what he had planned for me, if he got the chance. Visiting friends would see him standing on the street corner by my house, hidden partially in a field you could see from my window and a few times, at the end of my driveway. We tried to deal with him ourselves, asking him to leave me alone and such, but sadly, I had to get my then boyfriend to sort it out.

The second was a weirdo from the interweb. We had been chatting for months before realising he had just moved to my area. We decided to meet up for a drink, fetching a carryout on the way and set up camp in the local beauty spot. He seemed strange from the moment I met him. He had visably lied about his height and where he lived. He had slash marks up and down his arm which he had pulled his sleeve up and made reference to them constantly, to make sure I noticed them. He had been telling me he was single, but now he had a fioncee? It was all a bit creepy so I blocked him and tried to forget.

But as we had been chatting for so long, he knew more than I thought. Where I worked, how I got there, work hours and where I lived. I would see him through my office window, just standing and staring, sitting behind me on the train, then the bus when I switched to get away from him. He would come in to my office when I was at lunch and fiddle with leaflets, hanging around my desk until I explained to my boss what was happening, and he was no longer allowed in. Then he began following me home, just staring, never saying a word. I worked myself into such a state, my now boyfriend began stalking my stalker in an attempt to get him to realise what it was like and surprisingly, it worked.
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 23:29, Reply)
Checkout psycho
I was given the number of a girl who was a friend of a friend, and she texted me, a lot... so we met up eventually after much persuading, and we didn't hit it off at all, well I didn't think we did. She thought otherwise and was constantly sending me pics of her ladyparts, which as she was quite a large lady was not the most plesant images I've ever seen. She worked (and probably still does) at one of the local supermarkets, and if she saw me shopping and I didn't go to her till she'd pester me with texts as to why. Eventually I got a free sim card from my provider, put a fiver on it and put in my old phone telling her that was my new number. I haven't switched that phone on since, and I no longer shop at that supermarket. Job done I think.
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 23:28, 2 replies)
"What colour socks are you wearing?"
Well, it's not me - but:

An old junior school mate of mine spent several months as a teenager being confronted by a profoundly odd fellow who simply asked him, every time he set out for school, "What colour socks are you wearing?"

The bloke was eventually carted off to the loony bin.
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 23:24, Reply)
Therese's Tale
This is another response to Che's story on the first page. Strangely enough I wrote this before reading chickenlady's and there are some silmilarities.

I've left out the sex. 3 stabs at it seems enough (pun intended)


Springtime in Paris. It seems like a lifetime ago.

It was 1985, I was living with Phillipe, we’d been together for 5 years and the white hot flame of our passion had burned itself out, and turned to cold ashes in my mouth. The day to day drudgery of his job in a small bakery, had changed his excitement at every new morning, to wearied resignation. I worked in a youth hostel - we tried our best to help the young people that came through our doors, but steady friendships with this ever changing flotsam and jetsam proved to be difficult. I loved my job though, even though I was only 32 at the time, I became a Maman to many of the rootless dreamers who passed through our doors. I tried to be available to listen to their problems, sort out their worries, hold their hands as they took their stumbling steps into a world obsessed with possessions and material wealth. They kept me young I suppose, and the sadder and more introspective Phillipe became, the more hours I spent at work, vainly trying to recapture that excitement and joy which was so missing in my life at home.

And then there came Nass. Little tiny Nass. So well travelled, so proud of her “Frenchness” she made me ashamed sometimes of the existence I was leading - her life was so FULL. She had dozens of friends; they always seemed to be laughing or arguing good-naturedly , I must confess that I was jealous of her and her friendly gang. Their lives stretched ahead of them, glittering and open to any possibilities. Strangely enough I think Nass sensed my unhappiness, and in a delightful reversal I found myself taken under HER wing. She included me in little outings, and suddenly I felt 19 again. God, we had such fun.

