StalkedHave you been stalked? Or have you done the stalking? Is that you in the bushes outside with the nightvision goggles?
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chthonic, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 15:40)
This question is now closed.
My 10-year-old son is being stalked......by an 11-year-old girl.
She's in his class - she was held back a year because she is (forgive my lack of PC skills) thick as pigshit.
She's also the size of a pregnant water buffalo, and with the visual appeal of an inbred warthog.
She makes his life a misery, the poor wee lad. She chases after him all playtime, trying to kiss and cuddle him. He's a pretty polite chap, and has tried to be quite diplomatic about it all. However, he is struggling to get the message into her thick head that he isn't remotely interested.
What should he do folks? He's getting a bit glum about the whole thing, and my heart goes out to him. After all, women aren't supposed to make your lives a misery until a wee bit later on in life?
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 17:28, 15 replies)
My Dadis an actor, currently doing a play locally. There is a man who comes to every one of his plays, very nice chap apparently, but a bit weird. So, dad is performing his new play last week, and his stalker is there to support him. At a particularly sinister part of the play, Dad looks in to the audience, straight ahead of him, a spotlight is shining, and all he can make out in the glare is the light glinting on stalker's glasses, as he sits there in the front row of the audience, grinning, two arms raised high in a jovial thumbs up.
Dad has avoided him ever since.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 16:39, Reply)
E-stalking.I did some stalking before.
Picture the scene- I am a very happy boy of 16 with an on/off gf but we're good friends, went to end of secondary school prom together etc.
I then move house, we spend the summer on the phone to each other (it's always me phoning her as she never had any money). I even go and see her a few times, which is all very nice- although we'd just become friends by now but we were still close.
We gradually lose touch, this involved me going back to see other friends from home and finding out she'd moved house without telling anyone.
Then about a year later I find her old email address and I email her saying I'd like to establish contact. This would have been fine if it ended there.
She phones me a month later saying she got my email, giving me her new phone number (mob and house) and saying that she's going on a course near me shortly and that I should phone her in a few months for a catchup.
A month or two later I think "I'll phone her and have a natter" as I didn't really like it where I'd moved to and would appreciate a friendly face. The phone number doesn't work any more, neither does her new home phone number.
I email her asking for a new catch up and asking what happened to her phone?
Nothing.
I email her again.
Nothing.
I google her name, not much really.
I google her father's name. Nothing.
Her mother, however, used to be a councillor before she moved house, "perhaps", thinks I, "if I email the office of the new councillor they'll give me her new address and phone number, then I'll be able to talk to her"
It fails.
I gave up.
All I can say in my defence is that she was my first serious girlfriend and I always regretted moving house away from her as it didn't let me resolve things with her properly.
Take this in mind next time when you're being stalked and take time to appreciate exactly how looney the stalker is.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 16:33, 1 reply)
Manchester nutterLong story short.At Uni in Manchester and coming back from a drunken night with the boyfriend on the night bus(read meeting point for incorrigible weirdos).
I´m a 6 footer and rather handsome,but my then squeeze was 6'4 and build like a brick shithouse and FANTASTICALLY handsome.D'oh.
So this clipboard wielding goon gets on the bus and makes a beeline for us(bear in mind this was at 3 in the morning)-saying he´s doing a survey about politics or terrorists or spies or some such bollocks.He asks what I do and I politely confirm I am a student and bid him farewell.My bloke thinks it would be funny to annoy him,so he says his job is Classified Top Secret.We think we´re hilarious and tell the bloke to get lost.
Oops.
Cut to three days later,and the clipboard tosspot asking all over the halls of residence where I live,my name,the names of my family and my boyfriend.He showed up at the bar where I worked,discovered the course I was doing to wait for me after lectures,and was generally in my back pocket for a rather alarming 2 months.Police said they couldn't do anything,so my chap kicked him in the ribs and threatened to 'cut your fucking nob off if you go near my boyfriend again'.
Result.
I was very compliant in bed for quite some time after...................
Length?Big and powerful.Yum.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 16:29, Reply)
Not long agoI did some stalking that involved cutting up my intended victim with a knife into very small pieces.
The celery was very good in the soup I made.
...what?
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The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 1 Feb 2008, 16:16,
1 reply)
The Skittles ManNot me, but my friend... she went on this trip to India with a load of other students, had a laugh, climbed some mountains, showered naked with some tribal types while they scraped the skin of her body (oh to have been there)... She met this guy, turns out hes a model. Also, MASSIVLY needy. Trip ends, she goes home but he wont leave her alone, rings her at 1 in the morning, starts crying when she tells him politly to bugger the hell off. This goes on for several weeks. Ha, then he sent her like 30 packs of skittles :D I happily munched my way through them and rotted my teeth for life, while she rang him up and told him to stay the fuck away...
I miss him :(
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 16:07, 4 replies)
Schoolgirl stalkersI was very shy when I was younger and wouldn't say boo to a goose.
