College Not-So-Sweethearts

Submitted by Beth:

Bill was a friend from college, one of those, "Why didn't we ever date?" kinds of friends. We never dated, but we got along well, although we lost touch after college.

Five years later, he called me out of the blue. He told me that he was in town on business and wanted to meet up for drinks. I was really happy that he called.

Dinner, drinks, and a few flirts later, we were back at my place, making out with a hungry, devouring passion. It was mind-scrambling.

Clothes were being ripped off by the time we made it to my bed, and he whispered that there actually hadn't been a business trip — he came to town just to see me.

I was amazed and flattered, but also a little confused. Why me? Why now?

He said that he had chosen me and that he did not make such choices lightly.  What sort of choice did he mean? Why, he had chosen to leave his wife, his three kids, and his job for me! What a sweet guy!

I told him in no uncertain terms that I was uninterested. He said that it was too late, that he had already initiated divorce proceedings, and that I had no real choice in the matter.  He had done everything with me in mind.  "We're supposed to be together," he repeated.

I told him that he was insane if he thought that I would ever consider such an arrangement.

He got furious and began calling me "bitch," "whore," "stupid," etc.  I hadn't done anything!  I didn't even know that he was married until that moment in the bedroom!

He crossed the line with, "This is all because of you!  You ruined my life!"

I told him to get out of my apartment, and he raised a hand to me.  Using what I learned in those kickboxing classes, I punched him in the jaw and kicked at him.  Then, I advanced on him again, screaming, "Get out!  Get out!  Police!  Get out!"

He grabbed his clothes and ran out of my place.  I slammed and locked the door behind him.  My heart was beating so fast that I thought I would die, and it took all the courage I could get to even leave my apartment for the next few months.