If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all. That old adage just about says it all for my life these days. At least, that's how it seemed until very recently.
The transition from college life to the real world had been difficult. First, I moved back home with my parents, a real treat. Hardly a day went by without them asking why I was dating one guy and not another, or why I hadn't found a job yet, or why I hadn't devoted myself to studies (hey, I didn't get all A's but I did graduate in the top 40%), or why I had gained a couple pounds. You name it, they questioned it.
After sending out the obligatory hundreds of resumes and having dozens of fruitless interviews, I finally settled on a decent entry level professional job at a local insurance company. And I don't think my new boss was even looking up my skirt.
The pay was enough to allow me to move away from my folks and into my own small apartment, but it was a bit of a struggle to make the monthly rent payments and still keep food on the table and gas in my seven-year-old, 125,000-mile Honda Civic.
Rent and gas usually won over food. My seven-year-old Honda Civic had more fuel than I did at times, and that was at 25 miles-per-gallon so it tells you what I was eating.
I was dating a couple guys at the time, nothing serious, but it got me out of the cramped apartment and with some company my age. I think everyone in the apartment house was 30 years my senior, so I wasn't getting thrilling conversation around the hallways. Normally my dates were dinner and a movie, sometimes clubbing, but nothing real serious occurred until I met John Robert.
Yes, he went by both names, not John, not Robert, and definitely not J.R. It was John Robert, period. John Robert was charming and I felt lucky to have him pick me over the scores of other attractive and willing girls. We were inseparable. The early part of our relationship was spent sweeping me off my feet: it was dinner, flowers, holding doors open and numerous compliments.
He literally charmed the pants, skirts and undies off me in record time. We waited just over a month before we did the deed. The wait didn't seem to him; the sex was often and wonderful, and I thought he was a very special guy. Or so I thought at the time.
After several months together, things changed. While I was falling madly in love, John Robert was a little less attentive. Oh, we still had sex several nights a week, but he rarely stayed overnight and the compliments were less frequent.
Little did I know at that time he was seeing not one but two other girls, each of whom he was banging on alternate nights along with me? I thought we were in a solo relationship, and here I was sleeping with a guy who had several others on the side.
What a pig. A good for nothing, scumbag pig. I found out about his nightly bouncing from girl to girl, bedroom to bedroom, by accident.
My best friend Jessica asked me to go to a bachlorette party with her. The party was in a town 20 miles away, and Jessica didn't want to worry about driving home alone, especially if she had a few drinks. I gladly agreed to be the designated driver. Besides, John Robert was attending night classes so it wasn't as if I was leaving my honey bunch alone.
We had dinner with nine other girls and then jumped from club to club, dancing the night away. At one dimly lit night club we owned the dance floor for an hour. Taking a break from the strenuous activities, I looked around the club. There were geeks and freaks, but what caught my eyes was the profile of someone who looked surprisingly familiar.
Through the blur of bodies I could have sworn I saw John Robert sitting in a booth across the dance floor. I slipped to the side and sleuthed my way toward the table, staying in the shadows. It couldn't be him, of course, but I had to know for sure.
I casually slipped to within 20 feet from the table and was shocked at what I saw. There John Robert in the flesh, gabbing away as a young woman listened intently. I saw his hand slowly stroking the shapely thigh of the blonde in a short mini-skirt. My feet were glued to the floor as I watched his repetitive stroking of her shapely thigh before bending toward her and locking lips. The bastard. Just as I got ready to launch into a full-blown confrontation, the two exited their booth and headed toward the back door.
I should have left it alone, but I couldn't help but follow. Slipping out the back, I remained in the shadows, observing them walking hand in hand deep into the parking lot. For a moment I couldn't decide what to do. I mean, I didn't think I could leave my friend and jump in the car to follow, but by the same token I wanted to tell the two-timing, no good jerk just what I thought of his little escapade while planting a size seven pump snuggly between his legs.
As luck would have it the two got into a car, but not the front. The two got into the back seat of a Chevy wasted no time in getting back to their make-out ways. I crept closer and watched as the two locked lips and passionately kissed for several minutes. I jealously watched them stroke each other's bodies. John Robert bent his head --- somehow he had lifted her top --- and nibbled on her nipples, alternating one side to the other as her head sank well back into the seat.
Just the night before it had been me making out with John Robert. We had a bone-jarring lovemaking session which left me completely satisfied. Less than 24 hours later he's with another girl, licking breasts and sucking face. I watched as the blonde backed away from the kiss and said something to my man. He laughed, then watched as she expertly opened his trousers. While I didn't have an excellent view, I knew exactly what was happening when her head bent over his midsection and began bobbing up and down. The bitch was sucking my guy's cock!
Up and down she went, bobbing her head like one of those bobblehead dolls. She started slowly but when she sped up I heard him moan her name. Candice. That did it. In an instant I sped to the car, banged on the window and cursed the startled couple. I told him I was going to Bobbitt him if I ever saw him again, and that I'd pull her tits through a ringer if she came in contact with me.
I think I ruined a perfectly good blowjob that night, but the prick deserved it.
It's funny how things come out after the fact. John Robert didn't have the balls to call me, not to apologize, not to give me a lame story, nothing. My friend Stephanie got on my shit list when she told me at a lunch date that she knew John Robert was running around on me, and that he was sleeping with a former friend named Caroline while sleeping with me.
After that debacle I cautiously dated several guys but each was a jerk in his own sort of way. After a bit I merely delved into my job and my volunteer worth at the hospital, figuring that in helping others I would be helping myself. I missed the male companionship and I missed the sex. For the time being all men were assholes and I was better than that.
My friends tried to cheer me up by setting me up all the time; I told them "Thanks, but no thanks" over and over. I needed time for myself to get over all of the bad karma. I worked out every morning, went to the job, did things I wanted to do and curse when I'd get those calls late at night waking me from a fitful sleep.
God, I hated those calls. Nobody was ever on the line. At first I thought it was a series of wrong numbers, but on several occasions I heard breathing on the other end of the line. Just what I needed, crank calls. I swore at them. Hung up on them. I even called John Robert at work and told him in no uncertain words to stop calling --- just in case it was him. It's funny, there wasn't a pattern, except that the majority of calls came in after 10 at night.
Late one Saturday night, after watching a couple DVDs, I slipped into an extra large tee shirt and slid nightynight between the covers. I had ran two miles in the morning and another two before dinner, so I was quite tired. Still when the telephone rang it woke me, abet with a start.
"Hullo?" I growled sleepingly into the receiver. Nobody answered. "Who is this? I spat. "Answer me!" The line was quiet, but I knew someone was there. I hung the phone up and attempted to go back to sleep. But I was awake, and pissed. The bastard had woken me from a deep sleep and now I was totally awake.
Counting sheep didn't help. Thinking nice, soothing thoughts didn't either. I got up and fixed myself a cup of hot tea, and while sipping the brew I spied the telephone on the wall. Instantly, an idea jumped into my head. Two could play this game. I grabbed the phone and hit Star-69.
"Speak to me," came the male voice on the other end of the line. At first it was my turn to be silent, then I demanded, "Just who the fuck is this?"
"Huh? ... You called me. Who is this?" said the startled voice on the other end.
"None of your business. You called me earlier and woke me up, and I think you are a jerk," I said, probably adding a curse word or two for emphasis. "What gives you the right to call me? Who the hell are you?"