Why are all the weirdos called Nick?
Yonks ago when I was the tender age of 14, I was a member of a karate club. Now there were several rather striking older members of this club that myself and my friend Freya rather admired.

One member we did not admire was Nick.

He was our age, went to the local boys school, and while I loathe to dismiss people due to social categories, the guy was an utter, utter loser. Aside from being catastrophically ugly (imagine a chubby, pale face, horrible slicked down hair and a blubbery nose and mouth with pinprick eyes), he walked with a limp and had the physcial prowess of a crippled hippo.

Suffice to say, he didn't even register in our 13 year old minds - we were too busy staring at the pretty older boys with their six packs and tall-ness and the like.

Unfortunately, Nick took quite a liking to me.

Now, having been bullied myself when I was a child, I would never be outrightly cruel to someones face or laugh at them for trying to be nice, but Nick pushed the boundaries of creepy. It started off with him following me round the room during lessons, then doing his best each week to get me as a sparring partner. I put up with this because I felt sorry for him, but I in no way encouraged his advances.

Then, when my Dad came to get me at the end of each session, he would take to waiting for me outside the changing rooms and walking with us to the car park. I was starting to get quite irritated by this attention and each week silently hoped my Dad would suddenly come over all protective and tell young Nick to fuck off. Sadly not.

Then came the time for a disco between the boys and girls schools, of which or course he attended in a desperate hope of seeing me. He turned up wearing an uber cool Man United shirt - which someone from his school immediately stuck chewing gum on the back of. I felt sorry for him and told him it was there, even though my friends begged me not to through their tears of laughter. I even made the GRAVE mistake of dancing with him because it was plainly obvious that people just made fun of him all the time and I really thought it was tragic.

Worst mistake ever.

He began pestering Freya about me, asking her what I liked and talking about me whenever they had to spar together (poor girl). Eventually, when indulging in his favourite passtime of walking to the car park with me, he piped up "So...have you seen Titanic yet?" to which I replied "Um...no, but it looks good".

Luckily we had reached the car and I escaped, but the next week he appeared again and said "So when shall we go and see Titanic?" I almost screamed in fear.

"Um..I wasn't aware I was seeing a film with you..."

"Yeah, remember you said last week?"

"No, you asked me if I'd seen it and I said no. That wasn't an invitation and my reply wasn't a yes!"

He limped off.

By this point my younger brother had joined the karate club, and Nick decided the best plan of action was to befriend him to get to me. He would invite him round his house with the lure of seeing all his cool computer games (substitues for friends, I imagine). Then things got really, really scary one week when my brother whispered to me during a lesson "Nick says if you don't freespar with him he's going to call you a sexy bitch"

My brother was fucking 10. He had no idea what that even meant and there were so many things wrong with this! I vomited in my mouth and inched away, warning my brother he was under no uncertain circumstances to ever speak to Nick again.

More was to come. One of Nick's chosen "chat-up" lines was the relevation that he had only one kidney. This was supposed to be interesting or attractive in some way? Anyway, it was a fact he frequently reminded me of. On one occasion the whole club travelled to Birmingham to take part in a competition (he spent a vast majority of the time trying to take pictures of me), and Freya thought it would be hilarious to tell Nick that I wanted him to come to our hotel room after dinner, so at bang on nine o clock there's an eager knock at the door. I get up to answer it and it's Nick, grinning broadly at this invite into my world. I freak out and slam the door in his face with Freya pissing herself from her bed.

The worst was yet to come.

Eventually he seemed to have calmed in his rabid pursuit of me, which I was entirely grateful for. We even found out that he was going out with a girl from the year below (the female equivalent of him, physically and socially) - thank god for me right? Wrong.

One day this girl approaches one of my friends on the way to school (she vaguely knows her from a drama thing they did). They get into an awkward conversation, with my friend wondering what she did to deserve this attention. Finally, the girl starts talking about me. "Odd" thinks my friend "why is this strange girl talking about Posage?"

It turns out Nick had told his new hunch-backed girlfriend that I had been pestering him for years to go out with me, and when he finally relented he had to dump me because I was, to directly quote, "too frigid".

My friend bursts into school, pissing herself with laughter and relates the story, which I realise he must have told the whole of his school, including the pretty boys I so admired. I was branded. And fucking furious that after suffering so much creepiness at the mutated hands of this bloated sea creature, I came out of it looking like the stalker.

I relayed a message through the hunchback girlfriend.

"If Nick ever even thinks of mentioning my name in conversation again I will find him and rip his remaining kidney out with my bare hands, and force him mum to eat it"

I never saw or heard from him again.

Sorry for the length but he probably didn't have one.
(posage As I turned the corner I felt muscular and compact, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 13:37, Reply)

Forgot about this one.
I once stalked Jo Whiley of Radio 1 fame when I was 14. I must have sent her about 20 emails before giving up. To this day I don't know why, she's a troll.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 13:15, 1 reply)

The Mayor's Granddaughter aka Crazy Liz
Being a vastly underachieving art student I ended up studying at the home for educational bottom feeders, Barnsley College. Whilst I learnt close to fuck all there (apart from 'don't screw girls who admire Kenny G') it did mean that I got to spend two years in a town with the highest concentration of freaks per square foot in the UK. It was incredible. I saw blue cats with human faces, dogs with six inch gelatinous horns sticking out of their heads and more ranting, inbred religious fanatics than you could hope to laugh at (and that was just in my street) so it was no surprise that I was also stalked there by a giant local.

