Found girlfriends old diary.
My ex-girlfriend and I had moved in together about a year prior. When she had moved her things into the house I already occupied I didn’t think much of it. She asked where she could store some boxes, so I cleared a place for her in the garage. Recently we started to pack to move to a new place. I was getting the garage ready for the move and happened to move some of her ok’d boxes. In one of them I found a leather bound journal and just peaked to see what it was. I open to a random page and see that it is her cataloguing a sexual experience in college where she got drunk and had sex with a guy she had met that evening. She graphically lists the things they did and I’m kinda shocked by it. Naturally I keep reading only to discover that the entire book is like this. One sexual experience after another in which she consistently gets used like a prostitute and seems to enjoy it. She details acts that she had previously told me she had no experience with and no desire to try. I quickly realize that she has actually done all of them repeatedly and, at least at the time of writing, seemed to enjoy them, if not for the pleasure of doing them, then for how degrading they were.
I had always been fixated on anal sex. The idea just turns me on, and I had suggested it early in our relationship. She told me she had never done it and thought it was “gross”. She stated this repeatedly and at times seemed to shame me for even suggesting it. As I read her diary it became clear that she not only had done it several times, but loved it for how it made her feel like she was being used by her partners. There were a couple of accounts of how she did it with guys she had just met, and a few others where she recounted how encounters she had featured exclusively anal sex, with no vaginal sex at all. In one she talks about how she did “ass to mouth” and loved how it made her feel like a complete whore.
I was in love with her. Finding out about how she had lied to me about her past, and had totally manufactured a false persona completely inconsistent with her true nature hurt me deeply. The worst part was that the book had experiences running right up to the point that she met me. And beyond. In the first few weeks that we had been talking, it turns out that she was getting pounded by random guys in the times we weren’t together. She even had a threesome about three weeks after we started seeing each other in which she let the two guys, who she had met at a friends party, double penetrate her and ejaculate inside her. She had always maintained that she had been safe with her sexual partners in the past, which she said there were 11 in total. Going through the book, and accounting for times when she had lovers with the same name (she only used first names) there were actually just shy of 100 when I met her. This was men she had intercourse with. There were at least 30 other men who got a sentence or two as just “gave bill a blow-job in the bathroom at work. Held my face against his groin while he shot his load down my throat.” She was 24 years old at the time we met. The book detailed three threesomes, which she had denied ever having, and at least one incident that I can only label as a gang bang, in which she and a female friend were used repeatedly over the span of several hours by a group of seven men that they were staying with on a break from school. You would have thought it was the best day of her life the way she talks about it. It rocked me to my core. I had been shopping for wedding rings. I broke down right there in the garage at the realization of how this relationship that I cherished was a joke. A lie. Her dishonesty was complete. She had sold herself as a fairly conservative girl who had refrained from the typical college lifestyle because “that’s just not who I am.”
I felt a sense of overwhelming disgust for her. When I pulled myself together enough to go back in the house where she was packing, I walked in, stepped up to where she was going through some boxes, and just dropped the diary in front of her. She got a look of total panic on her face and said she could totally explain. She tried to tell me how it was a long time ago and she was a different person now. I knelt down, opened the last pages of the book and pointed to one of the dates on her entry. It was the same week we had started dating.
I was so overcome with emotion that I seemed to get calm in my resolve. I said, “collect your things and leave. Anything you don’t take you forfeit. Get the fuck out of my sight.” I said it with a coldness she immediately sensed, and she started to cry, maybe thinking I would back off. As she blubbered and kept saying “please, please.” Over and over I told her, “you have an hour.” In the end she got up, packed her clothes in several garbage bags. Took some boxes of personal and family items, and, of course, the book. She had tried to call and text me repeatedly. I never responded. I backed out of the lease we had signed together saying she had had to leave the state to care for a suddenly Ill parent. I found another book similar to the one she took, with dates going further back. In the same box were mementos of the experiences. Her ticket to a music festival where she had slept with three different guys over the four days. An almost empty bottle of lubricant. A pair of ripped panties, and, of all things, a butt plug. Last I heard she moved to Augusta, Georgia. No idea why...