"There is A NAKED WOMAN in the park!"

During many of the years, that I was a nightclub dancer, I was aggravated, during my time off from work, by an Omaha police officer, who was, inadvertently, acting as my own private security guard (however unwanted, that was, by me). Because of that, I also nicknamed him 'Stalker Cop'. Any woman who has been stalked can tell you that, there is nothing enjoyable, about that. Although, having him, almost always, around, wherever I was, and wherever I went, when I was out and about, anywhere, in the downtown/Old Market area of Omaha (where I lived, for most of the years that he did this to me) may have given me a sense of my having 'police protection', from, other, types of crimes, it caused more harm, than good, for me. His doing this to me and my trying to get the Omaha Police Department to take it seriously, when I finally made a formal complaint to them about it, would lead me down a very dark road in my life. This set of circumstances of my turning in a law enforcement officer, for breaking the law, was the situation that led directly to my doing prostitution. If my life has been anything, it has been very full of twists and turns, which took me places, that I would never have believed, that I would go or end up, when I was growing up as a naive little girl that took things at face value. As I became more and more aware of how the world really was, versus how I was taught that it was 'supposed to be', I was troubled, and even sad, by the fact that almost nothing, almost no one, was what they had seemed, or 'should' have been based on, the stereotypes, that are, generally, applied, to whatever, or whomever, it was. He didn't fit the description, of the honorable public servant, we are taught that police officers are; and before the fallout, from all this, was finished, I, would no longer fit the stereotype, of the type of girl, that we think of, as one that would never do prostitution. Nevertheless, the facts were, that he was a cop and I was a prostitute. Sometimes it's hard to get our labels to match us or us to match them.

Having a uniformed police officer, who is sworn, to protect and serve, stalking me, is a good example of something, someone, not living up to who, and what, society teaches about, and expects of, them. His playing, this game, with me, with my life (and then, mocking me, with glee, and even laughter, in my face, about it, when I took his, constant, attention toward me, as, surely, being a sign of someone really caring, about me), created a confusion within me, that was, very, distressing, and damaging. I simply could not fathom the fact, that a police officer would play with another person's thoughts and emotions, for no other reason than to alleviate the boredom of their generally mundane workdays, while simultaneously feeding their ego, and nothing more. He had put, so much--- extreme, prolonged--- effort, into it, that I didn't think it could possibly indicate anything other than I was genuinely cared for, by this other human being. I had thought that he was a clown, from the moment I first set eyes on him, but had nevertheless opened my heart up to him, when I thought, he must really care, about me, to expend so much energy, to 'be in my face' ALL the time. EVERY time I have SECOND-GUESSED my initial opinion of someone, and gone on, to give them, the benefit of the doubt, with me, I have lived to REALLY REGRET that decision. It went from frustrating to infuriating when even after he--- bluntly--- cleared that up for me, he CONTINUED to DO it; with a smirk on his face! I'm sitting here, shaking my head in disbelief at this, but it was all too true. He did this to me for years. ELEVEN years, in fact, to some extent, or other. Until, I finally took him to court, for it, to stop it. But, I get ahead of myself here with that though. Consider my background before I begin to detail his crime. 

I had already had my heart irrevocably broken by finding out that parents are not always loving. That, a husband, who takes vows, and marries you, to become one with you, may not, even love you, or mean those vows, he took; and, even worse, may actually be your most dangerous and abusive enemy. I had learned, the hard way, that climbing into a pickup truck to accept a ride home from a semi-stranger, who, had, genuinely, seemed, to just want to be helpful, could end with, my being raped, by that person, who was, really, not trying to help me, at all. I had become completely demoralized, when I swore an oath to serve my country in the military but found myself backtracking on that, and saying to my commander, "Sir, if THIS is what, SERVING my country, is going to BE like, for me, I don't want to be here" because of the, tremendous, unrelenting, sexual, pressure, on me, by the military males, I was, greatly, outnumbered by, which, culminated, with, my turning in my own commander at the time, whose organization I was loaned out to as I awaited a further security clearance, to be able to work where I was, actually, assigned, in my orders to Offutt Air Force Base. He had continually sexually harassed me, until it got to the point that I was terrified of being raped again, after he ordered me to get into his car, with him, where he had touched me, inappropriately, and told me, that he and I WERE going to have sex, in the future. I ended up, forfeiting, my Air Force career, that had started out so well, to escape, such terrible treatment, that he and his male fellow enablers put me through, because I finally turned him in to stop it. I had, already, been through all this, and much more, by the time this cop came into my life. Perhaps cynically, due to, my own, life experiences, I think that it is a disservice, especially to innocent, trusting, children, when people are taught to believe that 'parents' are loving, nurturing and protective toward us; that when someone says, they 'love' you--- no matter who they are--- that they mean it and have the most sincere intentions toward you; that 'serving your country' is truly a noble endeavor where you can expect to be treated with respect for your sacrifice and have your compatriots looking out for your safety and well-being; and 'police' are there to protect us, from criminals. STALKING, is, legally, a CRIME. But, doing all that he did to me for as long as he did all that to me, was also unconscionable.

Clearly misogyny took some forms which I never could have anticipated in my life as a female that I would unfortunately have to learn about through the nightmare of being subjected to them. I think it has to be what his behavior toward me was. Dictionary.com defines misogyny as hatred, dislike, or mistrust, of women [which is] manifested in various forms, such as, physical intimidation, and abuse, sexual harassment, and rape, social shunning, and ostracism, etc. This cop, Darren, was harassing me continually by stalking me. In doing that, he destroyed my sense of privacy, and peace, to the point where I actually developed chiropractic problems, in my neck, because I was continually looking back over my shoulder, to see if he was doing this to me, yet again, because so much of the time he was! This would go on for years, with him. I tried to ignore him, for much of that time, to no avail, until I started to think that only a man who was deeply attracted to a woman can act this way, this much, and this long, and began, to consider the possibility, of it, since nothing, I could conclude about it, made any sense to me, regardless of his motive. Because he was also a police officer, who had a gun on him, and this was not standard operating procedure for police officers, it would also classify, per the definition of misogyny, as physical intimidation. Even, all these years later, I have never really known why he chose to do this to me. It isn't just him, that torments women, for no real reason. I have already covered many, other, men, in my posts that have harmed me, and therefore, the course, of my life, by their treatment of me. Since women normally do the far greater majority of the raising of boys, I do not understand, how misogyny can be as pervasive, as it is, in the mindset of the male gender. It is a complicated issue, but women pay a very high price for it. For me, I think that, men fear the power which women, naturally, possess--- because from birth on, they need us, more, than we seem to need them, and they learn to resent, and try to compensate for, that fact, which disturbs them, so deeply. Boys are often given a Free Pass to misbehave, and girls often suffer the consequences of boys' bad behaviors. It often just seems like another 'sport', for males, and it's difficult to tell if they really have any awareness of the damage they do, to female lives. Do they, just not know? Or, do they just not care? I don't have the answers, to this, perplexing, issue, but I can describe things that I have been subjected to, by men, and the impact, those have had, on my life, which many posts are about.

OPD used the community policing* model, of law enforcement. So, it did not take long, for each officer, assigned to this area that I lived in, to know who everybody was--- including me. In fact, we all got to know one another on a first name basis and those who worked in this part of the city, were known as such, as were those of us who lived in this part of downtown Omaha. Because, the same officers were patrolling, the same beat, they also knew the regular routines of the citizens, that were usually in this area; and since I only had a few hours to do my own thing, in the early afternoon, before I had to start getting ready for work, 6 days a week, I was even more predictable than most, to the police officers on patrol. Since I also preferred to do all of my dating 'on my home turf' so to speak, for safety reasons, I was often under the watchful gaze of the officers, assigned to the area, then, as well. While I, sometimes, had other, personal, interactions with some of the other officers, who were around on Darren's days off, and on other shifts, none of them did anything close, to what Darren did, toward me, by placing himself, wherever I was, much, if not most, of the time. As I got more familiar with how he acted in a given situation, I eventually realized that he was very careful, about how he went about that, to avoid detection of his, questionable, behavior, by the other officers, as well as his shift supervisor who sometimes drove through the area in his patrol car, to check on whether things were going smoothly, with law enforcement goals. It is difficult for me, to describe, Darren's behavior, for this post, because to some extent, I have to be able to make sense of it, to find the words to do that here, as it also leaves me at a loss, for words, because, it was so, outlandish, baffling, and mind-bending. All I can say is, I told God, that if I were going to start writing this blog, I would be as honest and factual as possible about everything, or I wouldn't write the posts at all; and, I have done that, with every post. Although, there are certain individuals who are spoken of in my posts who would most likely deny the truth, that I have told about them, here in my blog, because it incriminates them, and documents their bad behaviors. I also discuss my own dark side, too, though. So, now, the details about Darren, since this eventually led me to do prostitution!  

It started off innocently enough, it seemed. Since I lived either downtown or right in the small, self-contained, community of the Old Market, during the years that I was a dancer, I spent my time off from work close to home, for various reasons. I would meet lunch or dinner dates at restaurants, in the area, to avoid getting into a car with them, and to be able to simply exit the situation, and go home, if it did not feel safe or enjoyable to me for whatever reason (such as the occasional man trying to grope or pressure me into a sexual interaction with them although I had only agreed to eat a meal with them). Once a man from an online dating site met me, in the Old Market, for the first (and last!) time, pulling his truck into an alley, which I refused to get into (been there, done that; ended in RAPE), and, then, he pulled a large plastic jug with a small amount of brownish liquid in it out from the backseat, as we stood, by his vehicle, and told me he made me some 'homemade sweet tea' for me to drink. I refused and he persisted, so I finally just went home. I am sure it was laced with something--- probably the 'date rape', knockout, drug that was being reported in the news at the time, as something men were doing to women. I never told most of these men, I dated, where I lived. The few that I did tell couldn't access my apartment. I made a point to only live in security buildings with locked entries. Since I, mainly, worked night shifts, while I was a dancer, and usually 6 nights a week, I did most, of my socializing, on the job. So, it was really hard for any man to get me to talk with them when I was off work, because it felt like I was at work, doing that. The questions and conversations were all the same. So, even though I did date, some, men, out of the many, who asked me, my time off work was precious to me, and I preferred spending most of it alone, in privacy. As much privacy, as I could find, in the bustling Old Market and downtown district.

Music is one thing that I have never felt tired of! Even after working in clubs, as a dancer. Sitting alone in the afternoon,  I enjoyed listening to a street musician in the Old Market or live bands playing at some of the festivals that were held in the downtown area. It would, relax me for awhile. However Darren came up to me to chat at times, when I would just be sitting there. Asking me questions, about my life, he soon knew my name, where I lived, and where I worked. (I normally did not give all that personal information to men, who walked up to me, inquiring about such things. But, there is an ingrained feeling, for many of us, that we have, no choice, but to reply honestly to the police whenever they ask us any questions.)