My house mate (a Gelf looking crusty with triple vision in one eye) brought the stalker (known locally, if not imaginatively, as Crazy Liz) home from the student bar one night but had forgotten what he'd wanted a massive, rubber clad Goth for so dumped her in the living room with me and staggered off to bed. Despite looking like 6ft+ of bleached blonde, fetishist horror she seemed pleasant enough to the point where I ended up being quite nice to her despite her ruining the climax of 'Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla' for me.

This was probably my undoing as she took this as an excuse to pounce on me and belch her life story into my face. Aside from the details of her fantastical sexual preferences and other details too tedious to mention I learnt that she was a local Mayor's Granddaughter, that she was a big fan of shit eating, was terrified of brushing her teeth (a dangerous thing in a scat fan), had a constantly re-healing hymen and was going to kill me if I didn't let her deep throat me. Foul as she was (and being something of a hound at the time) I was almost tempted but thought better of it (I told myself it would be like shagging a cowpat) and after a couple of hours of recoiling from her advances she finally got the message and left the room.

I thought she'd gone off to try and conquer my house mate instead but when I didn't hear her climb the stairs (and I would have heard that bulk ascending them) I went to find her and, if my luck was in, turf her out of the house. I quickly discovered her in the kitchen digging a bloody groove into her arm with a craft knife from my art box. I asked her to stop and she replied that she'd only do so if I slept with her, which I refused so she started crying and resumed the arm hacking.

To stop her (and still keeping the idea of that free blowjob in my head) I said I would, at which point she put the knife down and began serenading me with dirty traditional folk songs. I again saw sense (as well as a vision of a flirty cowpat), turned her down and the process of tears and slashing began again and continued for some time. The following few hours were a surreal blur of imposing flesh, flashing blades, the stench of stale shit and harrowing folk tunes and the exact details are sketchy but the upshot was that she ended up following me to college the next morning with bandaged arm. After several hours of suffering her eerie presence I finally managed to shake her off in the library (no pun intended) and hoped that was the end of it.

Of course it wasn't. She followed me around for months afterwards trying to coax me into her (in front of her meek and terrified looking boyfriend) and intimidating my girlfriends before finally transferring her attentions onto my friend Sticky Geoff. When she amazingly failed to pull him with the awesome line 'I have a shallow vagina so like small penises' she went back to following me around until I graduated and got out of that God forsaken town.



A year later she managed to track down my phone number in Salford and invited herself to visit. I gave her a bogus address in Moss Side and haven't heard from her since, though part of me misses her. Nothing boosts the esteem like being the object of someone's fevered obsession, even if they do look like the Michelin man at a Marilyn Manson gig.

I won't apologise for length, Sticky Geoff never did.
(mudflaps, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 12:48, 3 replies)

This guy I worked with once...
...well, I say once... he was only just made redundant about a month ago (unfortunately). The guy in question, I will call him L, for that is his first initial. L was a great laugh, always brought a smile to your face... and the biggest pervert known to man. Seriously, if you could think of something really perverted and offputting... he'd go further!

Anyway, at the time of this story, we knew he was hugely perverted, and somewhat of a sexual deviant... but always thought it was bravado, playing up to it and everything.

Monday morning rolls round, and a new week begins as per normal. Everyone is in the office, except for L who'd rang in sick that morning. Thinking it was a bit weird, he hadn't been ill on the Friday, life went on.

Tuesday afternoon comes, and the boss asks everyone for 5 minutes to have a talk about something. We all wondered what it could be... had we being doing some wrong? What could it be?

She starts off with saying "I need to inform you lot about L and what has been happening with him recently." We all sat in wonder, thinking what's happened... as something happened to him, his family, is he ill. What the hell is going on?

"L hasn't been in work for the past few days, he is worried about his family as him, his wife, and his sons are being stalker of a frequent basis." said the boss.

A moment of silence passed over the office...

...then the biggest cry of laughter ever!

No one could contain themselves... not even the boss. We couldn't actually believe what we had just heard. Sheer genius if this was a joke.

But on the serious side, we were told "If you see a middle-aged grey haired man hanging around in a silver Mercedes, report it to the police straight away." So, we kept a serious look out for this guy all week, but never once seen him.

Following week, L returns back to work, and instantly, he's interigated about the whole "stalking" situation. He started by saying "well, the guy stalking me was the chairman of a club that me and missus are members of..." With this, we thought the guy stalking him was just a nutter.

Later that day, he emails the office with a link to the clubs website. The email just simply said Club TANDO. We all clicked the link thinking nothing of it... until we realised that TANDO stood for the Tynedale and Newcastle District Outdoor club! And on the page was pictures of naked people playing a game of five-a-side.

Again... the office erupted in to a loud wave of laughter...

...and once the tears cleared, it all became apparent that L and his missus were members of a nudists club, with the chairman nudist stalking them.

But, this isn't the whole of it... about 5 minutes later... L confessed the true reason why this nutter was stalking them. Turns out, L and his missus, were also part of a swingers group, and this guy had obviously been with L's missus at some point... and wanted more.

Again... another loud eruption of laughter...

...we could believe what we were hearing. This was just completely crazy. But, in the end, it all turned out to be true.

After about a month, the nutter stopped stalking L's family... but the memories of finding out just how perverted, and nuts, L was is just priceless.



Never apologies for length, bigger is better.
(ShaunyBoi has been surviving fires since, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 12:37, 2 replies)

I'm stalking a guy who beat me up badly for no reason when I was 13.
I know where he lives, what car he drives, and the fact that he's wanted by the police.

