Cheeky Scouser James.
Cheeky Scouser James attends the same school as me. He sits next to me but one in maths and in front of me in physics. Cheeky Scouser James, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. I may seem like your average, run-of-the-mill schoolfriend, I am not. I'm the phantom texter you threatened with police action.

I don't know where it came from, or why I did it. It just washed over me. This urge, this unstoppable desire to send you a scary text, and I swear at first I only intended it to be the one. I got your number from Bad Drunk Lisa, and sent you it. It was fairly innocent, that first text, odd, but not particularly meaningful.

"Would you still love me if I was in a wheelchair?" it asked.

"Who is this?" you replied, almost instantly.

I didn't answer.

Only Bad Drunk Lisa, Handsome Devil Wilson and myself were in on it, and we all found it so funny that we thought I should text you every day.

Text number two was less scay and more daft than the first, though I can see why two of these odd texts in as many days might have started to worry you.

"I saw a dolphin today, and thought of you."
Your reply was predictable.
"I think you have the wrong number." I didn't.

And so I became pavlovian in my texting, every day I would come home from school, make myself a coffee, grab the phone and text away.
I wish I'd saved all of our correspondance, so I could apologise for every one of my poetic messages.
The sexual ones ("My fallopian tubes ache with the memories of your juices") were a burden on my sexuality, and I'm sorry for lying. I don't have any fallopian tubes.

As your replies got more and more hostile, our correspondance began to way heavier and heavier upon my conscience, but before guilt could put an end to my morally shaky (and possibly felonious) ways, my lack of credit did.

Yes, Cheeky Scouser James, I felt bad when you announced that you were suicidal and started punching the fridge at that party on saturday, but I'm toping my phone up tommorow, and I just don't know what to do...
(Tip-Top Tomcat but you can call me Tommo, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 20:57, Reply)

OK - confession time.
The real reason why Konnie Huq left Blue Peter was so that she could come and live in a tent outside my house.

She says she loves me, but, really, she just stops the postman getting to the door.


Oh, Christ. She's banging on the living-room window wanting to be let in. Again.*






*Legal disclaimer: This post may contain elements of fantasy and downright lies. I really do have a living room with a window, though, and that's the important part; I think that the rest is merely detail, isn't it?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 20:41, 2 replies)

When I lived in Leeds, I used to get stalked by an ice-cream van.
During the spring and early summer, it would usually turn up near my street round about 8pm, and play a crappy synthesised version of the James Bond theme.

When I moved across town the next year, it turned up in my neighbourhood again, at the same time of year, playing the same crappy song, round about 8pm.

I've now moved 14 miles away to the next metropolitan district, and if it turns up for a third year running, I'll be 100% convinced the secret services are after me. Damn secret services. *twitch*
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 20:31, 1 reply)

Updated pearoast (come on, you knew I'd do this, this QOTW is made for me)
The Tale of Stalker Boy
(I'll condense this as much as I can, it's a long story.)

When I was nine or so a new kid joined my school in the middle of the year. Nothing new there, except my mum struck up a friendship with their mum, and invited them both round for tea. I was NOT happy. The problem?
He was a BOY! Ewwww! (if you're nine it's ewww, anyway.)
Anyway, we shall call him Andrew, for that is his name. And on meeting him properly my mum announced that he was 'such a lovely boy, so gifted at the piano' and more or less said "you be nice to him or ELSE." I wasn't keen on him, he used to call me stupid names and rubbed my cat's fur the wrong way (she bit him, woo). So yeah, he only put on the nice act for parents. Git. And because our mums were friends, he decided we absolutely HAD to be friends and so wherever I went in school I had a fat-kid shadow. Even though we had absolutely nothing in common and he smelt (like boys do when you're nine).
Yay. So obviously at that age all my little girlie friends were going "Andrew fancies Maladicta! Andrew fancies Maladicta!". Bearing in mind he's still the campest kid I've ever seen, but he never denied it. Such was his power over people's parents that when he claimed some of my friends had ganged up on him and kicked him to the ground (there were apparently five of them and he was twice the size of all of them) my mum wouldn't let me see them out of school for a month. I was only allowed to see him. So yeah, one-sided intense friendship.

Fast forward ten or so years and we're doing A-levels. He falls out with a mutual friend (a bitchy gay guy called Tris) and spends all his time whining to me about how unpopular he is and how mean Tris is being to him, and so on and so on. And at this point, it's just me and him doing A-levels in French and German, So just me and him in the classes. In between making disgusting stories up about me getting raped by our disturbing German teacher, he liked to report back to me everything mean people said about me and then say "Calm down dear, it's a commercial" when I got upset. After we finally left that dump and went to uni I spent my entire first term getting preachy emails off him going on about "you're far too eager to loose [sic] your virginity and that's not right. You must wait for the absolute perfect moment and the absolute perfect person..." - annoying enough as it is, but meanwhile he's shagging anything with a pulse and expects me to act differently. He also wanted to meet "anyone you even kiss once to see if they get my approval or not, and if I don't like him and he's not right for you I will sort him out!!!!!". And "How do you know your 'friends' at uni aren't talking about you right now? They don't know you like I do.", "How do you know he's not with you for a bet?", "I think you should come home every weekend so I can give you a big hug!!!!!"