Sometimes, I would be sitting, at a, sidewalk, table, at one of the restaurants, with my date, enjoying a meal, when Darren would stop by our table. I was in my 'Stevie' persona, for my dates, so, what I was wearing, and, how I was acting, was all to, keep up my image, as, the 'nightclub performer'. Darren, stood by our table chatting as his eyes looked me over, from head, to gold-painted toenails, while, I amused myself, by, subtle, little gestures, like sucking on my straw in my drink, in a somewhat suggestive way. With both, my date, and Darren, it was fun flirting, and none, of us, took it beyond, superficial, though supercharged, sexual energy. Looking, just a little sweatier, than when he first stopped by to talk to us, Darren eventually dismissed himself by saying (eyes still on me, and not the food on our plates), "It looks . . . really good", leaving me to smile slightly, as he went on his way. This was just out-in-the-open, nothing to hide, back-and-forth banter, between us, and whoever else, was around, at the time. It was, lighthearted fun!

On days that, the weather, was nice, and I didn't have a date, I would put on my gold lame**, Victoria's Secret bikini, under an oversized t-shirt and my tight short shorts, and go over to the park--- usually, Gene Leahy Mall, but sometimes Heartland of America park--- to sunbathe, before I had to, go home, and get ready for my work shift, at the club, that night. To have as much privacy as possible, I would climb up the hill to the highest, most isolated point that I could find where I would, spread out my beach towel, set out my cool drink, turn on my music, and open up my magazine. Then I would pull off my shirt and shimmy out of my, skin-hugging, short, shorts, with a, very, feminine, wriggle, for my, sunbathing session. There was, something, sexy, about, those tan lines, from a bikini, when, the thong costume bottoms, that I danced in, were contrasted, against, that, as being, much smaller, still. My suntan emphasized how skimpy our costumes were that we wore.

 

Lying up on the hill, in the park, I had felt comfortably isolated, from other people, not even realizing that I could actually be viewed as I lay there, by people in office buildings, on the street in vehicles, and even those walking by, beneath the hill, in the park. Since I lived in the middle of downtown, this was as close, as I had, to a 'back yard'. I was doing my best to make the best of it but it also had its liabilities that I had not taken into account, in the process, of that. Victoria's Secret was one of my favorite places to order clothing from, when I was a dancer. I'd, also, always wanted a gold-colored bikini. I wore a lot of gold nail polish, in those days, as well, on both my fingertips and toes. When I saw that Victoria's Secret had a gold bikini in their catalog, and that it was on sale, I was delighted! I was also a bit surprised, that something like that was not Sold Out. Thinking, it was just a stroke of luck, in my favor, I ordered it, and could not wait to start sunbathing in it! So, that is what I wore, when I was working on my tan, in the park. In the beginning, I had no tan at all so the metallic sheen of the bathing suit was in strong contrast to my pinkish skin. As my tan grew deeper and darker over time, I began to look bronzed by the sun, making my skin become basically the same tone, as the bikini. Apparently, as I would, eventually, come to find out, it looked that way--- even more so--- from a distance! The difference, between these two tones had, gradually, been done away with, by the sun, merging my suit and my skin into one, golden, shade. This bikini had, basically, become invisible, against my tanned skin! Since, I could clearly see this bathing suit from up close, against my own skin, I was oblivious, to this fact. I had noticed, however, that, suddenly, drivers, who had to stop at a stop sign, near the park, in view of the hill that I was on, were screeching their tires, as they tried not to run right through the stop sign, at the very last second of their approaching the intersection. I could sometimes hear, one car after another, doing that, when I had never heard that before, which was really bewildering to me. Was there just a sudden increase in bad drivers? I wondered to myself, because I had never known this to be such a problem, in the downtown area, before, as that had become now.

One day, a guy that I knew, climbed up the hill and sat down on the grass, beside my beach towel. He pointed, across the pond which was in the middle of the park, and said, "Stevie, I just came from over there. You, will never BELIEVE, what they are looking for! Those cops, just got a call, from dispatch, telling them that people had been saying that, there is A NAKED WOMAN in the park!" I was, still, clueless, about my tan causing my bikini to, in effect, disappear, from others' view. I sat up in shock and said, "REALLY?!? I haven't seen ANYTHING LIKE THAT, and I've been here, for a while, now. Why, is it, that I never get to see the stuff like THAT?!?" If, this guy had known, that I, was this person, they were looking for, but that I was, actually, not "naked", at all, so that I didn't realize it was ME, he didn't tell me, or the cops, then, and I remained, totally, unaware, of it being ME, that was causing all the commotion, close calls, with cars, on city streets, and, complete, cessation of male productivity, in a 15-story office building, that was right across the street, from the park; the latter, of which, I would not know about, still, for some time to come, until, I, eventually, had a conversation, with, a club customer, one night, at work. The police officers, searching the park for this 'nudist' that 911 kept getting calls about, were the ones that were working on Darren's day off. Not many days, after that, though, the guy that emptied the parking meters, downtown, came up to me, tentatively, as I lay on my beach towel, on the hill, in the sun. I knew him, the way I knew all of the 'regulars', who were a part of the downtown Omaha/Old Market scene. He greeted me in an unusually shy manner as his eyes scanned my skin and my suit. Then, he told me that Darren had sent him over there to me, to see what I was wearing. He pointed across the park, where that police officer was waiting for the information. Darren--- the LAW ENFORCEMENT officer, had sent, a meter attendant, to see whether I was in violation of the law (as in NAKED, in the park!) because HE WAS AFRAID TO! It was his job to investigate such complaints.

So, Darren must have thought that I was capable of actually doing that; and, had  I been, it seems that, he would have, sent the meter attendant, back over, with a warning, or with his handcuffs! Or, called, for backup, to deal with me, instead of, doing his job, himself, as he was sworn, to do, as a police officer. It was shocking, to realize in that moment that I WAS the 'naked woman in the park' (even though I wasn't naked, at all, actually), but, it was extremely amusing, to me, too, to see how scared Darren was of considering (maybe, even fantasizing about) that, were I really naked, in the park, it would be his duty, to come over there, and handcuff my slender, sweaty, female, body (in all its, 'unclothed', sun-bronzed, sensuality), and, haul me off to jail. Smiling up at the meter guy, from my beach towel, as he was acting quite flustered himself, standing that close to me, even though he saw my bikini on my body with his own eyes, I slowly took a sip from my can of Pepsi, and said, to him, "Next time the COP sends YOU over here to do HIS job, can you bring me a Pepsi, too? It's REALLY HOT, out here!" Then, I told him that he should go back and tell Darren that I really was naked in the park, just to see, what he'd DO about it, if he thought it was TRUE. Then, I just, sat there, up on the hill--- IN my bikini--- and watched as he walked back over to Darren to talk to him about it and they left the park, together. When, I ran into, this meter man, awhile later, he told me that Darren had informed police dispatch that, whenever these calls came in, about a naked woman in the park, that they were to explain she wasn't naked, but was actually wearing "a flesh-colored bathing suit". It was a very hot summer. For, all, of us. I mused to myself that Darren didn't do his job that day because he couldn't risk, my saying, "Is that your nightstick, or are you just glad to see me?"    

One night as I sat at the bar in the Backdoor Lounge with a club customer named Frank, who was, a retired deputy sheriff, that owned a, small, one-man-operation, snack shop, on the main floor of one of the tall office buildings, which was located right across the street, from the park, we started discussing my tan lines. When I mentioned to him that I sunbathed in the park, downtown, he sat bolt upright, on his bar stool, with the look of someone that, just had a lightbulb go on, over their head. Then he asked me if I had ever noticed that there were male faces at every window, on every floor, of the entire 15-story office building, on the side of it that looked out onto the park; around 1 PM, every afternoon that 'the signal' went out through interoffice memos on computers, that 'the bikini girl' was up on the hill in the park. I could not have seen them from the hill in the park, between sun glare, and the distance, that they were, from me. But, from, the vantage point, of those voyeurs***, they would have had no trouble at all seeing me, quite clearly! Frank joked that he could tell when the woman (whom, he now realized, was ME) was in the park, because his snack shop business slowed to a stop with no one coming in from the offices in that building, and that he could feel the whole high-rise leaning in the direction of the park due to all the men in the building standing at windows.

There came a day, though, that this situation, with my 'invisible' bikini, went from amusing, to extremely embarrassing for me. Being a dancer for years, I didn't get embarrassed easily, about anything, anymore. I was extremely comfortable in my own skin, and in my identity, as 'Stevie', at this point. But, one day, as I was lying on my stomach, on my beach towel, up on the hill, in the park, deepening my tan, I heard alot of voices of little children, coming along the path in the park that was just beneath the hill. Little kids, speak their mind, without thinking anything, of it. I suddenly heard one little boy's voice raising itself loudly above all the others, as he called out to me, in all sincerity, "LADY, ARE YOU NAKED UP THERE?" Cringing, I raised my head up and turned over on the towel, to look at him. There was, alot of little kids, walking single file, led by a teacher, who was, doing her best, NOT to look at ME, and the little boy still expecting an answer from me to satisfy childlike curiosity. In that moment, I am sure that I no longer had skin matching my bikini as I felt myself turn deep red, from my head to my toes, in acute discomfort, and deep embarrassment. Looking at the little preschooler who still wanted an answer, all I could manage to do, in response, to him, was look him in his, innocent, eyes, and slowly shake my head, in a nonverbal 'No'. I stopped wearing my bikini in the park, following that incident. I just, could not feel the same, wearing it, after that.

Mutually harmless, adult, flirting, can be fun, and energizing; sublimating, alot, of pent-up, sexual, energy. Living my life as 'Stevie', during those years, which I am describing, my flirting, was on autopilot, as my basic persona. Wherever I went, I engaged in meaningless and reciprocal flirtations. Many if not most of which were started by the men and not me. (After all, I had to do all that at work every night to keep the customers satisfied.) It didn't mean anything to us and no one took it seriously, so no one could get hurt, by that. Everyone knew it was superficial, and just for fun. This, included, the times that, Darren and I, talked with one another; usually, in the Old Market, but, in other parts of downtown, as well. I was out and about alot in the afternoon hours before work, and on my days off, and he was on his bike, usually, patrolling the area as part of the Bike Patrol Unit, but sometimes  in his police cruiser, or on foot. When Darren found out that I worked in the clubs, as a dancer, he responded without missing a beat, imagining himself having much more clout, with me, than he had, saying, "Oh, GOOD! YOU can work undercover, for me, and report all the tips on the criminals in there." Without a nanosecond of hesitation, I responded that, THAT would NEVER happen. I'd already been beaten up in the bar, and it had been made clear to me, over the years, in the nightclubs  I danced in, that several co-workers, and even, some of the club owners, actually already thought that I was really a cop or at the very least an informant for them, simply because, I was seen as being so 'clean', compared to the majority of other employees, which were working in this business. I had absolutely NO DESIRE, OR INTENTION, to snoop around, and end up beaten up again, or worse--- especially since I had already had a situation with the mafia, which were connected to many of these clubs, to some extent or other. I enjoyed my job, and my lifestyle, at the time. I was making good money and having fun. Why would I rock the boat when it was floating, so nicely, for me? Nothing, about Darren's request, benefitted me!

