Everyone I know can tell the story of an obsessive girlfriend. But, short of having her swing a kitchen knife into me when my back was turned, or snipping off the tip of my penis, I think my experience takes the prize.

I met Jenny shortly after I’d broken up with my teenage girlfriend – the teenage girl most guys have straight out of high school and eventually grow out of – and at the time, Jenn did not seem at all the type who would cause me problems. A minister’s daughter, soft spoken, petite, pretty – no alarm bells went off at all. My friends called her “Jenn-Packs” which was funny because she didn’t even have much of any bosom to speak of. The only packs she might have sported were of the crystal variety – because she was into drugs, or rather did get into drugs, not so long after we started dating.

But this story begins not with Jennster but with my high school girlfriend, Robin. Now Robin was the opposite of Jenn in most every way. Where Jenn was short, Robin was tall. And where Jenn was for the most part reticent in social settings, Robin was not adverse to speaking her mind or even up and clobbering me if the situation arose and I deserved the infraction. But then – Robin had nothing on my for the most part final and most vituperous girlfriend, Joleen. But then, Joleen’s story is for another day.

In any case, as I have said, the story of scary stalker Jenn begins with Robin. One night Robin and I were on our way to Tijuana (known by anyone who grew up in San Diego as T.J.) with our friends for a night of drinking. Robin was driving, a good friend of ours Glenn Ernhart was in the front seat, and I was in the back with a young girl on the scene in those days – named Kelley.

Now Kelley at the time couldn’t have been more than sixteen. I was about twenty. But she knew exactly what she was doing, and to be honest, throughout my life I can’t recall a time when the young girls didn’t flock to us older guys, and frankly, four years difference made absolutely no difference then to anyone, and I am sure that it does not today either. I don’t think even one of my girlfriends or even girls I’ve known on the scene – our scene of the Cool Guys Who Mattered – arrived at said scene at any age older than sixteen. Just never happened. We guys were already by the time we were twenty into everything and by everything I do mean exactly that, and it was no wonder that all the girls, our age and younger, flocked to us.

And so it was this night that Kelley, who by the way was just the kiffster (La Jolla slang for an incredibly cute girl), was as taken by me as I was by her, and was sprawled out comfortably in the back seat of Robin’s Volkswagon Jetta which was at the time hurtling across the boarder to the bar scene on Revolucion. Now Revolucion, the main drag in downtown Tijuana, Mexico, was the mecca of underage drinkers, being as it was just minutes downtown San Diego. Downtown San Diego itself, in those days was a place only for winos and bums anyway, so the attraction to Tijuana was quite strong. And sitting there in the back seat of that car, it was no wonder that I got carried away, just looking at Kelley, and before you knew it I had a raging hard-on, which for me, comes out to quite an impressive length.

With that level of an erection, I just couldn’t help myself and pulled my throbbing penis out of my pants (I never have been much of one for underwear, and my pants have always tended to be baggy), and put Kelley’s hand right on it. And by ut, of course, I meant my throbbing member. I should have noticed – probably did notice, Robin’s watchful eyes in the rear view mirror. She probably detected that our eyes were both directed downwards, so she imagined that what we were both concentrating on was something other than the floorboards of the car. And anyway, even if Robin didn’t notice, our friend Glenn definitely did, and I got an earful from him later.

Glenn of course, was enamored of Robin – who wouldn’t be – back then dark haired creamy skinned tall slim Robin was the envy of all the guys in the Mod set (or any set, for that matter) – and he didn’t appreciate the fact that I had dissed her so openly.

“That was fucked up Dave.” he kept saying as we drank ourselves into oblivion that night at one nameless faceless Tijuana bar after another. “Robin deserves better than that!”

But so it was, and eventually I ended up dating Kelley for a while, and she was my girlfriend somehow squeezed in between Robin and the period that I dated Jenn.

But the end eventually came of course, both for Robin and for Jenn, but Robin took it gracefully (the only hint coming years later when she confided to a friend of mine that she was still in love with me), while Jenn took it far from anything that could be described using the word grace or any semblance of a synonym for the term.

