One Thing Leads To Another

So your break-up was hard and it left you wounded, the injuries both physical but mainly emotional and you have kept yourself locked away for months now. Seeking isolation as a means to address the upset that you have experienced and vowing never to date again. Your resolve has increased, with daily deliverances as to what he did mounting up as you hear about an accumulation of abhorrent actions. You decided to focus on what mattered to you and thus relationships were consigned to the back of your mind. Feeling stronger, the wounds healing yet not healed you face repeated invitations from your well-meaning friends, friends who have supported you through this unpleasant period of your life, to come out of hiding and let yourself shine once more. You agree and after extensive preparation you emerge,like a hibernating creature and join your friends in that bar that has been refurbished and is a honey pot for all the beautiful creatures.

I see you stood there at the bar. You are stood slightly apart from your friends as if seeking to preserve your personal space. I see conversation is directed your way and recognise that your friends are paying you what I would regard as an excessive level of attention as if they are repeatedly checking that you are okay. Occasionally hands touch your arm by way of reassurance and heads lean in as soft faces radiate kind expressions. I know you are being looked after. I know that you are being protected and that means you have been wounded. I scent the blood that has been spilled in your past and wait until the ‘phones are wielded to take various posed photographs. Time to approach.

I make my way to the bar and slightly turn to observe you and your friends as the photos continue. One catches my eye and I smile. She responds with her own smile and nudges her friend.

“Would you like me to take one of you all?” I ask as I move alongside you. Nods of appreciation follow and I am handed phone after phone as I commit your group photo to a digital memory. I engage in polite yet playful conversation with you all but remain focussed on your reactions. You are hesitant but laughing at my words, seemingly wanting to embrace them yet unsure as to whether you should. I pull out my own phone and take a picture of you all and then alter the focus so the lens homes in on you and you alone as I take a burst of pictures before wishing you an enjoyable evening and withdrawing to my waiting lieutenants. It is not long before a search of your image has given me your name and I am able to ascertain some of your interests from your Face book profile which include the fact that you are a keen dancer and have won several dance competitions. I do some research into dance competitions for young men and prepare my hook of having been a dancer in  my youth although a football injury put paid to my burgeoning progress. I absorb a few key elements of terminology and then make my move towards you. I flick the first domino and it begins to fall into the second.

We talk. We drink. We dance. I learn more about you. I impress judging by your friends’ responses. I secure your number and give you mine. I text courteously the next day. A dinner date is secured. The date goes well. I learn more about you, compiling my dossier about you as a follow-up date is readily agreed to. I surprise you with tickets to a ballet performance. You are delighted. The dominos keep tumbling. Your resistance evaporates. Date three is a pushover and then the dates become more frequent. I am in your house. I am in your bed. I am inside you. Three weeks becomes three months. The dominos keep tumbling as I know all about your past. I know all about your present too from my snooping. I engulf you in my world my lieutenants circling about you. I grab the wool and pull it over your supporters’ eyes, recruiting two of them into my fold. I raise you up. I draw you in. I flatter and charm.

Your time is with me. Your phone full of my love. Your weekends are filled by me. I stay at yours and you at mine. The toothbrush appears and then the overnight bag which remains in place. You wash the clothes for me and then I am there more than I am not. I disconnect those who serve no purpose from your network but you seem not to notice. Your eyes show me how enchanted you are as those dominos continue to tumble. The holidays are booked as I start to invade your future. I check your phone for you and relay messages. I read your post but you do not mind as I do it when you are busy to help you out. Naturally. The salami slices as I impose my world on you and you readily submit. I know all your friends, I know all about your work, your hobbies and your family. I am regarded as the ideal tonic after ‘him’ who we laugh about and who I know is one of my brethren but I never tell you. Your days are mapped out for you by me and you tell me often how lucky you feel. I do not disagree. I move in but keep my own house as ‘the market is not right to sell just now’. That bolthole is going nowhere. The social circle is established. You are elated. The world is offered to you and as the dominos clack clack clack you accept it all. The ring appears and you say yes. A date is set and plans are made as I give you the future. The tendrils are all around you, the fuel lines in place but of course you do not notice. I am with you, in you and around you. You sit at breakfast admiring the glinting ring on your finger as you remark.

