She sits alone in her room.
She writes Erotic Literature both as a hobby and as a sexual outlet. She also writes Erotic Literature because she knows that the 'words' can excite men in a way that her body never will.
She writes to fill an internal void deep within her and because it is far less dangerous than drinking excessive amounts of alcohol or swallowing extreme quantities of sleeping tablets.
She has been through that phase: taking tablets to ease the emotional pain she feels inside; seeking sleep over reality and thankfully, she has emerged on the other side.
She is 48 years old.
She considers herself attractive, although she has been told by family members that she has an over exaggerated opinion of how attractive she really is. She is also quite overweight.
She has never been any man's wife, fiancée, or even live-in lover.
She is what society calls a 'loser.'
Men do not want to date her. If anything, men are embarrassed and even horrified when they learn that she may have developed romantic feelings of attachment for them.
She is the teenage girl, high school boys played cruel tricks on, in order to amuse each other and to humiliate her in front of others in her class.
She is the young woman men loudly make fun of and call out put downs to whilst standing in groups as they watched her walk past, causing her to lower her head self consciously.
She is the middle-aged woman who is far too old now to re-start chasing her dreams but does anyway.
She is the unloved: the unacceptable and definitely one the most emotionally fucked-up females you will ever encounter.
Over the years, men have taught her to fear them and she has learnt that lesson well.
Her first lesson came at the age of fifteen. She was a late bloomer.
At fourteen, while the other girls her age were dressing in their bikini to attract the attention of the boys on the beach, she was completely oblivious to all of them: preferring instead to burrow away in the sand making sandcastles. The only interaction she had with those boys was to abuse them for walking over the sandcastle, instead of around it.
At fifteen, she experienced her first real crush and being one to wear her heart on her sleeve, everyone in the class knew about it.
Now she was no dog back in those days. She was slim, had mousey colored, bra- strap-length light brown hair and an ample bust (thanks to genes passed down from her grandmother.)
Unfortunately, she was also painfully shy and not all that well liked by her classmates.
She did have one good friend though, a girl named Karen.
One afternoon, the object of her affection (David) came up to her as they were standing by the port racks and he called her aside so he could speak to her privately.
The details of the meeting are sketchy at best; but the question he asked has always stayed with her.
He told her "he liked her" and then went on to ask, "If she would like to become his girlfriend."
She walked on a cloud all day.
She began to think that something was amiss when he spent no time at all with her the next day, but just let it go, not wanting to rock the boat, so to speak.
She had a boyfriend, now.
She was normal. She was acceptable. She was wrong.
Within three days, he would approach her again, still having spent no time with her, as one would think a boyfriend would; and say directly to her, "he wanted to break up with her." No reason offered. He simply turned and walked away from her.
True scenario: The other boys in the class had given him a dare. He had to go with [surname] for forty-eight hours: he did not want her: he just did not want to back down from the challenge.
There is little need to write about the impact of that on her adolescent psyche. It was during this time that she began to draw conclusions about her worthiness to the male population... and she knew they found her wanting.
She became reclusive.
She did not develop romantic feelings for another male until she was twenty-two years of age.
He was a student minister in his third year at the bible college she attended from 1982 -1983. She had it in mind at that time to become a Missionary. She had grandiose ideas of surviving alone in some far off African jungle: a kind of female Dr Livingston. Her father was also at the same college training to be a Minister and was in the same year of college as her new crush. She saw him on the grounds of the campus one day and immediately fell head over heels in love with him.
Always thinking on her feet, she walked up to him and said, "Do you know where my father is?"
He answered, as she knew he would, "Who is your father?"
She told him.
Instant recognition appeared on his face. Bingo. She had him.
He, never having met her before, had no knowledge of who she was so the question was merely an introductory tool she used so he would know her next time they met.
Of course, she was not considering the 20 kilograms she had piled on since her high school days.
She waited for him to notice her. He on the other hand remained friendly but emotionally detached. She made excuses to be around him, often taking up kitchen duties on the same nights as he so she could spend time with him.
One afternoon she snuck into his bedroom, pillow in hand and, unbeknown to him, exchanged her pillow with his so she could sleep on something belonging to him.
She wanted his acceptance and to belong to him so badly: but as a result the reality was that she drove him stark raving mad in her desire to attain it.
He was in no doubt of her affection for him, yet he neither encouraged nor discouraged her ambition until he was sick to death of her and drew away.
To cut a two-year story short, he did not want her and her need to be desirable and acceptable destroyed their relationship. He ended up rejecting her and she watched helplessly as he began to date her roommate instead.
She put on even more weight during this period.
Still a virgin at twenty-seven, she fell in love again: with the father of her now nearly twenty-year-old daughter.
