Feeling a little fed up on Valentine's Day, I put the following post on the TES message board:
http://www.tes.co.uk/section/staffroom/thread.aspx?story_id=2341271&path=/Personal/
There were two men brave enough to email me. There was one who was even brave enough to meet me! I shall refer to him as Mr Hypnosis as he does hypnotism in his spare time!
So, the Saturday after Valentine's Day was the TES Leeds meet. Mr Hypnosis was playing hockey, but said he'd come to the pub after the match. Managed to kop a look at him on the hockey website beforehand, and he looked quite nice (well I thought he had big ears as well, but then again I have a big nose - so I guess we're even!!)
He came in and found us all, and we all introduced ourselves to him. He smiled at me and then sat next to someone else - he chatted a lot to other people, but I kept noticing him sneaking a look at me, which I was pleased about.
We were eventually left alone, and we sat for an hour or so on a big comfy sofa in the pub having a right old natter. We really got on, Iwe were both very comfortable in each other's company - and it was commented upon that we looked very relaxed together. He kindly offered to walk me to my car - and I promptly forgot where I'd parked it! I even felt comfortable enough with him to go to his car, and let him drive me round Leeds looking for mine.
He'd obviously taken the time to do a search on me on TES- as he knew my bra size and kept referring to my tiny house!
We then chatted on MSN and he invited me over to his house. He was going to take me to the nearby Sculpture Park. So, despite him giving me some seriously dodgy directions, two weeks later I find myself at his house. (OK, that doesn't mean it took me two weeks to find it, alright?)
I get there, Moulin Rouge's playing on DVD. He's earning brownie points alright - he's remembered it's my favourite! It's absolutely throwing it down, so we decide against going to the Sculpture Park and instead I let him hypnotise me. I feel comy enough with him to trust him to do it. I sit cross legged on the sofa and he sits in front of me and tells me what to do in a chocolatey, velvety voice. He places my hand on his knee and I feel completely calm and peaceful - his touch was almost like a parental, protective touch - at first!
It was amazing. I felt really relaxed and safe and protected - when I was stood up and I fell, he caught me, picked me up and I was sat on his knee whilst he held me like a child. OK, so there were some inappropriate moments! But if I'd have not wanted him to touch me, I could've stopped him!
We then lay on the sofa together, like you would do if you'd been with someone for a long time, and it felt so right and so comfy. We started watching a film, but before long things got a bit steamy on that sofa! And he confessed that he'd not been in that situation for a couple of years. Which, of course, immediately makes me feel like a complete slapper! Particularly as I had a condom in my bag (not that it got used of course! I was a good girl!) OK, so it got opened - it just didn't get used!
I get home and he sends me a lovely text telling me what a lovely day he's had and how he'll have to visit me soon.
So two weeks later he asks if he can come and see me just after lunch. It's Mother's Day and he's going to his mum's - so he's going to come and see me before travelling onto his parents' home. Just after lunch turns out to be 4pm. I've been sat there waiting for bloody hours! He's very agitated and stressed out; he talks a lot about crap at school, he tells me things that - to me - are quite financially personal and I wouldn't necessarily need to know at this stage in our relationship. He tells me of the busy time he's got coming up.
So, as he's leaving I say to him "I guess you've not got time for me in your busy life?" and he says "I can't promise anything" then gives me a big hug and a kiss and says "but I'm really good for hugs though."
Now, what the feck is all that about?
Bloody men - I just don't get them!
There's been a couple of pleasant emails since then - but that's it. So heaven only knows what's going on!!
However, the hypnosis did help me to sleep well for two weeks - although I'm back to my usual three hours then wake up and get cross cos I can't sleep routine.
Mind you, am currently talking to a very nice lorry driver - so Mr Hypnosis's loss could be Mr Lorry Driver's gain!
Para x
Tuesday, 27 March 2007
Friday, 23 March 2007
The Married Men
Generally known as MM1 and MM2 - well they are to those of you who frequent the TES website!
Fuck buddies I guess. Not really sure what to say about them, other than the fact that they exist.