When I was in upper 6th (many years ago!), I got stalked for the entire year by two girls in the lower 6th. I still have no idea why. They'd be on the balcony overlooking the foyer and stare down at me when I was signing-in in the morning....they'd make sure they were just in front of me walking down the drive at the end of the day so they could turn-round, stare, whisper to each other and then giggle...they even turned-up outside my classroom just before a lesson once and stood staring in at me.
I wish to god I'd just told them to fuck off! The general theory of my friends was that they were a pair of wierdo lesbians. Whatever their reasons, they must have been extremely bored if they thought stalking me was fun!
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 15:56, 4 replies)
Nylon-clad buttocksI watched her from a safe distance. I could feel my eyes bulging as they reached into the darkness, trying to get closer, closer to her nylon-clad buttocks and shaven head. Like a little mouse, that head. But bigger, and less fond of cheese. Nevertheless, I whispered to myself, “Mousehead. Mousehead. Cheese-hungry, bewhiskered mousehead.” And with every breathy utterance I could feel a minuscule stirring in my glans, like the first small bubble to appear in a vast pan of amorous soup. My loins were full of soup - metaphorical soup - yet it burned the tongue of my lust and blistered the gums of my self-control.
She turned away from the shop window and I ducked behind the stray St. Bernard that had approached to admire my trousers. I hid behind its meaty hind leg and, brushing aside its heavy scrotum with the back of my hand, I peered again at the willowy Aphrodite that stood some fifty yards ahead. She hadn’t seen me. That was quite clear as she turned the corner at the end of the street. The pursuit was on.
I doffed my hat to the great hound. Our eyes met, we shared a brief but intimate kiss and vowed to remain firm friends. I went on my way, leaving Tony (for that was his name) behind me. As I turned the corner myself, I was surprised to see that my prey had seated herself on a bench at the edge of the park. The moonlight accentuated her pale complexion, her eyes shining like hard sapphires beneath her white, ceramic forehead. The strange angle of the forehead reflected a shaft of the moon’s silver light upon me. With the shaft in my face I was illuminated like a rampant sexual beacon. My game was surely up. She noticed me, but didn’t seem to mind my presence. Indeed, she seemed pleased and was entranced by my trousers. I approached slowly so as not to startle or worry her, and my shuffling motion, left leg in front of right at all times, arms folded with my head moving from side to side, seemed to soothe her further. She thanked me and returned the way she had come.
I sat down for a moment, flustered, trying to recover from my brief panic. My strength was somewhat diminished, but my will remained strong, and so did my erection. When I had regained my breath I stood up, ready to pursue her once more. Suddenly, Tony the St. Bernard sprang from behind a Jersey cow that had been put in the park by the local council to graze. I was delighted to see him again, but this delight turned to horror as I saw him coming straight at me. His head lolled to one side and fell away as his chest opened up. Gary Coleman leapt from Tony’s torso and locked his small brown thighs around my throat.
“What didst thou do to Tony?” I gargled as I fell to the floor.
“There was no Tony, sucker!” he spat. “That was just my stalking suit.”
My head swam for a moment as my brain screamed for oxygen.
“What about our kiss?” I croaked. “Was it no more than a ploy? A mere ruse employed by an ill-grown prankster of a whore?”
“That’s right, beeatch!” he chirruped in response. "I been stalkin' yo sorry ass for five whole months. Remember the swan you nursed back to health? That was me. Remember the girl in the cinema with the pierced nipples? That was me too. You are one gullible white mutha!"
I turned my head as the life drained from my limbs, and saw the Jersey cow rear up onto its hind legs and swagger over. Again, in a moment of dreamlike wonder, this mammal split in two, straight down the middle, and from it stepped Culkin, his hands clasped to his cheeks. Coleman hadn’t noticed, and Culkin advanced confidently before swiping him away with a mighty backhand. I was obviously impressed by his sheer power.
“Pesci taught me that move on the set of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York,” he bleated proudly. “But Stern couldn’t get the hang of it and he sulked through the entire shoot.”
Culkin's untimely boast left him open to assault, and Coleman came at him, naked and enraged like a baby rhino at a cheerleader, dealing him a blow that would have killed an ordinary man. But Culkin took it like the man of bronze he was, and they wrestled on the floor for three hours. I tired of their homoerotic grapplings after a while and, donning the Tony suit, went in pursuit of my quarry.
Coleman and Culkin’s ongoing battle has since been documented, dramatised and adapted somewhat, and can currently be seen in cinemas under the title Alien Vs Predator: Requiem.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 15:51, 11 replies)
b3ta stalkingI wonder how many are people are stalked due to the posts they make on B3ta??? Cause lets be honest not a lot of us are normal are we!!
Underlay underlay bangbangbang
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 15:48, 11 replies)
StalkingReading about the arrogant comic who didn't even know he had a stalker reminded me of this:
You can't really say you're successful in comedy until you've had your first real stalker. Not just the sad cases who pester you via the internet - those are just wannabes - the sort who don't cook your pet rabbit, but just email recipes.