I'm now nearly 20, and I haven't forgotten.

Do you think I should dob him in to the police, to get sent down for years (as he certainly will, because it's not just me he's beaten up, he also twatted his ex-girlfriend causing her to have a misscarriage, and broke the jaw of a good friend of mine - he's a pisshead and a serial abuser.)

Should I go round and dish out some revenge of my own, which I'm now more than capable of doing being a 6ft 20 stone biker?

Should I start leaving little notes and dead animals on his doorstep?

Or should I just leave it and let karma take its course?

What do you think?
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 12:29, 12 replies)

Cyber stalker
I'm a mild-mannered journo. I'm married and live a quite boring life. But I constantly feel that there's someone like me - the dark side of me - posting messages on internet sites. This person has earned a reputation for pornographic noodlings, outrageous lies, highly suspicious tales and general offensiveness. And yet... I feel I know him.

Can anyone tell me who this Frankspencer is?
(frankspencer, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 12:25, 3 replies)

urban legend
possibly. although i do remember it being in the local papers, so maybe not. newspapers never lie.

a few years ago, marks & spencer and tesco opened a shiny giant development on the new a34 bypass between wilmslow and didsbury. it was immediately thronged with blonde yummy mummys spending their husbands' money in 4x4s that have never seen mud.

one such woman came out with her shopping to find a little old lady hovering around her car. the old lady was hunched over and looked distraught.

"oh dear," she said as the wilmslow wife approached her, "some teenage yobs were trying to break into your car, so i said i would scream for the security guards and they ran off."

"well thank you very much," said the woman gratefully. the old woman was visibly shaken. they must have been nasty young men.

"the only thing is," the old lady said, "i've missed my bus because of it. please could you give me a lift to the main road?"

"of course," the woman replied. well, what else could she say? she helped the old lady into the passenger seat, and climbed into the driver's seat herself. as she went to release the handbrake, the old lady bent down to put her handbag at her feet. and the woman noticed that she had very big, very hairy hands and wrists for an old lady.... IT WAS A MAN!

cool as a cucumber, the woman began to reverse, and then stopped.

"i'm terribly sorry," she said, "but this is my husband's car and i never reverse it. could you possibly back me out?"

the "old lady" got out of the car to do so - and the woman roared off, straight to the police station. where the handbag was found to contain knives and a length of rope.

that made me go cold when i read it in the local paper! it's the forethought that went into the evil.... sick. no idea if they caught the "old lady".

and a friend of mine was recently stopped by a gorgeous hysterical young lady in the thinks-its-posh northern town of hale barns a couple of weeks ago. she knocked on the door for him to get out and help her, but he only wound the window down a crack. sure enough, a minute later, 2 huge blokes appeared to force him out of the car as he hadn't got out voluntarily enough for them to steal it.

he also drove off at high speed to the police station...

what is it with stalking innocent motorists?
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 12:17, 8 replies)

Creepy Camborne
Not too bad a place, right down in the depths of Cornwall though it's only claim to fame is the huge wasteland that was left behind with the closure of South Crofty tin mine.

Working as I did in my 2nd year of uni at the very oddly titled pizza place of Colonel Bulldogs meant that I often had late night finishes on a Friday.

After finishing work at about 1am and walking it home past the bus station and onto the main road, I was accosted by some local in his car who asked if I wanted a lift. I politely declined and carried on my way, only for him to turn the car round and start following me. I did what any sensible woman would do and started walking quicker to try and get rid of him.

Unfortunately for me, the house I was living in at the time was off the main road and down first one very poorly lit street and then a poorly lit driveway. As I turned off the main road, creepy pulled into the road behind me. I quickened my pace still further, hoping that I could get to the long dark driveway that led to one of our 2 front doors and escape him.

I managed to get onto the driveway and was nearly running by this point. Fortunately both my male housemates were still up, though a little worse for wear. As I ran in and between breaths told them what happened they both ran out the house before I finished to make sure he was not around.

Thankfully the freebies I was carrying home for our late night snack made it back to the house with no damage at all.
(Prawn, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 11:54, 1 reply)

I keep stalking
this QOTW. In, it must be said, the vain hope that it'll get totally freaked and go into hiding...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 7 Feb 2008, 11:16, Reply)

This is not my story. This happened to Grandmasterfluffles.
However, she's stupidly busy at the moment, and doesn't have time to post it, but I think it's a tale that should be told...

"It's a scenario which, sadly, I'm sure is all too familiar to 99.9% of women. You're walking alone and you become aware that a man is following you. Your pace quickens. So does his. You imagine all the hideous scenarios that might ensue in the next few minutes. Perhaps you call a friend, but there's nothing that he can do other than to reassure you on the phone. You're alone, with a man following you.

My mother always used to tell me when I was younger that if this ever happened to me, I was to knock on the nearest door, where the owner of the house would almost certainly allow me to use their phone and to stay there until someone came to pick me up. Clearly the best possible advice for a twelve-year-old schoolgirl, but not a viable course of action for a fully-grown woman unless in a truly desperate situation.