MM1 - he was a colleague of mine, works elsewhere now. I don't know how it started. All I can remember was him pulling me into a classroom and asking me whether I was missing sex now that my husband had disappeared. And then asking me questions about what I liked. And I was embarassed. Mind you I wasn't embarassed enough not to ask him round to my house! That was about October 2005, and he comes to see me roughly once a fortnight. I like him, he gives me good advice about work and stuff. I like the fact that he's soooooo very confident, and yet get him under me and he needs reassuring! Hmmmmmm ...
OK, stop daydreaming Para! MM2. He was also a colleague, although I didn't see as much of him at work as he worked on a different site. He popped round to my house on the way back from his brother's - and I pounced on him! Don't see as much of him as I do MM1, but he is soooooo much fun!
MM1 and MM2 are friends. That was a bit tricky, not telling each about the other! But they do know now!
I guess these shenanigans will have to stop at some point, but for now I'm happy with how things are. Although giving up MM1 will be difficult!
Para xx
Fuck buddies I guess. Not really sure what to say about them, other than the fact that they exist.
MM1 - he was a colleague of mine, works elsewhere now. I don't know how it started. All I can remember was him pulling me into a classroom and asking me whether I was missing sex now that my husband had disappeared. And then asking me questions about what I liked. And I was embarassed. Mind you I wasn't embarassed enough not to ask him round to my house! That was about October 2005, and he comes to see me roughly once a fortnight. I like him, he gives me good advice about work and stuff. I like the fact that he's soooooo very confident, and yet get him under me and he needs reassuring! Hmmmmmm ...
OK, stop daydreaming Para! MM2. He was also a colleague, although I didn't see as much of him at work as he worked on a different site. He popped round to my house on the way back from his brother's - and I pounced on him! Don't see as much of him as I do MM1, but he is soooooo much fun!
MM1 and MM2 are friends. That was a bit tricky, not telling each about the other! But they do know now!
I guess these shenanigans will have to stop at some point, but for now I'm happy with how things are. Although giving up MM1 will be difficult!
Para xx
Thursday, 22 March 2007
The Husband
Or rather, the man who will become my ex husband as soon as I can sort it out.
In June 2005 he went on holiday with a friend to Austria. I went on holiday to Robin Hood's Bay. On 7th July 2005, he disappeared. 7/7: most people remember that date because of the London bombings. I remember it because it's the day my husband became a missing person.
Strangely, I wasn't that freaked out - it was almost like I expected it. in fact, I think I did expect it. I can remember my last telephone conversation with him on that date and when I put the phone down, I thought 'that's it, I'll never hear from him again'. I don't know what made me think that.
There then followed a summer of almost daily visits from the Police. There was the odd phone call from the husband with cryptic clues as to where he was. There were distraught messages left on my answerphone by him. I distinctly remember the night I was convinced he was going to throw himself under a train because of one of these messages. I don't know why I thought that, and recalling it now I think he was in France at the time - but again I don't know if I actually knew that, or if I just sensed it.
Then came the day that I will never ever forget. Now, don't get me wrong - the Police were fantastic, but they did have a habit of turning up at 8.30am. I'm on my summer hols - I need a lie-in and I kept having to get up early in case the Police turned up! So, the PC turned up early and asked if I'd had my house searched. I felt sick: I sort of knew this would have to happen, although no-one had mentioned it to me. So I replied that no it hadn't been searched. Off goes the PC, only to return at 1pm.
'There are some support officers coming to search your house,' he says, 'and I need to stay here until they arrive'. Which is when it hit me. He has to stay here just in case I've actually killed my husband and I try and hide any evidence. It's an undescribable feeling the realisation that the Police have to treat you as a possible murder suspect. His friend also had a similar feeling, being the last person to have seen my husband. It's not pleasant.
1.30pm and the two support officers turn up to my little house. They look quite intimidating in their military-type navy clothes. There's a bit of a stand-off with them when I ask whether they have to search everywhere. They tell me that if there's anywhere I don't want them to look, they'll have to contact their superiors and inform them of this. 'OK,' says I, 'contact them and I'll tell them exactly why I don't want you looking in my knicker drawer, shall I?'