“Do you know it is six months since we met in that bar? Who’d have thought it?”

I send you that special smile and you fail to notice my eyes blacken for an instant because you are still yet to discover that one thing leads to another.

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Tickety Boo or Not So Pucker

Last late Spring I had occasion to be in Scotland. A marvellous country filled with beautiful scenery and plenty of history. I realised that I was fairly near to a place where I had spent a handful of childhood holidays and decided to drive to the location to ascertain if it remained as I remembered it. I found the estate with ease and followed the single track road trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything that I remembered from our visits here. It was as I turned from the track onto a driveway that I knew I had found the correct place. I halted my vehicle and stared down the driveway. It was lined with scores of cherry trees which were in full blossom. I remembered the first time I saw this drive way and was taken aback at the vibrancy of the pink blossom and how it rained upon us as my father drove us down the driveway, the breeze displacing the blossom and causing it to cascade over us. It was quite the picture and something that I have always recalled although not as much as what came next.

We had spent a week staying at a five star hotel about an hour away from where we were now. This was at the insistence of my mother who had declared,

“If I am to rough it then I want my luxury either side of it.”

Typically a cold fury ensured until my father, as ever, conceded and agreed that we would stay for a week before and four days afterwards at the sumptuous hotel. The place we now headed to was an estate owned by a friend of my father. They had both been in the Royal Air Force together and Geraint, his friend, had removed himself to Scotland to oversee this estate. My mother had said nothing from the moment we had checked out from the hotel that morning. She sat, her icy rage chilling the interior of the car as my father drove us to the estate. My sister babbled incessantly during the journey, commenting on everything we passed in order to fill the silence. My father concentrated on the road ahead being well-used to these frozen car journeys and no doubt wondering how my mother would continue to behave once we arrived. I knew exactly what she would do and I could see my reflection as I grinned with anticipation.

Our car slowly drove along this bright pink tunnel until we halted by a gate. Set on a hillock to the right was a large and impressive house from which a figure, who I assumed was Geraint, half-walked half-jigged. His red corduroy pants housed two legs which skipped across the carefully manicured lawn that embraced the hillock, the colour contrasting with the mustard of his jumper and the green of the shirt beneath. He was as colourful as the entrance to his estate. My father lowered the window as Geraint neared and bellowed into the car,

“Hello hello, well how are you all you wonderful people, tickety boo or not so pucker?”

The rear of the car exploded into laughter at this expression. We had not heard anything like it and coupled with this multi-coloured man who bore a huge grin on his face we were mightily amused. This became the mantra for the week as my siblings and I would ask one another at any opportunity whether he or she was tickety boo or not so pucker. Still laughing I watched as my mother leant towards my father’s side of the car and trilled,

“Geraint how positively marvellous to see you. You look excellent well. I must say we are so looking forward to staying with you this week, it is awfully kind of you to accommodate us. It looks glorious, tell me how is your wife?”

I smirked as what I came to know as the façade was rolled out. I glanced at the rear view mirror to see my father’s reaction. As I suspected it was one of relief.

We children enjoyed our week. We had been housed in a large cottage which was clearly one which belonged to someone who had worked the estate in the past, a farmer or woodsman perhaps. Geraint occupied the main house where we dined three times if I remember correctly and there were fifteen cottages scattered across the estate. We spent our days locating them and adding them to the map we made of the extensive estate. My mother alternated between being fragrant and charming whenever she met Geraint and his family (tickety boo) to then sitting in silence when consigned to the cottage (not so pucker). As usual my father flapped about her trying to extoll the virtue of the cottage and its simpler way of life. The cottage had a permanent musty smell and it was necessary to chop logs outside to burn in the fireplaces and place in the aga range to provide cooking and heating facilities. We enjoyed this difference to the usual conveniences we enjoyed at home but my mother did not. She passed no adverse comment. She did not need to as she had repeatedly berated my father when at the hotel about his choice in coming to stay in this “bloody medieval hovel” and it seemed to me that the lap of luxury which she had insisted on had been not so pucker for her since she spent all of her time slating my father for wanting to see his old RAF pal. The blaming and name-calling then gave way to her iciness for the entire week. I do not recall my mother speaking to my father save when we were in the presence of Geraint and his family when my mother was charm personified, complimentary and quite the star of the dinner table.