This has happened to me so many times. On many of these occasions, I'm sure that there was nothing to it - the man just happened to be walking behind me and my imagination ran away with me. On other occasions there was definitely more to it than that. There was an incident only a few weeks ago when I was on the tube. The man sitting opposite me attempted to chat me up, I told him all about the imaginary boyfriend that I acquire in such situations* but he wouldn't give up, so I started pretending to text someone [I have discovered that this is by far the best way of getting unwanted intruders, lecherous or otherwise, to leave you alone]. Rather than leaving me alone however, he stared at me. This doesn't sound too bad in itself, but just imagine it - being resolutely stared at, constantly, even as you shift uncomfortably in your seat, avoid eye contact as much as possible, and scowl when you do make eye contact. The man then got up and moved to a seat diagonally behind me. Great, I thought - he's got the message. But no, he continued staring, and staring, and staring. A couple of stops later, he got off the train. My relief however was short-lived as he got straight back on again when he thought I wasn't looking, and ducked into a seat out of my line of sight. He wanted me to think he'd got off the train. Luckily I was on my way to my parents' house so I phoned my mum and got her to pick me up from the station."

That story scares the crap out of me...
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 11:14, 1 reply)

STALKER
Yep. Thats me. In the bushes there. With my NVGs.

Watching.

Waiting.

If we ever get up close and personal you can call me "Marked One".





feckingcomputergametakingoveryourlife.....;-)
(TC, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 11:05, 2 replies)

Blimey. Some of these stalking messages are
quite dark aren't they.

Mine's quite sweet really.

I was 16 and I'd just started my first Saturday job at Woolworths. Not for me the delights of the pic n' mix, or slaving over a slightly-too-cold-to-be-classified-as-hot stove in the cafe.

No, I was the king of cool and worked on the record counter.

This meant listening to Daniel O'Donnell for most of the day as that's what most people who came into Woolworths wanted to buy.
In those days I was thin with a highly fashionable curtain-style haircut, before I became the fat mess I am now.

I'd only been there a month before I got my first love letter.

It had been handed to the security guard, who was told to give it to me, which he had done with a smirk, saying it had been given to him by a group of giggling girls.

"Result!" thinks I.

The letter was quite sweet, telling me how cute I was (oh how I long for those days again) and how they all wanted to go out with me.

I got these letters regularly for about three months, never knowing who sent them, apart from it being a 'group of girls'.

We then started Sunday opening. We were the only shop open in the arcade open on a Sunday, so it was never busy. Plus I was generally in charge of the counter on my own, which meant I could put on the music I wanted. I was (and still am) a bit of an indie kid, so it was stuff like the Manics, Radiohead etc The stuff I wasn't allowed to play on Saturdays.

It was then I noticed the group. They were standing outside, just watching me through the doors. They were all only about 14. As soon as they saw I'd noticed them they all ran off giggling.

About two hours later they were all back, all wearing a ton of slap, hair all done and whatever clothes were considered fashionable back then. they'd made a lot of effort.

One of them even dared to come and buy a CD, some terrible Eurodance nonsense. She asked if I liked it. I said I didn't, and told her that the kind of music that was on was the music I liked.

The next Sunday I was working again, and again all the girls piled into the store for most of the day to watch me work. Except this time, all of them were wearing long-sleeve t-shirts professing their love of such bands as Ned's Atomic Dustbin and the Manic Street Preachers. they were all wearing dark eyeliner and stripey socks. It was like Trinny and Susannah had given them a 'My Little Goth Girl' makeover.

I was incredibly touched they'd made the effort.

I was in that job until just before I went to University and they came into the store virtually every weekend, sent me Valentines cards and the odd letter and generally made me feel adored but never threatened. Mainly because apart from when one of them plucked up the courage to talk to me it was only ever to buy a CD.

I felt quite sad when I went to Uni I wouldn't have a little gaggle of admirers any more, even though they were all far too young for me.

These days I'd be happy to have one admirer.
( backrubslut - treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 10:52, 3 replies)

quickie b4 subject changes
I am stalking you right this miniute. Yes you.
I know you are at the computer reading B3TA.

Scary eh?
(smells-like-victory-v's, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 10:43, 3 replies)

Judging by some of your posts this makes me a stalker...
I fancied the arse of this lass who was in our group of friends at School. As you usually do when you're 14, I kept it quiet for all of three minutes then proudly declared that I fancied her to all and sundry. Unfortunately she didn't want to know me and actually had a boyfriend.

The sum total of our relationship was me trying to the act the quiet, handsome stranger whenever she was around, her ignoring me, me sending her drunken texts proclaiming my undying love for her.

It was a few months in, after she'd got over the fear of me turning up at her front door with a knife in one hand and my erection in the other, that the piss taking began.

She would ring me and ask her to meet her, then walk her home. One such time she made me walk her to a lads who she was secretly meeting and then walk her home when I was fucked out of my skull. She'd log in on her friends MSN accounts and pretend to be them, just so I would say stupid things to them about her and boost her self esteem. By far the worst though was when she was pissed, she'd tell me that if she wasn't going out with her current beau she'd go out with me. If it wasn't for this last factor I would've probably told her to fuck off after a few months but I lived in the hope that whatever bullshit she was spouting would come true.

Things began to get messy one night when she had far too much to drink and began to get off with me. I was convinced I was in there and quite fucking smug until she knicked my phone so she could ring her ex (the aforementioned boyfriend) and then ran off to see another lad (the aforementioned 'lad she was meeting') who she apparently tried to forcibly shag.

When I saw her later that night, after I found out about all this, she tried to kiss me again. She was told in no uncertain terms to fuck off and never speak to me again. She ran off crying.

A few days later I got an apology from her, half hearted it must be said. I didn't accept it, she was a vacuous cow.

There are a few things which I regret. The first batch is 'falling in love' with someone I barely knew, acting stupid, texting her for no reason other than to tell her how I felt and allowing myself to get blatantly used by such a person. The second is wasting a year and a half of my life perusing this woman (yes, that long). The third and final is how selfish I was towards her boyfriend, who is a fantastic lad and always had a minute for you. Now i'm in a long term relationship of my own I know what it's like to have people fawning over your beloved. There are so many times he should've lamped me, i've nee idea why he didn't.