It was not too long, before the interactions with Darren began to take a turn for the worse. In the beginning, he would, come up to me, and tell me, some of the stories, about experiences, he'd had, as a police officer, or let me know about some event that I might not have heard of, but that, I could be, interested in, which was in the downtown, or Old Market, areas, of the city. Or, he would, chat, with me, and someone that, I might be sitting with. It seemed, that he began to make alot of assumptions about my relationship, with him, though, which, started to, really, irritate me, because, it became, both, an intrusion, and an imposition, on my free time, that I wanted and needed, to have, for myself. It was, extremely, annoying, and began, to get, more, and more, aberrant, as time passed! THIS, wasn't MUTUAL. THIS, wasn't FUN. And THIS, wasn't FUNNY! He made, a real PEST, of himself, to me, to the point that, he was totally getting on my nerves, and I told him so! It didn't STOP him, from doing that, though. He not only, KEPT doing this, which was, STALKING, me, now, but, it increased, until it seemed like nonstop harassment, of me, by him. It was, bizarre. It was, intimidating. It was, uncalled for. This, was, undermining, everything, to do with my quality of life! It was a nightmare. The picture shown, in this paragraph, is of, Gene Leahy Mall park, in Omaha, during, an arts, festival. I will not, be able, to describe, EVERY SINGLE THING, that Darren did, to me, during the--- 11 years!--- of my life, that he tormented me with these behaviors until I was a nervous wreck, mentally, emotionally, and also, physically, because there were just TOO MANY! HE CONSTANTLY DID THIS, to me; for no rational reason, that I could ever figure out.

One of the earliest incidents involved my walking over to the Summer Arts Festival. I was meeting a date, to this event. Darren had, already, begun annoying me, due to openly, stalking, me, at this point. He would, pop up, at my heels, wherever I went! He would not, acknowledge it, or address it, whenever I confronted him, about that, either. Even though I'd told him that it really bothered me. He continued to follow me around, and watch me, everywhere I went, that he could possibly go. When I got to the arts festival and stood at the spot where, my date and I, had agreed to meet one another, Darren was right there, right away. As soon as he saw me he simply sat there straddling his bicycle. Standing there with his arms crossed. He wasn't patrolling. He wasn't moving on, through the, large, crowd, that was there that day, doing his JOB. He, just, stood there, watching me, for almost 20 minutes, until my date arrived, and then, he followed us, through the crowd, as we went from tent to tent, looking at art. I could not have LEFT the AREA to wait for my date somewhere else because there were no cellphones then, and I had no way to reach the guy I was meeting that day, to tell him that I needed to change our meeting location, at the festival. Even if I could have done that, somehow, it would not have helped me, get away from Darren's keeping, almost constant, sight of me. It was just like being, under the scrutiny, of (known) police surveillance; only, I hadn't done anything, against the law, to deserve this violation of my peace and privacy as a private citizen! He was on a bike. Although I CONSTANTLY and CONTINUALLY tried to get away from him, he would simply follow me wherever I went. Anywhere and everywhere that he possibly could! Whatever his reason may have been, he obviously had a weird fixation on me. He, was a law enforcement officer. This, was stalking. It is illegal! This is NOT 'harmless fun', to the victim that is going through it, nearly everyday.

[Note: This photo is NOT of Darren. This IS what the, Omaha, Bike Patrol officers wore, though, so they were clearly visible, due to their yellow polo shirts. He, actually looked like, the TV character, 'Barney Fife'****, in the 'Mayberry' TV series, only, Darren, was bald.] On the day, that, I was, meeting my date, at the arts festival, Darren just stood there staring at me while I was waiting for the guy to arrive. I tried, moving behind a large post, to get out of his view while still being where my date was supposed to find me, but Darren kept adjusting his position, just enough, to keep full sight of me, when I tried to move away, from his line of sight. Clearly, he knew, I was uncomfortable, with him doing this to me. Yet he kept on stalking me, over 11, long, years. I can't comprehend, what his thinking would have to be, in order to impact someone's life with, this, extreme, level, of harassment, and, stress, from the, constant, stalking, that he did, to me. But, I had made it very clear to him, including in conversations about it, that HE NEEDED TO STOP, and it only got WORSE, and NEVER stopped. It makes me so angry! That men DO this, to WOMEN, for NO reason; and GET AWAY WITH IT. His being, a POLICE OFFICER, made it, even MORE, EGREGIOUS, for me. The moment, that my date arrived, for example, for a, much-needed, day off from work, for me, which, should, have been, relaxing, and fun, Darren (after, standing, there, just, watching me, for quite awhile) suddenly, started, riding his bike--- but ONLY until he got right in between, my date and I, as we were walking toward one another. Once, he got, directly, in our path, he stopped, his bike, again, and stood there, causing us, to have to go around him, and his bike. There was NO REASON, at all, for that, completely, uncalled for, type of manipulative maneuvering. Darren went, way out of his way, to get in, and stay in, my face, but, I had, no idea, why.                                                                                                   

I, needed, to feel . . . oblivious, to all the goings on around me, as, much, as, possible, when, I was out, and about, and taking some time, to myself, to simply be alone, for awhile, lost in my thoughts. Just, enjoying, some desperately needed 'downtime' away from work and having to, be 'on', as 'Stevie', all the time. This photograph, is of Omaha's Old Market, which is often, the busiest area of the city, due to, locals and tourists, alike. It can be bustling with activity, from people crowding the sidewalks, elbow-to-elbow, and cars, everywhere you look, filling the quaint, brick-lined, streets, with, bumper-to-bumper traffic. Early on, in Darren's switch, from public servant, to private stalker, with me, he would watch to see where I was going (such as to the ice cream shop, or to, some other, place, of business), and, then, he would, follow me, on his bike, again, as I came out, of the building. There were, signs, posted, on the sidewalks, prohibiting bicycles from being on them. Nevertheless, Darren, would ride his bike up onto the sidewalk, peddling along, beside me, as I was walking, to, wherever, I was going. Since, he was riding alongside me, as people were walking past, on the sidewalk, trying, to avoid, being in the direct path, of his bicycle (which drew even more, unwanted, attention, to me, from, all these people, on top of, the, intrusive, attention from him) I conveyed my displeasure about it with a stressed expression and a sharp tone to my voice. However, Darren, just seemed to be, amused, by it.

His, showing up, almost all, the time, wherever, I was, whatever, I was doing, and whoever, I was with, was an immense invasion of my privacy and 'personal space'. Disrupting, my daydreaming. Intruding, on my, interactions, with others. One day, unable, to, get him, to "STOP IT, ALREADY!", I jaywalked*****, to get away, from HIM. As I ran out into the busy street, weaving between the traffic, trying to cross over, to the other side, to, get away, from, this STALKER, I was nearly hit by a car. He HARASSED me to the point that, he DROVE ME TO DO THAT! Even so, with NO thought for my SAFETY, he STILL would NOT LEAVE ME ALONE! Darren, still on his bike, FOLLOWED, RIGHT BEHIND ME, as I crossed the street, in the middle, of the block, which was full, of, moving, traffic. Desperate, to escape, this jerk, now, and hoping, that, the thick traffic, would deter him, from following me, further, at least for NOW, I, immediately, CROSSED BACK OVER to the OTHER side, still jaywalking between vehicles, which were moving along the street. He followed me right back. Back, and forth, we went, crossing, in the middle, of the street, several times, in a row. What, was it, going to TAKE, for, this guy, to LEAVE ME ALONE?!? I wondered, as I finally ducked into the nearest place of business simply to escape him. I could have been injured or killed. Even so, he was unrelenting, which said to me that he didn't care about that. This guy was a REAL HEADACHE to me, now. I was starting to feel jumpy all the time because he was always popping up almost everywhere I was, to the point that I had no feeling of peace, and no sense of privacy. He was a pest, and he was a problem. I could never figure out what he was actually after by doing this, to me. What was his purpose? His 'end game'? I didn't like him making a game out of my personal life. I had to deal with variations of that at work. Now I NEVER got a break, from the CRAP, that MEN, put me through. And, NOW, it was a COP, too; messing with my head. Freaking me out with his weirdness. THIS wasn't something FUN. THIS, wasn't JUST INNOCENT FLIRTING. THIS, wasn't HARMLESS.

My, beloved, cockatiel, CeeBee, was still in my life during those years. Because I had just a few hours, on my work days, which was in the afternoons, to do all that I needed to, or wanted to, for both me and my 'bird baby', I would regularly put CeeBee in his carrier (with an open weave pattern, so he got plenty of air and could see in all directions), and take him on a walk through the park, or to sit and listen to musicians, on the street corners, in the Old Market. CeeBee and I loved each other deeply, and we had a very close relationship. There is nothing to compare with the unconditional, all-in, love, of a pet, for their person. I have never experienced any, human, relationship, that's anywhere close, to that, loving, bond, of, mutual, trust, and care, that, we had! That, relationship, was the closest one, that I have ever had, with, any, living being, on this Earth. Working, 6 nights, a week, meant that, I was away, from home, more than, I was there, and I cherished, the time, that, CeeBee, and I, had together. Our own, special, time. On, sunny, summer, days, I would, put his water dish, and food, in, his walking basket, and take him to the park, for a picnic! A bird in a basket, attracted attention, from, and interactions, with, people, who, saw us; so I, sometimes, tried to find, privacy, somewhere, in this urban landscape, to get away, alone--- just the two of us--- so we could just 'be', together, blissfully undisturbed, by the intrusion, of others. One day, I climbed up the tall hill in the park, where there was also a circular, concrete, enclosure, that had, one, lone, park bench, inside, of it; for, one, of those, private, picnics, with just my, 'feather-chested studmuffin', and I! (I gave, CeeBee, bits, of my bag lunch, as well, which I had purchased from one of the nearby restaurants, before we headed over to the park.) It was an isolated spot, for downtown Omaha.

I was talking to him, laughing with him, singing to him; just enjoying our personal time together. It was so precious, to me, because, CeeBee, was so precious to me! He was, by far, the BEST THING, in MY LIFE, for, nearly, 20 years, together, before he 'flew Home, to Heaven'. On this day, that I am describing, I felt so relaxed, and happy, in that place, of complete seclusion from the outside world. I didn't have to be 'Stevie', for that, short, time. I was, simply being, 'CeeBee's Mom'. My greatest privilege, and honor! We were just sharing some, sweet, moments, alone together, when, suddenly, a bee, flew into the area, and wouldn't leave us alone. I definitely did not want to get stung! I started, trying to shoo it away, but it persisted. Finally, holding CeeBee's walking basket, as I tried to keep from, either of us, being stung, by this bee, I, quickly, stood up, and whirled around, as it, circled, behind me; and THERE WAS DARREN. Not more than a few feet away, from us, just standing there. Arms folded, across his chest. Straddling, his bike. Just watching me. Watching us. CeeBee and I. SPYING on us. There was, nothing else, that, he COULD HAVE BEEN DOING, there! There were no other people, anywhere around that isolated area, of the park, and nothing else, there, but a small grove of trees, just behind, where he stood. He was standing near this, waist-high-or-so, concrete wall. JUST WATCHING ME. LISTENING, to me talking to my pet, in (what I had, mistakenly, thought was) private. Although, (DARREN KNEW) I had NO idea, at all, that, he was there, doing that. Until, the bee showed up, and I finally jumped up, off that park bench, to get CeeBee and I away from it. I stopped in my tracks, frozen from shock, when I saw Darren RIGHT THERE, WATCHING ME, and just stared, at him, with a look of, both, genuine ALARM, and real CONFUSION, as I tried to MAKE SENSE, of WHY, he KEPT DOING THIS, TO ME. He didn't leave, when I saw him, there, look away, or act like someone who JUST GOT CAUGHT--- STALKING, a woman--- yet again. Darren just kept on standing there, expressionless and wordless. I left, to get away, from him.

