Back in college, my friends and I were all about the live band scene, and one night we hit a bar for a few rounds of beer. We weren’t drunk, just having a good time, when two girls walked up and introduced themselves. One was decent enough, but the other had a pretty face ruined by a permanent scowl. My friends figured two girls making the first move was a win, so we let things play out.
The scowling one sat down next to me, and from the start she was off. She’d put a beer in front of me and say, “Chug that. ” I ignored her every time, and she didn’t seem to care. All night it was like that, little commands.
“Dance with me. ” “Take a shot. ” Meanwhile her friend was chatting away with my buddies like a normal person. Then out of nowhere, she changed.
It was like something flipped a switch inside her. She turned into this rage-filled shell of a person, gave all of us this hateful, spiteful look with eyes full of pure venom, and then reached over and scratched one of my friends across the neck. We didn’t need another second. We noped out of that place so fast I sobered up instantly, and the whole drive home, nobody said a word.
A while later, the girl I was dating asked if I’d changed the locks since breaking up with my ex months before. I told her no. My ex had never been crazy, so I’d never worried about it. My girlfriend said if I didn’t change them, she wouldn’t feel comfortable sleeping over.
So I changed the locks. The very next day, my ex texted me, furious. “So you changed your locks, huh? Real nice, asshole.
” Turns out she’d been letting herself in the whole time after we broke up, doing God knows what. My girlfriend clearly knew her stuff. At a new job, I shared a small office with a woman my age who was kind of cute but also weird and incredibly naive. She’d grown up in some tiny rural town.
She flirted with me constantly, but I wasn’t interested. So she started sending me emails. They were these massive, rambling accounts of her entire day, and she sent one every single day. I never responded.
Then one day she sent me this long email confessing her love. I replied with very clear reasons why it wouldn’t work and asked her to stop emailing me daily. She didn’t. The messages kept coming for months.
I asked her in person and online to stop, but every day, there was another memoir in my inbox. Eventually I had a female coworker who was a friend talk to her, and finally the emails stopped. Then I moved very far away, like the other side of the world far away. A few months later, another office mate emailed asking what city I lived in.
I told her. She wrote back saying she’d heard the crazy emailer was moving there too. Same small city, halfway around the planet. That couldn’t be a coincidence, right?
I pressed for more details, and it got creepier and creepier. She was moving into my neighborhood, had gotten a job nearby, was supposedly looking for an old friend. It wasn’t until a week later that my office mate finally admitted she’d been messing with me the whole time. That was the most stressful week of my life.
Back in grade school, a girl snuck up behind me during gym class and sniffed my butt. I caught her in the act and just felt gross. There was this girl I considered a friend who started catching feelings for me. When she found out I had a girlfriend and didn’t feel the same way, she somehow tracked down who my girlfriend was and DM’d her, claiming I was cheating on her with this friend and that I was a pedophile.
The friend in question was a few years younger than us. Lucky for me, I was right there when my girlfriend got the message, so I explained everything and we blocked her. The next day, she messaged my girlfriend again from a burner account. When I was in my early twenties, I went to a party and the hostess full-on reached her hand down the front of my pants to grab my junk.
Strange, sure. The creepy part was that we were standing right in front of her mother, who was cheering her on. Back in the nineties, a woman found my address in the phone book. We’d had one date and agreed to leave it at that.
Turns out she spent multiple nights sitting outside my house, all night long, just watching it. I lived in the middle of the woods, miles outside of town. I only found out what she’d been doing much later. About six months after my ex and I broke up, she called out of the blue saying she wanted to see me.
It felt strange, but I agreed. She was friendly when we met. Then at some point, she pulled out a sheet of paper with a list written on it. It was every man she’d been with after our relationship ended, and she read the whole thing to me, describing each sexual encounter in accurate detail.
It was beyond awkward. I just sat there listening, thinking I should probably grab some milk on the way home. My girlfriend at the time and I went to her friend’s house for supper. Immediately after dinner, the girl turned on some porn featuring a woman getting railed while another girl kept spitting on her.
She looked at us and asked, “So, you guys into stuff like this? ” We gave it about six seconds of thought, said “Not so much,” and left. Bonus: this was a brand new friend of my girlfriend’s, and it was the first time any of us had hung out. A friend of mine woke up with his pants off to a girl he’d repeatedly rejected trying to get him hard.
That was pretty awful. Also, one of my old professors got stalked and harassed by an ex to the point where he had a restraining order. The last straw was when he got a new girlfriend. The ex straight-up shot him in the chest, and he barely survived by sheer luck.
I had a girl stalk me for five years after we broke up. Another one created about fifty different Snapchat, Facebook, and Instagram accounts, all to try to get me to friend her. I’ve never met this woman in person, and yet every few weeks I’ll get a handful of friend requests from her. I met a girl online and started to genuinely like her.
