Too Much Girl

My friend Derek has this theory that the prettiest girls are also the craziest. His theory goes, that the prettiest girls get treated the most fucked up by society, girls, guys, and so, in turn, they become fucked up.

Gorgeous girls are always caught in a double standard, where people both look up to them because of their looks but also down on them. Girls want to look like them, yet they hate them because they represent an impossibly difficult standard of beauty. If they ever accomplish anything, people dismiss it as achieved only due to their looks, and if they do use their looks to get anything, people simply scoff that they were right all along.

And guys do their fair share in fucking up the prettiest girls. Guys are more opportunistic with beautiful girls, always trying to use them. Guys see beautiful women for only their looks, and as objects of sexuality first and people second. Needless to say they often treat them that way too.

Guys are always trying to get something from beautiful girls, and so these girls learn that niceness is very rarely niceness for niceness’ sake.

The cycle of constant judgment from society and mistreatment from men and woman alike ultimately leaves the prettiest girls with the more fucked up world view. Derek says that it’s an unfortunate truth of life that the most beautiful women also have the most skewed perception of reality.

In a nutshell, the prettiest girls are also the craziest.

“And,” Derek continues. “You never sleep with anyone crazier than yourself.”

What did Derek know?



Our first date is dinner at a nice restaurant. Sure it’s a little hackneyed and predictable, but it’s a safe bet. When I first see her, I am stunned. She is gorgeous. She has long flowing brown hair and a beautiful smile. She’s wearing a dress. Not jeans or a skirt, but a dress. It reveals her ample cleavage and an hourglass form.

Suddenly, I feel a little underdressed wearing a shirt and jeans.

As I meet her, I have to make a conscious effort not to stare at her breasts.

The date itself starts well; I mean, I’ve had better starts, but I’ve certainly had far worse. There is a warmth about her though that draws me in. She is easy to talk to and curious and eager to hear about me. She laughs at my jokes and listens intently to my thoughts on everything from work to television.

However, not to sound like a conceded jerk, I do make a concerted effort to keep the conversation reciprocal. Interestingly, she seems taken aback every time I ask her about herself. However, after a little coaxing she is happily telling me about herself and giving me an opportunity to learn about who she is, smile at her jokes, and appreciate her likes and dislikes.

The date goes… well!

It’s not long before I feel like we’re old friends. We joke and laugh and feel far too familiar for people who’ve just met. This, combined with the fact that she’s one of the most striking girls I’ve ever had the fortune of finding myself out with makes this a very good first date. Needless to say, the whole night I am sporting a half-on.

After dinner ends I’m about to suggest we go for a walk or perhaps back to one of our places, to continue the date, however she abruptly asks me to walk her to her car.

A little disheartened, I nonetheless agree.

The whole walk she is holding on to my arm and walking in silence. I start to wonder if maybe I did something wrong, or maybe she doesn’t like me. It’s unfortunate because I think she’s a cool girl, and I would’ve liked our first date to have lasted a bit longer. But she’s not saying anything, and it’s a little too awkward to bring up out of nowhere. So we just walk in silence.

As we reach her car she finally speaks. She thanks me and immediately lets go of my arm. She turns toward her car without even giving me a goodnight smile, let alone a good night kiss. Suddenly, I feel as though this date is not going so well.

I start trying to run things through in my head to see where I fucked up or what I did wrong... things were going well, weren’t they?

However, she doesn’t get into her car and leave. Instead, she just stands there, facing it, with her back to me. It takes me a minute to realize, but she’s crying quietly.

Now I’m confused.

“A-are you okay?” I ask hesitantly.

She nods dismissively.

I stand there in awkward silence for a moment, not really knowing what to do or say. Something must have happened... maybe it wasn’t me after all.

After some more awkward silence I step forward and put my hands on her shoulders. I tell her that it’s going to be okay, even though I have no idea what “it” I am referring to.

She finally turns back to me, and smiles with teary eyes.

“What is it?” I ask gently.

She shakes her head and sniffles, “Nothing... it’s just...”