What I'm talking about the types who send you homemade greetings cards drawn in their own blood, which say "If you don't say you love me I will kill you". Fortunately, there is a way of cutting down the time taken to find these people - and it's called myspace. Just join up as a comedian, stick a up photo - and Robert is a close relative. Not only does myspace allow you to sift through potential stalkers by photo - look at the staring eyes on that one! - but also by geographic proximity, although the real weirdos will travel extraordinary distances just to post dog-shit through your letterbox.
Condensed from the full horror at www.stevedix.de/blog/445
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Stevedix http://www.stevedix.de/blog, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 15:42,
Reply)
I have never..stalked.. However, an ex girlfriend went through a phase of leaving little signs of herself along my route to work. Usually her car.
Now, I know what you are thinking. She could have a good reason to be there. True, she could. However, I took a specific route to work (I had to walk, and it was the quickest way), which was mostly quiet residential roads. She didn't work along that route, and, AFAIK, didn't have any friends or family who lived along it.
She also, as far as I could tell, only parked there when I was on my way to/from work, and had checked with my manager what shifts I was working (until I asked him to stop telling her).
That whole situation stopped when I was at Charing Cross station talking to a rather attractive friend and saw the ex glaring at me.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 15:41, Reply)
Alittle bit of both, really. Years ago I used to work for A Popular Paranormal Magazine, as a result of which I found myself being pursued the length and breadth of the internet by a loony self-styled 'Bishop' and 'vampire hunter'. He used to send us reams of bilge about his various activities, and they were so utterly ridiculous that eventually we started just taking the piss, which sent him right over the edge. I used to get sent the most berserk screeds imaginable from him, as he worked himself up into a righteous froth about various imaginary slights (he once sent me a little note detailing the correct formula for addressing a bishop). It all culminated in several pages of rants and innuendo on his website, where he accused me of being some sort of Satanic terrorist mastermind.
The thing is that this isn't a very sensible game to get into when, as was the case with this bloke, you have spent thirty years systematically alienating every single person who has ever come into your sphere of influence, to the extent that they're willing to send your adversary pages and pages of files full of highly incriminating news clippings and photos. It all kind-of came to a head when I was sent copies of a News Of The Screws story from the Seventies illustrated with a photo of our man dressed in a Gestapo uniform, which I duly stuck on my webpage. That seemed to really upset him for some reason.
Eventually I just got bored of provoking him and let it go quiet. The fucker still uses a wildly out-of-context quote from me to flog his shit-awful (and only slightly plagiarised) books, though.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 15:10, Reply)
As close as I'm ever going to getA friend of a friend at college had a huge crush on me and kept bringing me various gifts of chocolate (gives me headaches), winnie the pooh themed novelty items (I was, as I am now, a girl more into stuff that explodes or makes cool noises) and bouquets of roses (I like orchids). This could have tolerable, even including the embarrassment factor, but for the winnie the pooh stuff and the fact he was so ugly it made my skin crawl to look at him. His personality left much to be desired also.
I'm not quite sure where his head was to be chasing after such as me, but when he lunged to stick his tongue down my throat at a pub, when I was doing nothing more than chatting to our mutual friend, lines were drawn.
About that time I started getting the hatemail.
Men are still a total mystery to me.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 15:04, 1 reply)
I'm being staked outI opened my curtains the other day, naked from the waist down of course, to find a man with a clipboard standing across the street taking notes. I stay on the second floor so this struck me as a bit odd. He stayed there for a full five minutes. I presumed he was just doing a survey of, the building or something.
Ten minutes later I hear my flatmate get up and go into the kitchen. I go in, he offers me a coffee, I accept. I look across the wasteground to the back of the flat and across the road.
He is there.
With binoculars. Looking right at me.
He gets in a BMW and drives off.
I saw that BMW yesterday, so now I'm getting a bit worried.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 14:54, Reply)
A shit stalkerA mate of mine lost contact with me a while back, after we met at random at work. He'd given me a lift back from work before, so knew where I lived. So, he thought he'd wait outside my house on the random. It's the kind of thing he does, only when he wants to contact someone if he can't get their number. The man has a memory like a sieve though, it turned out he was waiting on completely the wrong street in the belief I would walk past. I dread to think about what the people on that street thought.
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jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 1 Feb 2008, 14:52,
Reply)
stalkeeAs hard as it is to admit, i was the one doing the stalking. oh dear.
Had my first real boyfriend at the age of 16 and was madly in love. this was it. forever. well, till i was 17.
I'm not sure what was going on with me back then but something came a little loose. I hooked up with a 15 year old emo boy. I didnt even like this kid just needed to be single again.
Cant tell my boyf the truth so tell him i'm a lesbian and then start a realsionship with his ex girlfriend. So by now everyone is in some pretty bad headspace...