Later I found out the photo she’d shown me of herself was actually a picture of her friend who had passed away from cancer. I hung out with some friends, and they brought someone I’d never met. We ended up hooking up. Right after, she asked where the used condom was, grabbed it, and said she was going to throw it away.
She walked right past the trash can and went upstairs. Needless to say, I spent nine months nervous about getting a phone call. I think I’m in the clear, but it still creeps me out. Many years ago I had a 1992 Camaro that I kept in pristine condition and drove when I was on leave.
One night I was driving home from a date when I got pulled over. I checked my speed: 85 in a 55. A policewoman approached my car. License, registration, the usual.
She asked if my car was a 1992, and when I said yes, she started firing off questions. Had I done any engine work? Replace the transmission or the rear end? What kind of clutch?
Where did I get it? I answered gamely, hoping a good mood might mean a lighter ticket. I told her I bought it at auction a few years back. She told me she used to drive a pursuit car that was a 1992 Camaro, eventually sold at auction a few years back.
Then she mentioned that she lost her virginity in the backseat of that very car. Things spiraled from there. She claimed there was a problem with my plate and ran my VIN. Sure enough, it was the car she used to drive.
Then she started flirting, hard. Not just flirting, but telling me her whole life story. She’d stayed a virgin until she was twenty-seven because she was a devout Christian, but she’d eventually realized God doesn’t really care about premarital sex. She’d tried every drug known to man by sampling evidence from work, but the only ones she actually liked were coke and alcohol.
She liked to party. When she saw my military ID, she started telling me about the Marine she used to date and how they’d have sex in public, how much she loved our troops. She wanted kids, a boy and a girl, but she couldn’t see herself settling down unless it was with a cop or a soldier. Confused didn’t begin to cover it.
Then she climbed into my backseat and told me she’d like to recreate some old memories. Now I was genuinely freaked out. This adult woman in full police uniform was in my backseat, basically proposing to me and offering to consummate the whole thing right there on the side of the road in an upscale Miami suburb in the middle of the night. An image flashed through my mind of me coming home after dating and breaking up with her to find my next girlfriend dead, a murder weapon with my fingerprints on it lying beside her.
I couldn’t shake it. I was scared in a way I’d never been before. I made my excuses, claimed I had a girlfriend. I did not.
The date hadn’t gone well. I told her I had to get up early. She let me off with a warning and her phone number. I never got rid of a number so fast in my life, and I spent the rest of my leave spooked by every cop car I saw, half expecting it to be her.
I once dated a woman who used to cuss me out during sex. She’d say things like, “You call that screwing, you limp-dick motherfucker? This is good, pee. I wish I were you.
You never had it better. Fuck me like the whore I am or I’ll screw you in the butt. I hate your guts. Fuck me like you fuck your mother.
I bet you know your own shit tastes like after sucking dicks. ” It was kind of a turn-on at first, almost like revenge sex. One time I started laughing, and she slapped me hard enough to leave a handprint. She climaxed at that exact moment with the most demonic face I’ve ever seen.
I stopped seeing her after that. I have no idea what happened to her. I was heading home after a night out, and as I got into my taxi, a girl jumped in after me. I asked what she was doing.
She said, “I’m coming home with you. ” No. The taxi driver helped me out, and she eventually got out of the car when I shut down her advances. Good on the cabby.
I tried to break up with a girl once, and she stalked me after. She was batshit crazy. At one point she looked at me deadpan and said, “If you ever leave again, I’ll kill you. ” We did not live happily ever after.
A girl accused me of cheating on her upon meeting my genuine girlfriend. I’d never been with her, never even heard a word about her liking me. She just assumed the role of my girlfriend without ever telling me, then got mad when she met my actual partner. Another one asked me to dress up in military gear and role-play that I was raping her.
She timed it so that her dad would be getting home. Somehow a stranger got my number and started texting me asking if I was going to Club X that night. I was. When I asked where I knew her from, she started lying about us hooking up at a party the week before, which I did actually attend.
I was like, what the hell, I didn’t hook up with anybody there. But I started doubting myself because I’d gotten pretty drunk. Then she started spinning all these stories about how we’d met that made no sense. I blocked her and went to a different party that night.
Turns out she was an out-of-town friend of someone I vaguely knew, and she’d seen my Facebook and immediately started stalking me. I’m a magnet for crazy, or maybe it’s just my luck. The craziest thing a girl ever said to me was, “I wish I could lock you in a cage and throw away the key, so no one else can come near you, just me. ” Sounds fake and insane, but it is absolutely true.
I was with her for about a year and a half. She didn’t actually lock me away, but anytime she found out I spoke to another girl, even a coworker, she would flip out. She even forgot the day we first met, decided I was talking about another girl, and blocked me on everything until she remembered the truth again. It took her about an hour.
I met a woman at a corporate party with an open bar. She was touchier than I was comfortable with from the jump, and after knowing her for all of thirty minutes, she said, “I want you to put a baby in me. ” I ran. Back in primary school in a West African country, there was this big girl everyone feared.