Anyway, does that make me a stalker? I've nee idea.
(Peter Sutcliffe's Right Bollock, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 10:24, 3 replies)

Not sure if it counts but..
it felt damn like stalking to me! And I guess I can be forgiven seeing as I'm a b3ta noob and all.

So, as the usual pattern goes, I was 18 and half way through my first year at University. I'm doing pretty well, I live in a five person commune with my boyfriend at the time, Richard (now very much ex :p) living two floors up from me in student halls.

To give a bit of background here, I've been chatting on one particular online forum since I was sixteen, it's all a bit of a giggle and I'm a mostly sensible girl when it comes to the internet and you freakos out there! But there's this one guy, Canadian, let's call him Canadiaboy. I had been chatting with him about as much as anybody else but he seemed to have been forming somewhat of an attachment to me. He'd send me post, which was alright, everybody likes having letters in their letter boxes, makes them feel popular and such. But Valentines day he sends me a card. Uh.. Richard doesn't really like this and I can't say I disagreed with him when a rose turned up a little later. Hm.. So I got online and I told him straight out that he knew I had a boyfriend and his behaviour was out of order. Canadiaboy backed off immediately, apologised and it all stopped. Or so I thought.

So one day, Canadiaboy IMs me and remarks that he's taking a two week holiday to Ireland soon, oh cool! I say, Ireland is great, you'll love it. So he waxes on about this trip for a while and then, completely out of the blue he drops in, 'Oh and seeing how London is on my way back from Ireland (is it really?) I've booked some more time off so I can come and stay with you!' You have, have you?? Buut being the generous and rather naieve soul that I was I blithely accepted thinking it'll be fine! I live with four other people, Richard is just up the stairs and people are all about, he'll never be able to murder me it's cool. Oh the foolishness of an 18 year old!

So, Easter is coming up and Richard announces that he's going away for three weeks on tour over Europe. And great! It's right over Canadiaboy's visit. So I freak out slightly and Richard gives me the keys to his room so that I have somewhere to go if I need it and off he goes, swanning off to cheat on me. But that's another bitter story ;)

The day comes of Canadiaboy's arrival, I am hungover like all hell and manage to bully my housemate into coming with me to pick up this weirdo. All seems to be okay, he's short and wiry with a buzzcut and this odd way of looking at me, which I manage to ignore through my hungover eyesight for a while and we go on for a bit. I get him settled on a mattress on my floor and after about half an hour he starts asking if we can go Iceskating. Sure, the rink is still open at Broadgate so why not I say. And he grins and says, cool it's a date! Uh.. no it's not. Especially not the way he says it! But he won't take 'it's not a date' for an answer so I give up and play along thinking maybe this is his only weird quirk..

Anyway, a day passes and night follows, involving the student bar where I had roped as many of my friends in as possible because I didn't want to be alone with this guy! He begins by getting drunk off his face on Strongbow and then getting upset that I wouldn't sit on his lap. My Irish friend Nathan eventually comes to my rescue, sweet boy Nathan. And Canadiaboy then decides to be oh so funny and call Nathan welsh all evening. Need I mention that he laughed at his own joke because nobody else would? Nathan put up with this bithely for a while before hitting back with a grin and calling Canadiaboy American. At which Canadiaboy flies off the handle and gets in a MASSIVE strop!

Night ends a few hours later of ignoring my 'guest' and he's so drunk he can't walk straight. So I'm pushing him down the corridor to my room when he just sits down on the floor and proclaims that he's going to be sick and he can't be assed to walk the three paces to the toilet. At which point I snapped and yelled at him until he did go to the toilet. I settled him in my room and promptly left to sleep in Richard's room..

I stayed up in Richard's flat for hours into the day the next day until I saw Canadiaboy leave for sightseeing and I even left it thirty minutes after that before I dared venture back to my own room. Where I saw he'd left lovesick poetry, really pathetic poetry ALL over my room. On my pillow, on my computer, actually INSIDE my cello case (fucker..) etc.. At which point I send him an SMS to explain that I just got really busy at college and wouldn't be able to hang out that day and spent the whole day in the pub just to avoid him (oh the hardship!). My friend from the same forum, Jem heard about this and drove 3 hours down just to rescue me from this ass because he knew him online too and spent the whole night chatting with this guy simply so I could sit in silence and suffer quietly. I loved Jem for that. And then after another painful night I cracked and called my brother in floods of tears just begging him to take this freakshow off of my hands! My brother also being on this forum. So, bless him my brother agreed and the next day arrived to sweep Canadiaboy off to the south for the last few days and thus ends my torment.

And so, it is entirely Canadiaboy's fault that I developed an irrational fear of the canadian accent and an equally irrational hatred of Strongbow..


length? wohoo! not half bad for a first timer!
(darras jeg har en grevling i hodet. Grevling, grevlang, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 8:50, 5 replies)

hmmm
I go to the bathroom, he's there, walk past a shop window, there he is peeking out at me, I go to the swimming pool and there he is in the water staring back at me...

man, I hate my reflection.





am sure its bindun one trillion times... but meh
( hygor gyrates with animatronic emptyness, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 8:35, Reply)

My first ?
I've a nasty feeling I might have acquired my first stalker. Not yet met for a drink and she found my number on FB last night and already 2 messages!