He hadn't been standing in front of the enclosure, because I could have easily seen him, there, then. He had stood, just behind, that low wall, of concrete, so he could see me without me knowing that he was there. He wasn't there when I arrived and I had not heard him coming up behind me, there on the hill, so Darren had to have been stealthy, about positioning himself there, so close to me, without my knowing it. There was NO CRIME BEING COMMITTED, by me, to warrant this surveillance of me. I was merely, a woman who had been trying to be alone, with her pet! Trying, her best, to have some, peaceful private time. Nothing more than that. I didn't say anything at all, to Darren, the majority of the time, that he did these things to me, because, early on, I definitely did, tell him, that it was upsetting, and annoying, to me, and that, he should stop. I also, behaved, in a way, that made that clear, once he went from being 'Officer Friendly' the neighborhood cop, toward me, to 'Stalker Cop', of my own, personal, HELL. But, HE DIDN'T; and, IN FACT, it only, got worse, with him! The, third, photo (above), that I included with this post, shows the front of that, isolated, private, concrete enclosure, where CeeBee and I were having our picnic. It was up on the, very same, hill that I sunbathed on. I went there because of its isolation. Almost no one that went to the park ever climbed up the steep hill, to go to that part of the park, which is why I liked it so much. I was always, trying to, carve out some, private, space, for myself, which was hard to find, living in the middle of downtown Omaha, as I did, and when I lived in the Old Market, itself, for several years--- because I got a great deal on the rent, for a loft apartment, there. That one park bench inside the concrete enclosure faced the pond, in the middle of the park. In that, third, photograph, that I inserted, into this post, in the center, of the right-hand side, of the picture, you can see, the grove of trees, which was just behind the concrete enclosure, I was in, and also, behind where Darren had stood, only feet, from where I had just been sitting; in what, I had THOUGHT, was, TOTAL PRIVACY. He hadn't made his presence known, to me, there. He'd stood, in silence, in back, of me. Snooping. Spying. Just watching me, there. There was no one else, anywhere, around, and nothing else in that part of the park. He was looking at me.

This photo is of a police officer in the Old Market, in winter gear. Darren also wore this type of uniform when he wasn't in his bike patrol polo and shorts. Because of the build of this man, this photograph, could very well be, a picture of Darren. He was the skinniest and scrawniest of the cops. A near-lookalike to the TV character 'Barney Fife', a law enforcement officer, on the 'Mayberry' TV series, that, almost, always, created more problems than he solved. That's what Darren did in my life. This photo was taken in the evening, and Darren, normally worked 'A' (day) Shift. However, this could still be him, because, during those years, that he stalked me, he often worked overtime, on the evening 'B' Shift, as well. When I was off work, and out on a dinner date, he would see us and start staring. Once, out on a lunch date, I was so tired of Darren, just sitting, arms crossed, straddling his bike seat, watching me, that I asked the guy I was out with to go over and take a photo, of Darren, doing that. He wasn't phased, in the least, by my having that 'evidence', though, as he always claimed that he was JUST DOING HIS JOB, by his presence there; which was true but only up to a point. He never admitted to anything else.

My friend, Jim, is an attorney in Omaha. He told me, once, in a conversation that we were having, about my frustration with Darren stalking me, for 11 years, that the City of Omaha wasn't happy with Darren's behavior, either. Only, the city was upset about him working all that overtime, on 'B' Shifts (that also meant, he was around MORE OFTEN, to STALK ME EVEN MORE, while he was DOING THAT). Jim told me, that Darren ended up with a retirement pension from the City of Omaha that put a hardship on the fund, in such a way that was both, selfish and sketchy. Jim said that this was known as "pension spiking"******, and TOOK ADVANTAGE of the system. So, while not in the same way, others knew of Darren's selfishness and 'gaming' the system*******. He was SWORN, TO UPHOLD THE LAW, but, he was STALKING ME, which is a CRIME********. Stalking can be either a felony or a misdemeanor. It is unsettling, intrusive and causes (in the case of Darren doing it to me), physical symptoms of stress, mental distress, and, emotional suffering. 

   

I had a friend named Joe, that occasionally took me to lunch, and also invited me to hear his band's rehearsals, in the basement, of the apartment building, that he managed, downtown. He eventually started to tease me because he had seen, for himself, again, and again, and again, that, Darren, would show up, on his bike, or in his patrol car, and, often hover, around the area, then, on his patrol, any time I was around. On days Joe wanted me to come, hear his band, I would grab a take-out meal from a fast food place as I walked over to meet him, and wait out on the sidewalk, for him to let me in the security entrance of the building. Darren popped up, right away, so many times, and so many places that I went, it was obvious, to Joe and I, that it was too much to be--- that many!--- coincidences. I just kept on ignoring him, wishing that he would stop. It was so annoying. Because, of it, I did not ever feel like I had any privacy. When I was living in the downtown apartment building, when he was still, initially, acting like a friend, and not a skulking stalker, he asked me once in a conversation, if I realized that the rooftop of the restaurant next door was right across from my bedroom window, and that people could go up on the roof, and look in there! Not only, had I NOT, ever thought, about that, but I was afraid to ask him HOW HE KNEW THAT. [When I moved into the loft in the Old Market (because, I got it for about half price, on a rent special, that I happened to come across, while walking in the Old Market, one day, and seeing the sign; and it was a great location), Darren would go over to the parking garage that was facing my apartment windows, and look in, from there; although, he wasn't the only guy that did that, unfortunately. Other times, he would just stand around, underneath my apartment windows. Especially, on a nice day, when, I had the windows open.]

One Autumn afternoon, when I was sitting on the couch, up in my apartment, just reading a magazine, and relaxing, before work, I suddenly heard this, weird, type, of echoing voice, in the otherwise perfect quiet I had been enjoying just moments

before. I could not figure out--- WHAT, on earth!?!--- that WAS, but it was coming from outside my building. Going over to the window, and looking down toward the street, I saw Darren, sitting in his police cruiser. He had driven it right up onto the sidewalk, just beneath, my apartment windows, and was using his bullhorn, in the car, to CALL UP TO ME, saying, through it, "DEBORAH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" It was, bizarre! It was creepy. It was intrusive, and disturbing. I stood there, looking down, trying to decide, what, if anything, I should try to do, about it. At first, I sat back down on the couch, trying to resume what I had been doing, before this, and I hoped he would JUST GO AWAY. He called up to me, AGAIN, and AGAIN, on that bullhorn, though, and I was really starting to wonder, what all the neighbors were THINKING ABOUT THIS, and HOW MANY of THEM were now, ALSO standing there, at their apartment windows, SEEING THIS COP and HEARING HIM CALL UP TO ME on this POLICE BULLHORN! I was CRINGING, at this point. Pissed off, now, I went downstairs and out the front door of the building to confront Darren about it, but, as SOON as I GOT THERE, he drove off, when he saw me. Proving, he was simply HARASSING ME, and not even trying, to start a conversation, with me, with doing this to me. He was ASKING, "Deborah, what are you doing?" but he obviously did not want an answer to this question, that he had taken a BULLHORN to ASK ME. I went back upstairs, to my apartment, but, about 10 minutes later, HE WAS BACK, and DID IT AGAIN! This pattern repeated itself about 5 times! He would call up to me on the bullhorn in his police cruiser, I would try to go outside, to confront him, and he drove off as soon as he saw me. This is not someone WANTING TO KNOW what I am DOING. THIS, is NOT, someone doing some 'harmless' FLIRTING. THIS is a STALKER, REPEATEDLY HARASSING THEIR TARGETED VICTIM, for some SICK PLEASURE that they DERIVED FROM DOING THIS to a private, law-abiding citizen that was sitting alone in their HOME RELAXING and READING, before THIS began.

This JOKER was making my life MISERABLE! Some people, try to blame the victim of rape, which is also a crime, by focusing on what the person that was raped was wearing. NO OUTFIT CAUSES RAPE. While, I had originally done some, superficial, flirting, with Darren, WHEN HE'D WALKED UP TO ME (AND MEN, I WAS ON DATES WITH at the time), during the years that I was 'Stevie' I did that type of harmless flirting with, 99% of the men, I encountered; from the guy that I wanted to make a customized pizza for me, at Zio's, to the horse-drawn carriage driver, that I was chatting with as I sat listening to a street musician in the Old Market while he was waiting for a fare. I DID NOT HAVE 99% of the men, that I interacted with, in this vivacious and sociable, although, sometimes, slightly nuanced way, STALKING ME. There is frequently an undertone of sexual energy, between men and women that are interacting with one another. We are different genders. There is an awareness of that fact that none of us can deny, which, I daresay, usually affects the way we approach and deal with one another. At least, to some extent. If the flirting that I did with men during those years was an invitation to, or a reason for, stalking me, I would have had HUNDREDS OF MEN doing that, to me, instead of JUST this COP.

Also, because Darren did so MUCH of this, for so LONG, and I kept trying to make sense, of it, if only to be able to live my life, more comfortably, with some degree of RECONCILING MYSELF to THE FACT OF IT happening to me, in an ongoing way, I asked, some of the dancers, that I worked with, what they thought, was causing it, and we all ended up thinking that he knew, he was 'the runt of the litter' of the cops, on the beat, and that--- just like, a little boy, pulling the pigtails, of the girl, sitting in front of him, in class-- he, probably, had a crush, on me, and 'acted out' in how he showed that because he very likely had poor self-esteem. In some way or other, he had to have measured himself, against the guys he worked with, and found himself lacking, whether it was his build, his prowess, or even his baldness. Some men feel very inadequate, simply because of their hair loss. One day, when  I was in the Old Market, which was like, a micro-community, in itself, including, it having, a very active, and rapid, GOSSIP 'grapevine' going, someone came up, to me, and said, "Did you hear, what just happened to Darren, about an hour, or so, ago? He was over in the park, and confronted a woman, who was sitting there on a park bench, smoking a joint, . . . and (they started laughing, at this point) she, just looked at him, completely calmly, and stood up, and BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF HIM! Can you BELIEVE IT?!" When I caught sight of him not long after I was told that, he was sitting in a chair, close to the old couple that had an ice cream shop, on the corner, in those days, looking very sullen, and suddenly, not so sociable. I thought, he looked, just like any little boy, that ran home, to mommy and daddy, after the neighborhood bully beat him up, and took his ice cream money. KARMA.

