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)