There were hundreds of these emails, and basically, he was trying to undermine my confidence all the time, convince me everyone was out to get me and the only person I could trust in the world was him, because everyone else hated me, and so because he was my only friend I needed to spend £50 a week on coming home for about three hours. And in case you hadn't gathered, I was only allowed to have one friend. Him. Not to mention the lie he told me about how my parents asked him to tell them if a man even breathed on me - he begged me not to tell them I knew "because then they won't trust me any more...". He liked to smarm up to my parents every time he came over (uninvited, a lot) by asking them all about Wales, how he wanted to learn Welsh, and most annoying of all, he'd take the piss out of me in front of them for things he'd lost his temper over - stupid things like needing to go to the toilet during a film or get cash out would result in him yelling "OH FOR GOD'S SAKE! YOU HAVE NO COMMON SENSE!" and similar things, then going quiet on me for hours on end. He was a fucking nightmare and as he'd got himself in so deep with my parents (I'm convinced he fancies my mum) it took me months to convince them he was bad news and that no, I did not want him in the house ever again.

In the meantime, at the end of my first term at uni he invites himself down to stay (by telling my parents I'd invited him and by the time they mentioned it to me they were halfway there). Thank Eris it was the end of term because I'd told all my friends he wasn't my friend, but stalker boy, and I don't think I could have dealt with anyone I have respect for meeting him. So we spent a hellish day and a half with him wanting to meet up with all my friends so he could judge them, and giving me endless hours of lectures about 'forgive and forget' and the 'fun we had in our lessons' and 'what a special bond we have because of our languages'. That would be the same bond that only he can see.

It was the same a month or so before when I came home for a couple of days and the minute I got home he was there like a lovesick puppy. He backed me into a corner about coming to stay with him for a couple of days, and when I got on the train he rang me "Now then dear, you are on the right train, aren't you? The one that says Nottingham on the front?" (He always calls me 'dear', which is another thing that makes him such a prick.) And when I got off the train he grabbed me and hugged me (think the anti-escape orb from The Prisoner crossed with Homer Simpson) and said "Ooh, it's so good to see you, dear! By the way, everyone thinks you're my ex."
WTF? doesn't come close to what I said. So I had to spend a day or so with him and his surprisingly nice uni friends knowing that they all thought we'd... ewwwwwwwww (whatever age you are). So that was fun.

And finally, he was at his absolute worst Christmas 2004 - he invited me and my parents to theirs for Christmas dinner. Bear in mind my parents are at this point slowly coming round to the idea that he's an abusive cunt. We get there, and he hugs my mum and kisses her on the cheek, then does the same to me. Again, ewwwwwwww (you know what you do when scary lipsticky aunties with moustaches try to kiss you? Yep, I did that). He spent all of the time we were there trying to humiliate me by dragging up things from primary school and generally being his usual self "Ooh, do you remember when this happened, dear? Why don't you try the Elvis wig on? Does it still take you five hundred hours to get ready in the morning, and put on all your bloody make-up and do your hair and choose some shoes?". This is why I don't understand why any girl in her right mind wants to shag him.

Finally, he said it was time to open presents. He bought my mum a pot plant, my dad something random I don't remember and what did he buy me? A fucking lacy garter. "Er, thanks..."

The final thing he did that really pissed me off was his opinion of my choice of university. I go to uni in Canterbury, which is fairly sleepy and doesn't have the world's most intense nightlife, and I like it that way. He goes to Nottingham, with its 5000 clubs and someone getting raped, mugged or stabbed every day. He told me once "You live in a rosy little world there and it wouldn't hurt you to come into the real world..." (read: transfer to Nottingham so I can stalk you easier), and I said "At least I'm not afraid of being raped every time I leave my house." To which he replied "It'd do you good to have to worry about that, it'd toughen you up."

Since then I've blocked him on MSN, ignore all his calls and texts, and have not heard from the sick freak in two years nearly. Of course to do this, I had to move to Canterbury and my parents had to move to Wales.

I would apologise for length, but I'm guessing he has none. I'd rather not find out. Ever. Ewwwwwww.

More recent and non-pearoast stalkery escapades to follow...
( Maladicta, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 20:25, 12 replies)

Celebrity stalking....
I think Chris Packham (yes the blonde one off the really wid show that isn't a woman) is stalking me, I've spotted him several times looking very furtive. I haven't seen him in the last two years so either he has got better at remaining undetected or has given me up as a lot cause.
(lankymike, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 20:12, 2 replies)

mistake
I was once working on a boat in the Atlantic. From this boat various camera crews filmed pieces about Sperm whales and their dirty habits. One crew had a dumb blonde flirty busty presenter whose audience you could tell wouldn't give two hoots about how deep a whale can dive, they'd be too busy looking at the 2 hoots in the wetsuit. Talking to her it turned out her dad was a bit of an East London geezer who, more than once, would give her a stash of Gucci bags to sell to her 13 year old school mates.

Anyway, when she started in the presenting game she began to frequently see an older man sat on the wall of the house opposite her new pad of a morning. Convinced of impending dangers she told her dad of this filthy man. The next morning the man was there again so her dad, who was lying in wait, went over and kicked the shit out of him, apparently breaking his arm. After taking this slightly scary story on board, and finally wrestling my eyes from her bustier for the first time since i met her, i jokingly asked if there was a bus stop outside her place. She paused. Thought hard. And said there was. As the penny still hadn't dropped her producer had to explain to her that she'd probably been the cause of the capping of an innocent commuter. She still thought he was a stalker...

That wetsuit though.... Oooo
(bendyness shows you on the brick where he licked her, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 20:06, Reply)

The Jelly Voice (apaologies for length)
I fell in love with Edinburgh as soon as I arrived for the first time. Over a period of eighteen months I spent many, many weeks there, always staying in fabulous hotels in the centre of the city, flying in every Monday morning and home every Friday, and wandering around the streets and closes every night without a map, until I felt equally at home there as I did in my home town, if not more so.

