People have always told me their secrets. I
don’t know why, but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that
I’m a low-status person who couldn’t possibly do them any harm. Anyway,
I’m not even that trustworthy, as I’m about to demonstrate …
A guy I knew in college told me about the time he was molested by his “uncle” when he was 10 years old. This “uncle” (really a friend of the family) sensed that the boy was gay and basically seduced him. So he was sexualized at a very early age. The experience was not unpleasant in the sense that he got pleasure from it, but obviously it was totally inappropriate.
Similarly, another friend from college (who I vaguely knew in high school) confided to me and many other people that she was repeatedly molested by her own father who, disturbingly enough, was a first grade teacher. You can just imagine the implications. Anyway, when she became an adult and confronted the whole family with this secret, they basically shut her out and said she was making it all up.
When I was in art therapy, one of the other patients -- this really mild-mannered guy whose favorite hobby was bowling -- told me that he used to be in a militia. He still harbors beliefs that The Government is too powerful and cannot be trusted. Oh, and he used to have a blog that was solely about the Trojan War -- it had about 2 hits a day.
My former boss, an attorney, once proclaimed to me out of the blue: “I come from a working class family and am the first to go to college. Achievement is very important to me!” I strongly suspect he was bipolar and am firmly convinced that he had obsessive-compulsive disorder (he used to rearrange the papers on his desk endlessly and would throw a fit if he couldn’t find something as trivial as a paperclip).
My former step-sister told me that when she was five years old, she was lying on the bed with her father when he reached over and started feeling her breasts. He never did anything like that ever again, but nonetheless it was disconcerting.
My former step-sister also confided to me that her ex-fiance was lousy in bed. He was one of those “rammers” who had no clue about foreplay. He didn’t even seem to care that she never had an orgasm. Intelligently, she broke off the engagement.
When I was taking comedy writing classes at Second City, I befriended this closeted homosexual who was married with two kids and worked as a tobacco lobbyist. Talk about fucked up. While chain-smoking, he’d tell me about these transvestite bars he liked to frequent. His wife had no clue about his secret life, which amazed me. My interpretation of this situation is that because the wife was in therapy, she was probably too self-absorbed to see what was going on right in front of her.
My former therapist would constantly weave her own personal sagas into the session, as if they were relevant. One of her favorites was talking about her alcoholic ex-husband, an attorney, who expected her to “fix” him. Another thing she liked to share was that her former psychiatrist misdiagnosed her as bipolar and wrote in his notes that she “had failed in every important relationship of her life.”
This guy I met in group therapy (who would later commit suicide) told me that he fantasized about leaving pornographic magazines in the lobby of his apartment building. The second part of the fantasy is that he would hide behind a wall and watch people’s reactions to it. Would they pick it up and hide it in their briefcase? Would they pretend not to see it? Would they rifle through it nervously, then toss it aside?
My ex-boyfriend told me that he once got a blowjob from his best friend. After that one incident, his friend kept pestering him to get a motel room together. My ex-boyfriend didn’t have any sexual feelings for him – he’d only let him fellate him that one time because he was super-horny and hadn’t had sex with a woman in over six months. His best friend kept pestering him and pestering him until finally my ex-boyfriend just started avoiding him altogether.
I knew this guy – same age as me – who had been homeless since he was in his early twenties. I met him because we volunteered at the same dog shelter 10 years ago. He was a really sad figure, having spent his 20s and 30s living in one homeless shelter after another and somehow never being able to get a job (which I could never understand). Anyway, he actually was briefly employed when he was 22 or whatever, working as a busboy in a hotel restaurant downtown. He was still a virgin then, so to remedy that situation he hired a prostitute. That was the only time he’d ever had sexual intercourse. A couple years ago, while I was in my car waiting for the light to turn green, I saw him holding up a “NEED MONEY FOR FOOD” sign at the intersection of Western and Diversey Avenue. It was really sad. I just drove on as if I didn’t see him. The reason for my indifference is that he was actually kind of an asshole, but that’s a whole other story.
When I was 10 my best friend told me she found defecating a pleasurable sensation. As a total non sequitur I will add that the last I heard, she is now a single mother working as a salesperson at JC Penney.
About ten years ago a good friend of mine told me that someone we both knew – a gay man – was thinking about having a sex change operation. He never did.
Back in 1997, when I was working in an advertising agency, my boss confided to me that her live-in boyfriend was beating her. I didn’t like her very much, but I pretended to be concerned because in those days I kissed her ass like crazy so she wouldn’t bother me like she did everybody else. I should add here that she was pretty strange: one time she emailed all the women in the office and asked us if we wanted her leftover birth control pills.
My father’s former secretary told me that her first husband was a drug dealer.
When I was in my 20s, my best friend was a guy I’d known since my freshman year in college. His girlfriend told me she suspected he was gay because when they made love, he always wanted her on top. Otherwise, he liked to fuck her from behind. Now that I think about it, he probably was a repressed homosexual (in college, he obsessively, desperately dated women as if he was trying to prove something). He now works as an artist and lives in New York City. Even though I have not seen or spoken to him in almost 20 years, I have a strong suspicion he still has not confronted his own sexuality. (And by the way, I Googled him and saw some of his artwork. It’s very derivative.)
When I worked at this one law firm, the mailroom guy told me that he was once offered $600 to kill someone. The son of a bitch was actually bragging about it.