One day we were all crowded around the teacher’s desk submitting assignments, and she grabbed my private parts, looked at me, and winked. I was shocked but so innocent I didn’t understand what it meant or why she was winking. I didn’t take it seriously at the time, but it took me years to realize she’d violated me. My early twenties were full of interesting experiences.
A girl I met at a dive bar once shoved a pill into my mouth while we were making out after we got back to my place. I spat it out immediately and asked what the hell it was. She giggled, told me it was a sleeping pill, and asked if she could stay the night. I told her no, please leave.
Another time, I met a girl and fell for her fast. The chemistry was undeniable, and we spent just about every minute together for five or so weeks. Then she dropped this: “My fiancé is getting back from India in two days, so I’m going to be gone for a few days. Can we still see each other when he goes back?
” I was gutted. I had no idea she was in a relationship. I said no. That didn’t stop her from showing up at my place the second he left.
I told her I didn’t want to see her again. She started crying and tried to kiss me. I walked away while she sobbed in her car. I really liked her, and it broke my heart to see her like that.
I cried a bit myself once I got inside, but I just couldn’t trust her again. Then there was the first date at a small beachside cafe for brunch with a friend of a friend of a friend. I took an Uber in case we drank. The date went smoothly.
When she saw me calling an Uber at the end, she offered to drive me home instead. Sure, saves me a few bucks, maybe more. Halfway there, on a long road in the middle of nowhere, she said, “So, are we going to do this thing or what? ” I asked what she meant by this thing.
She said, “Start a serious relationship. ” I told her this was our first date, and before I could even finish the sentence, she pulled the handbrake and told me to get out. Apparently she didn’t have time to mess around with guys who weren’t serious. We had just met.
If she’d been a little more patient and gone on a few more dates, we might have actually become something. My dad told me that when he was a teenager at sleepaway camp, a girl with a crush on him snuck into his cabin and folded and reorganized all his clothes. Tame compared to most of this. My dentist once told me a story from when he was still in dental school.
They worked free clinics in poor areas around campus for practical requirements. A girl came in a few times to have cavities filled, and on the last visit he said, “Great, we’re done. All your holes are filled. ” She looked at him with terrible, obvious bedroom eyes and said, “Not all of them.
” His wife, then his serious girlfriend, was his dental assistant, and he said the combination of location and circumstances creeped him out so much he nearly ran out of the office. One girl carved my initials into her arm. I, being the genius I was, felt flattered and married her. I was not a smart man.
In university, there was a girl who’d gone through a really bad breakup, and I stood by her as a friend. She wasn’t my type at all, and she was pregnant with her ex-boyfriend’s baby. At a faculty party, she showed up wanting to drink, but everyone refused to give her alcohol. Near the end of the evening she said to me, “You know, maybe you should say hello to your future stepdaughter.
She’d appreciate your dick when she’s old enough. ” I was so disgusted I said I had to use the bathroom and fled, avoiding her like the plague ever after. More screwed up than creepy: my high school girlfriend was just using me until her boyfriend got out of juvie, and she admitted as much to me on the very day he got out. One ex called me crying one time, claiming she’d been raped by three guys on a school bus.
A friend of mine rode that same bus and confirmed she had not, in fact, been raped by three guys that day. That same girl also tried to ruin my next two relationships. She was crazy. A girl grabbed my crotch after I told her I wasn’t interested, then told me all guys want to hook up.
I said no thanks, I have a girlfriend, and if I were single I’d want sober girls who don’t smell like vomit. No means no. In high school, a friend of my long-term girlfriend said to me, “I had a dream that you and I had sex behind a dumpster and I can’t get it out of my head. Come on, let’s go,” and then grabbed my crotch as if to lead me by the groin.
Everyone knew about my relationship. I didn’t turn her in because who knows what she’d claim I did to the school, but I told my girlfriend, who cut her off for good. That girl ended up expelled for bringing alcohol and condoms on a school trip. That’s sexual assault.
That’s not okay. When I was sixteen, a female classmate became obsessed with me. She sent tons of weird messages, always tried to pair with me in science class, and just stared at me constantly. I was polite and never went out of my way to interact.
She kept escalating, and her messages became genuinely worrying. I remember the night it got really bad: she sent me a picture of my name carved into her own arm. In hindsight, I should have told someone immediately. The next day, before I could tell a teacher or anyone and possibly get her help, she was telling people that I’d told her to carve my name into her arm.
I got attacked at school that day. Police came to my house. My phone was taken, and I was treated like a criminal. Everyone except my two closest friends thought I was in the wrong.
The next day I was called into the head’s office and told I was being expelled. My father was called, furious, and took me home without listening to my side. Thank God that night the police came by with my phone. They’d established that I had nothing to do with her carving my name in her arm.
They apologized, sincerely. They explained everything to my dad. The head of the school had been informed, and I was to return the next day.
She would not be there when I went back.