Point taken and my knicker drawer was left well alone! It was only months later when I realised that when they'd searched the loft they'd have come across a box full of *ahem* toys!
They searched everywhere - even my car. They took a big bag of my husband's things away, address book, notebooks etc. It was such an invasive procedure. They tried to put me at my ease by chatting with me, but whilst they were making small talk these two strangers were going through my entire life.
In August I got a phone call. It was my husband and he was at Liverpool Airport - would I go and pick him up? So I did. He never spoke on the journey back. He gave me a bag of presents which included bottles of my favourite wine, which I can no longer get in this country. When we returned home, he became verbally aggressive. Then the Police turned up - and he told the PC that he was OK, then walked out of the front door, never to return again.
The Police could do no more because he'd told the PC he was OK and she was completely unsympathetic when I said he was probably going to kill himself.
Anyway, about a week or so later I receive a text message. It's my husband. He's bought himself a mobile and he's in John O'Groats. He won't answer the phone when I ring though. Over the course of the following weeks I realise that he's doing the John O'Groats to Land's End walk. I fully expect him to keep on walking once he reaches Land's End, and I make a number of fraught phone calls to Cornwall Police when I realise he's in the vicinity.
The next thing I know, he's texting me from Kendal - he's injured his shoulder and gone to hospital and asked to see a psychiatrist. But they won't let him without a referral from a GP. So I make an appointment for him and, at the end of October, I meet him at the surgery. He looks completely emaciated. He must have lost 4 stones. He has a long grey beard. He smells. But he does have a fantastic tan! He gets admitted to the psychiatric ward and remains there for a couple of months until he's discharged to the grottiest B&B I've ever seen. After a few weeks he managed to rent a static caravan in a lovely rural location. It's very him. He does lots of walking. He gets a job.
I try helping him, I walk with him, I visit him, I take him out for tea or to the supermarket. But he starts getting aggressive again and his case worker advises me to stay away from him. So, for the past 10 months, I have.
And that's it. I can't say how I truly feel about it now because I don't really know. I sort of feel relieved that I don't have to put up with his depressions anymore (I just have to put up with my own now!!). I feel a bit of a failure because I couldn't do more to help him. But I don't feel like I think I should do because my marriage has broken down - I don't feel sad, or upset - I feel sort of resigned to the fact that this is how it was meant to be.
Blinkin 'eck this is therapeutic! And I bet there's not many of you will read it all! But if you do, thanks.
Para xx
In June 2005 he went on holiday with a friend to Austria. I went on holiday to Robin Hood's Bay. On 7th July 2005, he disappeared. 7/7: most people remember that date because of the London bombings. I remember it because it's the day my husband became a missing person.
Strangely, I wasn't that freaked out - it was almost like I expected it. in fact, I think I did expect it. I can remember my last telephone conversation with him on that date and when I put the phone down, I thought 'that's it, I'll never hear from him again'. I don't know what made me think that.
There then followed a summer of almost daily visits from the Police. There was the odd phone call from the husband with cryptic clues as to where he was. There were distraught messages left on my answerphone by him. I distinctly remember the night I was convinced he was going to throw himself under a train because of one of these messages. I don't know why I thought that, and recalling it now I think he was in France at the time - but again I don't know if I actually knew that, or if I just sensed it.
Then came the day that I will never ever forget. Now, don't get me wrong - the Police were fantastic, but they did have a habit of turning up at 8.30am. I'm on my summer hols - I need a lie-in and I kept having to get up early in case the Police turned up! So, the PC turned up early and asked if I'd had my house searched. I felt sick: I sort of knew this would have to happen, although no-one had mentioned it to me. So I replied that no it hadn't been searched. Off goes the PC, only to return at 1pm.
'There are some support officers coming to search your house,' he says, 'and I need to stay here until they arrive'. Which is when it hit me. He has to stay here just in case I've actually killed my husband and I try and hide any evidence. It's an undescribable feeling the realisation that the Police have to treat you as a possible murder suspect. His friend also had a similar feeling, being the last person to have seen my husband. It's not pleasant.