Yes this trip stuck in my memory for many reasons but most of all for my exposure to the phrase tickety boo or not so pucker. I saw how these polar states were played out by my mother as part of her manipulation of my father, her quite amazing vacillation between delightful charm and muted resentment. She shone and then she iced over. I have come to realise that this entertaining phrase is most apt for our kind. Either everything is tickety boo, wonderful, marvellous and golden or it is not so pucker, awful, horrible, terrible and cruel. There is never any middle ground. No neutral. We do not do mediocre or mundane. We either give you tickety boo or subject you to not so pucker.

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Sex and the Narcissist

No holds barred and no strings attached

“Nothing…and I mean nothing…nails the sexual addiction and alternating ecstasy and despair that is the price of sex with the devil masquerading as your soul mate as is outlined in equisite painful detail by the Prince of Darkness himself. Full of enlightening description of the how’s and whys of a narcissists sexual behaviour and why and how we are ensnared. Be warned: this is a triggering…yet necessary read on the long road to Healing”.

The only unnatural sex act is that which you cannot perform

Read about how the narcissist views and uses sex and how you are central in that

US e-book here

UK e-book here

CAN e-book here

AUS e-book here

Also available in paperback on Amazon

This is classified as adult material and search filters may need adjustment.

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Dark Minions

We never act alone. All through your entanglement with us we will utilise the services and dedication of those who are loyal to us. Before we have even spoken to you we will be compiling a dossier of information about you by contacting those who know you. We will utilise our lieutenants to approach you and gather intelligence which will all be passed back to us for the purpose of analysis and subsequent application. Once our seduction of you has begun you will be taken in by my butterflies. The butterflies are those who do my bidding and they always do, who always appear and please you. Like a beautiful butterfly he or she will flutter around you, making you smile with his or her pleasantries, charm and general goodness. Like a butterfly with striking colours and that delicate movement they have been sent to enchant you on my behalf and alongside my own endeavours. My butterflies will only ever say pleasant things to you, repeating and consolidating the charming words which I have sent your way. They will flutter around you complimenting the things that you, how you look and who you are. They will remark what a wonderful couple we are together and how they can see it lasting forever. Primed with all the speeches, sentences and rhetoric that we use, these butterflies will remind you of all our magnificent attributes and thus reinforce how fortunate you are to be with someone like us. They will point out how happy you are and confirm that you make us happy too, far happier than that other harpy that came before you. You must watch out for her by the way, she is a trouble maker and will want to split you and us up. These butterflies will primarily be friends of ours but over time we will want to recruit your own friends and family to be our butterflies as well. Not only is such a recruitment a massive boost to our egos, it also means that there will be added credibility when they fly around you issuing their compliments about us both. When you are told time and time again how wonderful you are, how sensational we are and how magnificent we are together, any doubts that you may have had,any degree of modesty about such over compliments will soon melt away as the array of fluttering butterflies transfixes you.

Real butterflies only live for somewhere between one and five weeks and like their real-life counterparts my butterflies have a limited shelf life as well. This of course is down to you because as usual you always end up spoiling everything. If you maintained my interest and ensured that the high-grade, positive fuel you have supplied for the last year or so was maintained then my butterflies would have continued but your fuel diminishes, it turns stale and is not at the required level we demand. Accordingly, the selfishness you exhibit in behaving in this manner causes those beautiful and mesmerising butterflies to fade away. Your lack of loyalty and treachery means that these beautiful creatures become replaced by my crows.