Whilst my hotel was always in the centre of Edinburgh the building where I worked was out to the west, close to the airport, and so I had to use taxis to get there and back every day. Thankfully the company had a contract with a local taxi firm and, as I used them so often I was given a thick pad of triplicate dockets to carry with me, with which I could pay for my ride without exchanging cash. In order to use the dockets, however, you had to request an account taxi, which meant phoning the taxi firm to make a special booking. As I used the company twice every day I quickly became known to the firm so as soon as I said the words “could I have a contract taxi…” they would immediately ask if I was at the office or the hotel.

One of the telephone operators suddenly became very friendly though and used to engage me in conversation for a while every time I called. On one occasion I called from the hotel reception and she started to ask what I had done the night before, how I was, was I doing anything interesting that day and so on, until she added “anyway, the taxi has been outside for the last few minutes now,” and as I looked up I saw a somewhat bewildered driver walking around the reception looking for me.

“What’s she like?” I asked the driver. I told him what I knew about her and he told me that it sounded as though I was describing a particular lady and he told me her name. I asked what she was like. “Quite big, a bit of a nutter,” he said. That was enough for me.

As the days passed I found that every time I called for a taxi she would answer the phone and engage me in lengthy conversations. People around me in the office would stop their work to eavesdrop, eventually asking who I was talking to and when I replied that I was trying to book a taxi they just looked confused as they thought I was talking to an old friend, maybe even a loved one.

Her conversations became stranger and stranger every day until they reached something of a crescendo. “Everyone knows when you’re on the phone because I go all funny,” she said. “Your voice makes my legs go to jelly so everyone calls you the Jelly Voice.” I laughed this off at the time, but that evening things took a bit of a scary turn.

I went to a local restaurant for my evening meal, and then strolled around the city for a while before returning to my hotel. As I walked into my room and turned the light on I noticed a gift-wrapped parcel and an envelope on my dressing table. I opened the parcel and found that it was a single rose inside a long plastic box. The envelope contained a greetings card (I think it was a birthday card, but this was around October or November and my birthday is in June) but its printed greeting had been crossed out, “be my valentine” written in its place in biro. The card was signed by “an admirer” and I confess that I was baffled. I called the concierge and asked if he knew anything about it. He told me that a woman had brought the parcel and card and asked for them to deliver them to me before leaving. It was her.

That evening I worked until late, writing reports on the project I was working on at the time, and at around eleven o’clock my telephone rang. My parents often called me to see how I was but this was rather late for them, so my instant thought was that something terrible had happened such as a family illness. I answered the phone with a curious “hello?”

“Hi,” she said. Of course it was her. “Did you get anything tonight?”

“Well, there was a rose and a card in my room.”

“Do you like them?”

“Yes. Were they from you?”

“They might have been.”

“Well I’m very flattered. Thank you.”

The conversation continued, her telling me that she was in bed clad in her nightie, before asking if I was single and so on. I told her that I was, and she continued to talk, telling me her life story while I just sat there, frowning, and feeling very confused and rather scared to be honest.

“Just a minute,” she said at one point, before a quiet clunk indicated that she had put the phone to one side. I wondered what was happening for the time she was away, but when she came back on the line she unnerved me with the revelation that “I’ll be alright now – I’ve just had my injection.” I hoped that it was just insulin or something similar.

She kept me on the phone for over an hour, and only let me go when I told her I was getting up very early the next day as I had to be in work unusually early. We ended the conversation and I went to bed, as I imagine she did.

The next morning I was worried about calling for my usual taxi. I pleaded with the concierge for him to call on my behalf, explaining why and seeing him laugh in response. When I was leaving work that afternoon I asked a colleague to call for me, and from that day on I never called for a taxi myself whenever I was in Edinburgh. She terrified me, and I still feel a twinge of fear every time I go back up to Edinburgh for a weekend visit, the film “Misery” playing in my mind on a constant loop.
(nasalhair The Twix guy!, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 19:58, 1 reply)

Stalking by proxy
I went out with a girl for a few months. I wasn't so happy and I finished it. She was very upset (or at least that's what she wrote in the letters). And then she found happiness in the arms of another man. A nice bloke called Steve from Newcastle.

I then found another girlfriend. I stayed with her for a few years, we even moved in together. But I wasn't happy so I finished it. She was also very upset (but maybe less so as she didn't write any letters). And then she found happiness in the arms of another man. A nice bloke called Steve from Newcastle.

Yep, Steve had to spend several years listening to two women bitch about what a complete shit I am.

The story ends with me giving him a 6 hour long lift in my car back to Newcastle. We didn't mention my exes the whole way home.

Small towns, you've got to leave them as soon as you can.
(woodchopper likes chopping wood, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 19:33, Reply)

Scary shit
I had a Taxi driver who picked me up from Hospital a couple of times when I was very ill last year. It kind of got odd when I came outside one day to find him parked up outside my front door. Being stupid, I actually found him kind of cute and asked him to join me for a coffee. That was a very serious mistake. During coffee it became apparent rather quickly that he was on the interesting side of insane.

Things got really weird when he asked if he could send me photos of himself wanking.

The final straw was when I happened to look out of my bedroom window one night to see his car parked up and him staring at my window. He waved and I shut the curtain. He stayed there for three hours, watching my window and this went on for night after night.

