I started seeing this guy that a friend had introduced me to. We had several dates: He seemed nice, we had fun, and things progressed. One night, while watching a movie at his place, the first kiss happened. Within seconds, he stuck his hand down my jeans and rammed his finger up my butt. I was alarmed, to say the least, and quickly removed his hand. He immediately tried it again. I cut things short and went home.
I figured that he got the hint, and since we got along really well, I went to his house later that week to watch another movie. He kissed me again and the exact same thing happened. I left, deciding that if I was to keep seeing this ass junkie then a frank discussion was in order. I met up with him for coffee somewhere quiet and gently explained to him that I really enjoyed his company, but the butt fingering had to go.
He was outraged, claiming that most women enjoyed that and that he did too. I responded that everyone was different, but anal play wasn’t for me. He seemed to understand and I thought the matter was settled, so I went to his place to watch a movie later that week and we started kissing. He then grabbed my hand and tried to stick it up his ass. I flung my hand away, then he immediately tried to do the same to me, again. I told him to fuck right off, left, and dumped him by phone the next day.
He then proceeded to stalk me for the next eight years, involving the police and getting fired from his job over it. All of this after only a couple of weeks of dating. The red flag here: If someone won’t respect your personal sexual choices and repeatedly ignores them, then he could very well be a freaking psycho.
On the second date, a guy asked if he “could keep me,” which was creepy but didn’t deter me from continuing to see him. Eventually we started a serious relationship and I moved in with him. While living together, he thought it was funny to sit on my face and fart, showing his maturity level was equal to that of a fifth grader. He was a huge slob so I was always cleaning up his mess. On one of these cleaning ventures I found pictures and letters from every single ex he’d ever had. When I confronted him, he said I shouldn’t have been looking at his stuff, despite the fact that it was laying all the hell over the place. Other occasions of note included him throwing an hour-long fit because I wouldn’t let him see his Christmas gifts pre-holiday and him pushing me over a bed as a joke right after I’d gotten back surgery.
Over time, we started having sex less and less and arguing more and more. We stopped living together but continued dating. No longer sharing a place, he decided he didn’t have to answer my calls and would make up lame excuses for not picking up his cell. Then came the kicker: I noticed that he was hiding his face during sex so that he wouldn’t have to look at me and that his sheets were always covered in dry semen, which I later found out was because he had a serious porn addiction. I broke up with him but he continued to call me long after the fact.
I met this guy through a friend at a bar one night, and we spent the whole night glued to each other talking. He asked for my number, took me on a date or two, and then disappeared. I figured he simply wasn’t that into me and didn’t think about it. Eventually, I noticed that he changed his Facebook status to “in a relationship.”
A few months later, I ran into him at a bar. His presence, along with that of another ex, led me to drink far too much. I ended up going home with him, unsure if he was indeed seeing someone else. Everything seemed fine at first and I thought the only red flag at that point was the fact that he only gave me the time of day when I drunkenly threw myself at him.
We ended up sleeping together one more time and more flags started to fly when I caught him filming me with his cell phone during the act. When he saw me catch a glimpse of the phone, he tried to hide it. I told him I was really uncomfortable with what he did, but he shrugged it off and said that he only filmed me because he was going to masturbate to it later. I didn’t believe him for a second and three days later went over to his house, swiped his phone, took it to the bathroom, deleted the videos—yes, there was more than one—and handed it back to him. I’ve ignored him since and regret that I barked up the disinterested tree in the first place.
So my ex was a cornucopia of red flags, why I stuck around is beyond me. Just to give you the full picture, he was a 41-year-old balding man with a grey front tooth and his breath stank like cat poop, which could have had something to do with the cigarettes and joints he chained smoked. He hated black people to the point that he would shove a black person in the street for no apparent reason, and acted like a complete douche after one or two beers, literally pissing himself and groping other women. Real winner.
Toward the end of our three years together, my ex got lazy about showering (sometimes only cleaning himself once a week). I used to enjoy going down on him, but towards the end of our relationship I never did because of the body order smell and taste (ick). He either didn’t notice he wasn’t getting lucky anymore, or didn’t care. I even started withholding sex if he hadn’t showered within a reasonable time frame. If it were me, and I knew my hygiene that day wasn’t great or something, I’d either not be comfortable with him going down on me, or I’d give him the heads up (no pun intended). How are guys not aware of the way they smell down there?