Solo sex

( Behind a cut, for discretion )

My bad boy

A few days ago weebax posted about bad boys: "the type of guys that can never give you the love you need or the respect you deserve."

He invited people to share their own stories. I've only made the mistake once, and didn't relish writing about it, but here it is.

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I've dated quite a few guys over the years and mostly they treated me well. The one who lived with me was pretty inconsiderate when he left, and it broke my heart, but for the most part he was a sweet man.

But I had one bad boy. Just a few months after I came out, the summer of 1996, my first gay romance. He charmed me off my feet, but he turned out to be a manipulator. If I ever questioned his behaviour toward me he would become cruel and verbally abusive. The first couple times it happened I thought he was just having a bad day, but the third time I knew I didn't deserve to be treated that way anymore and broke off with him.

Then he started harrassing me. He kept phoning to tell me what a loser I was and what a miserable life I would have without him. I finally threatened to press charges and that stopped the calls. But for years afterwards if he saw me out someplace he would start following me. It creeped me out, so instead of doing the right thing and standing up to him I would try to get away. Sometimes he would do this when I was with someone in an effort to scare them away. He only spoke to me once, when I was with some friends and he came up and asked if I would go for a walk with him. I said, "No thanks." And he said, "What do you want from me?" I said, "I want you to leave me alone." And he said, "Don't get weird on me, Van," and started to freak out, but couldn't do anything because I was with a group of people. I don't know what he thought I saw in him.

In spring 2000 I dated a guy from Buffalo name Mike. He was 6'4", Polish-Italian, had a temper to go with it, and looked dangerous as hell, but he was really one of the most generous, cultured and eligible guys I have known. A big charmer, too, but with some substance underneath. One day we were walking through the Village in Toronto and I spotted the Bad Boy following us. I pointed him out. Mike had already heard the story.

"Come on," he said. "Let's turn this around."

So we reversed course and approached him along Church Street. Bad Boy spun on his heel and headed down Alexander. We followed him all the way to Yonge Street, but by the time we got there he had disappeared.

He has never come near me again.