Thankfully my house mate became a total cunt and I moved out, leaving said housemate with the mad bastard taxi driver for company. Both were mad cunts.
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 19:27, Reply)

Not exactly a stalker
but the woman behind Emma did pester me for a bit. She left spiteful messages on my myspace one Christmas trying to frame someone else, but her real self tried to make friends with me. I was a little wary thanks to my instincts though and I soon cottoned on to who she really was.
I wasn't too bothered, nothing compared to people who had experienced what she was pretending to have gone through.
( moogy boobles, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 19:24, Reply)

My fiancé
went to Caterpillar Nursery in 1986, I followed in 1991.

He went to shithole of schools Aylesford in 1994. He left in 1999, the year I started.

Getting closer...

Fast-forward to me being 15 and hormonally incompetent. My mum takes our ancient computer into the local shop.

By the time we leave the shop I know two things: That we needed a new computer, and that I wanted to break the new one as fast as possible so that I could see the very lovely young man who worked there again.

Unfortunately, I was 15, spotty, weird and absolutely useless with guys, while he was 20, an alcoholic and way cooler than I ever could have hoped to have been.

So I get to the age when I can reasonably expect to get a drink in a pub without being thrown out, and I happen to choose the same one that he plays pool in fairly regularly.

Still, I wait.

It takes 2 more years, a nasty breakup/rebound and a couple of vodka & lemonades before I actually go up and say hello outside of the shop. We've been together ever since and are now expecting our first baby.

And that's the story of how I accidentally stalked the man I will end up marrying...
(Marmite Omelette ...but I feel better having screamed, don't you?, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 19:08, Reply)

Freaky sexy girl
First QOTW.

So, there was this girl I worked with. When I started the job she was under the impression that I would be her assistant, because that's what she'd been told would happen by the bosses. In fact the opposite was true and I was the one that had to tell her this. Because of this I always felt a bit guilty and that I sort of owed her something.

She was 17, I was about 25. She was stunning and exactly my type. I'm a lanky geek. She flirted outrageously with everyone she could, and I wasn't intimidated by this and enjoyed giving as good as I got.

2 years or so later she was sacked for trying to start some kind of glamour model / porn agency online. Well, actually she was sacked for trying to start some kind of glamour model / porn agency online, using her work email, and printing out emails and leaving them on her desk.

Then she showed up and asked to borrow about £400 from me one day. I lent it to her - I would have done the same for any of my friends (although it's unlikely any of them would ask unless it was life-or-death).

Then she disappeared.

That's the backstory. One day a few years later she shows up at my flat, apologises for the money and everything, makes all the right sounds, and tells me that she's always fancied me and thinks I'm great. Much better than all the fella's she's had that have treated her badly. Ok says I (alarms were quietly ringing but she really was stunning, and about 24 by now), we'll go on a date or something. After this it went, over the next days, weeks and months :

Her : I've gone off you.
Me : Ok.

Her : I have no where to live, can I move in with you?
Me : For a week or two ok.

Her : I love you.
Me : Calm down.

Me : You'll have to leave you have a boyfriend with a flat why are you still here?
Her : Um I take your point.

Her : I love you.
Me : Ok chill out.

Her : I've taken lots of pills.
Me : Ok the hospital is just over the road lets go now.

Me : Where is my cash I left here?
Her : Are you accusing me of stealing?!

Her : Tharg has not given me any keys because he always likes to know where I am and have a bit of control over me.
My friends, who have known me for 10+ years and her for 2 weeks : Um ... okaaaayy...

Her : Tharg loves me ever since I said I fancied him 6 months ago [yes she was still there] and I feel a bit sorry for him.
My friends, who have known me for 10+ years and her for 2 weeks : Riiight.

Her : I love you.
Me : .....?!

Me : Ok I have had enough of not knowing what is happening in my flat. You don't even sleep there for the last 2 weeks why are you coming and going while I'm at work? I've changed the locks. Let me know when you want to pick up your stuff.
Her [on the phone to me in a pub with her new bloke] : YOU FUCKING CUNT WHY WON'T YOU GIVE ME MY STUFF BACK.

Yeah ok not really stalking but kind of.

What's that saying? "Sane, available and attractive. Pick two out of the three." Definately seems to be true for me.

Even in this cut down, flaccid version - apologies for length are appropriate.
(Tharg, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 19:05, Reply)

Blogging is EVIL
I write a fairly successful (if you call 200 people reading it a day) blog and have done so for a number of years, and people have seen me as a minor celebrity.

Sure, there's good parts (a couple of my readers did become more than readers for a little while), but a girl did stalk me.

She is from Llandudno, and found out where I live (damn Whois Lookup :(). I stupidly gave her my mobile number, and she used to park outside my house, looking in.

Now, the scary thing is that I accepted this for about six months, but then I found her blog.

She had been taking photos of me, putting them on the internet, and blogging about how hot I was and how I was going to be hers.

It freaked me out, immensely, so in the end I began taking photos of her and opening my own blog.

She didn't like that, and stopped.
(rhyswynne - on every social network mullarkey known to man, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 18:49, Reply)

Facebook
Is evil. I have stalked many people on there, but it has been useful. Most people are very boring :) Including me :)
( its_hatorah_bitch is b3ta the devil you know on, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 18:38, Reply)

The Classic?
I was stalked for about a month by my ex, who was convinced that I was going to take him back, despite my leaving him for someone else.

