Here's my psycho hosebeast story (unless only women can be hosebeasts). About two years ago I was on OKC and met a very cute guy about ten years my junior who called himself poly. He wanted to get very personal right away, he told me just about everything about himself, including his last name and where he worked, before we even met (I did not do the same though.) He said he wanted a very serious and long-term relationship. We had several very nice dinner dates with progressively hotter making out afterward, until we consummated our passion with the most incendiary sexual marathon I've ever had in my life. A week after, he invited me over to his house to spend the day. He greeted me at the door, practically dragged me to the bedroom, but then, right in the middle of things, excused himself to go to the bathroom, where I could hear him being sick. When he came out he looked horrible, all greenish and sweating. He admitted that his stomach had been bothering him all morning, but he had been trying to ignore it because he wanted to see me so badly. I wanted to call a doctor, make a drugstore run, anything, but he insisted he only wanted to sleep. I left, but not before making him promise to call me and update me on his condition after I woke up.
He didn't call that night. He didn't call the next day. A full 48 hours later, I had left messages for him, texted him, sent emails, and no response. I was getting really worried. I envisioned him lying unconscious on the floor of his apartment. He lived alone. I could not drop everything and just go back to his place, it was an hour and a half from me and I had a job and young kids too. So I called his office and asked the receptionist if he'd called in sick that day. I figured that if he could do that, he was conscious and could talk on the phone and get help if he needed it. The receptionist thought she had actually seen him at work that morning, although she wasn't completely positive, and transferred me to his voicemail, where I left another message asking him to call.
By 10 pm that night, I hadn't heard from him and figured that my six-week relationship with him was over, so I left him an email asking him to clarify if we were indeed done, telling him that I was a big girl and could handle it, etc.
The next morning, he got in touch. He said he'd been in the hospital the whole time, without his phone, and had just gotten out. I told him that I was thrilled that he was OK, because I'd been worried sick and had even called his office and asked the receptionist if she had news of him. At that point, he had the most massive freakout I've ever been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of. Yes, this poly guy who wanted to meet my husband, my kids, my friends, wanted to be a significant part of MY life, even talked of relocating to be closer to me, thought it was an outrageous invasion of privacy that I called his office to ask a minimum-wage receptionist if he was OK after leaving him sick and then not hearing from him for three days. At first, I tried to tell him some version of "You idiot, I was extremely worried about you, you could have been dying on the floor of your apartment," but then he got verbally abusive, I told him we were over, and that was that.
That was some great sex though. I'd always heard that lunatics were great in bed and now I believe it.
Last edited by gwendolenthefair; 11-23-2011 at 11:07 PM.