“What?” I ask.

She lets out a loud sigh and smiles, “It’s just that you’re so awesome.”

I literally stand there, speechless, with no idea how to respond.

She smiles and, as she takes my hand, tells me that she normally doesn’t let guys put their cock in her on the first date, but that she thinks she needs to make an exception tonight. She asks if she can come home with me.

What the hell do you say to that?! Seriously?! What the hell?!

I am aghast. I am taken aback. I am at a loss for words. I just stand there sporting my half-on trying to process what just happened. Part of me is telling me to run. It’s telling me that this girl is nuts. It’s telling me that she may be cool, and funny, and gorgeous, but she is bat-shit-crazy.

I really, really, really wish I’d listened to that part. But you already know my response to her query: “Yes.”



The entire drive home is a blur of making out at stop lights, finger sucking, and a never-ending over-the-pants hand job. I feel like I’m a horny teenager again, on a desperate crunch to get as much sexual foreplay in with my girlfriend before my curfew. And that’s just the drive home.

That first night of sex is amazing. We end up doing it three times in countless positions.

Any illusions I had about her being a sweet and innocent girl quickly fade once we’re in the bedroom. The girl is a bedroom acrobat. She could show Cirque du Soleil some moves.

We screw in every conceivable position, and a few inconceivable ones.

She is the most sexually ravenous person I’ve ever been with, which only makes the whole thing more awesome. It feels less like love and more like war. It’s rough and wild and scary at times, and well, awesome!

I collapse beside her after our sexual marathon, sweaty and exhausted, and fall asleep almost instantly.



The next day, after treating her to breakfast, I drive her back to her car and we share a long passionate kiss in the parking lot. She tells me to call her and I affirm that I will.

As I drive home I am glowing. I crank my music and roll the windows down all the way. I drive fast and am smiling the whole way. The whole night was awesome, the whole date was great... in fact, the only hiccup was the scene in the parking lot. But at that moment, it seems like a distant afterthought.

Sure it was a little weird, but when you think about it really, it was a positive thing right? I mean, she just really, really liked me!

Right?

As I return to my apartment I notice something sitting on my bed: a letter. It’s about four or five pages folded shut with the words “Thank You” written on the outside. I unfold the pages and what follows is a long winded diatribe about life, love, myself, and well, everything. It’s from my date, it’s from Too Much girl.

She talks about how amazing last night was, and how great I am. She asserts repeatedly that she’s not the type of girl to hop into bed with a guy, and poses me questions over and over, such as asking if I really like her, and asking if I’m just messing around.

The whole letter is kind of strange because how am I supposed to answer her questions?

She tells me how grateful she is that I let her sleep over, and how good of a kisser I am. She asks me if I like dogs. She tells me her middle name and asks what mine is. She tells me I’m an amazing lay and she loves my ass. Then she asks when my birthday is.

As I read this utterly confusing and weird love letter I suddenly clue in to the fact that she must have left this on my bed just before we left. And as I realize that, I suddenly ask myself... when the hell did she write this?!

This is a five page thank you letter for taking her on a date and fucking her... it’s written on paper ripped out of a blank notebook on my desk... yet she couldn’t have written it in the morning. She was in my view almost the entire time. Neither of us showered. And so the only time when she possibly could’ve written this letter is during the night, after I’d passed out.

I suddenly feel very, very weirded out.



Despite my reservations, I nonetheless call her a few days later. Don’t ask me why. I guess a few days is all it took to dismiss the crazy enough for me to be able to call her again. I guess part of me was doing it because it liked her, despite her craziness. Then again, part of me was doing it because it liked her, for her craziness.

I can’t explain it. She was crazy about me, and crazy period. I felt like I was the Joker and I was dating Harlequinn, or Vince Vaughn dating the crazy redhead in Wedding Crashers... something about a hot girl who’s a little off her rocker and yet idolizes you is a little... I don’t even know what... Flattering? Gratifying? Ego maniacal?