Length? Multiples of 160 characters.
(Biff..., Thu 7 Feb 2008, 7:57, 2 replies)

My girlfriend...
Has recently took to stalking me on MySpace. How do you know, I here you cry?

Well, she rings me when she's doing it. "Your profile song is shite", "Where's that nice photo of you with your hair?", "who's the girl on your comments who called you 'darlin' on 12-7-05?"

Anyway, the joke's on her. I now use Facebook for all my clandestine affairs.

EDIT - If you're reading this honey, it was a joke. Honest. Please don't hurt me. Please.
(Peter Sutcliffe's Right Bollock, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 22:48, 1 reply)

Well there was this once
I had an extra marital (look you don't know the circs so who are you to judge?)......a tasty enough bloke.....until my neighbour caught him looking through my curtains watching me playing guitar. Cue then violent hubby storming out, old bill called, me blagging innocence and as you does.
Fair enough he taught me to play but there is a limit to how far tutoring should go no?


Caused a divorce and a whole loada shite he did. Wonder where he is now
(bensMum I'm a tart. Why can't you cope with that?, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 22:12, 1 reply)

Umm where do you live?
back in school, used to have the hots for this girl I had a class with. After an exam we both finished at the same time, I offered her a ride home and I dropped her off at her house. Before she got out, she asked how I knew where she lived...I quickly sped off.
(guiltyspark, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 22:06, 5 replies)

Seeing as it's Wednesday...
I've been reading these stories all week. Some have really terrified me.

The one common thread that keeps popping up in all of them is the manner in which you guys have replied with support, sound advice and real concern.

So many new posters with quite frankly, shocking tales to tell, all dealt with respectfully, counselled and reassured via the reply button.

This week, I'm proud to be part of this community. Thank you for restoring my faith in human nature.
(MadBouncyDog Barking at the moon since, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 19:23, 6 replies)

Sort of
I was wondering around my local town, a few years ago, waiting for the next film showing to start when suddenly some blonde guy the same age as me and my friends walks up to us and asks what are we doing.
My friend accidentally manages to mention what we were planning to do and suddenly this guy was following us until we were at the stage of running around corners.
My other friend was convinced there was a hidden camera somewhere because he couldn't believe anyoen could be that insanely stalker like without thier being a joek behind it.

In the end, we pretened to get on a bus which he then followed us onto, which was ironically the bus he needed to go on to get home as he said. Then there was a brief period after the bus left when we suddenly couldn't see one of my friends.
Luckily he was hiding behind the bus stop.
( Scrambled Edd www.eddsworld.co.uk, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 19:03, Reply)

Desperation is a terrible thing
Righto, so, let's get this over with.

*pop*

I had just broken up with my girlfriend of 2 and a half years. It was a relationship I was ultimately glad to get out of, but at the time I was left me emotionally vunerable (my depression and bulimia didn't help), lonely, and desperate. As you can imagine, my standards had been lowered. I would have humped a dead horse if it meant one night less alone. So, when a pervious aquaintance from school walked into my work, I actually acknowledged her existance, as opposed to my pretend-not-to-remember-them act I usually use on people I knew in school. We had a short chat, she paid for her goods, and left.

I come in the next day to find that she had returned later in the day, after I had finished my shift, and left her number with one of the other staff. Brill, thinks I, but as not to seem too desperate, I decide to leave it a few days before I text/call her.

Fortunately (or so I thought at the time), I didn't need to worry about not seeming too desperate - she returned that second day day (once more missing me by minutes), and leaves her number again, worried she might have gotten it wrong the first time around, because I had failed to text her. Faint warning bells should have sounded when she returned a 3rd time after that, again to make sure she had left her number correctly, as I still hadn't texted her.

They did not sound, however. Not even the slightest tinkling - like I said, I was far too desperate. I eventually texted her on the 3rd day. We meet up in a pub, both accompanied by mutual friends. After a couple of hours, and a few too many drinks on my part, she frankly asks, "So, want to be my boyfriend then?". Me, being slightly drunk, say, "sure, why not?", and she proceeds to "kiss" me with cigarette-tainted breathe, slimey tongue, and slightly black front teeth. And they say romance is dead.

At the end of the evening - bordering on leglessness - I offer to walk her home. "It's not that far!", says she. It takes 3 hours. But what was more worrying was the conversation we had along the way. It started off innocent enough. So what have you been doing? Do you still live at home? Stil see many people from school? Etc, etc, etc. She reveals she works at a nursery, which allows her to bring up the subject of how much she loves her kids, what she'd want to call her own kids, and whether I wanted to have kids in the future, and whether I wanted to have them with her... Being the drunken fool I am, I just agreed and nodded and smiled. My mind was more preoccupied with getting some, and if I had to pander to this girl's want of commitment, so be it.

So we get to her's, engage in some fumbling, only for her parents to start moving around upstairs (she had jumped me on the living room sofa), and for me to skeedaddle as quickly as my bony legs could carry me. Thank God, too - let's just say this girl was a tad... inept.

Did I also mention she had been in a fire as a child? Hence the damaged teeth, and the slight scarring. It was slightly off-putting, let's say. Didn't exactly help mini-matoosh come out of hiding and stand to attention. Furthermore, could this traumatic experience of her's account for what happened in the following fortnight? Some sort of left over emotional scar? Some deep mental damage left untreated?... No. She had no excuses. She was, simply, batshit insane.