1.30pm and the two support officers turn up to my little house. They look quite intimidating in their military-type navy clothes. There's a bit of a stand-off with them when I ask whether they have to search everywhere. They tell me that if there's anywhere I don't want them to look, they'll have to contact their superiors and inform them of this. 'OK,' says I, 'contact them and I'll tell them exactly why I don't want you looking in my knicker drawer, shall I?'
Point taken and my knicker drawer was left well alone! It was only months later when I realised that when they'd searched the loft they'd have come across a box full of *ahem* toys!
They searched everywhere - even my car. They took a big bag of my husband's things away, address book, notebooks etc. It was such an invasive procedure. They tried to put me at my ease by chatting with me, but whilst they were making small talk these two strangers were going through my entire life.
In August I got a phone call. It was my husband and he was at Liverpool Airport - would I go and pick him up? So I did. He never spoke on the journey back. He gave me a bag of presents which included bottles of my favourite wine, which I can no longer get in this country. When we returned home, he became verbally aggressive. Then the Police turned up - and he told the PC that he was OK, then walked out of the front door, never to return again.
The Police could do no more because he'd told the PC he was OK and she was completely unsympathetic when I said he was probably going to kill himself.
Anyway, about a week or so later I receive a text message. It's my husband. He's bought himself a mobile and he's in John O'Groats. He won't answer the phone when I ring though. Over the course of the following weeks I realise that he's doing the John O'Groats to Land's End walk. I fully expect him to keep on walking once he reaches Land's End, and I make a number of fraught phone calls to Cornwall Police when I realise he's in the vicinity.
The next thing I know, he's texting me from Kendal - he's injured his shoulder and gone to hospital and asked to see a psychiatrist. But they won't let him without a referral from a GP. So I make an appointment for him and, at the end of October, I meet him at the surgery. He looks completely emaciated. He must have lost 4 stones. He has a long grey beard. He smells. But he does have a fantastic tan! He gets admitted to the psychiatric ward and remains there for a couple of months until he's discharged to the grottiest B&B I've ever seen. After a few weeks he managed to rent a static caravan in a lovely rural location. It's very him. He does lots of walking. He gets a job.
I try helping him, I walk with him, I visit him, I take him out for tea or to the supermarket. But he starts getting aggressive again and his case worker advises me to stay away from him. So, for the past 10 months, I have.
And that's it. I can't say how I truly feel about it now because I don't really know. I sort of feel relieved that I don't have to put up with his depressions anymore (I just have to put up with my own now!!). I feel a bit of a failure because I couldn't do more to help him. But I don't feel like I think I should do because my marriage has broken down - I don't feel sad, or upset - I feel sort of resigned to the fact that this is how it was meant to be.
Blinkin 'eck this is therapeutic! And I bet there's not many of you will read it all! But if you do, thanks.
Para xx
Wednesday, 21 March 2007
The Toyboy
I know how to show men a good time, me. I spent a very pleasant evening last night entertaining two gorgeous, handsome, lovely 20 somet year old men. They too had a fantastic time. Girls, you want to know the secret of keeping two young men happy?
Spinning plates.
Seriously. Toyboy (also known as my boy) and his mate spent the evening trying to spin plates. His mate worked out how to do it, my boy didn't!
So who is my boy? OK, so he's an ex student of mine. He came to college at 18 having been thrown out of another college. He used to tell me that Lucy Benjamin (ex-Eastenders) was the same age as me and her boyfriend was the same age as him: I used to give him my best Paddington bear stare.
The class he was in was a very special class to me and my colleague D. They were a really lovely, lovely group of people. Lazy - truly unbelievably lazy - but the loveliest of people. Both me and D are still in touch with a number of them, but I'm particularly close to my boy and T, a female whose family have now kind of adopted me!