I decide i want him back and will stop at nothing. i rang him. alot. and alot. and alot. it wasnt unsual for him to have 100+ missed calls a day. everyday. for weeks.
then i got angry. told everyone how rubbish in bed etc etc etc he is. then post certian photo's of him online, emailing them to all his friends. lets just say these photos involved short skirts, heels and an eretcion... i wasnt in any of the photo's...
Then to top it all off i get desprete. some how we start meeting up again and i would do anything for this boy. i even got naked in a coutry road just to prove me love. and shave his pubes for him. and wait around for hours in places i know he;s going to be. for months.
eventually he left my home town and all was good. even now thou i stll rememebr that phone number by heart...
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 14:43, 3 replies)
Colin the gibbered raverI was at one of those massive 5 tents of mayhem raves in the early 90’s. Me and my mates were having a fun old time shaking our bits and scoffing disco biscuits
Then along came Col(in) he was trashed, he was gurning so much he looked like he might turn his face inside out,
“Alight I’m Col” he said giving me a sweaty hug “Alright Col” said I “you better take it easy for a bit eh?”
Over the next hour or so he introduced himself to me and giving me a hug like the first time about once every 3 mins. He really didn’t know that he was doing it, we tried loosing him but he seemed to have a homing beacon to us. It got a little bit irritating (even to our thoroughly empathically twisted heads) dance ..alright I’m Col, dance ..alright I’m Col, dance ..alright I’m Col, dance ..alright I’m Col, dance ..alright I’m Col, dance ..alright I’m Col when he popped another pill action needed to be taken
Fairground rides abounded at theses things so I took Col on one of the more impressive looking ones. G forces on ecstasy does pretty incredible things to your head. I was fairly gibbered and by the time the ride finished I was rushing enough to make it hard work getting off the thing, especially since I was supporting Col. Whose eyes were revolving like a fruit machine and he was making groaning noises normally associated with bedrooms. He looked, well ecstatic so I propped him up somewhere comfy and buggered off.
We did catch sight of him later trying to persuade some guys to go on the ride with him, so I didn’t ruin his night or anything
So if you’re a Colin who got dragged onto a fairground ride at a Universe Rave (near bath J18 the time machine or Mind body & soul, my memory is a little hazy) Alright? I’m sitting duck Alright? I’m sitting duck
Alright? I’m sitting duck
Alright? I’m sitting duck
Alright? I’m sitting duck
Alright? I’m sitting duck
Alright? I’m sitting duck
Alright? I’m sitting duck
Alright? I’m sitting duck
Alright? I’m sitting duck
;o)
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 14:43, 2 replies)
'Stalked' by an old friendWell, it felt like it at the time. I've a couple of old friends from my old school who I don't keep in contact with as well as I should. This initially had something to do with them living two towns away, then I moved to London and that made it even more impractical. We've still got contact details for each other, they're just never used. A bit like nuclear weapons, really.
So, having not heard from one of them for several years, I am suddenly quite surprised to receive an e-mail. "Why, it's [him]! I wonder what he's up to these days..."
Then it occurs to me: he's e-mailing my uni e-mail address. I never gave him my uni e-mail address. Plus he dropped a couple of hints that he had a rough idea of what I was doing with my life at the time. I politely enquired: how did you get my new address...and how do you know this much?
It turns out he put my name into Google, and the real ale soc I was running at the time had my e-mail on the website. But the guy had an old (but still working) e-mail address for me, I'm sure he had my mobile number, if not he definitely had my parents' number, who would have been all too happy to furnish him with my number. Why did he feel it necessary to Google my name?
It became even more ridiculous when I met up with him. Turned out he'd moved to a flat which was now in the same town as my folks. About 5 minutes' walk from where they lived. He knew where they lived. There was a chance I might even have been home if he just walked down the hill and knocked. Why did he Google my name?
Length? About four years since I'd seen him...
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 14:41, 9 replies)
Schoolgirl fantasy.When i was a teacher, I had this girl in a few classes who wouldnt stop staring at me in lessons. She used to make sure she was always last to leave when the bell rung, and sit on my desk when I was marking the books. It got scary, she was probably half my age!
I overheard her friends talking one day, they were talking about one of their friends saying she was going out with a teacher, calling her teachers pet and all that. I realised who they were talking about and it was frightening, it made me cry. It didnt help that she was totally beautiful, and so unlike all the other girls of her age.
I remember driving past her in the rain once, she was waiting for a bus. I nearly stopped to let her the car. I just drove past and she stared at me.
It didnt take long before I was the talk of the school. Other kids in class were making obvious jokes and comments, it was scary. Some of the other teachers were giving me grief in the classroom, some directly accused me of having an affair with her. It started to make me ill, the stress of it all gave me a cough, and I'd started to shake involutarily on arrival at school. I felt like that old guy, Humbert Humbert, you know, in Lolita.
I just wished she wouldnt sit on my desk.
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I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 14:35,
8 replies)
When stalking and kidnapping merge...Friend of mine went up to Edinburgh to a gig with a few mates. Probably Christian Death, Alien Sex Fiend, or something. It doesn’t really matter.
