'Mister Right' never found me. “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” . . . .

[NOTE: This post disproves the MYTH that 'MEN are NOT EMOTIONAL creatures'.]

In honor of Valentine's Day this month I am sharing some of the things that men have written to me over the years, which I had packed away, with all of my other memorabilia, that I sorted a few months ago. The emotions, men claimed to feel, for me, in these cards and letters, were saved as my reminder that I had at least gotten under their skin, if not in their hearts. It's so ironic that a woman who has had so many, superficial, chances at 'love' has still to this very day never had the deep, true, love, that I had simply expected, when I was younger, and even cried out to God for; apparently to no avail. Because of my being in the military, which is largely populated by males, and working as a dancer in nightclubs, for years, I have met and talked to and gotten to know thousands of men in my lifetime. Yet, out of all those men who have come through my life in some capacity there have only been two who have unlocked my very careful heart, and neither one of them wanted my heart. That is why I say that I have not found love. Being 'in love' has to be a two-way street for it to matter. The closest, I have ever come, to, mutual, love was with my second husband. The one I described in several of my posts as, 'the one man that I would love forever'. I honestly think that, our love was based on our intense, and incessant, sexual chemistry with one another, though; not on any, deeply shared, values, or goals. I view men as having been a quantity-over-quality let down for me throughout my life. I finally cut my losses and quit trying.

The following things are being transcribed here verbatim and the writer of each is identified, along with a little background on the person and/or on my relationship with them, although, I can't recall many of these men, who wrote these things to me. I've often felt that men say such things as are in these cards and letters just to try to 'sweet talk' a girl into bed with them. With that being my mindset about alot of what men say and do, causing all of it to be suspect, then, I probably just chalked up most of these statements they made to me to their being more horny than loving and let it go at that, as being something more superficial than special.

Even though it may be an ego trip that so many men made such a fuss over me I would gladly have traded all of it and more to have been truly loved, by one good man. I have NEVER known what THAT feels like; and knowing how my life's been, in that area, I fully expect to stay single for the rest of my life; using my vibrator, while, trying, to remember what laying there with another human being feels like. It has been decades since I have done that. Men. They have either been 'feast or famine' in my life, only the 'feast' seemed like JUNK FOOD that would have never satisfied my soul. Maybe I didn't give some of them enough of a chance with me. They seemed nice enough, on the surface. But 'chemistry' comes into play with a romantic connection, and clearly I just wasn't feeling that with ANY of these men.

The cards

Some of the notes that men wrote to me in the cards, pictured above, are below:

John responded to a personal ad that I placed

John and I dated very briefly. He was an Air Force officer. He responded to a personal ad that I placed in the local paper (how we met people before the internet and singles' dating websites, etc.) I had written that I wanted an intelligent man with an education, because I was tired of guys who couldn't discuss deeper issues in this world, and John told me that was what he really liked about my honest personal ad, and responded to. I just didn't feel 'safe' with him, alone, in person, and I don't know why. My spirit just felt disquieted within me, when I was around him, and I didn't continue to date him long enough to find out why. I just trusted my gut that he was not 'Mr. Right' for ME, and moved on.

My actual Personal Ad, from the local newspaper Bellevue Leader, was tucked inside this card from John and is yellowed with age. The date on the piece of newspaper says September 30, 1992. Under the "Personals" column in the paper, my ad read, "ATTRACTIVE WHITE female, slim, 5'9", blue eyed brunette that's outgoing, open, intelligent Christian with a spontaneous personality and a sense of humor SEEKS intelligent, college educated, non-smoking mature white male in 30s or 40s that's good company. Must be: communicative, not closed or moody, enthusiastic about life; honesty a must! NO GAMES! This lady enjoys stimulating verbal debates, eating out and has a wide range of interests including travel, music and reading. Photos appreciated. Write to: Box Holder, P.O. Box 1083, Bellevue, NE 68005-1083."

He sent me this card, during our very brief relationship, though. The printed card face read: Know what's special about you? Everything! In fact, it would really be impossible to single out one thing I like best about you. . . because everything about you is so great. Your smile, your way of talking, your way of understanding me . . . not to mention your great looks, and how fun you are to be with. It all adds up to one great person-- somebody I really like a lot! John added this note, "With great affection, your friend John". There's a gold gift card stamped "VICTORIA'S SECRET London" and a note inside it saying, "For Deborah The most special person in my life, and a good friend. John", but I have no memory of what gift he bought me from there. 

He enclosed a lengthy, handwritten, note, in the greeting card, also, which said:

John Adams

"Dear Debora[h]

         I feel, in such a short time I've grown very close to you. The affection I have for you is very real, and so intense I don't have words to properly describe it. I trust you and enjoy the time we spend together very much. 

        I'm not looking for a wife or a lover. I'm in search of a real friend to share my life with. I really think I've found her-- You!

        I can't help but wonder if in some small way we were brought together as an answer to some of our prayers. At least for me you are the answer to one of my prayers.     

        I hope in some way I can help answer some of your prayers. I will do anything I can for you. There really isn't any way I can repay the happiness you've already brought into my life, but I need to try.

        I'll always be here when you need me.

                                                               Your friend

                                                               John

[NOTE: John was ALL talk and VERY LITTLE substance. We didn't date long at all.]

Some of the cards, notes, and letters, from men during my dancer days

My main dancer alias, that I went by, for years, was 'Stevie'

I met Grant while I was working at Lipstix in Council Bluffs, Iowa. He was in sales and traveled his, multi-state, route, selling embalming supplies to funeral parlors, but he lived in Minnesota. He was married. We were never involved, romantically, or sexually, but it was clear, by the things, he said, and did, that he wanted to be. He reminded me of my father and even had the same last name, which deepened that perception I had of him. He had to stay in motels and eat out on his route so he asked me to eat dinner with him when his travels brought him back to Omaha again. All I ever did was eat out with him. He said he would appreciate having my company. One Sunday morning he called me, though, when he was home with his family, in Minnesota, for the weekend, and told me that he had stayed home, and sent them on to church, without him, because he wanted to call me. I realized he wanted more than a dinner companion, from me, then, and I didn't want to break his heart, or wreck his life, so I didn't encourage him in it. [The printed card face] "Getting to know you is really alot of fun for me.  No matter what we do or where we go, I know I'll have a good time. Maybe that's because we never have to work at it. When  we're  together,  good times just happen naturally.  Being with you is something I always look forward  to, and  the  times  we  spend  together  always leave me feeling in a happy mood.  You're a nice person.  I  like  you.  And I  just wanted to tell you so." [Part of the handwritten note, inside, from Grant]  ". . . . I needed to sen[d] this card to thank you for your friendship. I pray every day that I  won't  do  anything  that  will  scare you away. I am looking forward to hearing more chapters. . . ."

