The Barman

I was nineteen, he was 28, although he told me he was 25. He had a good body and a square jaw and he was nice to me. I fell for it hook, line and sinker. He chatted me up while I sat at the bar, the girlfriend I was out with was being chatted up by someone else. This was in the days before stalkers existed and mobile phones were for rich banker types, so I talked about where I lived and where I worked, and agreed I’d pop into the pub next week to say Hi.

The next day I was at work when a delivery of roses arrived at the front desk. Twelve of the deepest red roses you have seen sat on the counter on the other side of the glass division. As is usual with these things we commented and asked ‘who was the lucky person?’ When my phone rang, I jumped. They were for me, from him.

This went on for a week, gifts arrived daily. A teddy bear, a ceramic cat (I'd told him I had a cat), more flowers and a couple of other things I can’t remember. Every time a delivery guy arrived, my heart fluttered and my stomach flipped. I was suffering a severe case of butterflies. I was besotted.

The next time I saw him was in the pub…he was pleased to see me. I sat at the end of the bar with stars in my eyes all night. When he wasn’t serving he was talking to me, asking me questions. We went home to my place that night (my parents were out) and had sex. He was rough, he pulled my hair and he was big, almost too big. He pounded into me from above like I wasn’t really there, everytime. There was no other postion in his book. But still I was in lust. I knew no better.

He came back for more, we ‘dated’ for two months. He behaved like a love sick puppy when we were out together and when he met my parents. He even painted the door frames for my dad. My dad thought he was the best.

But when we were alone, he turned into a nasty piece. He was rough, he was mean and it wasn’t until I was recovering from a small operation and he still wanted sex that I finally told him to piss off. He'd had sex a lot, I mostly got held down by my hair. He wasn’t raping me, because I wanted to be there, but he didn’t care about me, I felt like I was just a hole. He told me he had a high sex drive and needed relief, so I would give him hand relief, when i was too sore. Somehow I could see this was not a healthy relationship. I'd found out he was telling me lies about his age, that he had been discharged from the Army and that his brother lived just round the corner from me.

I threw all his things that had crept into my drawers down the stairs and told him to get out. He stood there, looking up at me and started to cry. He told me he loved me. I told him I didn’t love him and he had to go. He picked up his stuff and left.

He called me for three weeks after, daily. He told me he was thinking of joining the army. He was shocked when I told him they wouldn’t have him back.

I’ll never date a abusing liar again.