At 18, I dumped a guy of 26 - first one I'd slept with - he cried buckets on the phone whilst horribly drunk and then passed out. Thing is, I'm not a callous old cow, and wasn't then, but the more he cried, the more I knew I'd made the right decision. The thought of him now is enough to make me bring up my lunch, but I'm REALLY not a horrible person, promise. He was always very odd, and I only found out last year (20 years later, I might add) that he came to the pub I worked at, and my brother caught him at the door and warned him off because HE thought he was odd too. At the time I lived in deepest, darkest South Wales. Six months or so later, I was working miles away in Selfridge's in Oxford St and looked up one day to see this guy standing there, looking menacingly at me. He said "I knew I'd find you" and then wandered off. Never seen him since, and blow me, am I glad??!!