A few points: he lives in the same town as me and is on the same course as me in college (which made for awkwardness, let me tell you)

During his stalking period, he:

- Waited for me on my bus stop every morning, despite living the other end of town. (I started catching a later bus)
- Sat next to me on the bus to and from college, no matter how hard I protested
- Insisted on "walking me home" (and then loitered outside my house for about ten minutes)
- Asked for hugs constantly (I didn't hug him when we were together, so why he thought that would work I have no idea)
- Followed me into town one lunch and followed me and my new boyfriend around
- Phoned/texted me at least once a day
- Repeatedly badmouthed my new boyfriend when he knew I could hear

After he got the hint that I wasn't interested (From me telling him to fuck off, mainly), he moved on to my best friend and went through pretty much the same routine.

He also had a complaint made about him from another guy on my course. Apparently he was trying to molest him....

The really weird thing is that he still does it, although to a lesser degree now. He thinks we all love him.

We all think he's a cnut.
(TuftyBee should have been working on, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 18:33, Reply)

Email hacking! Divorce! Daleks! Tourette's! Happy ever after!
Would hacking into my ex-wife’s email account while we were still married count?

To be fair, it was just after we had split. And it was just the once. Despite her protestations to the contrary, I wasn’t totally convinced that there wasn’t someone else involved. But every time I confronted her, she would just clam up (thus contributing further to my emotional turmoil and overall feelings of ill ease). I’d hit a particularly low point by this time, and sharing the same living space wasn’t really helping. Whilst I wasn’t exactly sure of her email password, I had a pretty certain idea of what it may well be. Figuring I had three attempts, I waited for her to go out, and switched on our computer.

Bingo. First attempt took me straight into her account. I nervously scrolled down the page, looking for any subject titles that may prove to be vaguely incriminating, and found something from one of her mates titled ‘hang in there’. My finger hovered over the mouse. Should I? Shouldn’t I? What would I do if I read something I probably didn’t want to? Would I feel better, or worse?

‘Click’. Sheer adrenalin had taken over by this point. As I sat there reading the chain of correspondence, I could feel my stomach churning, and as the messages proved what I had dreaded, I sat there, numb. I switched off, and went to bed, trembling. I got very little, if any, sleep that night, as I contemplated what to do next.

It’s fair to say that this development greatly affected my direction over the next few years, and, it has to be said, for the better. For example:

• After an initial wobble period where my self esteem plummeted like a BA ‘plane with engine failure, I became a much more confident person (especially after I moved out and got some independence back).
• It pushed me into making decisions I probably wouldn’t have done if we’d stayed together (such as career wise).
• I was finally able to buy myself a full size Dalek, something I’d half joked about but didn’t really think I would be able to do. (Yes, you read that right).
• I made some bloody good friends during the next few years, which led to
• Meeting the sweary other half, which in turn led to
• Meeting Legless randomly in a pub one Sunday afternoon in January, which led to
• Being introduced to B3ta.

So, for anyone out there that doesn’t particularly care for my writing, you can lay the blame squarely at the feet of my ex wife. I take absolutely no responsibility…

I'd also like to say that I'm not particularly proud of invading her privacy like that, but in view of what she did I think it's slightly the lesser evil. And look at how it turned out!
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:44, 10 replies)

Yes I have
By the gay kid with down syndrome in year 11. He only had one friend who would make snide remarks to me about how his retarded friend loved me, but I just gave them the normal fuck off and leave me alone routine.

However one particular day I was out of school pretty early, I was walking home obliviously to find the down syndrome kid walking behind me, I turned around and he smiled, so I clenched my fists, kept them in my pockets and carried on.

This wouldn't be too bad if I was walking on a street, but I was taking a footpath behind the back of some houses and the back of some allotments, both sides with high hedges and no one around.

It got to the point were he was breathing down my neck. Thankfully nothing happened and he soon turned off once he realized that he didn't live in the same place I did.

I could go one about various online stalking I have done and have received, but everyone gets that.
( spaceage, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:42, Reply)

I once...
Had a friend called Chris Kerr, we used to get on really well, I'd stay over his at weekends, we'd go out and play football, make bases, all the kinds of things you do when you're a kid.

His mum was always grateful that I was his friend, as he had a genetic disease which made him abnormally tall, although I never was his friend because of charity, he was a good bloke.

Fast forward 8 years to when we were both 18, we were running to his house from the local park to meet up with some other friend we'd acquired over the years, he tripped over a kerb stone and fell into the path of an oncoming car, he was promptly taken to hospital and was in a coma for 3 weeks, I stayed with him a few nights, talked to him, did everything I could to try and make my dear friend wake up. but we finally realised he wouldn't pull through so his parents decided to let him rest in peace. My best friends life ended by turning off a machine.

The funeral arrangements were made, however, we had a problem, due to his genetic condition we couldn't fit him in a standard sized coffin. During the years I had decided I would like to be a carpenter, so the parents turned to me to fashion him a coffin.

I was flattered and set about work straight away, thinking of the best tribute I could pay to my compadre.

Yes, it was me who was to decide how best to store Kerr.
(WittyUsernameHere, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:37, 10 replies)

stalk stalk stalk
One night stand with a fucking psycho nightmare (i just wanted a shag). She finally stopped calling finally a year later and I got the following phone call from her sister.

"Hi, I'm Michaela, Paula's sister, I've got all your stuff if you want it back, she left it behind when she emigrated which by the way was because of you."

"What stuff?"

"Oh you know, the CD's, DVD's, photo albums, photos and the sketches she took."

"Eh"

"I have about 300 photos of you and a dozen or so sketches she took and made of you whilst you were sleeping. You can see everything. I kept them for a while but I think you should have them back."