Noisy, dark and petulant my crows will descend on you as I commence my devaluation of you. Remember you have brought this on yourself so you cannot expect any sympathy from my dark minions who have been recruited, brainwashed and controlled in order to further my own malevolent ambitions. My crows act at my command as they, like you, relish any opportunity to gain my favour and attention. Like some medieval king I will grant them access to me and allowing the crow to bask in my radiant brilliance secures their loyalty. Like the butterflies my crows come from my ranks of friends and family but once again I shall seek to corrupt those from your support networks so that they might first appear as a butterfly before transforming into a squawking and mocking crow. It is even the case that some of my cast-offs, desperate to remain around me and be subjected to my wonderful largesse are recruited as my minions. Thinking that they will win my favour and more importantly keep you from it, they readily agree to carry out my will. Some of my minions do not realise that they have been manipulated into doing what I want. Instead they carry out my instructions in an oblivious fashion. Others are well aware that they act as my agents of destruction but they revel in this role. Their loyalty is without question. I have flattered and charmed them as I did with you. They recognise you as the enemy who has sort to usurp their king and therefore you must be destroyed. No wonder the collective noun for a crows is a murder.

My crows are unleashed to perpetuate the devaluation against you. My dark minions come forth in order to do my bidding. The crows flap around you, their dark wings making it difficult for you to see clearly. Their incessant squawking fills your ears as they scold you for your treason. My crows move quickly, announcing to your support network the terrible way you have behaved and before they can be struck down they fly away to flap around you once more, their cacophony of insults swirling about you. This near constant noise of insult and vitriol has all been fed to them by me. Like dark messengers they repeatedly assail you with their name calling and lies, making you anxious as you are under sustained attack. You try and swipe them to one side but they merely dodge your attempts and continue to mock you. As you grow weaker from these repeated assaults they fly closer and then begin to peck at you. Just as we control you through our notorious salami-slicing techniques this pecking from my crows steadily erodes your confidence, your self-esteem, your self-worth and your identity. The crows land on your shoulder and with vicious beaks peck away something more of you as you try to fight them off but the weakness that has gripped you makes this difficult. More crows come, ordered by me to continue this campaign against you. The deployment of my dark minions saves me energy and allows me to create my butterflies for my new target whilst you lie there curled up in a ball, the dark crows hopping over you, twisted beaks pecking at you, weakening you further. Those in my coterie, my lieutenants, my agents of darkness provide a fundamental role in both my seduction and devaluation of you. I cannot succeed without them and will always ensure that I have both a box of butterflies to open for you and a tree full of black crows waiting to attack you. Perhaps you need to find a scarecrow?

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The Volunteer

It is a recognised truth that we select you. We are able to sense the empathy flowing from you and our sights become locked on to you. We move in and through a combination of our experience at recognising your kind and our subtle and informed questioning we soon establish whether you will fulfil our needs and have that sweet, delicious fuel flowing for us. If the answer is yes, and invariably it is, we do not often get it wrong when we first target somebody,then all of our seductive and manipulative charm is deployed to ensnare you. The love-bombing begins and we soon bind you to us, wrapping our tendrils about you and holding you close as our claws sink into your flesh, our hooks drive deep into your soul and the fuel lines attach and thus the extraction begins. You can shoulder no blame when this happens. You are unlikely to know what one of us is. You see the warning signs but do not recognise them. The red flags flutter but you just think how beautiful they look. The klaxons blare but they cannot be heard above the noise of our silky, honeyed words which pour into your ears. You may be fortunate enough to have somebody in your support networks who knows exactly what we are. Nevertheless, their kind and thoughtful explanations never dissuade you. How can they when you are being made to feel like a queen? How can they when we are giving you everything that you ever wanted? How can they when your soul mate has appeared and gathered you close? You smile and nod and thank them for their concern but you dismiss it and especially when we tell you that they are to be ignored, he or she is only jealous of what we have, they want to cause trouble, I have seen it before believe me and of course you will always believe me. You are a sitting target.You anticipate nothing of what is to come and you cannot be blamed at all. You do not know what we are, our seduction is virtually impossible to resist and why would you want to spurn this opportunity of a lifetime. Your ensnaring is a given and you are blameless in that.