Because he CONSTANTLY HARRASSED ME by STALKING me, for SO MANY YEARS, I developed a specific strain, in my neck, from looking back, over my shoulder, all the time, to, more often, than not, see him there, watching me, and following me. There are COUNTLESS MORE EXAMPLES, of these things, that he put me through, JUST BECAUSE HE COULD. When I took my trash bag to the dumpster behind the apartment building Darren pulled the cruiser up into the alley so close to my body that he PINNED ME between the car and the trash bin. I had to sidle sideways, to get myself free, while he just sat there, in the driver's seat of the car, laughing at me. Another time, I was walking back, to my apartment, after spending time with some friends, in the Old Market, and he jumped into his cruiser, just as I left, that area. As I rounded the corner, and was, almost, to the front door, of where I lived, he suddenly drove the police car, OFF the STREET, right up ONTO THE SIDEWALK, nearly hitting me, before stopping, and just sitting there smirking, as I fled inside.

This was, very psychologically mind-blowing behaviors, to me. So, one day, trying to overcompensate for his bizarre behaviors toward me, in a failed attempt to get him to stop doing this, to me, I went up to him, and told him that I thought that I loved him. I never did. I resented him, and I feared him now. I was tormented by him. But, somehow, in my attempts to comprehend why, this was happening, and what, I was going through, with this person, some, mental, juggling, of the actual facts happened in my head. There's a quote that was applicable to this nightmare which has been attributed to several sources, including the book 'The Art Of War', which this certainly felt like, to me. THIS was a war with this stalker, that I hadn't wanted, to enter into, at all, in the first place. It was a war, for MY LIFE, and even  for MY SANITY. I had become, willing, to pledge my affection, to this creep, if that was what he was after, in order to have, some semblance of a 'normal' life, again. That, saying, is, "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." I even had to get drunk to be able to articulate that to him. I had been wrecked by all this crap. When I told him that, it didn't stop the stalking. It didn't help me understand why, EVEN AFTER THAT, Darren KEPT DOING THIS TO ME. It just HUMILIATED ME even further, because, HIS REACTION to THAT, was to literally LAUGH IN MY FACE, and TELL ME THAT I WAS CRAZY. THAT part was TRUE now, but HE DROVE ME THERE.

If you have (been lucky, enough, that you have) never gone through this--- being stalked, as I was, relentlessly, for over a decade, of my life, just by, this one man, then you may not be able to grasp, all the complexities, and mental maneuvering, that take place, in the victim's head, simply, in a, desperate, attempt, to reconcile the reality of this unwanted 'relationship' with the other parts of oneself and one's life. I remember, when Patty Hearst, was kidnapped, many years ago, and people, could not comprehend, WHY she ended up carrying a gun and helping her captors commit crimes! That was, the first time, I ever heard, anything, about 'Stockholm Syndrome'. This blog post is already quite lengthy, and frankly I am tired, now, as writing all this, about my life, in these posts, is very challenging, for me, mentally and emotionally (since, I have to, in effect, go back in time, and RELIVE, all these things, in order to be able to describe them here, now). It is VERY TAXING for me. So, I will give you the definition of that, and if you wish to Google it, and research it, for yourselves, you may certainly do that. I'm a fan of lifelong learning. Here it is: 'Stockholm Syndrome', is defined as "feelings of trust or affection felt in many cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor." I believe that is what happened to me, toward this mental abuser, this monster, THIS COP, that was STALKING me, day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year. Disrupting my life, destroying my sense of peace and privacy, affecting and, interfering with, my real life relationships. I was CONFINED; like A CAPTIVE.

I remember standing in the park, one, summer, afternoon, just listening, to a live band playing, when a nice-looking man came up to me and began trying to get to know me. But, Darren, was standing there, nearby, as an ever-present 'threat', to my freedom to JUST BE 'ME'. He was watching me closely, and by that time I was completely under the mind control of his actions, regarding me. He had imprinted me, psychologically, to be 'his', in some sick way, and I didn't want him coming at me with the police cruiser up on the sidewalk again, or pulling his bicycle between me and this nice man who was trying to talk to me now. I felt totally controlled by Darren. I felt panicky, seeing him, see this man, trying to talk to me. So, I turned  to this man, and said something that was the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of what I was ACTUALLY FEELING. I WANTED, to meet, a NICE guy, and maybe have, a healthy, happy, relationship, in my life! But, by then, my mind and emotions had been, so conditioned, by Darren, that I didn't think I was ALLOWED TO, BY HIM. The silent stalker, that followed me, EVERYWHERE, ALL THE TIME, but, had also, laughed in my face when, beaten down by it all, I finally approached him to try to determine if a real relationship with me, was what he was actually after. I had really wanted to talk, to that man, in the park! Instead, seeing Darren, standing off to the side, straddling his bicycle, watching me closely, I turned toward him and with a, crazy sounding, desperation, in my voice, I said, "I AM JUST HERE, TO LISTEN, TO THE MUSIC! LEAVE ME ALONE!" He, rightfully, looked shocked at my outburst, and he backed away, from me. Darren smirked. I had said to that man, what I had really wanted to say, to this stalker cop. Only, after so long, I knew, that, it was no use. He had shown me, convinced me, BRAINWASHED ME, that he would, never, stop.   

So, it wasn't even about, him liking me, or wanting me to like him. He was just a monster! I, finally, ended up turning him in, to the Internal Affairs department of the Omaha Police Department. The, female, sergeant who looked into my written complaint about Darren doing this to me called me up and simply said to me that he was called in, and asked if he did this, and that he said no. She said that as if, of COURSE, a COP, wouldn't be LYING, so it MUST BE ME, and so, END OF STORY. It was so frustrating and insulting. Of course, he didn't stop, even after I filed the complaint about it. It just emboldened him, even more, because he was believed, and free to go on his merry way making MY life MISERABLE without suffering any of the consequences, for his (illegal) actions. His behavior, and their, backing him up, just based on his word, when I had been willing to make my complaint about  it IN WRITING, created, a mental meltdown, for me, at that point. I KNEW, that I was NOT IMAGINING any of this. I KNEW, it was the TRUTH. That, I was TELLING the TRUTH! But I was tired, stressed, vulnerable, and not only, being stalked, but gaslighted*********, as well. Tragically, I sank into despair over it all as I began to question, my own reality, and my ability, to deal well, with whatever, that even was. I did end up, moving away, as far west, as I could go, in Omaha, and still be able to access the city bus system which I used to avoid all the expenses of a car.  I had loved everything about my life, in the downtown/Old Market area that I had always lived in, but I felt that I had to leave it all behind including not even going there, to visit my friends, or go on dates, because of Darren ruining it by stalking. I GAVE IT ALL UP, to get away from him, because I couldn't deal with it, anymore. 

Because of Darren, I had to leave behind, my favorite apartment, when I moved, as well as all my friends, and support system, in the downtown/Old Market, area, that had been home to me, for decades. Even after I left everything, that I cared most about, behind me, just, to get Darren, out of my life, I ran into a co-worker, of his--- another cop--- one day, at my new job working as a retail clerk in a mall department store. I was wearing my store name tag which this guy saw on me. I cringed, wondering if he would say something to Darren about where I was when  I had, deliberately, disappeared, and left, everything, behind, that, I cared about, in my, former, life downtown, just to get him out of my life! Not long afterward, I was walking in the food court of the mall where I worked, during my lunch break, and someone suddenly stepped directly in front of me, nose to nose, blocking my path. I had been looking down, as I walked, but I saw their feet suddenly appear, in my path. Stopping short, in mid-step, I looked up, to see who had done that--- thinking it was a co-worker or friend trying to startle me out of my daydream as I walked along. But, it was DARREN! Just standing there. IN MY FACE. Smirking, at me. I turned, and fled, and went outside, trying to escape him, again. Soon after, this happened, a police cruiser began parking over by the weeds that were beside my apartment complex, that I had moved to. I always liked to live close to where  I was working so I could come and go easily on foot no matter what my schedule was. So, the place I had moved to, when I moved away from the Old Market, due to Darren, was directly across the street from the mall, that I had gotten a job in.  I'd never seen that police car, sitting there, before seeing Darren in the mall, that day. I did not know, if it was him, or whether, he had, changed precincts, once he (obviously) found out where I had gone. I did not look right at the cruiser. I never knew, because, I NEVER WANTED TO KNOW. What, I DID know, was that, I could not, mentally, and emotionally, cope, with going through that, with him, again. Of course, there is ALOT MORE to this and MUCH MORE than I can cover in (even my LONG) blog posts. But, this is a very good overview of the situation. I will need to continue to explain in future posts how all this led to my becoming a prostitute for a short time. This, post, just laid out, the foundational, background, for all of that. 

[NOTE: As I was sorting stacks of old papers and pictures, in October of 2022, to get rid of more of them now, due to space limitations, I found a photo (below) of the actual officer that this post is about. The very one that stalked me, for years. It is not a very clear photo, but I think that it is the only one that I have of him.]

* community policing - the system of allocating police officers to particular areas so that they become familiar with the local inhabitants.

** gold lame - a type of fabric woven or knit with thin ribbons of metallic fiber
     

*** voyeur - someone who obtains sexual gratification from observing unsuspecting individuals who are partly undressed, naked, or engaged in sexual acts; broadly: someone who habitually seeks sexual stimulation by visual means

**** The TV character, Barney Fife, law enforcement officer: 

***** Jaywalking - Jaywalking occurs, when a pedestrian walks in or crosses a roadway that has traffic, other than at a suitable crossing point, or otherwise in disregard of traffic rules.

****** Pension spiking:

Pension spiking

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Pension spiking, sometimes referred to as "salary spiking", is the process whereby public sector employees are granted large raises, bonuses, incentives or otherwise artificially inflate their compensation in the time immediately preceding retirement in order to receive larger pensions than they otherwise would be entitled to receive. This artificially inflates the pension payments due to the retirees.

Upon retirement any employee transitions from receiving a paycheck from the employer to a pension check drawn on the assets of the retirement fund; this amount is typically determined as a percentage of the employee's regular salary by state law or statute. When an employee due to retire receives a "spike", the amount of money the employee will receive does not reflect the percentage of salary the employee and employer haves contributed for the majority of the employee's career, and places a burden on the economic viability of the pension fund. This practice is considered a significant contributor to the high cost of public sector pensions.

******* Gaming the system:

Gaming the system - Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org › wiki › Gaming_the_system

Gaming the system (also rigging, abusing, cheating, milking, playing, working, or breaking the system, or gaming or bending the rules) can be defined as using the rules and procedures meant to protect a system to, instead, manipulate the system for a desired outcome.

******** Stalking:

WHAT IS STALKING?