Another card from Grant was a birthday card to my cockatiel, CeeBee-- my bird baby-- but he added a note to it, which included "Give your mama a big kiss for me- She is a wonderful lady".

Tim, was one of my 'Call Girl' customers, when I was involved in that, for a very short span of time near the end of my dancing when I worked as an undercover informant, for the Omaha Police Department. Tim was a married man. I REALLY did not want to bring that up again, here in this post, as I have already covered that [https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2021/11/twin-franklins-price-of-prostitution.html] and it was a low point in my life in so many ways. A definite 'dark night of the soul' for me. I sat here, debating, whether to 'sanitize' who he, actually, was, in his relationship with me, in this post, but the truth is the truth. It is what it is. I decided to go ahead, and include it, again, in the context of this post's particular subject matter, because knowing this is very instructive for the average person, who is most likely very naive, as I used to be on this subject, of who the men are, who hire prostitutes; and will, therefore, be shocked, at the reality of the situation. Try to comprehend if you can, something that REALLY SHOCKED ME about the men who engage in this. They are sitting in the church pews, on Sunday mornings, next to their wives. In fact, the man who  is in the pulpit giving the sermon from God's Word, may be someone buying sex services. I honestly thought I could tell by looking at men, if they were the 'type' to seek such relationships, but there truly is no type, that someone can pinpoint. Men, are able to compartmentalize their lives, in a way women can't seem to do. That is the best way that I can explain how this happens, even with, 'good' men. 

My customers ALL appeared to be truly nice, 'salt of the earth', guys. You would have NEVER SUSPECTED that they paid for sex. Some of them, were single, but some were married. Only they know their reasons for doing this. Besides my not being able to tell just by looking at them, the other thing that shocked me came from my erroneous assumption that the married ones must be in bad marriages and hate their wives, but that was not at all true! They talked about their wives, and kids, openly, and even spoke, lovingly, of their spouses. It didn't even really sound like they were driven to it, out of any particular 'unmet need' they had. It just seemed more like they were simply curious and wanted 'different'. I recall a maintenance man, at an apartment that I lived in, decades later, starting to talk about how he loved his wife, but that he wondered to himself, when he was in a woman's apartment, fixing something on their Work Order, what it might be like  to just have sex with them because, as he put it himself, he just wanted to know  if somebody else 'did it different', than his wife did it with him. Simple 'curiosity'. He had a very attractive young wife, and was a devoted married man and father. 

Back to Tim, and the cards that he seemed to enjoy picking out and giving to me. One has nothing on the front but a sweet photo of a white Labrador puppy sitting in a tin pail that's hanging on a fencepost. The inside is printed with these words: Without you I'm a pail version of my usual self. Tim wrote "Miranda* Just wanted to let you know how much I look forward to  talking to you and seeing you again.  I truely enjoy your company  and I'm hopeful that I'll get to know you  in a more intimate way. You are an  incredibly lovely person, both inside  and out!  See you soon, Tim."  It appears to be one that he wrote to me when we were just getting to know one another, sitting and talking at the Backdoor Lounge, where I worked. 

Tim brought me another card for our first 'date'. Because there was NO REASON that he NEEDED to romance ME, in the situation, I found it to be both surprising, and touching, that he did.  Maybe men really aren't just looking for sex.  Maybe, like alot of women do, men miss the romance, too. He handed me this card, and the front of it read, "I think of you often  but sometimes forget  that the thought  doesn't  count  if you don't know it yet", and the printed inside said, "So here's a 'Hello' that's intended to say you've been on my mind, especially today!" Then he added, "ESPECIALLY Today!! Tim." and then, over to the side of that, "Miranda, I hope this  experience is as rewarding  and fulfilling for you as I am sure it will be for me. Tim." I added my own note to the card, later, that said, "6-4-98 $200.00  in this card for 1st 'pro' w/Tim 2 roses were w/card". He took me to dinner, first. 

Another card from Tim had a front that read: "When you're not here, I just can't seem to get on top of things." Inside it said, "you, for  example." Adding a note, inside, Tim wrote "Miranda, I saw this card and thought it somehow appropriate. I'm hoping you are looking forward to the 29th as much as I am, to remedy this situation. Thinking of you, Tim"

I'm sitting here feeling so sad, as I relived those memories from that dark time. I feel tears in my eyes. If you read my post about the prostitution (the link to it, is included, above) I referred to Tim as "Greg", in that post. I don't recall why, now, but I think it was because I honestly could not remember his name, until, I came across these old cards that he gave to me 25 years ago, as I was sorting through all my mementos, that document my life story. I haven't had sex with anyone, at all, since then. I had three TRULY AWFUL kisses, with a man, last summer, that I never should have kissed (and that was MY FAULT, for doing that, not his), which was the first, and only, time, I have kissed ANY man on the mouth, since my last marriage ended when I was in my 30s! It was also the only physical exchange of any sexual nature I've done in the last 25 YEARS of my life. Pathetic, I know, but true, nevertheless, whether you believe that or not. It seems that, if I stood right in front of Cupid, so his arrow would HAVE TO hit me, IT WOULD MISS somehow.

It may not seem like it, but I have been single, uninvolved, and celibate for most of my adult life including now. There REALLY is just not ANY man that is not more TROUBLE than THEY ARE WORTH. I literally THANK GOD on a regular basis that I am SINGLE! I have felt this way for decades. I enjoy laughing and having fun but  I don't want a man in my private life because I NEED PEACE and they disappoint, anger, and annoy me, so often. I don't have the energy or desire to deal with the CRAP, they bring, into MY life. It is TOO STRESSFUL, and not a good enough ROI.