And then it happened. Che came to stay for a weekend. I’ve always loved the English; their humour, the romance that burns within them which they repress so utterly, they almost seem afraid of their passions so they gloss it over with their little jokes and sarcasm. Che was funny. His accent was dreadful, but I found it beyond sexy. He was Nass’ best friend, but I wanted him so much it actually hurt. One night we all sat around “On va au cinoche ce soir?” I asked, I had been led to believe that we were all going out to watch a film that he was very interested in. I wanted to get out of the hostel and into the night.

I pulled Nass to one side, “Are you and Che an item?” I asked as casually as I could. I think I blushed. I know that my mouth was working but my brain was screaming “What are you doing? What about Phillipe?” I got around that problem by employing some brain police to tie up Mr.Morality and keep him under armed guard. Nass’ eyes flicked as she stared at me. I shuffled my feet, embarrassed. “No, Therese, we are not an item” she placed a gentle hand on my arm, “Don’t let him hurt you” she whispered and turned from me.

I watched his hands as we sat on the train. His hands were strangely beautiful, he had long fingers which tapered suddenly to a gentle point. His nails were clean and well cared for. He was utterly unaware of my inclusion in the group. He chattered away, when he laughed I felt an odd little thrill that I hadn’t felt in years. I sat next to him in the cinema. I could not get comfortable. My trousers felt too tight, they rubbed against me pleasurably, but I throbbed and writhed. I ached to touch him. He was absorbed in the film, so I shifted and fidgeted, twitched and “accidentally” rubbed against him throughout the whole film. He did not bat an eyelash. THE FRUSTRATION! I could not tell you the first thing about “Brazil” I did not process one single word (apart from the fact that I hate subtitled films!) and I have never been able to sit through it since.

The train ride home. The train ride home was when I started making my move. (Mr.Morality started struggling a little bit, but the brain police administered a gag which seemed to help) I used all the old tricks. I leant forward a little too much, I hung on his every word (although to be honest his accent was so endearing I really, really did listen to him very closely) Finally he noticed me. Although, thinking back quite a lot of his conversation was directed my chest - Hey, he was English!

I had made sure that I had stocked up very well on some pretty average red wine. We all tumbled into my room at the hostel. I had taken a room of my own by then, I claimed that I needed to be close for some of the bad cases that came through our door. The truth was that by now, I was happier at work than I could ever be at home. (Phillipe had just shrugged when I told him) I kept a close eye on HIS glass, and topped him up whenever he ran short. I drank water. Eventually, I leaned towards him and whispered in his ear “would you like to take a shower with me?” his reaction was not what I expected. Shock, incredulity, fear and then finally, lust. (Thank God) We kissed, and kissed and kissed. The others must have left, I don’t remember.

We pulled down the bed and went at it like teenagers. Oh! The panting, sweating excitement of it all. When I fell asleep I dreamed of English castles, knights on chargers, and Phillipe.

The next morning at breakfast he asked me if I lived with my parents. I was astonished. A little worm of guilt started to eat my happiness. “No!” I laughed “I live with my boyfriend” He looked stricken. The worm turned into a snake. It writhed in my gut. What had I done?

We met once more. That afternoon. We went to a hotel that Phillipe and I had once gone to. It wasn’t the same. The sex was magnificent once more, but my heart wasn’t in it. The snake had turned into a basilisk and Mr Morality was well and truly freed from his gag and bounds. Phillipe, Phillipe.

We went for a coffee. He probably gazed adoringly into my eyes as he lit my cigarette with his zippo. He held my hands and promised to write. He left.

I went home. Sore from the sex, not only physically but emotionally. I opened the door to my apartment and found Phillipe crying on the sofa, smoke unfurling lazily from his cigarette. I froze. “I know” he croaked “I know where you’ve been”

I wrote to Che once. I was drunk and tired once more. He didn’t reply.

Phillipe and I married the following January. A cold, frosty wedding. We’re still together. He owns the bakery now, I left the hostel and raised a family. They’ve grown now and left my little nest.