But don’t get me wrong... I have no illusions that part of me was doing it for the sex. It’s not something I’m necessarily proud of, but it’s true.

For our second date, we agree to hang out at the mall for a bit and then see a movie.

The date itself is again awesome. She picks me up from my place and when I get into her car she instantly beams and kisses me. Again, she’s dressed elegantly, which makes me feel a little underdressed once more. But whatever.

We get along splendidly in person, we joke and have fun. She is eager to hear how my week has been going, and to just be with me again. We stroll through the mall together, holding hands and checking out random stores. All the while we’re exploring the mall together we’re smiling and enjoying ourselves.

And the longer the date goes on the longer I think I made too much of the crying and the note last week. The longer things seem normal, the more I realizing that the crying wasn’t really that weird, and the note was just, well, a little love letter. She was probably half asleep when she wrote it. She was just trying to do something sweet, to show me how much she cared. Sure maybe it’s a little try-hard, but I’m not going to throw away a good thing just because the girl came on a little too strong, am I?

I check my watch and realize that we’ve only got a little over an hour before the movie, so I suggest we grab some food. She tells me that she’s snot hungry yet.

Thinking nothing of it, I ask her if she wants to head over to the theatre.

She tells me that the movie is actually playing at a different theatre.

“Oh okay,” I say.

She smiles and tells me that we should go.



The car ride feels completely normal, at first. We end up kissing at a few stop lights again, and holding hands. However, the longer we drive, the more I start to feel like something weird is going on. It’s hard to place my finger on it, but something is off. After a while, I realize that we’re not driving in the direction of any theatre that I know of. I dismiss it for a bit, as we pull into the suburbs, I decide to ask her directly where we’re going.

She’s in the middle of telling me about her brother when I interrupt her to ask her where we’re going.

“Oh, I just need to pick something up from home before the movie,” she says. “It will only take a second.”

I feel like we’re going to be late for the movie, but in all honesty who cares about the movie. I shrug nonchalantly and tell her to go on about her brother.

When we finally arrive at her house, she tells me that I should come inside too.

“Uh... sure,” I say.

I mean, what’s wrong with that? Maybe she just wants to introduce me to her parents or something. Kind of soon I suppose by why not?

I casually stroll up her driveway with her and notice that there are an awful lot of cars in the driveway. What follows as we enter her house is nothing like what I expect.

Her house is loud and full of people. When we enter her house, two kids run past us. In her living room are several elderly people sitting and waiting. She instantly calls out, “Grandma!” and rushes over to hug one of them.

I don’t know what to do, so I take off my shoes.

One of the little kids asks me who I am so I tell him that I’m Too Much girl’s date. He giggles and asks me if I’m going to marry his cousin. I smirk and tell him maybe.

One of the elderly people calls out to my date’s mom, telling her that we’re both here.

I give the people in the living room a friendly wave, not really knowing what else to do. Too Much girl comes back up to me and gives me a quick peck on the lips.

“Why don’t you sit with them for a while?” she says. “They’ll like that.”

“Oh I don’t want to interrupt whatever family gathering this is,” I say.

She laughs. “Just go.”

“Uh...” I stutter, a little shyly. “Okay...”

As I enter the living room I feel like there is some key piece of information I am missing. All of the elderly people are staring at me with silenced smiles. They are watching me intently, my every step, as I enter. I sit down on the sofa between an elderly couple and they both swoon a little.

“You must be JD,” the old woman says.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’m her grandmother.”

I nod. “Well… nice to meet you.”

Suddenly a burly looking man with a moustache wanders into the living room. At first he doesn’t notice me, but when he sees me he suddenly turns to me.

“Oh! JD’s here!” he says with a burly grin. He reaches out to shake my hand and crushes it in his vice-like grip. “Good to meet you finally son,” he says.

Finally?

“Uh, you too,” I say, having no idea who’s hand I am shaking.

Before I know it, several more relatives have come in and started to talk to me. The whole situation feels weird… like I’m here to sign autographs or something. Everybody knows who I am.

After a few more minutes of family awkwardness, my date finally comes back.