Paper bar napkins were always handy to have around, as communication devices. Club customers, who left the bar with a dancer's coveted personal phone number, scribbled on a napkin they tucked away for safekeeping, in their wallet or pocket, 
were certainly grateful for those. Sometimes notes were written on them like this one to me from a, Jewish, club customer, whom I was using Yiddish phrases with throughout our chat, which I had learned from a gentleman who was a patient of mine in the hospital, when I was in nursing. Mel used the word "meshuga", and I am someone who has NEVER wanted to 'dull my shine', just to blend in, with the crowd, so I considered it a compliment! Mel and I had bantered back and forth in between my having to go up on stage to perform, and I know he meant it kindly!

Below, is a photo of some more old bar napkins. Tissue-like pieces of paper, that captured some of the moments, from my days working as a dancer, in the clubs. It's hard to see his faded signature, as Josh got right to the point, with me. I do not remember him at all out of the thousands of men that I met and talked to in these places, over the years, but I had an impact on him, that night at the bar. I likely saved it for someday when I was a gray-haired old lady, as I am now, just  to reassure myself that there was a time in my life when I was young, attractive, and desirable, enough that, a young man would write a note to me, on a napkin, that said, "I want you BAD!" The other 3 napkins are just lipstick 'kisses' of mine that I would do and give to the club customers, as 'souvenirs' of their visit to the club, and their conversation, with me; hoping, they would be reminded to return.

I got a one page, typewritten, letter, from a club customer who signed it "Gary". I wrote a note at the top of this thing to remind me of some of the unsavory side of dealing with club customers. It wasn't all glamour and gentlemen, although some of it was. It was written to me, as "Miranda", which means it was near the end of my dancer career, when I was working as an informant for the Omaha Police, and for the first time, in my entire dancing career,  I was doing some limited 'Call Girl' type of prostitution (NOT 'street walking'), specifically to sully my reputation, so I could get the criminals, and gang members and the dancers who hung with them to trust me enough to let me in on conversations and so forth. It worked but to a very limited extent and the price I paid for that, by grieving the Holy Spirit in me, was most definitely not worth it. This guy had sat with me on several occasions. I even had him coming up to me in the Old Market when I was off work. He tried to sit and talk with me there on my time off away from my job where I was required to talk to these men. I just walked away from him. He knew I wasn't into him. He was a 'sleazy, slimy' kind of just-really-gross guy. Other women, will know, what I mean, by that, but I don't know if men will know, what I mean. Maybe. Anyway, I wrote a note, to myself, at the top of this letter, that he typed, to me, which said:

"I got this from a (gross) club customer, that brought a plain, gray, ribbed turtleneck sweater into the Backdoor Lounge where I was a dancer, & then he thought for some sick reason he could actually sleep with me. I told him how health conscious I was (& safety, etc.), to put him off, & did; but, then, he gave me this & I kept it only as a reminder of how out-of-real[i]ty & gross & sick, etc., club customers can be. Ugh!"

Here is his letter to me as 'Miranda', in the bar where I worked as a dancer:

"Miranda,

          Thanks for hearty comments on Tuesday, December 23. How nice of you to be so kind to someone had given you something for Christmas and was kind enough to purchase your new costume. I will be sure to wear my gloves the next time I stop in as I wouldn't want you to pick up any strange viruses.

         I was touched to hear that you are pursuing other activities to earn a few extra dollars. I was thinking of giving you a picture of Grant just to help out during the holidays but I felt a little hurt as I walked out. [NOTE: I have blog readers in 62 countries now, not just the U.S., so for those of you who may not know, Grant is pictured on a $50.00 bill, and this jerk was trying to wave a 'lost' tip in my face because I refused to 'accommodate' him. As for his reference to my 'earning a few extra dollars' for my doing prostitution, I was paid $200.00-- twin Franklins, which are hundred dollar bills, plus taken out to eat, and sometimes drinks, as well, plus the men paid for a motel or a hotel room. Some even brought me flowers, and gifts! So, all-in-all, they spent at least several hundred dollars to be with me; each time. I also had repeat/regular customers, even though I only did this for a very short time, who KNEW the 'product' they were getting, after the first time with me, and were more than willing to spend all of that again, to be with me. So, this jerk that wrote me this is what my Twitter friends would call 'a whiny little bitch'. Plus, NONE of my customers that I slept with were GROSS like him. They were nice, clean, guys-- who even used CONDOMS, for me-- and STILL really liked it.]  
            I was thinking of asking you out on New Year's Day for a little fun. I would have picked you up around 3:30 PM. We would have gone out for something to eat then checked into to a motel for some mutual sex (your fee is appropriate and would have been in an envelope). I was thinking of giving you a lovely body massage -beginning with your back, down across your lovely little ass, down your legs, turn you over and finish with your legs, then start with your breasts and nipples which I would gently kiss and caress, down across your tummy to your sweet little pussy which I would have licked your clit while my fingers would have stroked your pussy. After you had a nice little orgasm, I would have laid down on the bed and you could have climbed on and rode my cock (with rubber) until I too had an orgasm. You would then lay down at my side and we would have just hugged and I would have continued to your nipples and breasts. After we had wound down, we could have gotten dressed and I would have taken you back to your apartment. I was even thinking of getting you some nice lingerie just for yourself. A nice long sheer gown to sit around in and enjoy. 

        But alas, you probably wouldn't want to touch me unless you had on rubber gloves and we were in a tent with alcohol mist since I am so covered with germs and I must be carrying all kinds of unhealthy sexual viruses."

                                                                  (it was signed, Gary)

[NOTE: I wouldn't have EVER wanted to touch HIM, or HIM to touch ME, even if he was THE VERY LAST MAN ON EARTH, and, HELL had just FINALLY FROZEN OVER.]

NOTHING about that misogynistic, thinly-veiled-hostility, toward me, was in ANY way TITILLATING, or ENTICING to me. I have that same cringeworthy, icky feel, that I felt, the first time, I read that thing, just from having to reread it, now, to transcribe it, verbatim, into this blog post. It leaves me feeling like, I need to go take a shower, to wash his grossness off of me. I was never with him, nor would that have EVER happened with him. I even found his letter to be frightening. He seemed like that type of guy that would hurt you or worse if you ever fell for his bullshit; which I never did-- which is why he stayed so angry at me. He couldn't have me, and he was furious about that. He reminded me of creeps that torture women just to hear them scream and beg for their lives. When men I don't like, or sometimes, don't even know, or even those like Mark, below, that I did know well but wasn't at all attracted to, EXPRESS these EXTREMELY DETAILED PLANS, which they want to achieve with ME, that THEY ALREADY KNOW, are NOTHING I WANT, it's concerning to me. Even troubling. I saved the letter as an example of the dark side, of working as a dancer, in nightclubs. It was, dangerous, at times.