Remember: The operative word in ONE night stand is ONE.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:37, 2 replies)

Yes! Yes I have!
I apologise for length now...

When I was 15 I met a girl at a under 18s club who to cut a long story was mental! As each week went by we got together, Valentines happened... she got me an amusing "Sex Machine" card... then i kind of went off her (due to being a nutter!) She began writing letters she would present to me most weekends, to be honest I was scared...

Eventually one lunchtime at school mates arrived back to tell me that the girl in question is sitting outside my house...

"She can't be, she lives 2 towns over..." I was wrong. I got home at half 3 to find her there, just sitting! So I enquire what she's doing there and she comes up with this:

"My school has a drama department which has stopped as a hugh mirror went through the stage, so Im sent to your school to do drama" Now this would make sense if we HAD a drama department, alarm bells were ringing.

I saw her on a bus thinking that was it, oh no weeks of her sitting there carried on, missing school just to stalk me!

Then it all went horribly wrong, one Saturday I got a call from another nutter who claimed I was leading her on, not true I was on a daily basis trying to get her away! I don't remember the specifics but at one point he threatened to "cut my ears off and feed them to my mother" I hung up at barely a minute later she was at my back door, this was all premeditated! I sent her on her way, cue weeks of dogs abuse off me mates who claim I should have "got in about her"

Nearly there...

Monday lunchtime comes, there she is, after school there shes still there and I decide enough is enough. I tell her in no uncertain terms it not going to happen and to stop all this nonsense and then it happens...

She puts her hand out to flag down a bus, steps out, bus ain't saw her... and she walks into a moving bus! On the deck she is, gets up, gets on bus, never see her again! it all happened in a flash, but to this day I can still see it if I close my eyes...
(Jack Bravado, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:36, Reply)

Casual Encounter
OK, slightly more serious post now. Been stalked once, and only once thankfully. Back in the days when I was young and relatively innocent, I was also a bundle of hormones. I'd also come to university and come out there as a flaming homosexual and was quite happy with it.

Met a guy. Went out to dinner. Was nice, we got on well, and he certainly wasn't bad looking. Went back to mine afterwards and shagged like rabbits. Went out again the following night. He mentioned idly the concept of going on holiday together.

This is the point at which alarm bells should have been ringing in my head, big time. But I was young and most of all - naive. And I didn't see the problem. Next night, got a call from him, asking if he could come over. Said OK. He appeared an hour later... rather drunk. Came inside, again we shagged. And he threw up all over the bed and a load of my stuff. Suffice to say I was rather annoyed. He'd passed out by this point, so there wasn't exactly much I could do, except clean the puke, shower, and sleep on the floor while the mattress dried out after the thorough wash it got.

In the morning, was gracious. 'Loaned' him some of my old clothes to walk home in, as his were puke-covered. And then the next time he contacted me, I told him it wasn't likely to work, and he should probably not call again. He wasn't happy, and started making threats. Several threats. Got phonecalls for the next few days. Making various threats and suchlike. And other times he never said anything. Just silent. The emails too were unpleasant, and mentioned a few details of the courses I was doing - easily findoutable from the web. This seriously freaked me out at the time. I was away from home and now not nearly as confident as I used to be. This was my second year at university but due to a weird housing situation ended up living with only one of my friends and a houseful of strangers.

I actually took a knife from the kitchen, a rather large chopping knife, and hid it in my desk where I could grab it at a moment's notice, I was rather scared.

Thankfully, the phonecalls tapered off after a day or two, and he didn't appear in person. I was rather lucky, it could have been much worse. But it still creeped me a bit, and taught me a good lesson about getting to know someone a bit better before showing them where I live. Casual sex is fun yes, but it's certainly not worth being injured over!
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:22, Reply)

Im a stalker
Well not intentionally I assure you.

I have two very disturbing tales to tell. So grab a coffee, put your feet up, get your hankies out and begin the read.

At a mere age of 17, young and stupid. I had completely fallen in love with a girl. She was my first love, and I was besotted with her. I had a weakness, and that was I became even more besotted with someone if I felt they needed my help. And wow this girl needed help.. Seriously! I saw myself as some sort of saviour to her.

She told me about tales of past abuse, and unfortunate events. Some harrowing accounts of rape, violence and bullying against her. That left her feeling rather depressed, suicidal and generally fucked up. It became apparent that these tales of the past may actually still be in the present. She told me of a family member who was apparently financially supporting her parents was still requiring sexual favours from her. He bullied her if she didn’t do as he wanted, and there were instances Id meet her and she would be bruised or hurt in someway.

Well I needed to find out who this punk ass was.

She wouldn’t disclose where he lived as my interference would properly fuck things up for her and the rest of the family and my own life would even be in jeopardy. But I’m sorry I'm not having someone whom I love going through ordeals like that. However I did find out that he was in walk able distance from her house. As he would sometimes call upon her in the middle of the night, for repayment services.

She would tell me that she had to go round to his some nights. And each time she said that, Id set up camp outside her house, in the hope of spotting her going, following and finding out where this geezer lived. With a quick mobile call to my friends, we were all ready with baseball bats and the lot to teach this guy a lesson. Oh I was ready for war.

Funnily enough, she never did leave the house during the night. And when I quizzed her about this she threatened to go to the police as apparently I was stalking her! She quickly changed the subject of why she didn’t go, to blaming me for stalking her.

It then all became apparent. The bitch lied about the whole thing. Funnily enough though, I wasn’t pissed off. I was relieved. Stayed with her for another two years though before she used up all my resources and moved on.