Sometimes, when I’m on the train, I remember Che, smile and think, "Che La Vie"
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 18:13, 8 replies)
Gay porn
I was living in a fairly big apartment building in central Sydney. This building had more than it's fair share of freaks.

As usual I was running late for work, opened up my door, and lying wedged under my front door was a magazine. Didn't have time to go through it then, so tossed it inside.

When I got home, I took a look. It was a gay cruising magazine. I tossed it in the trash and went out for a beer.

While drinking with the boys, we came up with this bright theory. Some gay bloke in the building must have taken a shine to me, but he wasn't sure if I was gay or not. So he left the gay magazine there, with his phone number written on one of the pages. If I'm straight, I'm not going to read it. If I'm gay I read the magazine and give him a buzz.

Now while completely straight, I was rather curious as to what type of bloke I could actually score if I had to. So I went through every single page of the mag. With a fine tooth comb.

There was no phone number.

I've never worked out why someone shoved a gay cruising magazine under my door.

But onto the other stalking story of that building.

There was a fairly crazy middle aged asian woman who lived one floor under me. She never seemed to go to work, no idea how afforded the flat. One day I was chatting to her at the letterboxes and she handed me a package, telling me they had sent her 2 copies, and I could have one. Told me to let her know what I thought.

It was a video. A porn video. Starring older asian women. Getting butt fucked.

No I never knocked on her door.
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 17:24, 6 replies)
My new 'Friend'
First post ever! Didnt think I'd make it in time to post my little story, but there ya go :)

Anyway, I moved to Birmingham for work for 7 months... I didnt know anybody in the city so was quite lonely.

One day as I was walking home from the Train Station, this reasonably fat Jamaican guy stopped me and asked me for 20p. He looked respectable, so I gave him 20p (apparently was short for a ticket).

He then shook my hand quite vigourously and asked if I needed any friends? I thought this was kinda weird, but politely I said yeah, thinking we could meet up every once and while in a pub and exchange Brummie experiences and all. So he gave me his number and he took mine.

A few days later I got a text from him asking to meet up and do something. I wasnt actually keen, so told him to come and watch the Barcelona V Real Madrid game at my place with my housemates. He comes over, knocks on the door, and he is dressed like he is going out on a MAJOR date.

I introduce him to my housemates, give him a seat and offer him a beer. He keeps looking at me like he has no idea whats going on, like he expected something else?

We start watching the game and Im getting really into it, yelling at the screen and all, and I notice he is sitting there, obviously not a football fan, totally bored out of his mind. I payed no attention.

Games over, we all are tired and he says he will go home... cool.

The next couple of days Im just trying to forget about the awkwardness as I couldnt be bothered being nice to a weirdo. I get a text saying he HAS to see me.

This got me a bit worried, but I though FFS I might as well see what he's on about.

So I told him I'd be meeting a mate from London in this Irish pub down the road. Now this is a REAL Irish pub. The locals are hard as bloody nails.

Im sitting there having a drink, the Jamaican guy walks in, sees me, runs up to me and presents me with fucking PERFUME! Saying he bought me a gift!

Lets just say, I got out of the Irish pub VERY quickly and ran the fuck away from him!

After that, for about a month I got texts from this guy telling me he needs me and shit!

Was so damn scary. Im never going to Birmingahm again!
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 17:21, Reply)
Probably just my imagination....but,
first year of uni there was a guy in my tutor group, a few years older than the rest of us. He lived in the same halls as me (modelled on a Swedish womans prison if you believe the rumours) and always said hi when I saw him but that was as far as any conversation really ever went.
Now as he lived in my halls, was in my tutor group and had the same lectures, he would always be either in front or behind me when walking to campus with my mates, always! But fair enough, its bound to happen in that situation I guess.
However, whenever I got the bus to town he always seemed to be there, a few seats back & I’d clock him at least a couple of times whilst wandering the pound shops for birthday presents. And he was always in the union when I was there, even though I never saw him with a drink which rules him out as an alcoholic. Even when I got the train back home down south a couple of times, he was on it! Now I know it was all probably just a series of coincidences, but it did scare me a bit when once during my weekly swim I looked down to the pool floor to see him looking back up at me through a mask and scuba regulator!
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 17:21, 8 replies)
i stalked a guy at school for a couple of months, followed him everywhere, knew all his classes, and appeared wherever he was, in a slightly creepy way. eventually i asked him out, he said no, and, crushed, I gave up on him. Then he came and asked me to be his date for a dance after all the other girls he was after had said no. As I had/have no self esteem, I thought 'why not?'

