Just when I thought my life was going swimmingly, someone came along and tried really hard to fuck it all up. Yes, I’m talking about that fucking bloke: One Ball. Again. The absolute fucking psychopath.
He read my blog again. After promising that he wouldn’t, after swearing on his kids’ lives that he wouldn’t, he had a good ol’ read through the blog, then told me what was going on in it.
Brilliant.
It Started With a Kiss
Jock had just pulled up outside my house, turned the engine off, then opened his door when I felt my bag vibrate. I ignored it, though. Whomever it was, could wait. I had an end-of-second-date kiss to attend to, and I’d been looking forward to it since the start of the date.
My bag vibrated again when Jock came to my side of the car and opened the door, and again when he reached out his hand for mine. Such a gentleman. Much swooning was done.
As Jock leaned forward and kissed me, my bag vibrated, then didn’t stop vibrating.
“You seem to be in high demand,” Jock laughed, pulling away.
No. No. No! Come back! My heart sank at the thought of saying goodbye to him. I was enjoying his company so damn much. Jock insisted, though. He had the drive back, and all that. So, we said goodbye, and I was so sad about it.
That Fucking Bloke
Once I was safely inside my house, shoes kicked off, hair thrown back, I reached into my bag and grabbed my phone. I had dozens of notifications… and they were all from One Ball.
That fucking bloke.
Message number one said: “We have no reason to talk to each other. I’m going to remove you from Facebook. Hope you have fun, thank you for saving me from you.”
Huh? OB and I had been pretty civil for a while, following that awkward crying-and-screaming-outside-my-house situation. We were talking about books yesterday. What could I possibly have done, without knowing, to have pissed him off so much?
Messages two through eight were all asking where I had been, why I hadn’t replied, and why I didn’t give a fuck. The one voicemail (plus six missed calls) said something pretty similar.
I replied, mostly out of morbid curiosity: “Huh???”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he text back. “I’m breaking all ties so you can move on and not have me badgering you. I may love you, but I finally get that you don’t love me.”
I read, then re-read that message a whole bunch of times. How did OB know that I was ‘moving on?’ That’s not exactly the point, I know… but, like, how does he know that?
A few more messages back-and-forth later, and he finally admitted it: he’d read the blog again. No reason or excuses; just a straight up, “Yes.” At least he didn’t lie again, I suppose… but why would he do that? We’re no longer together. What has my love and/or sex life got to do with him now? He’s probably hurt, but fuck, didn’t he lie and bullshit me enough? At least I haven’t lied about anything.
In the end, I blocked him. Cunty? Yes. Necessary? Also, yes. He’d have driven me mad otherwise. Yes, I’m moving on. Yes, it’s pretty soon after I broke up with OB. So fucking what?
It’s my life, isn’t it? What’s my alternative? Closing the blog? I don’t want to do that. It’s probably the logical choice, and the one that saves my sanity and dignity, but I like writing in it. It’s a form of release and therapy for me.
So… fuck him, right?
(Not literally, obviously.)
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Sex In a Tent.
If you’d like to skip the spicy stuff, head straight to this one instead: The Zoo.
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Want to read all about One Ball’s story, right from the very beginning? You’ll find that right here.
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here:
Oh wow…I can definitely feel for you (as I have my own blog). It certainly does feel like someone is invading your personal space. It’s a tough call for sure. Writing is a release of feelings that you might not normally say or do. Hopefully we see you back in some form, be it here or somewhere else. 🙂