Yet after this when the glow of the golden period fades and what was once shiny becomes tarnished and dull, when those sweet words have become barbed and thorny, when the lustre has gone and the brilliance has been diverted to a more deserving appliance, this is when you become culpable. You are no fool. Although you cannot work out why we switch back and forth in the blink of an eye in our behaviour. Although you cannot fathom why we lie and lie and lie. Although you are unable to comprehend why we show such rank hypocrisy, crass contradiction and sheer contrariness, you know that you are being badly treated. You know our words are harsh and hurtful. You know that our disappearances are unwarranted and leave you upset and worried. You recognise that our repeated taking, our ignoring of your needs and our calculated and systematic tirades are abusive. Yes there is much of our behaviour during this devaluation that is insidious and purposefully so. Much of our manipulations continue without you really appreciating they are happening or their full effect but everyone knows that being shouted out and called names is abusive. Everyone knows that the broken promise to call you or meet you is unfair and unnecessary. You do recognise that our behaviour towards you is unpleasant and abusive. Yet, despite this recognition what do you do? You stay. You are picked up and put down, treated as the appliance that we see you are to be used when it suits us and pushed to one side when someone else proves of greater interest. You see this happen yet you put up with it. You know we flirt with other women and seem to have a string of relationships which have never quite finished somehow. You see how those other women are all vying for our time and you resent that. Notwithstanding how badly we treat you, you do not want them to be the recipients of the golden largesse you know that we are capable of. You want it. Thus you remain, trying to keep them at bay, fighting further battles with these other members of my coterie most likely unaware that this triangulation upon triangulation is all by design. You make excuses after excuse for our rotten behaviour. You trot these excuses out to your friends who look on with weary faces. You tell these excuses to yourself as you sit sobbing after another violent outburst. He is tired. He is stressed. He has a lot on at work. If I try harder I know I can help him. If I can just make him see what he is doing to me I know we can work things out. I just want to cure whatever ill it is that is eating away at him and making him someone he is not, I know deep down he is a good man, I have seen it with my own eyes. The excuses come thick and fast and frequent. You clothe the abuse in these excuses seeking to make the abhorrent behaviour seem more acceptable as you continue to hang on in there in the hope that today we will give you a dose of the golden period. Occasionally it will happen and you are elated. All is well in the world and you knew that your fortitude would bear a reward. Now everything will be fine again. Only you could achieve this, not those other harpies. Why do they hang around so much? What are they waiting for? You bask in the golden light only for it to soon fade once again. The cycle continues but you do not depart, you do not leave and instead you remain hoping that we will pick you and spend time with you. You hang on in there in the hope of picking the lucky ticket which means you experience our brilliance once again. You will do anything to gain our attention and our golden love again. You will sacrifice your self-esteem, your confidence, friends, family, job, money, looks and health just for the prospect of feeling that golden, delicious love once again. Just like a hopeless addict everything else will be given up for that fix of us. You know how bad we are for you yet you keep on staying. You cannot blame us for that. You cannot blame us for the fact that you become the willing volunteer.

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How Could You Be So Twisted?

How could you be so twisted? I gave you absolutely everything. I opened my heart to you and gave you a perfect love which is beyond compare. I let you in to my world and shared everything with you. Nothing was kept from you. I knew that you were the one, the one person who amidst all the treachery and deceit in this cruel, harsh world who would take care of me. I recognised that you would shield me and protect me from the perfidious foes that lurked seeking to destroy me. I gave you everything that I had. I poured my love into our relationship, investing in it because I knew that this time it was my soul mate who stood before me. You made me so happy because you knew what I needed. You gave me what I wanted and also what I needed and you lifted me heavenwards with that beautiful brand of love that only you can possess. Our relationship was built on the firmest of foundations and promised a glittering and marvellous future. We had so much in common. You liked what I liked and I liked what you liked. So many times I would remark to my friends that it was such serendipity that we had found one another. There is so much hurt in the world, so much darkness beyond the front door and we found one another, two shining lights that when combined we burned brightly and brilliantly.

