After sleeping with men of all twelve zodiac signs, it turns out the one with the most scumbag boyfriends is...

Prepare to be astounded by today's tale! Over twelve years, I've collected ex-lovers representing all twelve zodiac signs with the dedication of a philatelist, transforming myself into a living Encyclopedia of Toxic Exes! From this day forth, address me as the "Human Toxic Man Detector" – I'm about to spill these jaw-dropping encounters!
(Boudoir Photography 1 /17)

The Surf Coach Driven Solely by Libido
During my internship in Miami, I met surfing instructor Jay on the beach. With bronzed muscles, perfectly defined abs, and gleaming white teeth, he was the embodiment of testosterone. His courtship was straightforward: daily surfing lessons, evenings barbecuing on the sand. Initially thrilling—his stamina, adventurous spirit, and bedroom skills impressed. Gradually, however, his narrow interests surfaced. Beyond surfing, every conversation circled back to physical intimacy, weaving it into the most mundane chats. The breaking point? When I suffered period cramps, his solution: "Let's go surfing! Sweat it out." Utterly hopeless. Later, when I shared my acceptance to Sydney University, his response crushed me: "What use is studying? Stay surfing here. Go if you want, but I'm not leaving these waves." I exploded: "What, are you Aquaman? Married to the ocean? Go shack up with a shark!"

(Boudoir Photography 2 /17)

The Unbearably Stingy Michelin Chef
Chef Li Ming wooed me at a food festival with exquisite dishes, fattening me five pounds. But red flags emerged: his extreme frugality. Every restaurant bill came with a demand for receipts "for reimbursement"; gifts retained price tags for potential returns. The ultimate humiliation? Calculating each penny at a group dinner – even charging for napkins – with a calculator at the table. Ending it unravelled further absurdity: he presented a notebook meticulously documenting every cent spent on me over two years: "Flowers: €128"; "Dinner: €658"... including Lunar New Year red envelopes.

(Boudoir Photography 3 /17)

The Pathologically Lying Comedian
Comedian Wang from New York dazzled with wit at a party. Initially exhilarating, his charm wore thin upon moving in: nine out of ten statements proved false. Claims of LA gigs dissolved when I caught him flirting in a Brooklyn bar; talk of TV shows meant open mic nights. The final straw? Turning our intimate life into stand-up material for strangers. Confronted, he defended: "It's art! Sacrifice for creativity!" My retort: a drink to his face. "With that imagination, write fiction!"

(Boudoir Photography  4 /17)

The Chronic Mama's Boy Designer
London-based interior designer Chen Xuan, met via matchmaking, seemed gentle and domesticated. His true colors emerged swiftly: a textbook mama's boy. At thirty, he video-called his mother thrice daily – morning greetings, lunch reports, bedtime farewells. Dates halted mid-sentence for maternal summonses. The climax? During an argument, he tearfully called his mother: "Mommy, she's being mean to me..." My ultimatum: "Who are you dating – me or your mother?" His reply: "Mom says men who lack filial piety are worthless." I scoffed: "Then live with her. Stop tormenting others."

(Boudoir Photography 5/17)

The Narcissist Musician
Band frontman Kai, met at a festival, initially lavished me with designer gifts and fine dining. His true self surfaced post-commitment: demanding perpetual adoration. Social media posts required pristine photos and effusive praise; I became his personal attendant. Skipping his show for crucial studies triggered a backstage tantrum: "My gig trumps your stupid exam!" My breaking point: "Delusions of grandeur? Your music isn't worth giving away!" His defense? "Don't you know how many fans I have?" I set down his gifts: "If public adoration matters more, this isn't working."

(Boudoir Photography 6/17)

The Obsessively Controlling Doctor
Dr. Zhang treated my severe flu, later becoming an overbearing partner. His germaphobia dictated life: shoe covers, disinfectant sprays, disposable sofa covers. Pre-intimacy included temperature checks for "optimal health." Moaning elicited shushing: "Decibel levels disturb neighbors." Offered a Harvard Medical fellowship, he presented a cost-benefit PPT: "30% ROI only. Local promotion is wiser." My eruption: "Must you analyze *feelings* with data?!" I fled his "sterile lab" the next day.

(Boudoir Photography 7 /17)

The Serial Flirt Fashion Buyer
Milan fashion buyer Lin, met during Fashion Week, charmed with style and sweet talk. Reality unveiled a serial philanderer: thousands of female contacts, all "babes." Caught sending "miss you" texts to an ex at midnight, he claimed: "Just friends." My retort: "Friends send that at 2 AM?" The unforgivable? Leaving me alone in Paris with 39°C fever while shopping with a "female friend." Blocked everywhere, my message stood: "Go find your 'friends.' I'm done."

(Boudoir Photography 8 /17)

The Surveillance-Obsessed Lawyer
Attorney Yang, met at a lecture, revealed terrifying control post-move-in. He tracked my whereabouts, monitored my phone, and installed spyware on my laptop. Challenged, he justified it as "profound care." The climax? Calling my boss to cancel my work trip with a male colleague, presenting a "risk assessment report." Recognizing pathological obsession, not love, I smashed the surveillance device disguised as a charger and escaped.

(Boudoir Photography 9/17)

The Chronically Absent Photographer
Barcelona-based photographer Chen, met in Iceland, promised adventure but no stability. "Buying property? Boring! We wander!" He routinely vanished: missing Christmas for Antarctic penguins. The final blow? Skipping a call during my father's Chicago surgery for Kenyan lions. My realization: "You're for flings, not life." Final text: "Marry your camera. I need someone who comes home."

(Boudoir Photography 10/17)

The Emotionally Absent CEO
Silicon Valley CEO Liu, admired initially for drive, revealed robotic priorities. Dates became business meetings; intimacy interrupted by emails. My birthday? A cake delivered by his assistant. Hospitalized with flu, he cited "critical meetings" – then spotted golfing with a female client. His gifts returned: "Marry your company. I want a partner, not a colleague."

(Boudoir Photography 11/17)

The Unhinged Performance Artist
Berlin-based artist Zhao proposed documenting our *breakup* as "performance art" and "open relationships." His nadir? Suggesting filming our intimacy as "exploring love's essence." My response? Calling police. As officers arrived, he lamented to his camera: "Behold! Society shackles art!"

(Boudoir Photography 12/17)

The Melodramatic Poet
Poet Zhou, met in Shakespeare and Company Paris, drowned reality in verse – even grocery shopping required rhyme. Threatened by my novel's publication, he fretted over losing his "Muse." The finale? A breakup poem recital by the Seine, drawing crowds. My reply? Tossing the manuscript into the river: "Such drama! Take to the stage!"

True connection thrives on shared values, mutual understanding, and growth. Today, I've found my person – grounded happiness. May my journey guide yours toward authentic love. Remember: the best relationships let you be wholly yourself while becoming better together.