If you’ve ever wondered why there are so many women in the world who find it difficult to trust men, here’s a little story that might help you gain some insight.
I met a man online. I’ve met many men online in the past…Tall, Thin, Short, Stocky, Funny, Intelligent, Slow, just looking for sex, wanting to get married, Rich, poor, and all shades in between…Like I said ALL kinds. This particular man’s name was Bill and he purported to want a relationship. He lived an hour south of me so we began emailing, then texting daily, several times a day. He was crazy about me, loved my personality, wanted to see if we could have a relationship. I thought that he was strong, funny, a hard worker, a great potential partner.
He got a job in the area and we met and dated. And then, I invited him to my home where we made love followed immediately by him having a stroke. I knew right away what was happening because he began speaking incoherently (he’d had nothing to drink) and couldn’t say anything clearly. Strokes are one of my biggest fears and one of the main reasons I don’t date men my own age or older. So I know the signs of a stroke: Face Drooping; Arm Weakness; Speech Trouble; time to dial 911.
I was shaking and crying when ten minutes later five para-medics arrived in my bedroom and began asking the obvious questions. Did he have a previous history of stroke? What had we been doing? They zipped him off to the local medical center and for the next five days I visited him in the ICU.
The first morning I met his parents. Not the best way to meet a man’s parents, but they were kind enough. His father told me that Bill had told them about me. How nice, I thought, to be that close to one’s father.
The next day his parents were there and so was another woman. About my age, similar in look to me, sitting by his bed very territorially. As soon as I arrived his parents got up and left. On her way out the door his mother turned to us and said, “He’s just like his father. I can’t tell you how hard I tried to make that not happen.” I thought she was talking about his horrible sense of humor! The other woman, Shanna, seemed a bit possessive and I didn’t know who she was so I left her to it and told him I’d come back another time.
The next day, yet another woman was there to visit. She was sweet and said she was a friend of his and we chatted and visited together while he slept.
He was slowly gaining speech, by day three he could now string four word together, but his memory was very bad. He didn’t remember who had been to visit him, and it wasn’t until day three that he remembered where he had been when he had the stroke.
By day four he remembered who I was and could talk enough to ask me to keep visiting. “I feel really good about you”, he told me.
My friends couldn’t help but make jokes about how I was so good in bed I almost killed a man. I felt guilty that it happened when he was with me, even though I knew it could have happened anywhere. For four days I visited him several times a day trying to help with his rehabilitation. I worried he might not regain full use of his right side. I worried that his aphasia wouldn’t heal, that he wouldn’t regain his memory, that this once vital man would never be the same again.
On Sunday, Day five, I called into the ICU to ask to visit and the nurses response was, “Why not, come on back, there’s already two of you in there.” I walked into Bill’s room to see two women, who looked just like my reflection in a mirror, sitting calmly while Bill slept (or pretended to). And then, I got it. I know it seems as though it took me a long time but in my defense I would like to say that the experience of having someone have a stroke in your bed is traumatizing and exhausting.
“Hello Ladies.”, I said.
Woman Number One asked, “How long have you been seeing him?”
“It doesn’t’ really matter, I’m pretty sure today will be the last time.”
It turns out that Woman Number One was his girlfriend of seven years. She said to me, “What am I supposed to do, his name is on everything”. I told her she was asking the wrong woman for advice. I would have lit his hospital bed on fire, sold his truck and kept the money, and walked away.
I walked out of his room and the nurse asked if I was okay. Okay? No, not okay. The man who had a stroke in my bed was seeing at least three other women. The nurse told me she’d counted four so far. I’m certain there are more. I think one of his buddy’s thought it would be funny to text every woman he was seeing and let them know where he was.
His truck had been in my driveway the entire week. I asked Woman Number One to contact his parents and have it moved. They were at my house within an hour moving that truck. They clearly had gotten the message that I was a woman scorned and knew his truck might not be safe in my driveway any longer. As it turned out I was on my second glass of wine when they arrived and had been thinking evil thoughts of revenge. Men do so cherish their trucks; and in this instance clearly it was more cherished than any female he had a relationship with. I thought of lighting it on fire, sugar in the gas tank, flattening all the tires, keying “lying, cheating bastard” down the side. Thank heaven they arrived before I finished glass number three and saved me from myself!
I can only believe that everyone who knows him knew about all the women he was lying to and cheating on, and they all, including his parents allowed him to continue on without letting any of us know how he was using us.
I don’t understand the fun a man gets from lying to a woman? Surely in 2018 if you want to have no strings attached sex there are enough women who want the same thing. You don’t have to tell lies to get sex. Why did he need me to think I’m the only one? Why keep pretending and saying he wanted something real with me? Was it because he knew when we finally all found out it would hurt that much more?
Five women? NO wonder he had a stroke. Men I know tell me it’s difficult enough to have a relationship with one woman! And, I keep asking myself, how did he ever get any work done? Texting five women all day long and keeping the stories straight has to be time consuming and difficult. Is there an app for this?
All I can say is…Kharma is a bitch. I no longer feel sorry for him having had a stroke. I will not be visiting again. I’m debating the pros and cons of celibacy and lesbianism. When I land on a decision I’ll update you here.
Full Disclosure: I usually change the names in my stories to protect the guilty but in this case I think it is important that other women know this man’s modus operandi because should he regain his health he will surely go back to his old games.
His name is William H. Clarke. He lives in or outside of Roseburg, Oregon. He runs Tower Towing and….he is a proven liar and a cheat.