My memories of Toyboy from college are of being disgusted by his back hair. Now you might be wondering why, as his tutor, I might see his back hair, but whilst my boy used to like to flash his belly hair to all and sundry, it was the way his back hair crept up from above his t-shirt and curled over the top that used to freak me out. I did request that he wear polo necks in my class, but the request fell on deaf ears.
I also remember him, having been egged on by my colleague D, shouting across the LRC at me "Para, do ladies fart?" All the big rufty tufty Public Services lads looked up from their computers at me, you could see them thinking "how's she gonna answer this one?" "I dunno," shouts I, "I'm not a lady!"
And another memory. Final one, honest!!! I was due to take my boy's class, and I tried to walk down the corridor to the class, but I had this dreadful sharp pain in my belly. It was so painful that it made me laugh. I made it to the end of the corridor, before almost collapsing when my boy and another student got hold of me and dragged me back to the staffroom. I was admitted to hospital and my boy kept texting me to make sure I was OK. That's typical of him - he is a very caring man.
So, fast forward to 2005 and my husband's disappeared. My boy gets to find out about this and gets in touch. He's now at university. We get together, he becomes a great source of comfort to me, and inevitably things go further than perhaps they should! However, we soon discover that we are incompatible in that department. He proves to be a worse student in the bedroom than he was in the classroom! As a result of this his nickname for me is Grusum, or Gru for short!
So, apart from a small falling out that I will completely gloss over, we have become the firmest of friends. It's a strange, but enchanting relationship, which I value dearly. There's 15 years between us, but that doesn't matter at all. He comes to see me maybe twice a week and we have so much fun, we're always laughing. We talk for England: we talk about all sorts of things, sex, current affairs, sex, he tells me things about his culture (he's a Muslim), sex, his future, sex, my mad life and then sex again!
We look at strange websites, car websites, dating websites andEbay; he talks to Oldsomeman on MSN! He thinks Oldsome is fab! If you chat to me on MSN, you'll know when he's here cos his picture will be on!
He's shown me how to download music, introduced me to gangsta rap (thanks for that one matey!)asks for my advice on all manner of things I know nothing about (I love the way he thinks I know everything about everything), I've taught him how to make flapjacks and play Scrabble - but I can't teach him how to spin plates! He sends me the sweetest of texts and looks after me whilst I'm feeling ill, and he gives me the bestest of cuddles.
My friends can't understand the relationship. Why is a young man so interested in me without wanting sex? Well apart from the blindingly obvious fact that I'm a wonderful human being - I don't know!! All I do know is that he's very, very special to me. He has been described as being my surrogate son - but I'm sure sons aren't supposed to get their willies out and say "look how hard this is", or indeed grab hold of your breasts and ask you if you've ever thought of having a breast reduction!
I don't know what it's all about! It's just an amazing friendship and he's got me through some really hard times. I do wonder what any man who comes into my life will make of our relationship! And I know he's going to read this, so my boy, I just want to say thank you so much for all you've done for me, you're a very special person and I hope you'll be in my life for a long time to come cos I love you to bits - you're fantastic.
Para xx
Spinning plates.
Seriously. Toyboy (also known as my boy) and his mate spent the evening trying to spin plates. His mate worked out how to do it, my boy didn't!
So who is my boy? OK, so he's an ex student of mine. He came to college at 18 having been thrown out of another college. He used to tell me that Lucy Benjamin (ex-Eastenders) was the same age as me and her boyfriend was the same age as him: I used to give him my best Paddington bear stare.
The class he was in was a very special class to me and my colleague D. They were a really lovely, lovely group of people. Lazy - truly unbelievably lazy - but the loveliest of people. Both me and D are still in touch with a number of them, but I'm particularly close to my boy and T, a female whose family have now kind of adopted me!
My memories of Toyboy from college are of being disgusted by his back hair. Now you might be wondering why, as his tutor, I might see his back hair, but whilst my boy used to like to flash his belly hair to all and sundry, it was the way his back hair crept up from above his t-shirt and curled over the top that used to freak me out. I did request that he wear polo necks in my class, but the request fell on deaf ears.