He was an Irish tourist and definitely, the most handsome man she had laid eyes on in years. They became friends. He would sit by her and they would go for long walks and talk about anything and everything: but there had been no romantic gestures on his part.
Wanting to feel loved and accepted, she shocked the hell out of him one day by impulsively putting her head on his chest while they were lying back on a bed [with other people in the room] watching a video.
He tensed, but never moved away from her. He certainly never told her to get the hell off him. That alone was all it took to make her feel secure.
Around two weeks went by.
It was the week before Christmas. He had been to an after work Christmas party and had finally come home [they both had rooms in a boarding house filled with young people, mainly backpackers.]
She had had a fair amount to drink that evening, as they always seemed to have an open cast of wine on the table.
During this time some information which was to change her rational was accidentally let out of the bag when a member of their group piped up and announced suddenly that the 'love of her life' was leaving in the next day [ for good]. It was his considered opinion that, if she knew, she would fall in a heap and he was right.
Emotionally crushed, she ran to the park down the road and sobbed uncontrollably: cried, in fact, until she was physically sick. She could not lose him, not now that she had finally found him. She had to find some way to keep him with her.
She devised a plan: She would offer him her body. Every romance she had ever read said that the virgin always got the hero to fall in love with her by the end of the novel.
Therefore, that is what she did.
She set out to seduce him and succeeded, although the alcohol no doubt helped enormously.
The sex, although lasting only around three and a half minutes was pleasant enough despite his level of intoxication.
Suddenly he rose from the bed, put on his shorts, grabbed his other belongings, and then left leaving her bewildered and wondering why he would not stay.
The next morning it all fell apart. He told her he was still leaving.
She was sure all they needed was more time together in order for him to fall in love with her, so unbeknown to him she impulsively caught a bus to where he was heading three hours before his departure time and decided to meet him there unannounced when he stepped off the bus.
She meant it to be another surprise. He was surprised, no doubt about that: and as angry as she had ever seen any male ever.
His exact words: "What the fuck!" followed closely behind by; "What the fuck are you doing here?" and "Are you fucking insane?"
She did not know how to reply to that.
He has a few other choice comments he made to her as they walked down the road. He was still fuming so she dropped back a few paces behind him to give him room to calm down as they walked alone down the dark street.
She noticed the gap between them was getting wider, but did not worry too much as he was still looking back to see if she was still with him. She thought he was looking out for her safety. She stopped to look at something in a shop window only for a moment and when she looked up, he was gone. She was all alone. She called out his name, but heard only the wind in the trees. She continued to walk down the road, looking for him, but he was well and truly gone.
She became frightened, as this was a dark lonely stretch of open road and infrequently a truck would pass speeding up towards the highway. It was obvious she was all alone in the middle of nowhere and worse still, because she wanted it to be a surprise, she had not told a sole where she was going. She pressed on looking for him.
It was around dawn, about two and a half hours later when she finally saw him again. He was this little speck of orange way off in the distance. The orange she could see was his backpack.
She turned around then and began to retrace her steps back to the bus stop and home to Brisbane.
People on the bus looked at her with such compassion as she sometimes silently cried, sometimes starred blankly out of the window, and sometimes seemed to choke on the grief inside of her.
It was a four-hour trip back to the terminal.
One night, several days later, she was talking to his best friend who was still in Brisbane and who, knowing how much she was hurting, tried to give her a reality check by telling her what he [the love of her life] had said to him on his return from what was the most intimate night of her entire life.
He had walked into the room and stated to his friend, "I can't believe I fucked her."
When she heard that, a part of her just died inside.
She got on with her life as best she could.
Two weeks before the due date for the baby's birth she got a phone call from a trusted friend who had received an invitation to the baby shower.
She was hanging out the washing when the call came.
Her friend told her the following: The love of her life had met a woman in Sydney and he had married her.
The conversation ended after that and she returned to the clothesline as if to continue hanging out the washing.
Shock had set in: then reality hit with a force one cannot describe. He had married another woman while she was carrying his child. Even now, she was not good enough.
She vaguely remembers hearing a scream and then remembers falling to the grass, which brought her parents bolting out the door to where she lay sobbing on the ground. They helped her to her feet and took her inside. She was eight and half months pregnant.
She later found out months after her baby's birth that the story her friend had relayed to her had not been true and that he had been standing there along side her telling her friend what to say. It was his way of making everything, including her simply fade away. He boarded a plane home to Ireland the next day.
She never quite recovered from the barrage of hurt she had to endure and she has never been able to be intimate with another male since that night.
Twenty years later, middle aged and living alone with her sister... she writes erotic stories of lovers who do not exist and of romantic liaisons, she has never experienced and dreams of true love.