Over the following week she'd be at my house after she finished work. Every day. "I have stuff to do, I'm sorry, can I see you tomorrow?" I'd plead. "I'll just stay for a cup of tea and then be off!", she'd reply, and I'd take her at the value of her word. This 'cup of tea' would usually end up lasting for 3 or 4 hours, with her throwing a tantrum and crying when I finally asked her to leave. Sometimes she'd persuade (see: guilt) me into accompanying her home (a 2-hour-round bus trip). Matters were made worse by this girls borderline nymphomania. She was constantly in need of sex, which, usually, would be a man's dream. But no. In this case it wasn't. As I stated, she was... "inept". Untalented. Rubbish. Furthermore, in order to be "prepared" for the act, she would demand about 10-15 minutes of tongue-time from me. She had hygiene issues. I reguarly felt like vomiting. I few times I almost did. But being the depressive, low-self-esteem, pushover I am, I put up with this.

Yet, 7 days later, even I, an incredibly submissive, non-complaining type, willing to put up with all sorts of shite, snapped.
"This isn't working out," said I, "I'm sorry. It's not you - it's me. I'm too ill at the minute to be with any one. My depression simply won't allow it."
Obviously I padded it out a little more than this, but you get the jist. I did it with as much sympathy and sensitivity as I could. I hugged her, held her hands, etc, while telling her, effectively, that it was over. And what did she do? She climbed out of my window and onto the roof of my house, threatening to jump. She said she loved me, more than any one she had ever loved in her entire life. She could not live without me.

Oh christ, what have I got myself into, think I?

I eventually coax her back in, mainly by agreeing that I'll give it a week's thought. And, I genuinely did, weighing up all the pros and cons. She really did not help her case, however. 20+ missed calls, multiple texts, coming over after work, and continually knocking on the door even when I pretended not to be in, staying way passed her welcome if I ever did let her in, giving me presents (a belt, Beatles album, a disney stuffed toy (I fucking hate disney, ffs)), etc, etc, etc. Thus, on a Friday, I once more tell her, "I'm sorry, I'm sticking with my decision." She proceeds to throw a tantrum, bangs her head on the floor for half-an-hour. I eventually have to escape, and have my Mum - being a caring female person - go up and talk to her. After another hour or so, she's calmed down, and gets her parents to pick her up.

The next day, Saturday, she miss-calls me dozens of times. Leaves messages. Insists she has stuff she left at mine to pick up. I eventually reply, telling her that she's scaring me. She continues. I again eventually reply, telling her to have no more contact with me - by this point I was shaking violently, sitting in a cupboard. Yet, shockingly (or not-very-shockingly, given what we've established so far) she still comes over. She knocks on the door for an hour, until I eventually open it. She asks to come in, I refuse, and just shove the items she left at my house into her hands, and slam the door. After another five minutes of knocking, her parents call her back into the car, and she leaves. The rest of the day is spent ignoring my phone, ignoring the further dozens of texts and calls. She tries knocking again in the evening, I ignore it, she eventually leaves.

Is it over, I think? Is it.. finally over? Silly, silly me.

The next day, Sunday, 11am. I'm asleep in my room, having come down with a terrible cold, probably due to stress. Depression acting up. Can't keep my food down. She knocks on the door, my mum answers and, being aware of the situation, politely talks to her, telling her that I'm too ill to see her any more, and that it would be best for all party's concerned if she just left me be for a few weeks, and then maybe me and her could reestablish contact on a friends-only-level. She agrees and leaves.

Or at least that's what my Mum thinks.

The girl must have been waiting around the corner, for, 2 hours later, my mum leaves the house, off to do some shopping. Within minutes, the girl is back at the door, hammering away. I was not aware of her earlier visit, and so go to open it. I see her through the frosted glass. I scream, fall back, get up, and stumble into the dining room, out of sight. The girl proceeds to knock, unstopping, for an hour. I think I'm going mad. My lodger at the time eventually comes downstairs and asks wtf is going on. I explain. Me and her discuss various plans, but a further half-hour later I decide the only possible action is to answer the door and tell her to, simply, fuck off out of my life.

So, I go to the door. I open it a crack. Fast as lightning, she has her foot in the door, so I can't close it. She begs to come in, begs for me to reconsider, to take her back. Please, she begs, please. I refuse, I use all my strength to stop her pushing open the door. But her foot won't move! I can't close the effing door!
"PLEASE, LET ME IN" she wails. An idea occurs. "Okay," says I, "I'll let you in, but the chain is on, I can't get it off if you don't move your foot."
"Oh.." she sounds confused, as she can't see a chain on, but would the love of her life really lie to her? No, she thinks, he wouldn't. So she takes her foot away. Problem is, she's still too close to the door.
"Take a step back," says I, and she does. Still too close.
"And another," and she does. Suddenly it dawns on her.
"You're not going to close the door on me? Are you? ARE YOU? DON'T CLO-" and I slam it, hard, just as she attempts to barrell it open. She's struck in the face. The knocking begins again. Another half-an-hour of knocking. She screams through the letter box. She wails. Cries. Screams more. Beats on the door. Tries to break the glass. I sit in the dining room, shaking.

Eventually mum returns, finds this wreck at the door. Talks to her calmly, like a wild animal - I hear it all. After 5 minutes my mum comes in, using her key, and explains she's taken the monster to the bus stop. I breathe a sigh of a relief, Thank God for th-.. *knock*. No! Wait. She's back. Sod. I hide in the cupboard, shaking so violently I can barely stand. My mum goes to the door, and in no uncertain terms threatens her with police intervention. This seems to work, as if she has a criminal record, she'd be fired from her current job.

And she leaves. Finally.