   

Good times, on the Air Force base

I have NO idea exactly where or how I met this man, but I think it was during the year that I was divorcing Tom but I still had my dependent ID to access the base.  I was fed up, with trying to commit to a man, and continually being disappointed, by them, in marriage, so that year I had a blast, playing the field and dating ALOT of different men. That song, 'It's Raining Men' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5aZJBLAu1E), was MY LIFE for that one, super fun year! I didn't have to try. I just walked onto the base any time day or night, and within minutes I had met a man, or two, or three or . . . . I didn't take a lover although I easily could have. I just enjoyed being wined, and dined, danced with, and desired, by so many men, because my attempts at marriage had always ended in heartbreak for me so I did not want to 'settle down' again with any guy, anytime soon. The closest I came to a 'steady' relationship that year was with an Air Force intelligence officer that was part of the crew on the Looking Glass**-- Edgar. Just now, after all these years, I Googled him, and there he was on my computer screen. The same guy, but white-haired now. It says he is the President and CEO of an organization in Washington, DC. He had an 'air' about him in more ways than one. He had "III" after his name and his family was very prominent, including, in military circles. But, the reason I broke up with him was because he would NOT WEAR DEODERANT!  He would call me up, from some Top Secret location up in the Looking Glass which he could not divulge to me, to arrange a dinner date with me at the Officers Club, for when he returned to base. He did shower, and put on a suit, for those occasions. But when He came straight to see me, still, in his flight suit, and he removed it, to cuddle, I could not get past the fact that, alot of body odor was released, into the air, when he did that. I asked him to shower, at my place, and I tried to discuss it with him, but he did not want to wear deoderant, and that, really, stunk up our relationship, to the point that I stopped seeing him, because of it. My luck at love just STINKS.

Sometimes, even literally.

>sigh<

I digressed into the thing about Edgar. I do have mementos from my time dating him, but they are several photos of us dressed up for dinner at the Officers Club, and I did not include them in this post. Below, is an elegant cardstock Christmas card, from a man that was in Britain's Royal Air Force at the time that we met at Offutt. Allies do fly into U.S. air bases and dock at navy ports, at times. Again, I  do not remember exactly how we met. Although I did drink and party some that year, I was mostly quite sober, but simply cannot recall him, after 35 years have passed give or take, including because I was seeing several men then and wasn't spending alot of time with any particular one of them, so I was spreading myself thin, socially speaking. This card has a navy blue grosgrain ribbon attached to it, and is embossed in silver, on the front. Inside Bob's squadron address is printed, and he wrote the note "Debbie, (I wasn't a dancer at the time so I was using my real name) such a dreamy voice! Bob. T". I don't know, his last name, to Google him, now, but I could contact the squadron, and ask them, if they can determine who "Bob T" was back then. After all these years I doubt that I will do it, though.  I did pull this article up on Google just now, which at least talks about Bob's unit, among alot of other things. It has some photographs of its location, and so forth. (https://www.flying-tigers.co.uk/2021/raf-scampton-corgi-aviation-archive-and-hobbymaster-new-model-arrivals/) I had other saved correspondences from Bob so he tried to develop a relationship with me for awhile, mostly through letters. I likely would have thought that, the distance of him living 'across the pond' would be too much of an obstacle to overcome.It seems that I never encouraged him to have a relationship with me, for some reason, and eventually his letters stopped.  I feel strangely sad about that now, because Bob wrote to me so enthusiastically. On the other hand because space is so limited in my home, which is why I sorted my mementos a few months ago, to narrow it down, from how many there were,  I think I threw away the stack of letters from Bob, without even rereading them, because there seemed to realistically be no point in sitting here doing that, now.

In a torn and faded envelope, with the barely visible postmark of "1980" on it, I found a lengthy letter, written to me, on pink paper, from Mark [P.]. I was in the Air Force myself then, stationed at Offutt AFB. "Amn Debbie Gray PSC #2 Offutt AFB, Nebraska 68113". The return address was an APO, in "New York 09127". I  do remember Mark. He lived in the coed dorm, I was assigned to, when I got to Offutt. He was extremely tall and lanky, awkward, and geeky-seeming. I wasn't attracted to him at all. I actually hid from him, at times, because he sought me  out so much. I felt sorry for him, but that was about it. It's sad that my life has gone like that. I'm not attracted to men like Mark that would give me the world and all their love if I would just be in a romantic relationship with them. Yet the extremely limited times I've ever felt love for a man, those relationships NEVER COULD HAVE WORKED OUT. So, Mark, Bob, and many others, over my lifetime, have felt disappointment on their end, but so have I on mine. It has just NEVER MATCHED UP for me. It is so bad that, I don't even trust my heart, to know who really is worth loving, or who might, truly, love me, well, if I let them. For ME, I, REALLY, have to FEEL a GENUINE attraction and connection and that's SO RARE, for me. I am not in love with anybody, now, and I am so disgusted, at how men treat me, that I doubt I will even want to open myself up, to anyone, again. All things considered I am actually alot happier with NO man in my life. I am SURE that I NEVER found 'the one'. Or at least I THINK I'm sure. Maybe, Michael. . . ?

Here is Mark's handwritten letter to me, when I was a young woman in the USAF:

                                                                                         September 2, 1980

Dear Debbie

       The moment I met you I knew that you were special. No other woman I ever met won me over as quickly or as completely as you did in the first minute of our first conversation. Being with you was like walking through Paradise.

       Of course, everywhere there was Jim***. I saw no purpose in trying to fight against him over you for two reasons. First, because I am a coward in matters such as this and felt that there was simply no way I could win you from him. Secondly, I believed that you belong to him, as he belonged to you, and I had no right to try and steal what belonged to another man. I resigned myself to just being your friend.

      Then I was cast out of Paradise. Why, I still don't know, but I guess you had your reasons, and maybe they were good ones.