Anyway, he got flirty with a rather nice looking girl in a pub after the gig. She lived locally, she fancied him, he quite fancied her, and, not having any real responsibilities at that point in his life, took her up on her invitation to go back to hers. Suffice to say, they didn’t get much sleep that night…
However, when he got up the next day to catch the train back home, she flipped big style, saying how much she loved him and she didn’t want to be parted from him. After 3 days he was still there, somewhat concerned for his own safety and unable to leave the house or make it known that he really needed to get home, for fear of having his throat slit (really – she was that much of a psychopath). On day four, and having run out of smokes, he managed to convince her that he just needed to go down to the newsagents to get some more, and did she want him to pick anything up for her, like milk? And as it’s just at the end of the street, and to prove that he’d be back, left his jacket on the armchair…
At which point he legged it to the railway station and freedom. Minus a good leather jacket, granted, but still with windpipe intact. Every time he went back to a gig in Edinburgh, he was constantly looking over his shoulder in case she was there. More than once, he just managed to avoid her. Even on occasions when his mates went up and he didn’t, she would clock them and ask ‘where Sean was’.
In a completely unrelated incident, my ex wife's mate Nicky was attacked by the same nutter because she was out with her then boyfriend. She took a shine to him, and decided she wanted him herself…
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Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 1 Feb 2008, 14:20,
1 reply)
It's the eyes!It would seem that in my first week of university I became a stalker magnet.
Unfortunatley it wasn't the good kind of stalker, you know, the incedibly stunning one that wants you to do horrific things to her and then disappear forever, to divulge to everyone how you were a sex beast and made her walk like a crab for days afterwards. No, not that kind.
I don't ever remember meeting Jenni, I can only assume she came upon my staggering frame in the bar on the first night, where everyone is chatting to everyone else. She must have overheard someone being given my number, because even in my steaming state I swaer I would never give her it willingly, and no dear readers, not because I am predjudiced against ugly people, it's because of her eyes. They were fucking scary. However, as an aside, she was boot ugly and morbidly obese, we saw her walking back to halls once with 7 loaves of bread she had got free from one of the stalls at the freshers fair. Anyway, I digress.
She text me a couple of times the next week, saying it would be cool to meet up after the madness of freshers week had died down, which I thought was a good idea, get to meet some new people etc. I of course could put no image to this name in my phone, so just figured that "what the hell, no harm in that".
Text from her: So you up to anything today?
Me: Not really, just got back from lectures, you?
Her: Yeah I know (dingdingding warning bells), you up for a drink?
Me: Ok, I'll just get ready, give me a few mins
Her: Could you let me in? It's pretty cold out here?
Cue WTF?! Turns out she was outside my front door, having stalked me back from lectures and had held that whole conversation by text from about 4 yards away. Knowing that this was a hole I could not get out of easily, I had to agree. Most awkward hour of my life, she just didn't talk, and did a lot of staring. Freaks you out after a while, trust me.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 14:01, Reply)
When the internet was young...I managed to find Betty Boo's real name and address. I never went looking for her, mind. The knowledge that I could find her if I wanted to was comfort enough for me.
(
emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 13:56,
4 replies)
Not very good at stalkingI'm currently stalking three people, however given that I'm pretty lazy, I mostly just send them a txt message once a year. Something along the lines of........
"hello, I'm still stalking you , but I'm too lazy to make a job of it, so can you do me a favor and just pretend that you've received all sorts of letters and have been followed and stuff. Merry X-mas"
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 13:51, 1 reply)
Also unintentionalLeonard Hatred's piece reminded me of an incident from the early 80s when I was about 18. I was walking home mid-evening with my young man's fairly fast gait when up ahead, about 50 yards away, I spotted my Dad, also heading home. I sped up a bit to catch up with him, only to see him speed up too. Luckily, I was a fair bit faster, as he smoked about 50 a day in those days, so I managed to catch him up, though I was probably breathing fairly hard at this point. When I was two feet behind him I said 'Hello, what's the rush?' only to see him jump a mile in the air.
I didn't mean to scare him.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 13:39, Reply)
Foreign StalkingI was also stalked over the internet... buy a Harry Potter obsessed lunatic from Turkey.
Met him on a forum and got chatting, as you do. We swapped email addresses, as you do.
Added me on Myspace, and then Facebook
And then he somehow got hold of my phone number....
And started emailing, phoneing and texting me constantly.
He's been blocked off basically everything and his number is on my blacklist so it goes straight to voicemail whenever he tries to call me.
I should change my phone number.
Length? About a year, more or less.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 13:33, Reply)
Not intentionally but............I have had an issue recently where a series of unfortunate coincidences came together to make me look like a top grade loon. Before I start, I need to state that me and Mrs Hatred have been together for seven years and I'm a happy camper
My commute is a lengthy one starting as it does in Buckinghamshire and winding up near London Bridge. As I am not consistently office based, it has evolved into a tortuous affair where I drive down the M1 to near Stanmore station and take the long tube journey in from there. It takes an age but means I don't pay for when I don't use it.