Nobody made me feel the way you did. At times, eloquent and articulate as I am, I struggled to find the words to convey what you did for me. Your selflessness and devotion were breath-taking and naturally I reciprocated. I put you first. From the moment I rose until the moment I let slumber take me, I had you and only you in my thoughts. As our mighty empire grew around us, I planned for us both. I looked forward and constructed a happy, fulfilling and most of all loving future for us both. We had no need to look back at the past. We had both been hurt by those who acted to their own agendas. I suppose that is why we found such a need in one another and one that we could both address. It was as if we had been cut from the same cloth. Two pieces of a fabulous and stunning garment that just needed to be stitched together and once combined cloaked us in magnificence. Our brilliance was never ostentatious. Most definitely other people would look upon us and comment as to our satisfaction, but not smugness. People would remark about how happy we looked and they were genuinely delighted for us, there was no envy in their words or expressions. We had it all. We had found one another and I believed in you, I believed in us. I gave every ounce of my being to you in order to ensure that what we had did not crumble to dust. I strained every sinew, fired every synapse and poured my very essence into us. I could not have given more of myself to you. From the material to the ethereal I ensured it was all directed onto you in order to ensure you knew how deep and perfect my love for you was and is. I melded with you, combined, conjoined and became one because I knew. I knew with a certainty that I had never met before that this time, this time I had found my angel, my muse, my protector and my soul mate. Such was the treasured nature of this find that I knew I had to do everything in my power to maintain that you and I remained as one. There was no hope for anything else. I could never do anything to hurt or harm you and thus spoil this most precious union. Every waking moment was dedicated to preserving our special relationship. Each word, each act and each thought revolved around the concept of us and I wanted more than any desire that I have ever known to keep us together.

Yet you destroyed that. How could you? How could you render into the dirt and ashes what we had? How could you betray me so viciously? How could you twist what we had built together so that it was no longer recognisable? A warped and corrupted image of what had been so magnificent, so perfect and what I though was so impregnable. You perverted our creation, the poison which flowed so readily and alarmed me with the speed by which you were able to summon it. The toxicity which clouded my vision, stinging my eyes, filling my nose and mouth as I choked on the malevolent fumes. Where did this come from? I had never seen this about you. In all the time we spent together, and we spent a lot of time together, not once did I see anything that would indicate that beneath your beauty and your tenderness lay this vast repository of hatred and malice. How could you be so twisted as to unleash all of this against me after everything that I had done for you, after everything I had done for us? It makes no sense. There is no logic in what you did, no rationale for taking what we had and then rending it apart, pouring acid upon it so it melted into awful shapes, searing it with flame so that it bubbled, cracked and split becoming something terrible and fearsome. So many times I have asked myself why did you do this? We had the world beneath us and then for some incomprehensible reason you wrapped your hands around it and began to dismantle and destroy it. No sane individual would do this would they? Only someone sick would act this way. Someone who has something very wrong with them would let me down in this way, after giving and promising so much, to then cast it all asunder. A twisted and hateful game is what you made the concept of us become and your warped actions have exacted a severe cost to my well-being. You have tried to break and destroy me. Why did you do this after all that I have given you, after everything I have done, after all the love, affection and dedication that I have shown to you? Only someone twisted could behave this way.

Do I speak these words or am I hearing them? Perhaps I speak them as they are spoken to me as I look into the mirror? Are these my words, your words or do they belong to both of us?

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No Contact : How to Beat the Narcissist

The definitive guide to applying and maintaining No Contact

Available Now

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