What about you? What are some of the strangest things people have confided in you?
A guy I knew in college told me about the time he was molested by his “uncle” when he was 10 years old. This “uncle” (really a friend of the family) sensed that the boy was gay and basically seduced him. So he was sexualized at a very early age. The experience was not unpleasant in the sense that he got pleasure from it, but obviously it was totally inappropriate.
Similarly, another friend from college (who I vaguely knew in high school) confided to me and many other people that she was repeatedly molested by her own father who, disturbingly enough, was a first grade teacher. You can just imagine the implications. Anyway, when she became an adult and confronted the whole family with this secret, they basically shut her out and said she was making it all up.
When I was in art therapy, one of the other patients -- this really mild-mannered guy whose favorite hobby was bowling -- told me that he used to be in a militia. He still harbors beliefs that The Government is too powerful and cannot be trusted. Oh, and he used to have a blog that was solely about the Trojan War -- it had about 2 hits a day.
My former boss, an attorney, once proclaimed to me out of the blue: “I come from a working class family and am the first to go to college. Achievement is very important to me!” I strongly suspect he was bipolar and am firmly convinced that he had obsessive-compulsive disorder (he used to rearrange the papers on his desk endlessly and would throw a fit if he couldn’t find something as trivial as a paperclip).
My former step-sister told me that when she was five years old, she was lying on the bed with her father when he reached over and started feeling her breasts. He never did anything like that ever again, but nonetheless it was disconcerting.
My former step-sister also confided to me that her ex-fiance was lousy in bed. He was one of those “rammers” who had no clue about foreplay. He didn’t even seem to care that she never had an orgasm. Intelligently, she broke off the engagement.
When I was taking comedy writing classes at Second City, I befriended this closeted homosexual who was married with two kids and worked as a tobacco lobbyist. Talk about fucked up. While chain-smoking, he’d tell me about these transvestite bars he liked to frequent. His wife had no clue about his secret life, which amazed me. My interpretation of this situation is that because the wife was in therapy, she was probably too self-absorbed to see what was going on right in front of her.
My former therapist would constantly weave her own personal sagas into the session, as if they were relevant. One of her favorites was talking about her alcoholic ex-husband, an attorney, who expected her to “fix” him. Another thing she liked to share was that her former psychiatrist misdiagnosed her as bipolar and wrote in his notes that she “had failed in every important relationship of her life.”
This guy I met in group therapy (who would later commit suicide) told me that he fantasized about leaving pornographic magazines in the lobby of his apartment building. The second part of the fantasy is that he would hide behind a wall and watch people’s reactions to it. Would they pick it up and hide it in their briefcase? Would they pretend not to see it? Would they rifle through it nervously, then toss it aside?
My ex-boyfriend told me that he once got a blowjob from his best friend. After that one incident, his friend kept pestering him to get a motel room together. My ex-boyfriend didn’t have any sexual feelings for him – he’d only let him fellate him that one time because he was super-horny and hadn’t had sex with a woman in over six months. His best friend kept pestering him and pestering him until finally my ex-boyfriend just started avoiding him altogether.
I knew this guy – same age as me – who had been homeless since he was in his early twenties. I met him because we volunteered at the same dog shelter 10 years ago. He was a really sad figure, having spent his 20s and 30s living in one homeless shelter after another and somehow never being able to get a job (which I could never understand). Anyway, he actually was briefly employed when he was 22 or whatever, working as a busboy in a hotel restaurant downtown. He was still a virgin then, so to remedy that situation he hired a prostitute. That was the only time he’d ever had sexual intercourse. A couple years ago, while I was in my car waiting for the light to turn green, I saw him holding up a “NEED MONEY FOR FOOD” sign at the intersection of Western and Diversey Avenue. It was really sad. I just drove on as if I didn’t see him. The reason for my indifference is that he was actually kind of an asshole, but that’s a whole other story.
When I was 10 my best friend told me she found defecating a pleasurable sensation. As a total non sequitur I will add that the last I heard, she is now a single mother working as a salesperson at JC Penney.
About ten years ago a good friend of mine told me that someone we both knew – a gay man – was thinking about having a sex change operation. He never did.
Back in 1997, when I was working in an advertising agency, my boss confided to me that her live-in boyfriend was beating her. I didn’t like her very much, but I pretended to be concerned because in those days I kissed her ass like crazy so she wouldn’t bother me like she did everybody else. I should add here that she was pretty strange: one time she emailed all the women in the office and asked us if we wanted her leftover birth control pills.
My father’s former secretary told me that her first husband was a drug dealer.
When I was in my 20s, my best friend was a guy I’d known since my freshman year in college. His girlfriend told me she suspected he was gay because when they made love, he always wanted her on top. Otherwise, he liked to fuck her from behind. Now that I think about it, he probably was a repressed homosexual (in college, he obsessively, desperately dated women as if he was trying to prove something). He now works as an artist and lives in New York City. Even though I have not seen or spoken to him in almost 20 years, I have a strong suspicion he still has not confronted his own sexuality. (And by the way, I Googled him and saw some of his artwork. It’s very derivative.)
When I worked at this one law firm, the mailroom guy told me that he was once offered $600 to kill someone. The son of a bitch was actually bragging about it.
What about you? What are some of the strangest things people have confided in you?
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