Five Floors Up In SW7

"It's a matter of my National security," said the angry-man in the nasty-lie, "Failure to comply with rule 24, sub-section 6, will result in your instant deportation to Cold-Hearted-Bitch-Land."

"But, -"

"Step away from the question Ma-am, lest it cloud my mind!" Producing a syringe filled with guilt, he backs her into the corner.

"I don't understand!"

"Persistence in terrorism has dire consequences."

"What is it you want from me?"

"Complete compliance and total acceptance. The sky is a fluffy, soft mirror of all that is right."

Without taking aim, the bullet "Untrue!" flies out from her mouth, winging his pride.

Staggering now, red-splattered with rage and hell-bent on revenge, he lunges, plunging his cold, sharp serum between the soft, bruised folds of her pity. Twisting, full dose undelivered, she darts for the safe cover of reality, hoping to reload her sanity.

"What are you thinking of?" She shrieks, watching as he pulls out a blindfold to cover her outrage. "Distort as you will, the truth is firm!"

But his conviction is strong, and her cruelty is weak. Bound and gagged she gives up the fight.

It is willingness, not this rag-doll he demands, and displeased, his kettle of tears reach boiling point. He wants to scald her with them, see her wince in his pain. But his blood-sugar is low, and he needs to eat, so settling for a juicy carved slice of her disillusionment, he sits instead to devour her last vestige of faith.

Belching, moving off in seek of pudding, he tosses her, "You should have read the small-print." as he slams the door behind.

I posted this rather cryptic missive some time ago.  I was too numb and still reeling then, to elaborate.  Now I realise I did nothing wrong, other than to be very naive and stupid enough to accept someone at face value. I know I am not to blame.

The Internet is a wonderful thing, but it is also a rife ground for predators to stalk.

I've formed some lasting friendships through blogging.  I am wary of joining sites such as "Facebook" and the like, I value my privacy, and liked to think I was pretty savvy concerning "putting myself out there".

A female fellow blogger, one I had grown to value and to trust over time, offered to step up and to come over to meet me in London, when a friend of mine, whom I had arranged to spend a week away with, through no fault of her own, had had to pull out at the very last minute.  As the apartment and attractions we had arranged to see were all already booked and paid for, it sounded a wonderful alternative solution.  I was excited at the prospect of meeting up with this (what I had come to consider) dear friend of mine.

A slight warning bell sounded when she - at the Nth hour - mailed me to confirm, um, I WAS paying for her return flight from America, yes?  Only (how embarrassing) she has told everyone now - she just naturally assumed..?  

I hadn't planned on that, no.  But..  yes, I am stupid.  I sent the fare.

What I certainly never planned on, was that "she" would turn out to be a six foot two, almost as wide as large, transvestite/wannabe transgender guy.

One who wanted a relationship with me.

Let me make this loud and clear, I don't give a toss over what sexuality anyone has, having led a rich and varied life myself, I am the last one to cast any stones.  However I DO give a toss about honesty.

Thing is, I actually felt sorry for him, and swallowed all his guff of the tragic life he has (because he truly actually does have a terrible life, this I know for sure).  I was even prepared to go through with the week as his friend, and to try to make the best of it.

But he was mortified I was so cruel to as to reject his advances, so much so, he called another unsuspecting UK on-line friend of his, to come and "rescue" (what she thought was her), from this wicked person (me) who had turned his trip into what he billed as a living nightmare.

The guy ate for Britain, he couldn't pass a cafe/restaurant, without having a three course meal (which I unfailingly was left to pick up the tab for, each and every time).  He claimed low-blood sugar.  I, having no appetite, usually just sat and watched him.  Despite his flouncy frocks, waiters frequently "Sir-ed" him, and when they did it was cringe inducing - he became extremely vocally abusive in return.. God, such a drama queen, I lost count of the times I prayed for the floor to simply open up and swallow me whole!

Frankly, I felt only relief upon finding his goodbye note.  Earlier that day, I had left him to pay his own friggin' tab, he'd been particularly obnoxious, sulky and non-communicative.  I'd finally had enough, and told him I would do my own sight-seeing for the day, and would see him back at the flat.   I literally danced a celebratory jig on the spot when I came back and found him packed up and gone.
  

His other poor, unsuspecting friend was as shocked as I to discover whom "she" actually was.  She later (we never knew each other beforehand) tracked me down and emailed me.  Long story short, we had soooooooooo much in common (smile) we just had to become friends.  I can only imagine how he must have squirmed at the thought of us two swapping our notes together.  My goodness, I could hardly believe the lies he'd told her about me!  Mind, her hair curled too, when she heard what he'd told me about her..

Him?  No, we are no longer in touch, yet I do have it on good authority that yes,  he's very much alive and active in the blogging world, and still doing so in the guise of a woman.

One thing I will say about him, he is a very gifted poet, not to mention fantasist.