I received word a short while ago that a man I’d dated for a period, S.J.D., died in Tennessee. Some reports from mutual acquaintances state he died in prison, others in jail, and others in a half-way house after serving several years of a 10-year sentence for larceny. Apparently he decided to steal several computers and video cards in order to try his hand at mining Bitcoins. This is probably the only time I’ve ever heard of him doing something somewhat legal (mining the Bitcoins, not stealing the computers) in order to make money. It was almost like he was trying to become a human being—just not hard enough. He tried to steal these things but was caught because each one of the PCs had built-in GPS units that let the owner track them to his front door.
I met S.J.D. in the Summer of 2011. He was a few years younger than me but not many, and his sense of humor struck me as dark, sick, and self-deprecating much like my own. We began dating informally and I kept his identity to myself (mainly because a former friend of mine, J.K.P., had a nasty knack for tracking down and attempting to bed every guy in whom I took an interest). S. and I started off fine: the conversations were decent, he liked sushi, we loved horror movies and fantasy, and we were both computer geeks; the sex was decent but nothing to write home about, mainly because his kinks and my own didn’t align.
Around the middle of 2012, I caught S.J.D. on my gaming laptop going through my contacts. I did this by secretly setting up a script that would turn on the built-in video camera and microphone while recording keystrokes. I’d feared that someone was using my machine without my permission; I thought it might be S. and I was right. I confronted him with the evidence and he simply smirked and said, “Your passwords are easy to guess if someone spends 10 minutes talking to you. You’re not that smart.” That was it; I dumped him and washed my hands of him.
That’s when the nightmare began. My former boyfriend had surreptitiously acquired access to several of my Yahoo! email accounts and began sending out messages and texts to many of my friends and contacts. To make matters worse, S. included in these emails attachments of my porn stash—films, gifs, images, etc. of the various kinks I was into as well as many that weren’t mine and were quite disgusting; the end result were damaged and broken friendships, a cancelled contract with a company for whom I’d been writing several JavaScript programs to make their websites cross-browser compatible, and many angry calls, texts, and emails. Some were willing to listen to my story, accept my apology, and move on; others were not.
S.J.D. (I use his initials because his family does not deserve to be shamed—his sister even warned me early on to be wary of him and for that I shall be eternally grateful) repeatedly trolled my contacts and sent them disturbing emails and images from accounts that had previously been mine. It took months to get Yahoo! to close the accounts permanently. When this finally happened, I heard from him for the last time: a single sentence sent via email that stated, “You will pay for that.” I never did; S. had played his final card and was out of the game for good.
By all accounts, he died from COVID. If so, then I hope he appreciated how his love of breath-play and choking came in handy in his final hours. Cruel of me, yes, but I’ve wished him dead for so long now that I don’t what to feel.
Rest in peace, you miserable little faggot. You’re not gay—you never were—just a faggot—a burden on society—a scheming, conniving, deceitful asshole of the lowest sort. In your case, I hope there really is a Hell.
My Job Is Scaring You 