And that was almost the end of it. Had a few texts from her over the next few weeks. All I ignored, and they petered out. I haven't heard from her in about half a year - although she still asks about me. A friend of mine who attended the same school was unfortunate enough to bump into her in a local pub.
"How's Matoosh?" she asked, "where's he working now? Has he got a different mobile number? Do you have it?" My friend, to his credit, downed his pint, made his excuses, and left.

Despite the good many months I've had to recover, I still shake. I still shake when I hear someone knock on the door. Especially if it's the girl's signature 3 successive knocks.

We have a real chain on the door now. It's locked every night.

Alas.

Length? It shrivels at the thought.

Edit: And, just to reiterate one point from the story: this girl works with CHILDREN. She has a collection of picutres of all of them, on her mobile, printed out to keep in her wallet, on the walls of her room... I fear for their futures.
( Matoosh would rather like a biscuit, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 18:49, 12 replies)

Ive never been stalked...
But my gf wants me to be, she suggested I do this for her for Valentines Day!

wulffmorgenthaler.com/striphandler.ashx?stripid=e66e50fb-dc09-46f6-aec9-62cfc224eb12

Now thats been stalked!
Should I run away now?

*gets coat*
(Guilt wants to get in your moist confines, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 18:42, Reply)

I was a Stalker
It seemed like a funny game at the time.

I had a piece of paper written on and stuck to my head. I asked why; they just laughed.

I tried to guess what was written on there, but every time I got a question wrong someone else would talk...

I got angry; they still wouldn't answer my questions.

Finally I guessed it. I was...






John Stalker

*hides under desk*



and actually this game's quite fun, especially down the pub. I was quite impressed I managed to guess it at all.
(beanojam isn't really Ricardo Flange, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 17:42, Reply)

About 4 years ago...
...at a little school called QEHS, Hexham, we had a bit of an experience with a lad we'll call Evil Hell (for that was nearly his name.) He was the sort of chap whose trousers were far too tight and about an inch too high up his leg, who'd run almost everywhere, and who'd say little, except to mutter such classics as 'the mind is a museum without walls' to himself.

Needles to say, there was more than a little something of the night about him, and so we'd always have pity for the ladies he became emphatuated with; never really speaking to them, but following them at close quarters, and every now and then supplying them with perfume or jewlery. We'd also laugh about it quite a lot.

Then one day, he decided to attatch himself to our group of mates. Not by saying anything as such, just by sitting far too close to wherever we were. And following if we moved. He'd toss things into the equasion every now and then, but telling people completely out of context things like 'the chinese used to drug people with opium so as to better use them as assasins' do not ease the tension of a situation. As you can imagine, this situation made simple activities such as talking to the females of the species pretty awkward, as he'd be sitting, or standing, RIGHT THERE.

We were always too nice to just tell him to fuck off though. We discussed just asking him to leave us alone quite alot, but were genuinely scared he might kill himself, or bring some sort of weapon into school if we did. (Oh yeah he's into medieval re-enactment - he really is mental.)

We instead opted to tell our friendly head of year, and ask her what to do about it - can't remember what she used to teach, but chances are if you went to the same school she taught you to put a condom on a broomhandle and showed you pictures of genital warts. She wasn't too helpful, but at least we felt that if he killed himself after this, we had tried our best.

It was later in the week while reading the local paper (god bless the Courant, who will have pissed on Pizza Pizza this week?) that we found out how misjugded our choice of teacher was for our request of 'help stop Evil Hell stalking us.'

There she was on the second page - it turned out that for some time she had been stalking her ex-girlfriend, which had recently culminated in her actually breaking into the womans house! (I can't remember whether she took things or just sniffed knickers, but it came as a suprise either way.)

So there you have it, be wary of who you ask for help, because it may turn out that they are actually mental aswell.
(Daveh, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 16:56, 3 replies)

Only real stalker..
was when I was 8...We went to the Weald and Down museum for a school trip...Little Jenny took a liking to me and followed me all day...



It was great, I let her carry my coat....
(archstanton The gold is next to me....leave me be, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 16:53, Reply)

A couple of friends and I
Went on one of those day trip thingy to a local amusement park, with water rides, surrounded by wooded area, a 'wholesome' family place.

Turns out the bloke who plays Barry from Eastenders had the same idea.

My friend Donkey ended up following him everywhere, hiding behind trees and giggling, before getting bored and running up to him shouting 'Barry, Barry, I looooove you!'

She got his autograph though, but not before he told her off as his name isn't Barry in real life and 'Eastenders isn't real'.
(missc, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 16:27, 2 replies)

All day long...
When all this here used to be fields, i used to drive this fork-lift-truck, and i was stacking all day long. High and wide and...

Oh thanks for me coat... Tis' very kind!

Length? It's the height that matters...
(bloody kraut, a ...ach, there is not enough fluffeh 'ere, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 16:12, Reply)

My creepy friend
I had a friend who, every day at school went up to the pretty girl (when she was alone-ish and said "hello Julia, How are you doing today?" in the most calm stalker voice imaginable.

He kept this up for most of the year. One day when everyone was in the lunchroom, Julia walks in and he says "Hey Julia! How are you doing today?".

Now since he had been doing this for most of the year, she screams and shakes her arms like a retarded monkey having a seizure and then runs out of the lunchroom.

Everyone then just starts laughing because they didnt know how much my friend was creeping this girl out.

They found her the next morning, wrists slashed. written in blood on her wall was the words "fine, thank you"
(hathat, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 15:53, 4 replies)