Now it is not unusual day to day to see the same people getting on and off at various stations as is the case with any commute. Even though tubes are not timetabled as such, they are fairly consistent so naturally you see the same people. However in the case of one of my fellow passengers, it went a bit beyond the normal. I have no idea of her name to this day but she gets on at Westminster but instead of getting off at a more central station like the majority of passengers goes all the way up to Canon's Park in the same manner I do. She then gets picked up by car whilst I wander off into suburbia to pick up my car and do battle with the M1. This should not be a problem under normal circumstances but towards the end of last year for seven working days on the bounce, she boarded her tube and found me sat there. The odds are slightly long on that but not outrageously so. Nonetheless, I was concious that she gave me some funny looks and made an effort to sit further away. It was the eighth day where things went completely snafu.
I had a distributor over from abroad for some training and this went on beyond the normal finish of the day and it was gone 6.30 before I went to London Bridge to get a tube. "At least" thought I "I will not be sat waiting in a faintly menacing fashion for that girl." I boarded the first Stanmore train and realised I had left my book on my desk and the tube was abnormally free of tatty free papers so would be reduced to the iPod. I could scarcely believe as the tube pulled into Westminster that she was standing there ready to board the train. Maybe she had merely worked late, or maybe she had decided to not travel at the same time as the bloke who was always there waiting for her. Instead, here he was, an hour later, sat there without even a book to distract him. I sat very still and tried to find something remotely interesting in my bag. The 40 minutes to get to Canon's Park seemed very slow that night. I noticed she was anxious to get on her phone, the moment the tube got above ground.
Worse was to follow.
At Canons Park, we both get off and more for the desperate desire to part company, I nip off to the toilet, freshen up, and leave. I exit through the barrier and stroll briskly towards my car. There is a figure a few hundred yards ahead but I think nothing of it until I get a little closer. Of course it is may accidental stalking target walking into the maze of streets where my car is parked- she glances back as she turns a corner and of course sees me following. Now what do I do? Do I hang back and try not to look threatening or do I powerwalk past? I figure the last thing she wants to see is me accelerating behind her so I hang back and try and look happy and unthreatening. "Besides", I figure, "there are hundreds of houses here, she will go her way and I will go mine. Except of course she doesn't. Her path is exactly that of mine as she heads towards a house in a particular street.
Where my car sits parked outside.
Rarely have I seen another member of public look at me with the level of abject terror as I get in and drive away as quickly as I can. On the drive home I figure the best thing I can do is take the train the next day and reduce the chances of us meeting again to as near zero as possible. I even told Mrs Hatred what had happened lest her Majesty's finest popped by for a chat. Thankfully the following day passed without incident. The following week I was abroad and our fateful pairing came to an end.
This may sound a bit odd (and thankfully comparitively tame compared to some of the tales here) but I felt like an utter bastard for some time afterwards. This was worse when she boarded the tube just before Christmas visibly pregant. Anxious as I am to avoid being labelled a filthy stalker, I now go home a bit later and use a different carriage on the tube.
Length?- nowhere near as long as that journey felt.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 12:57, 6 replies)
About 15 years ago....I recieved a valentines card from a girl that I had apparently met on Hogmaney but couldn't remember. This in itself should have sent warning signs flashing but nonetheless i was young, naive and desperately in need of the fairer sex's company so after asking my brother about her (he was friends with the girls brother)I agreed to meet up for a date.
Upon meeting this young maiden I realised that she wasn't my type not that there was anything wrong with her just that I didn't find her attractive or had anything in common with her but being the gutless creature that I am I agreed to meet up with her again.....
Two months later as we're on a "date" I thought enoughs enough she's never going to dump me so I finally managed to work my self up to it after having a few drinks and shouting to myself in a De Niro syle in the pub toilet mirror.
Phew...I thought but then the letters started to arrive. Every day.
One day she would be saying "I love you" the next "I hope you die of AIDS" the next "you better watch you're back i'm going to kill you" etc..
Also the car outside my house that would speed away as soon as I stepped out the door and the horrible feeling that as i walked home from the pub down the country lanes in the pitch black that any moment was going to be my last.
Eventually the letters stopped after she was sectioned to the psychiatric hospital after attempting to murder her mum in the local high street.
When i questioned my brother about this he just grinned at me and said "Yeah, she's been in and out of "Insert local hospital" since she was a kid"
Ten years on and I feel a hand grab my arse and as I turn round to see her smiling at me and saying "you haven't changed a bit".
First time I'd downed a pint since I was in my teens.
Sorry for length. Back to lurking.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 12:46, Reply)
Lunatic! Key Loss! Near Death! Arse-shagging!When I was at University I was what is known as a Senior Resident. This meant that I had responsibility for the welfare of 134 first year students and was supposed to look after them; if they were homesick, lost their keys, needed referring to a university body for help, that sort of thing.