“Great,” I say, jumping up. “Ready?”

“A few more minutes,” she says giving me a kiss on the cheek. “You should wash your hands.”

“My hands?”

Suddenly I hear her mother call from the other room that dinner is ready.

My date smiles, “Yay! Come on.”

“Wait… what?!”

I am taken by the hand and led into the next room, to have dinner with her entire extended family. The dinner is one of the most awkward experiences of my life. We are only on our second date and yet, there I find myself, forced to converse with everyone in her family about “how serious” we are getting. And when I say her entire family, I mean her entire family. Everyone is there: her mother, father, brother, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. Literally, her entire extended family.

The worst part is, no one is surprised that I am there. In fact, they were expecting me! They even had a spot set for me.

I have to hold myself back when one of her grandmother’s repeatedly made insinuations that she’s hearing wedding bells. I nearly comment several times that it is probably just her hearing going.



I’d like to tell you that I ended it that night but I’d be lying. The truth is I didn’t. I was weirded out. I was confused. I was unnerved and had so many questions I didn’t even know where to begin. I didn’t know what to say or what to do or anything. If I had driven myself there, I might have just left. But I was stuck, and I didn’t want to make a scene in front of her family.

I’d like to tell you that I ended it that night but I’d be lying. The truth is that once the dinner ended somewhere between confronting her and questioning her I ended up making out with her. After that it wasn’t long before we somehow ended up back in her car, racing back to my place for another night of gratuitous sex. We didn’t even make it home and were forced to find an empty lot to screw in her back seat before resuming our dash home for sloppy seconds.

That night, she stays over yet again, and she fucks my brains out. In the morning we open up the fold out couch, eat cereal while we watch Saturday morning cartoons, and have sex two more times.

And this is the beginning of the end for me.

You see, the more we started to see each other, the less I was able to leave her. Every time I dismissed something a little weird or crazy, I became a little more accepting of the next unusual or atypical thing she did. Every unusual or exceptional thing I accepted became just another reason why I couldn’t freak out over the next one.

I realized by our fourth date that she never laughed, ever. Instead, she would literally say the words “ha ha ha” in quick succession. She always seemed to dress up, even if we were staying in. Sometimes she would call me during the day “just to hear my voice” and literally hang up while I was in mid-sentence talking to her because she didn’t want to “bother me too much”.

Looking back now, wondering why I stayed with her for so long, it probably had a lot to do with the mind blowing sex. I now understand why Gaius Baltar wasn’t too bothered by his whole, betraying the human race thing: because that sexy blonde cylon was fucking his brains out the whole time.

You see every time I got too weirded out, every time I thought this wasn’t working, every time I realized that she was bat-shit crazy, she would screw me until I had the bare minimum amount of blood left in my brain to keep myself alive. She would do unspeakable, irresistible things to me in the bedroom, and in the kitchen, and in the living room, and in the car, and in open fields, and in alleys.

Every time I was close to dumping her she brought me close to cumming. She had the sexual predator’s version of the Spidey-Sense, and I was helpless again it. I was her sexual hostage.

As our relationship progressed I began to realize that she was more sex-crazed than I’d initially thought. And that’s saying something.

She stayed over one night and brought her exercise DVDs over so that she could work out the next day. The DVDs were strip-tease instructional videos. She called them her cardio.

She became obsessed with giving me BJs. Not so bad right? Well not when you’re getting them non-stop! She would give them to me while I was trying to work, watch TV, play video games, cook, even while I was talking on the phone to my mom!

Many a time, she would simply end up sucking on my flaccid penis for long periods with no hopes of it getting erect because well, after a non-stop barrage of BJs, the male anatomy just tends to give out.

The longer I dated her the more she was beginning to feel like a psychopathic prostitute. She never had any money, ever. She always forgot her wallet or left her purse at home. She always seems to have “misplaced” her money or otherwise neglected to bring cash. I ended up paying for everything with her.

What’s worse, is that she wasn’t technically unemployed during our tenure together. Quite the contrary, she had about three jobs in the short time that I knew her. It’s just, she kept getting fired from them.