The term “stalking” means engaging in a course of conduct directed at a specific person that would cause a reasonable person to fear for his or her safety or the safety of others or suffer substantial emotional distress. https://www.justice.gov/ovw/stalking

Stalking is a crime. It is an offence under the Crimes (Domestic and Personal Violence) Act 2007. Stalking is defined under this law and includes:

‘the following of a person about or the watching or frequenting of the vicinity of, or an approach to a person’s place of residence, business or work or any place that a person frequents for the purposes of any social or leisure activity’.

Stalking involves a persistent course of conduct or actions by a person which are intended to maintain contact with or exercise power and control over another person. These actions cause distress, loss of control, fear or harassment to another person and occur more than once.

Stalking can involve threats or sexual innuendo and the stalker generally tries to intimidate or induce fear in the person they are stalking. The person being stalked may only realise they are being stalked once they identify a pattern of strange or suspicious incidents occurring, such as:
phone calls
text messages
messages left on social media sites such as Facebook and Twitter etc.
notes left on the their car
strange or unwanted gifts left at their home
an awareness that they are being followed
being continually stared at or gestured to by another person.

The person being stalked can often develop a sense of loss of control over their lives and can be forced into changing their routine and behaviours.

https://www.police.nsw.gov.au/crime/domestic_and_family_violence/what_is_stalking

I NEVER, KNEW WHY, Darren DID THIS, TO ME, and for SO LONG. It GREATLY and NEGATIVELY impacted my life. The, following, article profiles the different types of stalkers, and attempts to, shed some light, on why, each one behaves as they do:

https://www.stalkingriskprofile.com/what-is-stalking/types-of-stalking

********* gaslight - manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.

"Pride, goes before destruction, a haughty spirit, before stumbling." (Proverbs 16:18)

Slip Slidin' Away*

Song by Paul Simon

Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
I know a man
He came from my home town
He wore his passion for his woman
Like a thorny crown
He said Delores
I live in fear
My love for you's so overpowering
I'm afraid that I will disappear
Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
I know a woman
Became a wife
These are the very words she uses
To describe her life
She said a good day
Ain't got no rain
She said a bad day's when I lie in bed
And think of things that might have been
Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
And I know a father
Who had a son
He longed to tell him all the reasons
For the things he'd done
He came a long way
Just to explain
He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping
Then he turned around and headed home again
He's slip slidin'
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
God only knows
God makes his plan
The information's unavailable
To the mortal man
We work our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe we're gliding down the highway
When in fact we're slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away

Sometimes, my blog posts have followed one another in a sequential narrative; at least, for awhile. I was going to try to do that, more fully, before I wrote this post, but I write each one of these when I feel that I can deal with the subject matter. I realize that, there is still so much needing to be said, about things I've been (put) through, in my life. Things, that all converged, to contribute to 'the delinquency of Deborah', which I will address, in detail, as I begin to describe the causes and the circumstances of my doing prostitution. To really grasp, how this could happen, to 'the girl least likely' to do this type of thing, you will need to take into account, all, that I have, already, shared about my life. Especially, my being so let down by the men in my life, from my father failing me, on down the line. Each one devastating me. Damaging me. Teaching me that I wasn't worth loving. That I wasn't precious to them. That I wasn't valued, or worthy of being respected or protected by them.

There are people who would try to give an easy explanation of how, and why, this happened, with me. They would jump at the chance to say that, it was because of the environment, I was working in, as an exotic dancer, in the Gentlemen's Clubs. However, if it were as simple as that, then I wouldn't have waited until almost the end, of my fairly long dancer career, when I was in my early forties, to do it. After all, I was propositioned, in some way, or other, by men, almost, every shift, that I worked, in these bars, and often by, several, different, men, in a night. Time after time, man after man, again and again, wanting to have sex with me. So, it should be obvious that, all those men, pressuring, and pawing, me, didn't, in themselves, tempt me, or, simply wear me down. I remained firm in my resolve, not to do sex for money, throughout, the majority of my time, working as a dancer, in the clubs. As strange as this may seem to others, reading this, my workplace was never the source of my motivation. But, it did provide the means, once I made the decision; and it was a conscious choice, that I made, which I take full responsibility for, and am accountable to God for. Men's behaviors toward me, definitely injured my soul, to the point that, doing prostitution became the expression of my anger, and pain, and they will also be held accountable by God, for their trifling with a tender heart.

More than that, I was also, a rape survivor, who used to be so traumatized, that it took my truly, deeply, loving one man (Ascent Through The Dark Night Of The Soul: My Life Reflections: The One Man That I Would Love Forever) to, really, be rehabilitated, by him, to function well sexually. Also, in spite of being my alter ego, 'Stevie', when I was at work, which was more of a steamy, sexualized, version, of myself, Deborah was still in there, somewhere. I knew that; because I was strictly celibate 99.99% of the time, when I was a dancer, and even when the other girls teased me, that I was silly to 'wait for love', and that I had better use my 'money maker' while I still could, I still believed, in my heart of hearts, that love would, surely, finally find me someday. I was wrong about that, as it turned out, but the hope of it still 'kept me in line' during most of those years, until I eventually was so turned off to men that I stopped wanting that. So what caused me to do prostitution? It was complicated. But, my no longer being able to believe I would ever be loved, was a big part of it.

It wasn't just, one thing, but, a unique combination, of factors. On top of all that I have already shared, about my life, prior to my doing prostitution, I had also gone through the disappointment of remarrying, my third husband, Tom, along with the devastation, from marrying my fourth, and final, husband, Mark, which I have not covered in depth in blog posts so far. In between those two things, I went through even more types of abuse, betrayal, and misogyny, from other males in my life, in addition to all that I went through in those relationships, before ever even getting to this part of my life where I finally had sex for money. So, there's still alot about my life that's not been delved into, here, but which also played a part in the anger I felt, toward men, and their harm to my self-esteem. When we get hurt so much, by other people, it can lead to us hurting ourselves, as well, in some way or other. Some people develop eating disorders, or any number of things that are not good for them to do, to themselves. My brother chose to commit suicide. Pain has to be expressed. Our strongest emotions, will manifest, somehow, somewhere, whether that ends up being toward, whomever is causing us to feel them, or toward, some unfortunate, or unsuspecting, third party, we encounter, who bears the brunt of it but, was not the cause. Will Bowen, summed it up, in this quote, by saying, "Hurt people hurt people" and another quote, from an anonymous source, says that, "If you don't heal what hurt you, you'll bleed on people who didn't cut you." So true!

So as I begin to explain how this came about please bear in mind that I had been let down, used, abused, and, finally, thoroughly, shattered, as a human being (by 'the son of Satan' that was my last husband) before I ever 'turned tricks', despite the fact that, I had been a dancer, in various Omaha nightclubs--- where, several different men propositioned me, for sex. Virtually every single shift that I worked in those places. For about a decade and a half. But, I was never even tempted to 'go there' with any of these men, 99.99% of the time. I had been the girl that all the other dancers teased about needing to wake up, and use that 'money maker' (vagina), while I still could, because love was basically a crock of shit. Although I will be able to describe the circumstances of my life, right around the time that it actually happened, which is what this post is about, take into account that I went through so much other crap from/with men, long before this occurred; as well as having no sense of family at all, in my life, to anchor, protect, or nurture me, due to my having a dysfunctional family of origin and a string of divorces. The closest thing that I ever had to a family of my own was with my second husband whom I divorced, and our son, which, I gave to him, and a stepmother, to raise, together, because, that man--- the one, that I loved, more than any other human being, in my life--- had, apparently, actually just used me for (great 'I've died and gone to Heaven!') sex but had never really loved, or wanted, ME; and I wanted better, for my child, than to be raised in a loveless home, like I was, growing up. It is truly a miracle of God's Grace, that I've survived all that I have been through, in this life.

Whether, you are quoting, Lord Byron, or Mark Twain, it has been said that, 'life is stranger than fiction', and I have no doubt that the way that I ended up doing sex for money was, at the very least, a unique path, to 'the world's oldest profession'. This is difficult for me to describe here. Not because I haven't come to terms with the fact that I actually did do that, but because 'a perfect storm' of situations had to come about, in my life, to, finally, get me to do that. I can't count all the times men have propositioned me for sex in my life. Especially during the years I was a dancer. That--- having sex, for sex sake--- has never even appealed to me. At all. Not just because I am a survivor of rape, either. Mostly, it's because, I always felt that love was what gave sex any, real, meaning, to me. I held out, for that, for so long, until, finally beaten down--- literally, and figuratively--- by my last husband, who was an abusive narcissist, I just couldn't 'keep the faith', anymore, about me ever finding, or having, that. Actually, based on my extensive experience with the male sex I even stopped believing that love was possible. I stopped believing that it was even real. I chalked it up to, that Disney myth, of 'Happily Ever After', from my childhood indoctrination, which had held a firm grasp on my heart, and on my hopes, until I felt too foolish, believing in something, or someone, who had never manifested in my life. I remember watching my youngest sister start to cry, when an uncle told her, at a family gathering at his house, that Santa Claus wasn't real. I was so angry at him for taking that from her. Santa was love and magic, and all our deepest wishes were fulfilled by him! Why did he need to take that from her? In that same way, every man that taught me that love wasn't real took away any hope (I had held onto, through so much evidence to the contrary) of ever finding fulfillment, from the 'magic' of love. That deep damage done to my dream wasn't even the final breaking point for me, though, as awful as all of that was for me. I was 'fatally wounded' by a police officer that patrolled my neighborhood for years and that led to cynicism, in me, which became a huge wall around my heart. This guy made a game out of my life, and he had to know he was also playing around with my heart. Just 'for sport'. For laughs. Ego. To amuse himself at my expense.  

It left me feeling very angry at God too, because He knew better than anybody, I had already gone through Hell, in so may ways, because of the insincerity of men toward me. I had cared so deeply. I had given so much. I was left with nothing to show for any of that, except more, and more, cynicism, in my heart. I smile, now, as I sit here typing this next thought: I don't depend on men to love me anymore (because they don't) or make me happy (because they didn't). My trust is in God, who "is not a man, that He should lie" (Numbers 23:19), and in HIS love, for me; and now I live very happily being a single woman! I have peace and contentment now. Things that men always undermined in my life, when I allowed them in--- to my life, and to my body. For me, men are the single biggest let down in my life. I can't speak for anyone else. We're a product of our experiences in this world, to a large extent. This is my blog, about my life, and I write about what is true for me.

I do believe there are some good men on this planet, although, not nearly enough of them; and I even believe that I have met, and know, a few of them! But, I also know that I was never privileged to have one of those men in my personal life. No shining knight, for me; just imposters, who brought distress to this damsel rather than rescuing me from it. I have been celibate for decades now. I decided on that  immediately following my doing the prostitution, and I have, never, been tempted to go back on that decision, despite the fact that, to this day (I am 65 now), men still try to get in my life to get into my body. The most recent ones (all 4 of them) are simply opportunists, trying to get their sexual gratification from me because I moved in to this apartment several years ago. I do enjoy men as friends, but that is as far as it goes, for me. Even when my (female) doctor told me during my last exam that the pain I started having is vaginal atrophy from lack of use, I went on Amazon, and ordered 'toys', to help stimulate more blood flow to the area, as she  explained is necessary to keep the problem from getting even worse, and causing more health issues, because it is basically 'use it or lose it'. Despite her bad news, there was still nothing about it, that would motivate me to allow a man to provide such 'therapy'. I'm just so over it. How much, they take, from me, and how much harm they inflict, on me. I'll just take another aspirin before I'll take another man. 