      I was hurt that you were avoiding me. I was angry at you, but I knew inside myself that the real blame lay with me, I had failed you somehow, and I was really angry with myself. Outwardly, though, I was determined to ignore you and have nothing to do with you ever again.

                                                                                                                  2

     Yet everywhere I went you seemed to pop up out of nowhere and everytime I saw you I would feel chills and trembling and a racing heart. I knew then that I had feelings for you which would withstand anything you could do to me.

     I kept hearing things about you. The dormitory is a small world, everyone knows one another and people talk. I heard, true or false, that you had broken up with Jim. The next day at breakfast I approached you and aske you how you were. I wanted to comfort you in any way I could. If my plunging the biggest knife they have in that dining hall kitchen into my heart would have brought Jim back to you and you and he would then live happily ever after, I would have done it. But instead I fumbled with your hat and fumbled with your CDC book and fumbled with my mouth and felt like a fumbling fool. You withdrew from me, so I left quickly.

    A week or so passed, and again I heard rumors. The stories said that you were stripping in front of men in the dormitory, and that you had entered some kind of strip tease contest at some joint. [NOTE: This is TRUE. My entering the contest, anyway. Some male Air Force buddies took me with them to a stripper bar- my first time in one of those clubs- and 'to let off steam' I did enter the contest at the end of the night, along with other women who were there.] They

                                                                                                                  3

said that you were sleeping with Frank [B]. [NOTE: This is FALSE. I definitely did NOT sleep with Frank, although he had 'started to grow on me' at this point, until I went to his dorm room one morning to tell him that-- because he had been chasing after me, for awhile-- and found him in bed with not one, I think, but two women. Frank was the complete opposite of Mark. He, was smart, too, but not geeky like Mark, and Frank was not 'buttoned up tight' like Mark. He was relaxed, fun-loving, and liked himself, none of which Mark seemed to be capable of doing, given his personality. Just as I saw them in bed, Frank saw me, and I turned and left. He had his dorm room door wide open, so anyone in the hallway could see this scene. Maybe for some sort of 'bragging rights', with the other guys? I'm glad I found out what Frank was really like, right before I made a mistake, with him.]

    This last story is the one that hurt me the most. It is also the story that prompted this letter and the question I am about to ask you. I should be asking it in person, but I am an ocean away from you right now-- in England-- so I will have to write it: Debbie, will you marry me? I love you.

   Maybe you are rolling on the floor with laughter right now. If so, I can handle that. My greatest fear is that my proposal will upset you and make your life more miserable. If that happened, I would walk in front of a truck. 

   I want to share your life, be your man and offer you strength and guidance when you need them, and take them from you when I need strength and guidance. I guess I should add, to be completely honest, that I desire you physically as well. You're beautiful.

   I would get out of he Air Force after one more hitch if you wanted me to, or even get out in November if that's what you truly wanted. I would dig ditches to support you, if that's the only job I could find. I would help you buy your house, and your department 

                                                                                                                 4

store furniture department, and help you raise your children: black, white, yellow, red and brown (perhaps a Puerto Rican, just to prove that they don't all turn out like George [H].

   I guess I know already what your answer is. Still, if there's the slightest chance for me, I had to ask. Maybe you love Frank Beale. [NOTE: Nope, and I was ANGRY about Mark writing me ALL THESE RUMORS that let me know how much GOSSIP was going on about me-- both true AND untrue-- that he was even hearing while over in ENGLAND! I disliked this letter as much as I did Mark himself. He was just ANNOYING.] Maybe you're back with Jim. Maybe there's someone else. Maybe there's nobody else but you just despise me. So be it. Whoever you go with or whatever you do, I want you to be happy. If my never seeing you again will help you achieve happiness, it is a price worth paying. I don't want to exert any pressure on you. Take care of yourself.  

                                                                         Sincerely,

                                                                                   Mark

. . . . I will be here until October 2, or thereabouts.

Michael, was a Lieutenant Colonel, in the Army, that I met when I remarried Tom and he was stationed at Fort Drum, in upstate New York, as an Air Force weather forecaster. Michael's unit was there, for training exercises, when I met him. They had to return home, to New York City, not long after that. We stayed in touch, by mail, and by phone, for many years, though. Michael wrote me alot of letters. He was tall and manly and bald; an officer and a gentleman, at all times, with me. I felt, very respected, and cared about, by him. He was wonderfully supportive, of me. I kept a few of his many letters to me, when I sorted my memorabilia. Here are some excerpts from those letters . . . . One last, but very important, thing, I am adding, to this paragraph, about Michael, as I near the completion of writing this post just prior to publishing it online: Of ALL the men I have EVER known in my life-- and there have been many thousands of men that I have encountered,  in some way, or other-- MICHAEL, is the ONLY one, who 'stood the test of time'. 

I told him when we met at Fort Drum and were first getting to know one another that I did not think we were compatible astrology signs, because he was a Virgo, and I am an Aquarius. That was 34 years ago. I always let that hold me back, in my mind, when I was interacting with him, over the years;  as silly, as that may sound, to some people, who don't put much credence, if any, into such things. I was talking to a Virgo friend recently who's happily involved with an Aquarius. I also knew of another couple that we both know, who are those two signs, and I told her about that fact regarding them. In rereading Michael's letters to me, he spoke of that in one of them-- my hesitancy, due to that fact-- and let me know that he didn't think it was an issue for us. But, I allowed it to be an elephant, in the room, between us, versus a, manageable, mouse. I gave it power over love.   

As I think about the men who have come through my life, to the present day, in writing this post, I see so clearly that, Michael, is the ONE, who ALWAYS SHONE ABOVE THE REST-- BY FAR-- in how he treated me, cared for me, and loved me.    I have tears in my eyes, as I'm typing this, because, NOW, it is likely TOO LATE. Due to the passing of, so much, time, it would be logical to assume he married, and moved on with his life, in New York City. I tried Googling him, while writing this post, because sometimes I can find out what happened to the people, from my past, that way. I tried several different ways to Search for him online, to no avail. There was an obituary, for a man with his name, and some of the facts in the write-up about that person indicated that it COULD be MY Michael. Even the photo COULD be him, if he gained alot of weight, over the years, and lost his fit physique that the military requires its service members to maintain. The man in the photo, which accompanied the obituary, was bald, but I could not be sure it was him; and if it WAS, then he is GONE off the face of the earth. I do have one other way to try to locate him, but I would have to go back into the memorabilia that I kept when I sorted all this stuff months ago and see if I saved a reference letter that he wrote for me for a job I applied for, that had his contact info on it.