That should’ve tipped me off right there.

And last but not least, was the noise complaint. I came home one day to have a formal noise complaint against me from the building manager. It happened during the day when I was at work and she had been in my apartment all day. The noise complaint was due to “screaming”.

I asked her why she was screaming. Part of me thought she must have had a movie on too loud or perhaps might have been fucking someone behind my back. I was half right. She told me that she spent the whole day masturbating to porn. Yes, that’s right, ALL DAY.

“Wait... So you were screaming while you masturbated?!” I asked.

She smiled, “A little.”

She screamed so loud and so much during masturbation that I got a formal reprimand from my building manager.

I should’ve dumped her right there and then, but instead we humped in the shower before I took her out to dinner and a movie.



Despite the fact that I had built up a strong tolerance to her craziness, thankfully, there was a breaking point. After several weeks of dating, we’d reached the end game.

The last straw came when I was getting out of the shower on an uneventful morning and I found Too Much girl leaving crazy girlfriend territory and entering psychotic stalker-land.

I walk into the bedroom and find her playing with my cell phone. As soon as she sees me in the doorway she drops it and innocently slinks by and goes for the, now unoccupied, shower.

A little suspicious, I check my phone. My immediate thought is that maybe she was reading text messages, or maybe sending some. However, everything looks fine. That is, until I notice that a few message threads from friends who I clearly know now showed up as from random numbers. That is to say, instead of the phone recognizing my friends’ phone numbers and inserting their saved names, so as to better illuminate who the texts are from, it shows their raw phone numbers instead.

I think maybe she was messing with phone settings, until I realize that text message streams from guy friends are intact, with their names shown, not their phone numbers. Then I realize what has happened.

I open up my contact list and find that half of my saved numbers are now gone. I search through and see that there are many names now missing, many names deleted: and they are all names of girls.

She had gone through and deleted a handful of my female friends from my phone. And by female friends I don’t somehow mean girls I was fooling around with... I mean literally, platonic, no interest, no threat, friends of the female gender.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” I shout out to myself.



The next night, I take her for a long drive. At first she’s happy, as usual, to see me, but she quickly realizes that something is wrong. She asks me directly what’s up, and I sigh and tell her that things are not working.

I break it to her as honestly and as gently as I can.

I tell her that I don’t know if we’re really right for each other. I tell her that we get along great, and that I think we’re ultimately great friends, but I just don’t see a future. I don’t see an “us”.

She is staring at me with glassy eyes, not saying a word.

I tell her that I do think she’s great, but that maybe we both came on a little too strong, and maybe we moved too fast. I tell her that I think it’s over... at least, for now.

For her part, she seems to take it relatively well. I can see she’s teary eyed, and she’s trying not to cry, however she tells me that she understands.

I drive her back to her house during one of the longest and most awkwardly silent drives of my life. When we finally get there, I smile at her, but don’t know what else to say or do.

She gives me a faint smile and then opens the car door. She gets out of the car and just stands there for a moment, door hanging ajar. I just sit there and wait patiently, not wanting to rush her. However, what happens next, I am not expecting.

She suddenly drops her head to her hands and starts to sob uncontrollably.

I am about to hop out of the car to run over and console her when, out of nowhere, she starts shriek and scream. She lets out a viscous cry and begins to brutally punch at her driveway. She is shouting and howling louder than anyone I’ve ever heard, repeating over and over: “WHY DO THEY NEVER LOVE ME?!”

She tosses her arms up into the sky and she’s holding huge clumps of grass she tore out of the lawn. She starts to yell and scream with a perpetually quickening pace of speech. At first she is screaming and cursing, begging the universe to tell her why she is alone, but in no time at all she’s howling so fast that I’m not convinced she’s even pronouncing words anymore. It sounds like someone breaking down in tongues.

My intention to leave the car and console her disappears, and I reach over and covertly pull the door shut. I immediately back the car out of the driveway and get the hell out of there. She is collapsed on the lawn, sobbing profusely—I don’t think she even notices me leave.