I have gotten so much closer to God over the years as I have learned more about Him, and observed more about humans. God's love FEELS SO GOOD, to me! It is, not at all like, whatever, that was, that men thought I would settle for, with them, that I didn't. Based on what men offered me, versus what I have now with God, I don't feel like I'm missing a thing! I TRUST GOD COMPLETELY. He, only wants the BEST, for me. No more settling for crumbs from men, while I'm slowly starving to death, emotionally. So, this part of my life had a happy ending! I have to go back in time, over two decades, now, though, to talk about, why I became a prostitute. I was at a very different place in my life, in those days, than I am now. Physically, mentally, emotionally, and, yes, spiritually, as well. I was 'living large', as 'Stevie'. It was the era, in my life, when I was most entrenched in the physical, superficial, ego-driven lifestyle. God's Holy Spirit was still with me (in me) but He wasn't very happy, with me, in many ways, at the time. We had our ups and downs, along the way. Especially, when He really tried, hard, to exert His influence, on me, because  I started doing the prostitution. He and I, made each other miserable, in a tug-of-war, for my soul, then, that was hard, on both of us. He was dealing with me as a, very carnal, Christian at the time, due to the mindset that I was in then. He knew I was acting out of my pain, though, so He didn't give up on me. That's one of the biggest reasons that I 'fell in love with' God! When, I was my most unlovable, and didn't even care anymore, about that, He still loved me and never gave up on me. So, as I begin to describe my life back then, I'll quote Bette Davis from the movie 'All About Eve' who said “Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night.”**

I was my 'Stevie' self--- my dancer alter ego--- all, of the time, at this point. Deb was nowhere to be found. She (the true, or at the least original, me), would have been shocked at 'Stevie', had I allowed that side of me to be an active part of my lifestyle then. She would just get in my way. Besides, I was having too much fun, at the time. Deborah's, tender spirit, and broken heart, would 'cramp my style'. I had learned, perhaps, TOO WELL, to 'be' my dancer persona. Long gone, was the girl who didn't even want to climb up on a nightclub stage to do my first audition. That had even tried to run away, from doing that. The nurturing nursing assistant that Dick McGinnis, the Razzle Dazzle club manager, at the time, had said, of me, after my audition, that 'I was the GREENEST thing he'd ever seen but he thought he could make a dancer out of me'. It was a real transformation that happened. I had tried to find other employment, along the way, but that hadn't worked out so well, and I was steadily shedding the Disney sham that 'love would find its way to me'. Too many men, had played too many games, for me to even want that, now. I had learned my lessons well. I turned the tables on them now, and played some games of my own. That behavior was reinforced in me, by the fact that, the more superficial and flirty I was, the bigger and better my tips were, at the nightclub, I danced in. A 'successful' day, for me, was directly linked to the money I got, from men. That, was what, excited me, now. I had no use, for the rest, of their bullshit. None, of them, had any clue about that, though, because I flashed my flirty smile, and sometimes, my nipples, at them, at work, and made sure I was a sexy, sultry companion, to the men that asked me out, even on lunch dates, in the bright sun, of the day. I had fully developed, my look, my voice, my walk; turning heads, and igniting lust. I was one of the best dancers in Omaha then, performing at some of the best nightclubs in town. I had let it go to my head. The attention. And power!

I finally felt comfortable enough, to drink alcohol, at work. When someone drinks, that many hours a day, and has to sell a drink quota, every shift, it can add up to alot. Becoming numb, to its effects on me, I didn't even pay any attention to how many drinks I sold, so I was surprised when the waitress told me, one day, that I was now one of the club's highest drink sellers (probably in more ways than one). I was both irritated and scared by her concern, though, when she brought me my glass of wine, one night, and began asking me, if I was SURE, that I wanted wine.  I kept answering her, that I did, but, she kept asking me, if I, really, wanted more of it. After all, I told myself, all I was ever drinking, at work, then, was Riunite. As  I pointed that out, to her--- that, I wasn't doing shots, or drinking 'the hard stuff', she leaned in, and whispered in my ear, with real concern in her voice, "Yeah, but, Stevie, you're drinking TWO BOTTLES A NIGHT, yourself; and, they're the BIGGER ones!" I was surprised, at how that snuck up, on me, without me even realizing it. But, there was a real relief in keeping myself numb from the fear I felt, that I was not getting any younger; that my time in this career, was closing in, on me; and I hadn't found another career field that I enjoyed doing nearly as much as this one. And, that, there was NO PRINCE, coming to RESCUE ME, from the current, or, the impending crisis, that loomed over me, every day, while, I put on thicker, heavier, makeup, before heading off to work. Club customers, almost always, went for the younger ones. I had my fans, and, I had my following, for sure. And, I still looked good--- no doubt about that. Many men were still pursuing me on a regular basis. But, time was ticking, and it was not on my side. I didn't want to THINK, or FEEL!

For the most part, I had always gotten along well with the other dancers. Now, as I let things--- including, all that wine--- go to my head, I became 'a bitch' myself, at times. More of a diva. I was in a downward spiral, but I was too caught up in it to think about what I was doing, or why, on any soul-searching level. One day, as  I was in a haze of drinks and ego, a timid, new girl, clearly, unsure of herself, was late getting to the stage, to relieve me there, after my performance. As she came up to me, she was apologetic, but I was in a bad mood (and, very probably, had a hangover too, from drinking day after day after day, for six 9-hour shifts a week). I just glared at her, as cold as ice, and SPIT ON HER. Right in her face. I think her name was Kaylee. It is so hard, to type this--- to talk about, how I was, then; but I told God that I wouldn't write this blog unless I was going to be truthful about it all, to the very best, of my ability. I have thought, of her, so many times, over the years, and would love to tell her how sorry I am, for doing that to her. There is no explanation, or excuse, for how I behaved, toward her. But, she deserves, to have my sincerest apology. Perhaps, God will lead her to find this blog post, and read it. I STILL want to cry, just thinking, about that, as I sit here, decades later, trying to describe this scene from my life. You know the WORST PART, of it, though? It was not the fact that I actually spit in her face. For no real reason. The WORST part of it, was that, she just stood there, contrite, looking at ME, as if, SHE DESERVED IT. That haunts me, to this day. That I treated her that way, and that she accepted it.

I was clearly out of control. It wasn't just the alcohol fueling that, though. I was a VERY TIRED dancer, too. Exhausted, actually. Mickey, didn't have enough dancers, at our sister club, the Razzle Dazzle (where my, Go-Go dancer, career had begun) so, he asked me, to do him a favor, and ALSO, work over there, on their day shift, BEFORE coming back over, to Omaha, from Council Bluffs, to do my night shift, at The Twenties. So, I was working, 11 AM to about 3:30 PM, then he sent his white, stretch, limousine, to pick me up, and, drive me over to, The Twenties, for my full shift, there. I was working, 14 hour days, 6 days a week, in a very physically, and psychologically, demanding job, and I was, clearly, cracking, under the strain. The chauffeur, would pick me up, at the Razzle, and drive me through some, fast food, drive-thru, so I could grab something to eat. That was the only food I got, all day, unless, I found time for breakfast--- which I, usually, didn't, because I needed my sleep--- or I'd packed a snack like a candy bar or cookie, to try to find time to eat at work, in between my dances on stage, sitting with customers and trying to sell my drink quota each shift. Pour two full, large, bottles of wine into my stomach in addition to what it wasn't getting, in food, or nutrition, and I was simply depleted, as a human being, in just about every way. I was a, 128-pound, 5'9", club dancer. I didn't drink at the Razzle Dazzle, because I felt so uncomfortable there now due to the management Mickey put in place, years after I had originally been hired, to work there. By the time I got to my shift at The Twenties I made up for it though.

[When The Twenties was just getting up and running, as Mickey's second venture, after the success of his Razzle Dazzle, he had his new manager at the Razzle who was an older woman named Fran do those auditions. She was married, but also a promiscuous bisexual, by all accounts, which, her husband was well aware of, and apparently, condoned. I met the man, myself, so I can state that, as a fact, based on our conversation. I had, already, worked for Mickey, of course, but, he told her to do the auditions, and she knew nothing about me. Since the songs came up on a jukebox, back then, a dancer, had to be able to dance, to ANY, of a wide variety, of songs, that happened to play. I landed on one that 99% of the dancers avoided dancing to, at all costs, but, that I, happened to do, extremely, well! David Rose's 'The Stripper'***. I have no idea if Fran 'set me up', by playing THAT song, during my audition, or not (because, there was, a way, to get into a jukebox, and place a record to play next, which, she may have had some employee do, for her, before I danced), but I got the last laugh, regardless. I had talked to her some, before the audition, and didn't like her, from the start. Fran, was a real BITCH, in my opinion.

As I had heard, and recognized, the FIRST NOTE of that song, I had IMMEDIATELY launched into my very seductive, striptease, movements, jaw-droppingly nuanced, to emphasize every, single, beat, of that song. After it was over, knowing, I nailed it, I made a huge mistake. I played my hand, too early, and Fran demoralized me, by taking advantage of that. As we started pay negotiations, I led, the discussion, quoting a higher base pay, than I had previously made, as a dancer, because now, I was CLEARLY WORTH THAT. Fran, GAVE it to me, BUT, as she drove me, alone in the car, with her, over to The Twenties, so I could start working in this brand, new, club, she conversationally 'felt me out', about, whether I, like many dancers were, was open to lesbian sexual activity (as in, with her). I was not only, celibate, but I have NEVER done ANYTHING along those lines, nor WANTED to. So I shut it down. As I prepared to go inside The Twenties, then, Fran just HAD to let me know, right before, I did that, that 'by the way, she would have, paid me ALOT more, after my audition but . . . she GAVE me, what I ASKED for, and she HOPED I would, learn a LESSON, from it'. I learned, that I loathed her, and I was so glad that she was not my manager, at The Twenties. Although, Fran did, occasionally, come over, there.]