Next up, is another story of love. Which also occurred many years ago when I was young and stupid. Where I inadvertently managed to stalk a girl whom I happened to notice got on the same commuter train as me. I don't know what it was about her, but for some reason my heart started pounding when she got on. I'd pray she'd sit near me. And when she did, she'd sit there looking all lovely and read a book all journey and get off the train at her destination.

I never had the bottle to try talking to her. But over the 18 months of her getting the same train, I learnt so much about her it was unbelievable. I would "overhear" her phone conversations. Knew exactly where she worked, learnt stupid facts like she had an older sister who had kids. Little things like that. But never actually found out her name.
There's an etiquette on British commuter trains, and that is people generally don’t spark up conversations with strangers. I saw loads of people day after day but no one ever spoke to each other. Sad really. But that’s the way it was, so it just made it really really hard to get into conversation. I kept wishing the train would break down or some other incident would happen to break the ice. But it never did.

For all I knew she was married with kids. She was good looking and dressed well, so I’m sure she wasn’t short in offers from guys.

But having spent a journey with her in eye shot, I used to get off the train wanting to tear the walls down with my teeth. I dreamt about her so many times that we knew each other and was talking. I was totally fascinated in someone who'd I'd never even spoke to. I searched the internet for her as well. The song, Jameilia Superstar used to remind me of her. (And still does!)

To this day that girl will never know that for 18 months there was a guy on the train that would have done anything for her. I was in love. I’ve never before just happened to see someone and suddenly get strange feelings like that.

I do feel I kinda stalked her in a way. I learnt which carriage she would go to, and made sure I matched. I just wanted to get to know her. But never did. Eventually I changed jobs and eventually she started fading from my mind. Even years later Id still have the odd dream about her though.

Why didn't I just say hello?
(Miggyman, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:21, 5 replies)

Ring and Run
Some idiot rang my doorbell at 3AM once. It was winter, and--expecting some kind of family emergency--I ran to the door in nothing but boxers and an undershirt. So you can imagine that I was pissed off to find nothing but the howling January wind at the door. I made it halfway up the steps when I realized that it had just snowed; I could follow his footprints.

Screw sleep, I thought. I got dressed and spent the next hour and a half tracing a pair of sneakers in the snow--I waited 45 minutes for his tracks to re-appear after they led to an all-night diner.

From there I just followed him home and peed on his house. That should teach him a lesson.
(MR KEARNS, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:20, Reply)

I was arrested for stalking Tom Waits
They have guns in America. eep

I was visiting some friends in Northern California about 5 years ago generally having a nice time, enjoying to good weather and fabourable exchange rate when my friend Stoner Pete announced he off to run some errands and did I fancy a ride, just to get out of the house kind of thing. I accepted, when you're not driving it can be kind of hard to get around that part of the world.

After a few stops to pick thing up, drop thing off Pete siad he was going to stop by a friends house who's girlfriend had just had a baby. Personally I have little interest in babies at the best of times but a friend of a frieds baby? on holiday? I expressed this to Pete who said " Hey, you like Tom Waits don't you? well he lives just a few blocks from my friend, why don't you go have a look while play with the baby and I'll meet you back here in half an hour"

That seemed like a good idea to me so off i toddled to have a look at my junkyard orchestra hero's house but there were a few key details I didn't know about.

1. Tom Waits enjoys living in an attractive suburben setting, but his next door neighbour is James Hetfield from Metallica

2. Recently Dimebag Darrell from the band Pantera had been murdered live on stage by a deranged fan. concequently the heavy metal community were taking their death threats *really* seriously. Although not into the metal scene I am 6'6" and had dreadlocks down to my backside

3. You don't walk 3 blocks in suburban California. If you do then you are obviously some sort of lunatic or too poor to afford a car. either way they don't want your sort round here!

The first I knew of this was when TWO police cars screeched to a halt just as I reached Tom Waits house and ordered me, at gunpoint, to lie on the ground. Eventually I got them to release me by being terribly British at them until they let me go.

ironically Tom wasn't even at home that day but Pete bumped into him at an all you can eat chinese buffet in Petaluma about 3 days later.
(Mickeyburns, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:17, 2 replies)

She only wanted me for the techs
Years ago, I was working on my PhD as a case award student for the pharm giant Glaxo. I also started going out with a swedish blond. Just say that she was stringing me along, but I was to smitten to realise this. That was until she started shagging the builder who was working on the building were I lived. When she realised that I'd found out, she broke up with me. However later she needed to jump start her science career, and decided to start hassling me with promises of getting back together, sending me emails, phone calls and hanging around outside my apartment. I screamed at her to f*ck off out of my life. And left it at that. That was until she sent me an email asking me for the data I obtained from research at the aforementioned pharma corp. I then made a formal complaint to her university with copies of her emails. Stalking, attempts of industrial espionage and research plagiarism were not viewed lightly by her uni, and they said they'll deal with it. It was only several years later I discovered that the resulting investigation also found out her boyfriend was an illegal immigrant. He was deported, she was thrown out of uni, and they had to move to some south american hell hole with career in tatters. Needless to say she hasn't tried to contact me again. Result!
(DrTeeth, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:04, 2 replies)

true one
Teachers often become the focus of student infatuations, and it's never the hot blondes with the big tits. No, it's the geeky ones that smell of hamsters.