Too Much girl leaves me a message a few days later, apologizing for freaking out, and asking if she can come pick up a few things she left at my place, and maybe talk for a bit. She sounds calm and apologetic in her message, and so I call her back to setup a time.

She shows up a day before the arranged meeting.

She looks sad and regretful. She asks me if she can come in. I feel like she might start crying at any moment. I nod and let her in. We sit down on the sofa and she tries to smile at me through her sadness. She asks me how I’ve been, and I tell her that I’ve been okay. I ask her how she’s been and she fakes another smile. She tells me that she hasn’t been that great. She says she misses me.

I don’t know what to say so I put my arm on her shoulder reassuringly. I tell her that I’m still here if she needs to talk. She sighs with heavy breath and cries a little. I tell her it’s okay, but that doesn’t seem to help. Oddly enough, as this all is going on, I’m reminded of our first date. How fucked up is that?

After a moment, she raises her head and tells me that she’s not crying because we broke up.

“Oh,” I say. “Why then?”

“It’s... because... before you...” she sobs, “before you… I was a virgin.”

Uh oh…

She lets out a loud moan and drops her face to her hands. Between muffled sobs she starts to tell me how she was a virgin before we met, how I was her first, and how now she’s been used. She tells me that she was saving herself, and that she was waiting for that one, true love or her life, and now she feels soiled and used and no one is ever going to want her.

I tell her it’s not true but she keeps talking, and hits me with a bombshell. She tells me that she’s late, and she was waiting to tell me. She missed her period. She thinks that she might be pregnant.

Uh oh!

I find myself as speechless as I was on our first date. Her crying stops and she looks up at me. I don’t know what to say. She is staring at me, waiting for my response, as I stare back, flabbergasted. I try to search for the right thing to say, to console her, to accept the blame, to apologize, to try and understand... but... what comes out, is not what I expect.

“So... if you were a virgin...” I say blankly, without even really thinking about what I’m saying, “why didn’t you bleed the first time we did it?”

That was not exactly the right thing to say…

Her mood suddenly shifts. Her morose eyes suddenly become filled with piercing rage. Her frown becomes a scowl and I swear she growls at me.

My heart sinks suddenly and I rapidly begin to fear for my life again. I realize that I have just unleashed her ravenous nature, and without the option of fucking my brains out, she was going to have to do much worse.

Without warning, and in one smooth move, she forcefully tosses my arm off her shoulder and punches me in the face. She punches me so hard that she breaks my glasses and I fall off the sofa. A second later, she’s kicked my coffee table over, on top me and is screaming like a banshee.

Several things are frantically thrown around my apartment, including a glass which shatters on the table.

For my part, I am covering my face and my bloody nose from the chaos. I am disoriented and terrified. I honestly, for a moment, think I might die.

In her last few minutes in my life, she takes my wallet and pulls all the money out of it as tells me that if she was really pregnant with my baby she would ram a rusty clothes hanger up her twat.

She storms out of my apartment and leaves me, battered and bruised, lying in glass, with a bloody nose, broken glasses, and pinned under a coffee table. All things considered... it could’ve gone worse.



As I recount my story to Derek, he is shaking his head in his condescending I-told-you-so manner. However, at the end of the story he smirks that it’s not a total loss.

“After all, a bloody nose, a broken pair of glasses, and three hundred dollars... not THAT bad a price for several weeks of unabated animalistic lust.”

“You’re not the one who’s penis died from over-sucking,” I joke.

Derek smirks, “Just be glad she wasn’t actually pregnant. Or she’d still be in your life.”

They say that you should never sleep with anyone crazier than yourself. I would say that never is a strong word. Sure it’s not a good idea... but neither is drinking, smoking, or junk food. Let me just say, that if you’re looking for a crazy time and crazy sex with a crazy hot girl, recognize that you’re going to get a bit of crazy in other areas too. Be willing to pay the price and I wish you all the best.

Just, don’t come whining to me when she breaks your arm.