Jenn just plain ended up being a fatal attraction situation. For one thing, she just started following me everywhere, and by everywhere, I do mean everywhere. One comparison that comes to mind is at the end of the movie Ocean’s Eleven (the remake) where Andy Garcia’s henchmen take to tailing Brad Pitt and crew, such that they cannot even pull out of a diner without having the a white nondescript mobbed up type car behind them at every step. Except of course that Jenn’s vehicle was more of the Partridge Family variety, an old Volkswagen bug, bright yellow, that developed the lived in look of a transient’s home away from the home of the streets.

And so it came to be that no matter where I went, the put put of a Volkswagen was never far behind. If we took my friend’s parents’ Bentley to crash our old high school prom with two kiffsters in tow, that Volkswagen would always be in the shadows. If we took a drive down to the depths of San Diego to score drugs, we knew we had an escort. There was simply no losing her.

And then one night, long after we had broken up, and I was living in an apartment by the side of the Interstate Five freeway not far from downtown, Kelley showed up. I had tracked her down after she had moved out of her parents’ mansion on the beach in La Jolla. Shelley had moved and into her own place by San Diego State, where she was going to college. And here she was back in my place, in my arms, and not more than two minutes gone by before she was unclothed and receiving the business end of my large penis.

Now usually, I’m not ashamed (at least not particularly) to say, my sexual adventures might be frequent and lengthy in their prelude, but when it came down to the actual act, my escapades in the bedroom could be measured in terms of minutes – if not seconds. I’d always suffered from premature ejaculation. The deed was usually done by the time I’d even entered the girl.

I’d asked all my friends for advice on what to do, and even gone so far as to try out some nostrum the father of an Asian friend of mine imported from China – but for the most part to no avail. I remained, at best, a sixty second man. Really more like half a minute most of the times.

But tonight, and definitely the downtown drugs had to do with it, I was on a tear, and Kelley was enjoying every minute of it. There seemed to be no end in sight, and she was moaning and gasping in my sway until we were rudely interrupted by some horrible sound coming from outside the window.

Now, this apartment was a second floor walk up, and, as I have mentioned, not far from the freeway, so whatever sound was coming up close to eighteen feet from the slightly wooded area below was of some impressive decibels.

“Ack. Ack! Ack!” was what it sounded like. And then again, like someone (or some thing) trying hard to clear its throat. “Ack! Ack!”

By about the tenth Ack! I could not longer ignore the sound, and Kelley too had completely lost her concentration on my pounding into her tight muffin. She was instead leaning into and listening hard outside the windows on each side of the apartment, trying to the figure out what was going on down below.

Finally I poked my head through the rear window, and there below the building, not so far from the door among the shrubbery and below a tree was Jenn – trying to hang herself with her own scarf. Even in the darkness and without looking too hard, I knew precisely what was going on. Jenn had always taken to wearing these long scarfs that practically ran the entire length of her body. And tonight, she had tied one around her slim neck, and was actually trying to hang herself with it, from a tree branch that I could clearly see would never support even her slight frame.

“Jenn!” I yelled down to her. “What are you doing? Get out of here!” In the not so far distance I could make out the yellow Partridge Mobile, parked around the corner at a liquor store whose neon lit up the apartment parking lot.

By now Kelley was getting involved too. “Jenn!” she yelled out the window. “Get out of here or I’ll come down there and kick your ass!”

Now while it might seem heartless to anyone listening to the tale, that we would be berating the poor would be suicide rather than rushing down to help her, you just had to know Jenn. Properly enlightened with Jenn’s background one would have to realize and understand that this was just another in a long line of antics Jenn had pulled over the months since we had broken up. This was just another ploy to garner attention, and by no means the last. In fact, as the months turned into years, similar antics would continue until the final straw, which collapsed in the form of a twenty mile low speed chase involving a dozen police cruisers and several helicopters.

Tonight though, no police were involved. At least not yet, and I wanted to keep it that way. “Jenn!” I screamed at her once more. “I’m warning you. Go home.”

I went back inside, and got busy again until some pounding at the door simply could not be ignored. I ran to open it, already knowing who it would be.

“What!” I screamed as I yanked the screen door open. “What! do you want?”

Of course, I was right. There she was, looking at me sheepishly, scarf now wrapped around her whole body as usual, glancing up as if nothing especially odd had happened that day or any other day since we broke up six months ago.