Now, that particular story has nothing to do with my doing prostitution, but it ties in to another story, that kind of does. So, back to describing, what I was like, just before, I decided to do that: Chauffeurs, like other employees, of Mickey's, would come and go. The one I liked best was John, because he was actually still capable of blushing, and just seemed like a still-sweet guy in a not-so-sweet-environment. It had been years, at that point, since I'd seen ANYONE, still capable, of blushing, including myself. I have described the, not-so-glamourous, underbelly, of the club business, in previous posts. It all, looks so exciting, from the outside, to a novice, or a club customer, but, the reality of it can sometimes really stink. One example: Mickey bought the limo, to shuttle the club customers between his two nightclubs, so they would spend, more, money at his establishments, and not get pulled over, for driving drunk. [The irony of THAT was that one night his LIMO got pulled over, and Rory, the driver then, was arrested for DUI, handcuffed and taken to jail. The cops, asked us, whether, anyone, in the back, was sober enough, or able to, drive this stretch limo. John, was hired, as the chauffeur, after that.] Mickey, kindly had his limo drive me home, after work, each night (unless, I had another ride, with a current boyfriend, or some, club customer, that I trusted enough, to get into their car, with them), as I lived en route between the two bars. The first time, I rode in it, felt exciting, because it was new, to me. But, that wore off, as soon as the first, of many, drunks, began to vomit, in the back seat area, where I was, also, sitting. There was a window, in between, the chauffeur, and the back seat, which, I would shove my suitcase of costumes through, and then, climb, through it, myself, while the limo was moving along the city streets, to escape, the risk of being splattered, and the strong smell, of vomit. It was, in no way, glamorous, to me, after all that.

Anyway, one night I found myself sitting, exhausted, and fairly drunk, in the back with a group of businessmen visiting from out of town, and one male employee of The Twenties, whom I knew well, who was headed over to Last Call, at the Razzle. It became obvious that all this testosterone in the limo with me (the only woman, present) was hungering, for MORE, of a 'SHOW', in the privacy, of the limo's back seat; and I decided to give it to them. The male club employee was someone that I had always thought was somewhat sexy, so I pulled down my costume bottoms, which I still had on, and allowed him to place the neck of an empty beer bottle, in me, from behind, doggie style, that one of them had, and use it like a dildo, while the guys watched. It really wasn't getting me off at all. It was all, just for 'SHOW', which, was what they WANTED. I uttered some fake moans, alot like, the scene in the diner in the movie "When Harry Met Sally"****, so it sounded like I was really having orgasms (which wasn't happening, because I was not emotionally invested in this semi-sex 'act', going down, in the backseat of the limo). I've heard, bottles can get stuck, inside there, so I don't recommend anybody try that! During this, I could see sweet John's face, in the rearview mirror, trying to keep the limo on the road while his eyes kept re-riveting themselves to the situation happening behind him. It was obvious, that he was turned on; that he thought my moans were real. He even had the blush, across his face, and, the dropped jaw, to prove it. When I arrived at my place, I got out, and went home, alone, and these men, in the limo, which included, John, the chauffeur, and the other employee, who used the bottle, as well as, the group, of about 4 out-of-towners, in Omaha for business purposes, drove on over to the Razzle which stayed open later than The Twenties in Omaha. I didn't even expect, or ask for, tips for that. I was just, casually letting off steam. 

The next day, John came over to me as soon as I started my shift at The Twenties and he handed me, a bouquet of flowers, and some money, that the businessmen had told him to, make sure, that I got, for the 'entertainment' I had, so obligingly, provided for them, in the back of the limousine, the night before. He also said, he thought for sure that he was going to wreck the car, because of hearing me come. He told me, he had really been turned on by that, female, sensuality, I unleashed!  He couldn't believe it, when I told him it was all fake. (The male ego will not allow men to believe that any woman would ever fake anything with men, because their deep insecurity couldn't bear knowing that; and wondering if it was being done by women that they themselves were with.) The flowers were so 'sweet', but useless, to me, in the mindset, I was in, in those days, and I told John so. Being, the really sweet guy, that he was, he had dutifully taken the men's money, and done exactly what they had asked him to do. He bought a large bouquet of flowers for me, and, gave me all of the money that was left over, after that, as well. It was, still, a nice amount of money. But, as I took it from him, and tucked it into my costume's bra top, before I went up on stage, for my dance, I told him that, I would have, much preferred, that he had skipped the FLOWERS, and just given me, only, the money. 

A short while later, Fran just 'happened' to come over, to The Twenties, that same day. I passed by her, without bothering to make eye contact (because, to me, she was a bitch that SAID TO MY FACE that she shorted me on base pay, to 'teach me a lesson'). I could still see her looking at me though, with shock on her face, as if she were, struggling, unsuccessfully, to recalculate, everything, she ever thought, she knew, about 'Stevie'. I smirked, to myself, triumphantly, seeing that from her. That bitch, wanted me, but, she would NEVER HAVE ME. EVER. She hated me, for that, all the years I knew her; but I hated her, more. I guess we had BOTH taught each other a LESSON! Denny, the manager at The Twenties, told me later on, that evening, that Fran heard about the 'limo incident', when that car pulled up, to the Razzle, afterward, and the men in the limo started talking about it inside that bar. She didn't DARE ask ME, about it, because of our mutual, cold-as-ice relationship, with one another. But, she was still, DYING, TO KNOW! She JUST COULDN'T HELP HERSELF. Fran had gotten other girls to 'lick her pussy', as one, extremely, drunk, female, bartender, stated, one night, right in front, of Fran, and me, during a limo ride. But, she couldn't, have ME, and she knew it, and hated that. I just smiled at Denny, whom she had sent to FIND OUT FOR HER, if it was REALLY TRUE, and he smiled back at me, with a mutual knowing. I had done it. STEVIE, of ALL PEOPLE! The girl, LEAST LIKELY, to EVER, REALLY, BE WILD. ME! It had been a, spur of the moment, decision, but, I went with it. It was the first time I'd ever done anything remotely like that, with anyone, at any time, in all my years, working as a dancer.

Would having love in my life, have saved me, from going down that road? Maybe, but love, was nowhere around, and hadn't been, for my entire life. So, in a way, I thought, to myself, there's nothing left, for me, to wait for, or hope for, or believe in; so, what difference does it make? All I had ever wanted to be, from the time I was a very little, and very sweet, girl was to be a homemaker in a loving, decent, Christian, home. But, despite my BEST efforts, it had eluded me. If I had thought  I was, damaged goods, before, when my half-first cousin had partially penetrated me, after getting me drunk, for the first time in my life, when I was only 18 years old, causing me to leave a college education behind, to marry him, because I had believed I had to, then, I DEFINITELY thought of myself as, damaged goods, now. I had been through 5 divorces, from 4 different men, by this time. I didn't believe anyone would ever love me. It seemed to me, that no one ever, really, had, and I had lost all faith that anyone ever was going to, now, either. At least men wanted me; or my dancer persona, 'Stevie', which was a power trip in itself, that became where I now placed my assessment of my worth, as a human being. My EGO was inflated, now, but my SELF-ESTEEM was shot, because of all the times I had been unloved, mistreated, and abused, especially by those that I loved, from my family of origin, to husbands, to even the stranger that raped me when I was 21, saying, as he did so, "I just want to know if you can love!" Love had become a dirty word.

I got bitchier, and bitchier, having to work at both clubs, to help Mickey out, while he was short of dancers, for the Razzle. Because Fran managed that club, I hated being in there; even more than I did, just because it made my work days so long. She was not a dumb bimbo. Fran. She knew she needed the help, I provided, and she kept her distance from me, when I was working over there. One day, though, totally tired of working so many hours, I got dropped off for my night shift at The Twenties, after I finished, my shift, over at the Razzle, and I just lost it. I threw a real hissy fit, screaming and slamming the dressing room door. It was clear that I just couldn't keep up this pace--- to everyone, within earshot of me. I needed my life back! I needed balance. And SLEEP. And FOOD. Back, in my life again. I was a wreck. I didn't even recognize myself, anymore. So, I quit the Razzle, and started working only, my 9 hour shift, 6 nights a week, at The Twenties, then. My life had some free time, each day, I could use for nurturing myself, which I really needed. As, a stage performer, I always had to be 'ON'--- smiling, sexy, upbeat, vivacious. I had to keep that up even when I wasn't at work, because alot of customers saw me out and about. I, also, went out, with various ones, of them, and other men, I met, for regular dates also. So, I had to invest alot of time, in fixing myself up, to look really attractive, and sexy, every single day, unless I was going to stay in my apartment--- with the window shades drawn--- all day long (which I never did). I developed a routine, to try to have some much-needed 'ME' Time. Time to myself and some privacy to recharge my drained, mental, and emotional, batteries, so to speak. I had to be so social in my job, because I was required to sit and converse with people, there, that I HATED having to talk, to anybody, for very long, when I was off work, unless I had real reason to. I JUST WANTED TO BE LEFT ALONE, IN PEACE, for a few hours each day, if I could POSSIBLY achieve that GOAL. >sigh!<

It was hard to find any real privacy, living in the middle of downtown Omaha, and then right in the Old Market, during my years as a dancer. These were the busiest and most populated parts of the city most of the time. Many people are employed in the downtown office buildings. The Old Market is Omaha's top tourist attraction as well as, being beloved and frequented by the locals. Big Festivals are also held there. I tried my best to carve out a place to have as much privacy as possible, in the afternoons. I worked until 1 AM, went to bed around 3 AM and woke about 11 AM. That gave me about 4 hours, to do something to nurture myself, before I had to start getting ready for work, when I worked at clubs like, the Backdoor Lounge, which started at 6 PM, but only a couple of hours, to myself, when working at The Twenties, which started its shift at 4 PM. That time, to myself, was something that I desperately needed. One day, I was walking in the park, downtown, which was a couple of blocks from my apartment. I sat down on a park bench, and was looking out over the pond, in the middle, when I noticed, a group of 3 people, sharing pot, with one another. Suddenly a small, skinny, bald, man, jumped out, at them, from the bush, that was just behind them. Recognizing the bright yellow polo shirt, and black pants, I realized, that, this guy, was one of the, Omaha Police Department's, bike patrol, officers. As I watched him, confront, the very mellow group, over their illegal activity, in this public space, I tried not to laugh at him. Honestly, he looked JUST LIKE, 'BARNEY FIFE'--- the fictional, high-strung, bumbling, law enforcement officer, from the Andy Griffith TV show*****. These people in the park, were in no way, intimidated, by this, little, guy. This cop. I smiled, as I watched their, comical, interaction, remembering, that, Barney Fife, used to say, "Nip it! Nip it in the bud!" "Bud" is, also, another name for marijuana, which made, this association, between Fife******, and this, real-life, law enforcement officer, even more amusing, to me. This cop, just came across, as a clown. It was the first time, I ever noticed Darren. I'd never met, or spoken to him, but that day he became 'Bald Barney Fife' to me.  I had no idea, at the time, how NOT funny, having him patrol, where I lived, would become, for me. This, cop, was going to become, a complete nightmare, in my life.

* https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSx2HIi4dFg

** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vEEh0GF_C8  Video of the Bette Davis quote, from the movie "All About Eve". The line is often misquoted, so I included the actual footage, of that moment in the movie, here.

*** DAVID ROSE "THE STRIPPER" - YouTube 

**** When Harry Met Sally - Restaurant Scene - YouTube where she demonstrates that women can fake orgasms, if they so desire.

***** Don knotts as Barney fife try to riding a bike on the sidewalk but Andy stop him - Bing video 

****** Barney Fife- Nip It in the bud - Bing video