I also remember him, having been egged on by my colleague D, shouting across the LRC at me "Para, do ladies fart?" All the big rufty tufty Public Services lads looked up from their computers at me, you could see them thinking "how's she gonna answer this one?" "I dunno," shouts I, "I'm not a lady!"
And another memory. Final one, honest!!! I was due to take my boy's class, and I tried to walk down the corridor to the class, but I had this dreadful sharp pain in my belly. It was so painful that it made me laugh. I made it to the end of the corridor, before almost collapsing when my boy and another student got hold of me and dragged me back to the staffroom. I was admitted to hospital and my boy kept texting me to make sure I was OK. That's typical of him - he is a very caring man.
So, fast forward to 2005 and my husband's disappeared. My boy gets to find out about this and gets in touch. He's now at university. We get together, he becomes a great source of comfort to me, and inevitably things go further than perhaps they should! However, we soon discover that we are incompatible in that department. He proves to be a worse student in the bedroom than he was in the classroom! As a result of this his nickname for me is Grusum, or Gru for short!
So, apart from a small falling out that I will completely gloss over, we have become the firmest of friends. It's a strange, but enchanting relationship, which I value dearly. There's 15 years between us, but that doesn't matter at all. He comes to see me maybe twice a week and we have so much fun, we're always laughing. We talk for England: we talk about all sorts of things, sex, current affairs, sex, he tells me things about his culture (he's a Muslim), sex, his future, sex, my mad life and then sex again!
We look at strange websites, car websites, dating websites andEbay; he talks to Oldsomeman on MSN! He thinks Oldsome is fab! If you chat to me on MSN, you'll know when he's here cos his picture will be on!
He's shown me how to download music, introduced me to gangsta rap (thanks for that one matey!)asks for my advice on all manner of things I know nothing about (I love the way he thinks I know everything about everything), I've taught him how to make flapjacks and play Scrabble - but I can't teach him how to spin plates! He sends me the sweetest of texts and looks after me whilst I'm feeling ill, and he gives me the bestest of cuddles.
My friends can't understand the relationship. Why is a young man so interested in me without wanting sex? Well apart from the blindingly obvious fact that I'm a wonderful human being - I don't know!! All I do know is that he's very, very special to me. He has been described as being my surrogate son - but I'm sure sons aren't supposed to get their willies out and say "look how hard this is", or indeed grab hold of your breasts and ask you if you've ever thought of having a breast reduction!
I don't know what it's all about! It's just an amazing friendship and he's got me through some really hard times. I do wonder what any man who comes into my life will make of our relationship! And I know he's going to read this, so my boy, I just want to say thank you so much for all you've done for me, you're a very special person and I hope you'll be in my life for a long time to come cos I love you to bits - you're fantastic.
Para xx
Tuesday, 20 March 2007
My Nice Shiney New Bedroom
Well I'm now the proud owner of a nice shiney newly painted bedroom - Summer Sunlight. Or creamy lemon if you can't visualise that!
So, cos Grumpy (my dad) was coming to help me to decorate I though I'd better get rid of any dodgy items to save embarassment on both our parts!
So, OK, I managed to hide any evidence of toys, condoms etc and my big vibrator poster.
But when he went into my room I realised that what I'd not moved was my big pile of Scarlet magazines (which he picked up and put on the landing, all the while I'm willing him not to read the front of the mag!)
Oh, and then I realised there were the strategically tied scarves at the head of my bed. And the handcuffs. And the blindfold. And the spanking paddle. He didn't bat an eyelid!
Para xx
So, cos Grumpy (my dad) was coming to help me to decorate I though I'd better get rid of any dodgy items to save embarassment on both our parts!
So, OK, I managed to hide any evidence of toys, condoms etc and my big vibrator poster.
But when he went into my room I realised that what I'd not moved was my big pile of Scarlet magazines (which he picked up and put on the landing, all the while I'm willing him not to read the front of the mag!)
Oh, and then I realised there were the strategically tied scarves at the head of my bed. And the handcuffs. And the blindfold. And the spanking paddle. He didn't bat an eyelid!
Para xx
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