The Big Bad Bully

Don’t you love it when you receive a random text from a random guy? You secretly hope it was the hot guy you swapped numbers with on a night out a few months ago. Or that one date, which seemed perfect, but as life does, crap stirs up and you go your separate ways.Or it was that twat, whom you have completely forgotten about, but clearly he hasn’t forgotten you. Well, that’s my luck! I got the twat!

A couple of years ago, when I had my first stab of online dating I met a guy called Matt. A 37-year-old detective. He seemed ok on paper, I didn’t fancy him much, but he seemed calm/mysterious. I couldn’t quite read him, which always makes me more interested. I think I’m attracted to indirect danger!

One afternoon he got home from work and to sleep. Being the cheeky girl I am I proceeded to say “good night granddad”. Let’s just say it didn’t go down too well.

Standing in Soho Square, in my heels and nude fitted dress, I didn’t know what to think. As a girl who is comfortable with men sexually and socially, dating makes me feel sick. I was a nervous wreck, fidgeting like a child in anticipation. Walking towards me with this sorry figure of a man. The first thing that came into my head was “Fuck, he looks like Danny” (my ex boyfriend). This kind of made sense, a familiar face in a foreign situation.

Dinner was somewhat awkward. I couldn’t be myself, as he made it clear that he did not like me talking about my work or boss.  My head was on repeat, “don’t talk about work, you know he doesn’t like it”. I managed to survive dinner without a dirty look, so I was doing well. Sitting in a bar, we shared a bottle of wine. “Its your turn, I’ve paid for dinner” he shouted in an unattractive drunken manner. I was speechless; non-the less I paid for the drinks. I just wanted to go home without any drama.

Matt noticed me drifting off, as I do when tipsy and slightly bored. He gently touched me to wake me up. In my drunken state I jumped to my feet like a kinky kangaroo and singed “let’s go granddad”.

Before I knew it, he went into a rage and rushed out of the bar. Trying my best to run down Soho in my heels to catch up. Within in a blink of an eye, he was gone. On my way home, I called Mr Big to tell him about the disastrous date, trying to understand what I did wrong. Jumping out of the taxi, the driver commented on how beautiful I was, which boosted my ego.

I called Matt to apologise, I did make it clear from the start of my dry sense of humor! I did call myself a grandma a few times as I was drifting off. He went on like a menopausal woman, saying how he no longer found me attractive, how he thought I was immature etc. At this point I was running around my room getting ready for bed, pretending to actively listen.

Then I fell onto my bed in shock. Let’s just say he called me the C word…and I don’t mean a Cow. Now I have no issues with the word, I use it a lot, in and out of the bedroom. However when a man is calling you that outside the bedroom, in an extremely aggressive manner. Shouting at you continuously, it was like he was in a middle of riot.   Although it was over the phone, I felt frightened and confused. What did I do wrong?

The next day he called up to apologise, as he partly blamed me for what happened. “Forgetting” that he called me the C word!

It dawned on my age and fundamentally me that he had issues, with women, who are rather confident. I guess he assumed, that because I’m younger, I would be “easier” to control. He soon found out, that I can fight back.

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