What I actually did was use this as a front for selling cannabis and ecstasy (and other substances to make the evening sparkle). Naturally this sort of behaviour introduces you to a wide circle of people, a number of who are pretty nutty.
Liz was such a one. Pretty enough (bar the brown teeth), nice and lucid (on the surface), and a little naive. Or so I thought. I thought her dim questions and nonsensical chatter were genuine, and enjoyed being seen as the fount of all knowledge (it doesn't happen often, sadly). Gradually though, it got wearing, and I began to tire of her company, selling to her then fucking her off without ceremony.
With hindsight, perhaps I shouldn't have been so mean as I now began to be seen as not only a funny drug-dealing older guy (by 3 years!), but as a funny drug dealing bastard. Apparently these are even more attractive. I banned her from my house after she kept "dropping in for a spliff", and then it really started.
Her keys began to get "lost" almost daily, and I would have to let her into her flat. She was increasingly touchy-feely in her thank you's and gradually got more and more frightening. I'd begun to suss she fancied me and that her keys were actually in her bag each time she reported them lost.
I told her I wouldn't let her in again, and then she began appearing in all my haunts. I like some iffy pubs, not 18 year old giggly student fare, but she kept appearing, like piles, but more irritating. She would come and sit with me, and try and chat to my friends and colleagues, oblivious to being told to fuck off. This couldn't continue, so I came up with a cunning plan.
Liz always wanted to come pout with us on a big one, so we let her. I knew she'd get overly fucked up on pills (as she'd try to keep up with us despite being a novice) and hoped the subsequent embarrassment would allow me to fob her off onto someone else. Those of you who know me will not be too surprised to hear that things didn't go entirely to plan.
She began by coming up hard, and puking all over Dan's bedroom. Then she began to dance, and knocked over his plant pot. She was a nightmare in Insomniacz, then in the Howard she inadvertently got her tits out while taking off her jumper and left them exposed for a good ten minutes. Then she collapsed.
At this point, panic set in amongst the gang and they all turned to me. Ok, I thought, I sold the pills, I better sort her out. I revived her (one of my skills is rescuing the lives of fucked up punters), then, to teach her a lesson and wake her up (and for fun!), gave her a resounding slap across the face. She woke, rapidly, and stumbled home.
Problem solved, I thought, but no. Now I'd saved her fucking life, it seemed her devotion knew no bounds, and I had to shake her off, as you would a horny puppy. Eventually my mate Neil, seeing my distress, stepped into the breach. He somehow got chatting to her, then got her into bed and fucked her six ways from Sunday. Then over the next few weeks she started to pursue him with similar vigour...
Eventually, to end things, he took some photos while shagging her up the bum, and threatened to post them round Uni if she didn't fuck off. Finally, we were free of Liz...
(
disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 1 Feb 2008, 12:25,
40 replies)
UghWhen I was the tender age of 18, I was decidedly unpopular with the boys. All my friends seemed to be able to merely sniff in the direction of a young man and he'd come running. Not so poor Vesty, I seemed forever confined to the "You're a great mate, but...." pit that every teenager dreads. I had a great bunch of mates though, but as happens when you're young, a large amount of your sense of self-worth hangs on whether you have someone to hold hands with in the college refectory.
Shock horror though, one evening a lovely long-haired youth with similar grungy musical tastes to my own wanders in to the pub were I work, as his friend fancies one of the other barmaids. We get talking, and hey presto, Vesty has a boyfriend. Wahey! Things don't work out unfortunately and due to my lack of eagerness to shag him within the space of a week or so, I find out he's biffing an ex of his (lovingly referred to as Sticky Vicky by his mates) so become rather upset and dump him, all my teenage romantic notions in tatters. His mate who was in the pub with him the first time pays me a lot of attention after getting short shrift from the other barmaid and for some reason (I still don't really know why over 10 years later) I agree to go out with him. Once. He's 10 years older than me, is divorced with 2 kids (by 2 different mothers), a car salesman and, to be honest, a chav. Likes to flash a lot of cash around, likes gold jewellery, borrows Ford Escorts from his work and pretends they're his. After one date, he decides we're in love and I'll never leave his side. Oh, why wasn't I more attuned to the favourite refrain of the unstable person back then?
He openly laughs at the clothes I wear, which are your typical late 90's grunge-girl style clothes. Torn shorts and jumpers, stripy tights, para boots. Whilst he's in his best Lacoste abomination. Still, I put up with it. I don't have much self esteem these days, but I must have been seriously in the minus figures back then. He repeatedly calls me stupid in front of his mates, drinks before driving his car, is jealous of any of my male friends, badgers me constantly to have sex with him without a condom, refuses to speak to a friend of mine who is gay (because it's just wrong, according to his tiny brain) and is just a twat, really. After about a month I've had enough and give him the elbow. Only it's not that simple. He refuses to let me out of his car when I announce my wish to terminate our 'relationship', driving to an industrial estate several miles from my house and ranting at me for several hours, holding both my wrists with one hand to prevent me from getting out and running like Flo Jo. Every time I repeat that I no longer wish to be his girlfriend, he simply says "no." I explain that's not how it works, but to no avail. Eventually I placate him with a promise to talk the next day and am freed and driven home. Terrified, I plan never to see him again.