*            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *

[NOTE: Today, Valentine's Day, 2023, I went upstairs to look through the things that I saved after sorting my memorabilia, and I found the reference letter that Michael wrote on my behalf. Using his Contact Information, on it, I tried to find him, but could not. I could see photos of his actual apartment address, in NYC,  online, and it was very clearly a man's apartment. But it went on the market in December 2020, and was rented again, in just 2 days. I have no idea if he was  the one living in it, just prior to that, either. The years we were communicating,  we used mail for correspondence, and landlines, for calls. Cell phones were not  yet available. Because this was a letter of reference for me he had put his work number on it. When I called that, I got, a recording, saying, "This number is not  in service". The obituary, that I found online when Googling his name, was from 2011, and the man was 69 when he died. The photo could, possibly, be Michael. Comparing that photo, with the one he had attached to his letter to me, I began  to cry, because the baldness and head shape were the same, the size and shape  of the ears, were the same, the eyebrows, and eyelids, were the same, and the, shape, of the nose was close to being the same, in both pictures, although I had  to imagine the age progression as well, after so many years. The biggest reason that I think it could be him though is because of what it said. It gave their name with the middle initial, and ALL of it MATCHED. Michael was a Virgo (August 23 - September 22), and the person in the obituary, lived from, September 16,1942-December 9,2011. Also, part of the obituary described the deceased in this way: 

"Michael served his country in the United States Army and Army National Guard, retiring as a Lt. Colonel in 2002. He was a member of Holy Family Parish, Knights of Columbus and Knights Templar. Michael is a graduate of Marquette University and worked in the communications and advertising field the majority of his career both in Milwaukee and New York City."]

*            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *

Michael's letters to me through the years were always so loving. As we discussed my troubled life, and misadventures, as I struggled to find my way in life through so much heartbreak, and loss, and abuse and such, he always gave me the grace to do whatever I thought was best for me, even if he wanted something different in the situation. He cared enough to want me to be happy. Isn't that what love is? I have tears in my eyes. It looks like, it is too late, to find out, what we might have been, with one another. Too much time has passed and life is so fast and so short! WHERE DID IT ALL GO? Michael, is, the ONLY man, that LOVED ME, WELL. Because of that, I trusted him, and I have never once felt disrespect toward him,  for any reason, including because of any disrespect FROM him, since, THAT never happened, with HIM. My PET PEEVE that gets me REALLY PISSED OFF has always been, someone treating me with disrespect. I become LIVID WITH RAGE (at least on the inside; while it takes, all, my strength, to hold my temper, and my tongue, toward them, then, for doing that, to me). ESPECIALLY, when they do that to me, IN FRONT OF other people, and expect me to just, let it go (especially, time, after time, once I 'let it slide' by an act of great grace on MY PART the previous time(s) they have pulled that, for their own, EGO, and/or AMUSEMENT). A man, who had earned alot of respect in my eyes, lost it all because of doing that to me. Multiple times and multiple ways. I feel seething anger due to that and doubt we will ever be friends again. He is not the man I gave him credit for. One thing, is for sure. I can think of no worse feeling, when I deal with other people, than realizing that I gave someone, far too much, credit and I have to reconsider the place they have in my life; if any, at all. When it comes to, who, people, really, are, time, will tell.  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                "August 10, 1989

Hi Stevie!

    I continually reread your letters sharing the wide spectrum of emotions and concerns you have dealt with since I met you. Like you, I have been very cautious in trying to understand the 'rocket engine burst of fire' that launched our friendship. . . . My fascination with you was further amplified by your candid openness about yourself, your problems, needs[,] hopes and dreams. I have never met a woman like you. . . . Ours might have been a passing event but I'm afraid we have linked minds, hearts and souls, as a minimum as friends as long as you wish. . . . In my mind neither you or I violated the trust you have with Tom. I respect that. He is luckier than he realizes. . . and I would tell him that to his face. But you must also accept that I met an intelligent, warm, open[,] attractive[,] beautiful woman. That new door of unbelievable candid communication and the emotions I felt can never be taken away. I will not forget your smile[,] your touch on my hand or your hug. . . . I am a healthy emotional man who is also physically attracted to you. I will always dream and fantasize even if we never exercise that feeling. . . . Love, Michael"

                                                                                 "September 19, 1989

Dear Stevie

        I'm sorry that such unpleasant events were the cause of your call [NOTE: Tom had struck me, and was arrested for it by the base security police. He was angry at me, that he was in jail; not angry with himself, for striking me] but in spite of that, I was thrilled to hear the sound of your voice. . . . As a friend, I guess I have to agree that you have tried and endured enough of Tom's behavior. Apparently he does not realize how lucky he is to have you. I'm sure he has also not thought about the effect losing you will have on his life. . . . Stevie, it is time to reawaken that special, open, happy, confident person that I know you are. It is time to think of yourself, Stevie and get on with your life. . . . It is important however that you also consider the power and charisma of your personality and your other interests. . . . There is no doubt you are beautiful and talented enough to dance again but that is tough . . . work. The Stevie I met has much to offer the world and it's time to get on with that. . . . I remember and still feel the touch of your lips, your hand and your body as we hugged. I think we are both cautious about that uncanny electricity that started with one look into your eyes that morning, and your smile so infectious as was your genuine enthusiasm for the entire event. You thoroughly energize a situation and the people around you. . . . Consider carefully where Stevie will be happiest, in a place she can be what she wants to be, on her own. The companionship and people to live love and play with will follow. . . . You are special . . . Love Michael"

                                                                                           "2 February 1990

Hi Stevie,

    I like that name too. It has a special meaning to me also, as I recall that incredible beautiful young girl in blue jeans and tank top shooting pictures of a band. [NOTE: That's how I met Michael. His unit had a marching band, and they were practicing on the road outside the temporary barracks that Tom and I were staying in at the time. I heard the music and lay on the road taking pictures of them as they marched in formation up and down the road, basically right on top of me. Because Michael was their commanding officer, he was watching the band, and saw me doing that.] I will never forget that moment when you smiled and said, "Hi! I'm Stevie! Isn't that band great" then the phone call in the office . . . Dinner, German wine (how prophetic that was) and your arms around me and that kiss. I'm stirring all over just remembering. You have pushed aside all other fantasies. We have been together often in my mind. You have danced for me many times in my mind and I have been in your arms and kissed your lips over and over feeling the warmth of your body on that chilly wet night. I would go on and on pages and pages about every inch of you that I have not seen or touched. You certainly tapped a well in me. . . . you have been through a lot . . . and I am continually impressed with how you handle yourself. . . . men will be after you. It's a magnetism and uniqueness that will always attract men and create jealousy in women. You are a very unique person, with a special gift and people do not like that. . . . I'm jealous of all who see you [dancing in the nightclubs], when I have not. . . .

