Learn by reading other’s experiences.
Lies and Deception
The emotional con man
How can I describe him?
He was a short man, no more than about 5ft 6 inches tall, probably slightly less as it was difficult to tell. I am sure he wore lifts in his shoes. In a strange way he almost, almost, looked like Tom Cruise, but you’d have to squint or be slightly pissed to see it clearly. It was the eyes be-fringed with the biggest eyelashes ever that I think convinced me that this was so.
Small footed, with pudgy hands that gave truth to his tale that he had been a boxer in the past. I never saw him dance, so I can’t say if this was yet another of his lies. Looking at him you would see his future unfold as the barely taut stomach would meander into fat as the beers (so many) took hold, never to let go. Cocky, like a lot of short men, he thought the world owed him. I can see him now, the flick of the head as he spun another beguiling thread to tie me up in his emotional web.
He took it for granted that I would be happy to support him. He took it for granted that I would happily leave everything that was dear to me for him, not realising that it was my situation was supporting him, not me. I remember buying a CD in a shop. His eyes lit up thinking I was buying it for him and the flick of disappointment, probably anger now I think of it, when I said it was for me.
I was conned by this man. He made me feel like a million dollars when inside my fat self I felt totally unloved. He was also the best lover I have ever had, solicitous of my satisfaction in ways I never thought possible. But he stole from me: stole my heart in the halcyon summer days of our relationship. When the autumn came he lied, stealing more truth from my pockets, from under my feet, then dumped me when it no longer suited him to make any further effort.
The last time I saw him, the years had started to erode that confident surface, to spread the jowls, loosen the gut and blur the lines of youth. He looked like any other middle aged man I’ve ever known. Slightly sad at the edges.
I wondered how many other women he had stolen from since me. How many others who were less than confident, persuaded by him that he was all that they would ever need? The same patter used over and over again to burrow and creep into their hearts. How many proposals, how many engagements celebrated, how many rings not bought because, you know, he was just a bit short of money at the moment….
He was a complete parasitic sh–.
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I tweet, I blog, I think, I speak. I’m actually quite nice you know.
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