No one wanted to sign up to be with him. It was both that he had slept with too many people and that he had stolen his lyrics. No one wanted that kind of public hatred when he was caught. He knew it, he knew that he couldn’t keep up the bright young thing act around educated people. But stealing sure got him a hell of a lot of sex, with lots of different bright young things, and a lot of popularity. Doors opened around the literati, doors opened around the upper classes, doors opened among the thespians, the classically trained actors.
Guys like this when they become famous, especially when it is all an apparition, people run to them to have sex with them, because their halo effect and power is sexually transmissible power.
I was sitting there one morning and he blurted out all of a sudden, “I don’t like your tits”. He had never seen my breasts and described them incorrectly. A rapist told him what my “tits” are like. I was wearing a body suit and little skirt. I was fully clothed. The conversation hadn’t been sexual and there was no way that I was going to let that disgusting example of humanity touch my body.
It was at this point that he had started to try to set everything to look as though I liked him. He continued doing this for years. Most of the things that he said were egregious. The forcing of making it look like I liked him, well, at first I thought it was just narcissism or sociopathy, or some type of weirdo celebrity blend of entitlement, ego, and being above the law. When I was back at university he could make anything look the way that he wanted it to.
He seemed to try to control my identity and what my purpose should be in life from that point. I don’t know why he was making it up, perhaps to make fun of me because I liked the other men at the time. He had lost in front of everyone. I had knocked him back many times in front of everyone and the man who was in the room with me. He can’t be more mortified by it. Why would an heiress be drawn to a man who swore all the time, was on heroin, cocaine, with a hooker on his books, who thought he could just steal her work. At that point, his conversations were all puerile and infantile. It was all vagina talk, all a vagina rating system. He attacked the bodies of models, rated famous women in bed. I had never met a more entitled, rude, lower-class man, with little man syndrome. If you didn’t like him or respect his authority he attacked you. If you asked him to stop hitting on you or pretending that you liked him, he wouldn’t. When I told him to stop stealing my lyrics and to pay me and to give me money because I was in a dangerous building and being made to sleep with someone he just being more forceful in his words. Guys like this, even when they sabre rattle, they don’t just demand sex, or expect they can take it from just one person.
Another time, as I was preparing to go and chat to the educated men, who knew how to speak to women in the adjoining room, he blurted out, “look at all the F-ing moles on your arms and legs, its F-ing disgusting.” Then he opened up to the room about a model that he had slept with who had hidden moles on her body. “It were F-ing disgusting.” The women could have not been more glamorous or beautiful. She is a well-known person. There was clearly something wrong with this young man. In secret I had booked a ticket home. He just sledged women so much, and sledging famous women, a thought occurred to me, is this man straight? Straight men don’t complain about models. Can this guy be straight if he is complaining about supermodels not being pretty enough? The magazines, editors, companies, and papers thought that they were. But not him. As a feminist, it was truly shocking to hear, a man talk about a woman as though she is just a cut of meat, and then each was compared to his indentured servant, the hooker, “my whore.” The sex slave.
I heard volumes about how good “me whore” is in bed. That the high class “brofel” trained her well. She was decorated from head to toe in jewels, in designer clothes, and lived in a gilded cage.
When I got home I was out with someone who knew people high up in the media the very next day, we also had friends who owned large media outlets. He was so in control, because there was no social media, the right people would give him control over information. I thought, do I mention him? I was too worried that they would make him see me again. I had no intention to and complained to someone in the Australian industry that he had continued to call me, to belittle, and harass me after I had left. Saying, “Your life has now changed because you met me, it can’t go back to the way it was. Nothing good for you love. You can’t date the powerful man you are dating. I can’t have you around powerful people, people could find out, then I will be in trouble.”
It was before the internet. Before he decided to change who I am and who I knew.
Oh well no harm done. I just had to break up with who I was with. No harm done it was only my dogs who were harmed. No harm done it was only 4000 rapes. No harm done he only lied to my family saying I had taken drugs in England and that it wasn’t abuse. No harm done. No harm done. No family, no children. “It didn’t suit him”. He is above the law in an unregulated industry. There are fiefdoms and god-like men who still rule over women like it’s the Middle East or the Middle Ages.
There are always people who don’t know all the stories. They don’t know the other male and female horror stories (I assume there are no trans stories, that was the producer who liked trans people not the celebrity) so they get the “say something nice about me love” loves. It can be an uneducated woman who doesn’t really understand what is going on. She thinks life is fairy floss and marshmallows, she believes in fairy tales and isn’t worried about other people being harmed if she gets public adulation. Everyone expects the loves, “the say something nice about me loves,” to say that he was “really nice” to them. But no one listens to them. It’s a snide little way of having the police and authorities not investigate women who don’t believe that some people should be above the law. Thank you for that. I won’t belittle you but maybe leave it to the women who understand laws and this type of psychology in a man. Where there is one there are more.
These people don’t stand back like intelligent people do. They jump in and are marked. They don’t care about justice or payments, or copyright or taxes. If the “say something nice about me love” loves, do, they could be a party a crime, and an accomplice. Police could ask, when did you find out that he had coerced and stolen his lyrics? When did he sexually harass this or that man or woman? Are you trying to obscure a crime?