             Love Michael XO"

THIS ONE, from Michael, makes me SMILE! The letter is tri-folded in the envelope, and when it is extricated from there, Michael wrote on the outside of the folded up pages, "TOP SECRET For your eyes only". As I open the letter it is dated 6 October 1989. Michael taped a small photo of himself inside of it, showing his manly build, bald head, and a 'poker face' expression, befitting, of a colonel, in the military. He drew a picture of me, on the first page, that showed he not only had, real, artistic talent, but that, he really had, thoroughly, fantasized about being with me. It is a sketch, of me, fully nude (which, I never posed for, so, it was done out of his own imagining of what I would look like unclothed-- and he got it right!), in high heels only, holding a bottle of wine in one hand, and a feather duster in my other hand, just outside of my vaginal area. The letter reads, "Stevie, It was nice to hear your soft sexy voice whispering those tantalizing words 'Kiss me'. As you can see I may never  have  seen  you  nude  but  my  pencil  and  imagination  try  to  fill in  the exquisitely beautiful details. . . . There can be no disappointment for me  because you enchanted my mind first. Anything else would be extra. Your voice is incredible to listen to. . . . you do get my juices flowing. . . . Love Michael"

I had blacked out most of Michael's picture, to protect his privacy, but it appears that he is deceased, based on my research, for this blog post. So, I replaced the altered version of the photo with the original one, showing his full face, that I so wish I could hold in my hands and kiss. His handwriting was the absolute worst I have ever seen, and is a real challenge to read! But, because, I read so many of  his letters to me, over the years, I can read it fairly well at this point. Only a few words, have, forever, remained, indiscernible! I was flattered, and honored, that he thought enough of me to SHOW me what HE saw in me. When someone puts themselves out there, like that, taking a real risk, to SHOW ME, what I mean, to them, through whatever efforts they make, on my behalf, it can cause me to see them as being very endearing, attractive, or sexy. Unless, or until, they show me disrespect, pissing me off then. You can BE SURE that someone DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOU, if they do things like, throw you under the bus, to make themselves look better at your expense, show no regard for your reputation or your feelings, or falsely accuse you of things. Michael had too much class, and intelligence, and love in his heart, to ever treat me those ways. He stands tallest in my eyes, over any man that I have ever met. If I could pick, one, man to live my life with, from all the men I have known, it would be Michael. No doubt in my mind or hesitancy in my heart; only it's too late now. All indications are he's gone. He was the best!                                                                                                                                                                                                            "October 19, 1989

Dear Stevie

        I still have not gotten over the soft sexy sound of your voice when you answered the telephone, especially after you told me why [I used to masturbate using a feather pillow, by scrunching it up until I connected with that 'sweet spot']. Never thought I would be jealous of a big pillow with kiss marks and a sexual fragrance. . . . 

        If I did not say so very well I am very impressed with your strength and persistence in a very bad situation. Not only are you a beautiful woman but a very strong determined one -- a little bit of 'iron magnolia' maybe, in a nice way. . . . I enjoy our communications, you excite every time. . . . I must see you. Love Michael"

[NOTE: Michael and I met right after I remarried Tom, and then, stayed in touch, from then on, with most of the years being when I was divorced and single again. I did not have any illusions when I remarried Tom after seeing how he was in our first marriage to one another. He didn't want a wife. He needed a mother, as well as a military dependent, which would allow him to move out of the barracks into nice, new, family housing on base. I had two very short, and virtually nonsexual, marriages, to this boy, who refused, to become a man. Tom had pretended to be more responsible, to convince me to come back, to him, and then not long after, he reverted back to how he was, in our first marriage. I never slept with Michael, but we had a strong sexual chemistry, from the moment we met, and all I was to Tom was his 'ticket' to the benefits, he wanted, so he could make his life, as easy as possible, for himself; and a homemaker. Tom was, technically 'married', to me, twice, but was never, really, a husband to me, at all. He told me he had changed, and was finally more responsible in how he handled his finances and managed his life, but it was not true. Tom was also physically abusive to me, striking out at me because I expected basic things from him. He was arrested for that, once, while I was at Fort Drum, with him, in this remarriage. Michael, refers to some of this, in his letters to me. While, no physical abuse should ever go on, in a marriage, Tom was much 'milder' in doing that to me, than my final husband, Mark, who abused me, in every way, shape, and form that one could imagine, and did it continually, exhausting me, from that, until, I lost my will to live, at one point. So, if I do not sound like 'the devoted wife', to Tom, I wasn't, because we never really had what two adults would consider to be a marriage to one another. We had a boy and his babysitter. I have written blog posts, about Tom, in the past, if you want to learn more about this, ridiculous, relationship. I gave him a second chance. I shouldn't have. I learned my lesson, with that. If someone does not do what it takes to co-create, a happy, healthy, relationship, with you, all along, then, they, never will.]

                                              Miscellaneous Men                                                                                

I have no idea at all where I met Dennis, but he wrote me a very touching poem. On a small, torn, piece of paper that's now yellowed with age, he wrote: "Debbie

As I sit in this lonely room, thinking of the evening past;

a pencil I hold in my hand, my feelings I try to grasp.

How lucky a man would be, to feel a love such as yours;

To say I love you, I need you, I want you, to feel how outwardly it pours.

Oh, to feel a love, with so much passion, so much power;

would be to walk in Spring, to smell the freshly blossemed flower.

To feel that innacient love, so pure with always a surprise;

To be loved by the girl with the smile, and the Puppy dog eyes.

                                                                     Dennis"

I think it is so sweet, that he took the time, and put alot of thought into writing that, just for me! I transcribed it, exactly as he wrote it; spelling errors and all.