We dated for about 9 months.
He then raped me.

I have NEVER stalked anyone since.

sorry for the grimness of this story, I had to get it off my chest somehow.
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 17:15, 6 replies)
Am I a stalker?
First pearoast so go easy on me!

I realised I was slightly stalking a girl yesterday (only slightly!).

I've been single for a fair few months now, and while I enjoyed that time, the novelty's starting to wear thin, so I'm currently window browsing rather enthusiastically. Some might call me "desperate". I do too.
This basically means I meet girls I think I might do well with and just admire them from a distance without doing anything constructive.
I met a girl in my regular pub who shall be named T, nice lass, but I've only encountered her a few times, also encountered her in a coffee shop I regularly enjoy. Chatted to her in the pub, she said she was going to the club later (Huddersfield's Camel Club, the place to be on a friday night!) so I was hoping to make moves there (my moves involve talking to girls until they bore of me and wander off). Alas she went home with a friend or something along those lines so moves were thoroughly unmade. Did the customary adding on facebook (stalkbook?) "Hi, how's it going?" on her wall, no reply.
Yesterday I had nothing to do with my day, so I was sat in, reading all the stalker stories. I tired of this so decided to meander into town. I'd rationalised in my brain that it was to buy some new trainers. It was actually an excuse for me to attempt to bump into T again, strike up a convo and then make babies. I told myself I was going to chill in the coffee shop with a coffee. I went in, looked around, she wasn't there, I exited sans coffee.
I bumped into a mate and we headed to aforementioned pub for a drink and some foods. I was also hoping to bump into her there.
Got a lift home with mate. I'd been contemplating going to the pub in the evening for the quiz. My usual accomplice in such affairs had other plans for the evening so I would be heading down alone, and bumping into some mates there. If it wasn't for the VAGUEST possibility that T might be there (past few times I'd been there, she had, so I was hoping she'd be there again) then I probably wouldn't have gone. She wasn't there.
Does this make me a stalker?
I was actually just trying to encounter her so I could strike up a conversation. I'm not shy or anything, I can talk to anyone. And I wasn't finding out where she lived or anything so I could stare at her while she washed dishes either! I was literally just trying to facilitate an encounter. Discrete stalking is pointless when you can talk them into bed!

I'm now hungover as I did bump into some mates inthe pub, had a good crack at the quiz, won some disturbing granny porn for the best team name ("Watch out!! Beadle's a corpse!!"), hit the club and got suitably bladdered.

I've never REALLY been stalked, but I became profficient in anti-stalking, obsessively actively avoiding someone. This pretty much started in sixth form, after getting friendly with characters I didn't really want to get too friendly with. I would avoid going to places they might be, I'd peak around every corner before going, I'd get in the habit of taking unnecessarily long routes to avoid a place they might be. I had the reactions of a cat when it came to pulling out my phone whenever I spotted them to pretend I was writing a text message!

But now, stalkers just need to log into facebook to find out everything they ever need to know about me. I like to give them a fighting chance, you know?

Right, I'm rambling and I need a poo so this ends here.

Length? I'll take a waterproof tape measure.

EDIT: By the way, I'm also going to the pub tonight, just for one bevvie, good chance she'll be there.
(, Tue 5 Feb 2008, 17:09, 3 replies)

This question is now closed.

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