Finally, she said shyly, “What are you doing?”

To say I was exasperated would be an understatement. I was enraged. Before coming outside, I’d hurriedly pulled on some sweat pants. Never taking my eyes off her, I pulled the pants aside, yanked out a massive erection, and placed it on the edge of the balcony railing right next to her.

She looked at it.

“That’s! what I’m doing.” I exclaimed.

She said nothing. At least, she uttered no words. Instead, she let out this long, WAIL that went right through you like a chalkboard screech. And she just wouldn’t stop.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh – ahhhhhhhhhhhh – wawawawa.” She just went on and on, wailing and crying, stopping only to catch a few gulps of air, after which time she would start up again, even louder than before. “Ahhhhhhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhhh – awawawawa.”

It was terrible. Like the death cry of some fatally gutted animal, determined to release its entire vocal capacity before expiring then and there on the spot. And it could not have gone unnoticed by anyone in a hundred yard vicinity, even with the not so distant roar of the freeway.

“David!” my neighbor poked his head out of his door. He had had enough of Jenn’s antics and recognized her voice, even through her unintelligible shrieks. “You either shut that girl up or I’m calling the police. Or,” he added, “I’m going to deal with it myself.”

I put my hand over Jenn’s mouth. It didn’t even stop her really, she just reverted to a series of “Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!” sounds as if she were revving up to let loose with a newly energized cycle of screams.

Finally I just spun her around and roughly shoved her down the steps. “Get out of here, NOW!” She kept moving down the steps, slowly. Too slowly for my liking, but at least she was on her way out. Each step put her another foot or two further away from my apartment. And luckily, her voice seemed to be dying down too, from a loud wail to a less abusive sort of childlike crying. In any case, she was leaving.

I sighed, and went back inside to Kelley. It really wasn’t long before I was happily plunging into her again, oblivious to anything around me.

But then – I noticed some sort of wetness on my back. And a sort of tapping. I couldn’t quite make it out. And then again. Something wet seemed to have formed on my back. I paid it all no mind, and kept going, amazed at my superman performance and ability to keep this hot little girl in my arms moaning with delight.

But finally something definitive clipped my back again. And then, something collided with Kelley too, and it was definitely not my penis, that was concentrating its force, in one direction and one focal point only. She pushed me away.

“David!” she said, finally opening her eyes and inspecting the room. “Look!”

And there it was, visible even in the pale moonlight. I jumped up and turned on a light. I couldn’t believe what I saw.

The entire room, or at least its floor, was covered in iceplant. Bits and pieces, in some cases entire branches, were everywhere. And even as I examined the carpet further, another piece came sailing through the open window. I pushed my head outside the window savagely.

“Jenn!” I caught her in mid-motion, her arm drawing back to toss another clump up through my window. “What are you doing?” I was simply going bezerk by this point. I didn’t say another word. I didn’t even go after her.

Instead, I went next door to my neighbor’s to make a phone call. I didn’t even have a phone in my apartment at that time. I had – but then it had been cut off due to abuses consisting largely of too many collect calls from friends in jail. My neighbor of course was all too happy to lend me an ear – and in this case as well, his telephone, when I explained that I was about to call Jenn’s father.

He lived a half an hour away, but when I explained the situation he drove over right away, pulled up and hustled Jenn into his car, and drove her home. Not that she was even living at home by then – I imagine she was living in her car. But in any case, he got her out of there, and by the time I woke up the next morning, Kelley at my side, the yellow Volkswagen was gone as well.

This of course kept up for years. It outlasted Kelley, it outlasted my next girlfriend Brittany, and it was still an issue by the time I had been seeing, even living with, Joleen for over a year.

The night in question, Jolie and I came home rather late. We had been out at some bar, and before that, as usual, up to no good. But then our antics are for another time, the point of this story being sex and not crime. We both immediately caught sight of the yellow Volkswagen. How could we miss it? It was parked right in front of the house.

Jolie didn’t even stop to offer any recognition. She just walked right past the car, around the corner, and up the steps into our place. I paused long enough to notice that Jenn looked really bad, like she hadn’t eaten properly in a long time, and appeared so disheveled that she actually stunk – all the way to a few feet from the open window of her car. The pungency nearly overpowered me. I didn’t even want to get too close.