A student of mine started off waiting for me outside the school and wanting to walk me home. Later, she got my phone number from somewhere and started leaving messages on the answerphone (particularly distressing to hear as I was porking my new girlfriend). Then she started to mysteriously appear in whatever shops I was frequenting. When she got my email address (I used to give it to the hot blondes with big tits) I filtered out her obsessive letters.... so she found out my girlfriend's name and started sending me mails in that name.

It was quite worrying, especially when she dropped out of school to have a MENTAL BREAKDOWN. That was when the letters started to arrive - long, ten-page affairs telling me how distraught she was. After a couple of those I just threw them in the bin unopened. She knew where I lived, where I worked and who my girlfriend was. I was terrified of some personal attack even though she was a five foot nerd.

The letters only stopped when I left the country, but I still occasionally receive emails from her four years after the event.
(frankspencer, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:04, 3 replies)

I have been and am being stalked.
By several people.
I have no idea why, there is nothing special about me in terms of personality or looks, but oh well.
Then she has the nerve of calling ME the stalker!
I find that silly, as she finished her accusation with "I'm watching you.."
( ClanSoul, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 17:02, Reply)

Oh dear, here come the repressed memories...
When I went to university there were two things (of many) that I had never done; (1) I had never met a homosexual, and (2) I had never received a valentines card. That all changed in my first year when valentines day rolled round and whoop-dee-do I got a card. I was over the moon, somebody fancied me enough to do something about it and I was on cloud nine. Then I found out it was from Mark. Mark was an obnoxious turd who was on the same course as myself. He was snide, supercilious and generally unpleasant to be around, and he had sent ME a Valentines Day card. Crap.

Being well raised by my parents and wanting to be a "right on" kind of student I decided to do the whole "I'm very flattered, but I’m not gay" thing that you are supposed to say in such situations. Big mistake, because he actually believed that I WAS flattered and perhaps open to suggestion...

From that point on he was everywhere, he would wait for me after lectures, he would turn up at the union even though he never went before, he would butt into conversations I was having with friends (who would quickly scarper). I had to start varying my route onto campus because he would wait for me (oh yeah, what a “coincidence”). I had to constantly be on the look out for him, because if I dropped my guard he would appear and I would have to listen to more in depth tales of his sexual conquests.

Then one day it all got too much. As per usual he had waited after lectures for me and we were walking back to our halls of residences, and he started telling me about a wet dream he had had about me...I stopped him short and told him politely but forcibly that I was not gay and that I found such conversations unacceptable and that IT WAS NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN...

So he told everyone that I was a homophobe. Luckily I was friends with the other guy on my course who was also gay and he put a stop to it but I still got stick from a few people who called me a bigot or accused me of leading him on.

Things calmed down a bit when I finally got a girlfriend who told him promptly and smartly to fuck off, something I should have done from the start. He was always a pain in the arse (s'cuse the pun) for the rest of my time at uni but he never ventured to tell me about his wet dreams again.

As an interesting aside, I discovered the extent of his obsession about a year later when I met a girl on a night out who had shared accommodation with Mark in her first year. She knew everything about me. All Mark had ever talked about was what I had said that day, what I had worn, where he had seen me and what he would like to do to me.

Despite 12 years having passed I still find thinking about all this a bit upsetting. The last thing I heard about Mark was that he had been turned down for teacher training. Good.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 16:55, Reply)

Stalked
Why yes, indeed I have been stalked!

But then again, I am a flower.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 16:52, 1 reply)

My mental ex
I suspect /\ this may be a common title this week.

I grew up in the countryside and became a cliché at the age of 13 when I lost my virginity to a farm-hand in a barn (the shame). He was 18 and treated me like a Goddess, I loved him with my entire being. He taught me A LOT about sex which I appreciated greatly at the time.

THEN, He started to creep me out, little things at first – wanting me to shave my numpty (this was 15 years ago when that was quite unusual, and anyway I was 13, hardly Chewbacca) – telling me I couldn’t wear skirts unless I was at home with him – punching a hole through his bedroom door the day I wore mascara, punching a hole in every condom we used so I would get pregnant (from the age of 13) you know, little things.

After 4 years of this shit I got the fuck out of there. Found out I was pregnant (Doh!)

Then came the stalking…

He put 3 of those valentines ‘ads’ in the local paper “Cakes, you can’t escape, love always finds a way” “To Cakes, Coming ready or noooooot x” “Cakes – One way or another I’m gonna find ya, I’m gonnna getcha getcha getcha getcha”

He sent me a valentine card, with some dead flowers, that said “Roses are red, Violets are blue, I’ve got a gun and I’m going to shoot you” - which was sweet.

At this point my father called the police. The local rag was horrified at the idea of giving out the name of one of its anonymous ‘lovenote’ contributors; the police actually had to get a fucking warrant. aaaaaarrrrgggggg

He turned up on my doorstep with a knife said he was going to stab me in the stomach (pregnant remember) and watch me die.

He wrote me a letter describing how he was going to come into my A level exam hall (by this point I was 8 1/2 months pregnant) and shoot everyone there, then me, in the belly and watch me die.

He was sectioned (shocka) and somehow convinced his fucking moron of a nurse to call me at 10pm and ask me to come in and see him, it was his baby after all. I told her to call the police and ask them what he though of his baby. Stupid bitch.

*And breathe*

Anyway, he then took me to court for access (fair enough, if supervised, he was *technically* her father) Showed up to one meeting, rang my home phone a lot and hung up for a couple of months (didn’t know about 1471 - stupid fuckweasle) then we never saw him again.

**HAPPY DANCE**
( XCDinglyGoodCakes looks like we've got ourselves a reader, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 16:45, 4 replies)