He starts sending flowers. Every day. To my house, to my 6th form college, to my Saturday job, to the pub I work in. Everywhere I go, flowers. He sends my mother cards thanking her for having "such a lovely daughter". He tells people at the pub where I work how awful I've been to him, meaning that I get it in the neck during my shifts there, despite my protestations that he is a loony and a nob jockey. One Sunday afternoon he turns up in the pub and asks if we can be friends. I stupidly feel sorry for him with everyone watching and say yes. Upon arriving for work that evening I receive a phone call from the hospital, were he's been taken after taking an overdose of paracetamol. Calculating bastard knew where I'd be, gave the phone number of the pub to the nurses, didn't ask them to inform any of his family. So I went to see his brother and let him sort it out.
Over the next few weeks my Mum finds someone in our back garden at night who runs away. She thinks it's him. I get a very accusatory phone call from him as he's lost his shitty car sales job because he's always late if he turns up at all, and just plays solitaire on the computer when he is there. This is my fault, as he can't work due to his broken heart.
Thankfully by this time I am due to leave and go to University. Many, many miles away. He finds out through various channels the City at which I'm studying. And drives up there, asking about areas that students live in until he one day finds my car. Being young and naive, even after everything else that's happened, I'm still stupid enough to let him in to my flat. He doesn't leave. In later weeks I find out that he quizzes my fellow flatmates for hours about who I spend time with, people at Uni I fancy, etc. That's the worst part of this whole sorry tale, those girls were as scared of him as I was. I study sound engineering at Uni, meaning I have to book the use of recording studios. Sometimes late at night, or even in the early hours of the morning. He forbids this, despite the stupidity and futility of attempting to do so. When I go anyway he waits outside the building until I'm finished, and gets me a pager so he can contact me whenever he wants. He also wakes me up every half an hour during the night asking who I was in the session with, do they have girlfriends, do I like them? The same questions, every half an hour. Eventually I'm in tears and just want to beat the crap out of the fat idiot.
A few weeks into term I'm invited to work on a project with some older students, which is a good opportunity for me to learn stuff. However, he REALLY doesn't like this, and finds their phone numbers written on a bit of paper in my jeans pocket and proceeds to phone their houses every half an hour demanding to know where I am. Their housemates (who have never even met me) are understandably not impressed.
One day whilst snooping in my stuff he finds a video taken during one of my studio sessions with the older students in which I slag him off royally for a long period of time. After getting any of my flatmates he can find in to watch it and express their (mock) outrage, he confronts me and then leaves. Hooray!
He then proceeds to page me constantly at all hours of the day and night, literally every 10 minutes or so. I take the battery out of the pager.
A week later he's outside the gates of my Uni building, with his brother's dog that he has dragged hundreds of miles in an attempt to woo me back, telling me he has testicular cancer. When I ignore him he starts shouting abuse and throwing various possessions at me, and is luckily chased off by a bunch of workmen I run past as I try to flee to my halls.
After a while I though things ahd calmed down a bit. Then I started receiving letters at my halls from his ex-wife, telling me that I was stupid, and she wished she could get back together with him. He also gave letters to any of my friends who were still at home, stating that he loved me more than his children (ugh!) and I'd said I loved him too. It's true, I did. But it was half out of fear, and meant in that 19-year-old way that just kinda means "I think you're ok".
One of the girls I shared halls with sang in a Soul band near where I come from, so I ended up being their sound engineer at the weekends for some extra cash. On one weekend her Mum drove me from her house round to my parents, completely on the spur of the moment. He was parked outside my parents house, with his kids in the car. He had his kids for the day and just sat them in the car outside my parent's house all f*cking day on the offchance I'd be there.
On return to Uni later that night I called the police, something I should have done a long time before that incident. But I was very young, and very, very scared. Thankfully he mainly left me alone after the police had a word with him. And I'm very good at spotting potential psycho boyfriends for mates now. Luckily for me all my subsequent beaus have been lovely chaps who I'm still friends with.
I don't live in the same town anymore (Nuneaton if anyone's interested, as I see the wonderful scummy inbred residents of the place have already had mention in this QOTW), but friends of mine still see him occasionally and he still follows them for half an hour or so if he notices them. I also know that he's still preying on 18/19 year-old girls who I'm guessing, like me, are too impressionable to put up much of a fight to his behaviour, sick twat. As for his poor kids, I only hope now they're older they have the sense not to see their Dad any more. He treated them worse than pets when he saw them, shoving McDonalds down their throats to keep them quiet then plonking them in front of a video while he would 'seduce' me.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 12:22, 8 replies)
This question is now closed.