I talked to her for a few minutes from a distance that respected my olfactory glands, and tried to get her to go home. Typically, she would not budge. Instead, she just looked at me with those sad cow eyes which had become a sort of a permanent fixture in her visage by now, and shook her head.

I went inside our place and asked Jolie if I Jenn could come inside for a minute, just to take a shower. I just couldn’t leave the girl in that state, on the streets.

“You can see how bad she looks. The poor girl is a mess.”

Jolie refused. She shook her head adamantly.

“You know what Jolie.” I just shook my own head now, sadly. “You have no heart.”

I said nothing more, just waiting to see if she would come around. I didn’t want Jenn in the apartment any more than she did, but I just couldn’t leave her out there like that. Finally she said, “All right. Just for a minute though. Just to shower.”

I brought Jenn in, and explained that all I wanted her to do was take a shower, and go home. I gave her a towel, and sat down on the couch to watch television. Jolie in the meantime had done her drugs, and was nodding out, more or less oblivious to the world.

After a while, Jenn came out of the shower and sat down on the coach next to me. No one said a word for a long time. Jolie was still right there, nodding out, looking at nothing more than perhaps the wood flooring.

Jenn turned to me. “Dave, would you please brush my hair?”

Somehow, this roused Jolie from her stupor. She turned and glared at me with a look that meant it was over if I so much as moved to touch a single strand of hair. Jolie can be very convincing without the need to utter a single word.

Instead, Jolie turned to me and quickly unzipped my pants, and pulled my penis out. She went to work busily, giving me a blowjob that eventually got me hard. She pulled her underpants off, pulled away my own pants, and got on top of me, riding me for all my penis was worth.

Now, you have to understand that we had both been on drugs for quite a while by now. We almost never even had sex, and when we did, there was barely any passion involved.

But tonight, she put on a show, bucking and gasping like a porn star, and offering me up as a sort of gift to all women kind. During all this, Jenn just sat there, rigidly looking forward at the television, never turning her head the slightest bit in either direction, with a fixed look on her face that said, “This isn’t happening.”

When it was over, and it really didn’t go on so long – drugs or no drugs there was no repeat performance like the one with Kelley several years before – Jolie just got up and walked right past Jenn to the bathroom. After a while, Jenn just got up and left.

But apparently she did not drive away. At least not anytime that night. And not until a policeman had rapped on her car window (Jolie never told me if she had been the one to phone them) with his baton, asking her to “Please step outside.” Perhaps it had not been a visit in response to a complaint. Perhaps it was just a patrolman wondering why anyone would be camped out in a relatively nice neighborhood like that. Or, even more likely, he had caught sight of some drug paraphernalia, in this case, Jenn’s straw that she used alongside some tin foil to smoke up drugs. In any case, whatever the policeman had seen had sufficiently roused his interest to not only ask her to wake up, but to step outside the car, which was never a good command coming from a cop and in this situation was tantamount to an order to go directly to jail.

And of course, Jolie had not stepped outside the car. She had not even rolled down her window, but instead started up the Partridge Mobile and headed down the street, around the corner, and put put put onto the freeway headed south. She had not stopped until she had run out of gas near the border to Mexico. By that time, she was surrounded by a dozen squad cars with a police helicopter and several press copters overhead.

We’d watched it all on the news. It was in the days before such things had become the norm, and nearly a decade before the O. J. Simpson “low speed chase” had made such events fashionable. I remember jumping into the living room after Jolie had cried out, “Oh my God, that’s JENN!” as she had finally discerned the little yellow antlike bug below the press helicopters for what it was – Jennifer’s Partridge Mobile.

I never really saw Jenn again after that day. I heard that she had gone to jail for a few days, and then straight into rehab. My friend and I thought we caught a glimpse of her years later on the freeway, but we couldn’t be sure. Whoever we saw that day – ten years after the night she led the police on a wild ride to Mexico, looked far healthier than any Jenn I had ever known. Maybe she made it. In any case, there have been no further episodes of ex-girlfriend’s hanging themselves for show, or ice plant heaved through my open windows onto my back during lovemaking sessions. Nothing like that at all. As I said at the beginning, Jennster, Jenn-packs, whatever you wanted to call her – she took the cake.