Another really caring guy named Chad wrote me a letter. He apparently lived in Ohio, but traveled to Omaha for his job in the insurance industry. Omaha is the location of the headquarters of some of the largest insurance companies in the U.S. It was written on Mutual of Omaha stationery. He wrote, "Dear Debbie, Im back in Toledo Ohio. I do want to say that I enjoyed the time we spent together.    I wish that there was more that I could have said or done to ease your pain. Im Hoping over the next month or so to get to know you better and Im really looking forward to being with you again in the spring. My week was a very boring one until that nite I met you, I just wished that I could have met you sooner. You are a very warm and understanding person, one I truely would like to get to know alot better. I kinda wished I could have been all those things you where looking for. I know you would be a very special person to be in love with. I'll be praying every nite hoping you'll find your someone but, until then remember you'll always have me. Always Chad"

I LOVE letters like that! I don't know where, or how, I met him, or if we did ever meet again. Some of these things, that these men wrote to me, to express their feelings about me, are several decades old, now. 

In an envelope postmarked APR 24 1989, addressed to me, as 'Stevie' (the alias I went by, for most of the time that I was a dancer in the nightclubs), in care of the Twenties Night Club, another man, that worked for a different insurance company, typed out a letter to me, on that company's letterhead:

"Dearest Stevie:

     I thought I'd better write you today just in case you might forget me in a few days (I'd hope you wouldn't).

     I was just logging some information into me computer and thought I'd just drop you a line to say hello.

     I really did enjoy talking to you saturday night and learning to know more about you. You are one classy and beautiful woman! I wish we could have had more time to talk, it seemed like the time flew when I was in there. I wish I could have standed until closing but I didn't want to bother you anymore that night. I couldn't get over how sincerly honest and warm you were . . . . . . . . . . the world would be much better off with more people like you in the world. 

     You mentioned how much you would like to be married and have a home life, so many women these days are so interested in ONLY a career and themselves it is refreshing to find a woman like you!

     I do hope this letter gets to you and that I spelled your name correctly.

     The last couple of days I was hoping that you believed what I told you and that I wasn't just ' another one of those guys who try to hit on you'. I was completely sober so I did know what I was saying and I do hope that you did and do believe me. That's why I wanted to write to you as soon as possible so you didn't think I was just like the rest. 

     Please do feel free to call me sometime, it would be very nice surprise.

     Take care Stevie, keep smilin and I'll be thinking of you!

     (he signed it in ink:)         A friend,

                                           Steve [U]" 

[NOTE: Based on his last name, which I withhold, to protect peoples' privacy, he owned the insurance company, because his name matches that of the agency.] I don't know if I ever got to talk with him again. I met and talked to so many men.

Here's a sweet-but-still-creepy letter, to me, in an envelope postmarked 22 MAR 1989. It's addressed to me at my home (apartment) address! It is handwritten:

                                                                                                     "3/21/89

Dear Deborah,

     Please don't think I'm some kind of nut (great opening line huh?). In fact I have never done anything like this before in my life. I remembered your address from your check, not really intentionally but because it is so close to mine. [NOTE: MY address was 2235 ST Marys at that time and his address on the envelope was 1001 Park Ave, so they are NOT AT ALL CLOSE TO MATCHING.] 

     After talking to you at the store [where apparently I paid by check and he took my personal information, from that check and wrote me this letter; which is all very inappropriate] and then coming to see you at the club, I've come to the conclusion that you are one of the most interesting people I've met in a very long time. But like I said, I'm more interested in the person I met in the store, The one you said was the 'real you'. She's the one I'd like to get to know.

     I guess I'm writing because I'm afraid I won't see you again in the store, and the atmosphere at the club doesn't really lend itself to sincerity. I mean you probably get 20 guys a week telling you 'You're the most interesting girl I've ever met'.

     There's a song I really like by the Smithereens called 'Behind The Wall Of Sleep'. The lyrics seem very appropriate, so I'll share them with you:

     Now I know I'm one of many

     who would like to be your friend

     But I've got to find a way

     to let you know I'm not like them

     By the way I should tell you, you really are a different person at the club. I believe and put much stock in vibes or auras or whatever you want to call it. And yours were very different Monday as compared to Tuesday. Monday you were very sweet, very open, Tuesday I could actually feel the defensive wall around you even though you were talking intimately with me. Also, Monday you seemed almost innocent and vulnerable, that why I found it hard to believe you were a dancer. I think your ability to change roles like that intrigues me even more.

     Well I guess I'll close now. My address is on the envelope,  my phone is listed with directory and you know where I work if you're interested. If you're not you may toss this away without concern, it was just something I felt compelled to do. And really ad truly I have never written to almost a complete stranger before. 

                                                                                Kyle [N]"

[NOTE: It was interesting to me to read a description from someone saying that they could really see the difference, between 'Deborah', and 'Stevie', my dancer alias/alter ego/stage persona. I've described in previous blog posts how I had to learn how to do that, drastic, change, in demeanor, to be able to do the job of a stage entertainer in a thong bikini, etc. I liked so many attributes of my 'Stevie' side that I have kept 'her' with me to this very day. On any given day, someone may be interacting with me as 'Deb', my sweet and gentler self, or they may be engaged with 'Stevie',  who 'takes no prisoners',  and holds her own, no matter who, she is dealing with. One, of the reasons, I would REALLY ENJOY, having, a romantic relationship (although, I have, ABSOLUTELY, NO DESIRE, to, EVER, be MARRIED again, in my life, at this point) is that, I like doing role play; morphing into a wide range of personas, each with unique attributes. That's so fun to me!] 

On a yellowed piece of notebook paper, Ron wrote me a letter. There's no date. I think it may be the friend of mine who was a hospital (patient) escort, that I met in the hospital we worked in, when I was in nursing. That Ron was a really sweet guy, but he had a crush on me, and would get really upset, with me, and moody, because I didn't like him back, romantically, which strained our friendship. A cute guy, Ron just wasn't what I wanted, in, an intimate, relationship. We would go do things together as friends at times, though. He had a sweet, sensitive, spirit, but he was far too fragile for me. He was more of a boy than a man. I wanted a man.

Ron wrote--

"Debby: 

I'm sorry I pissed you off. I hope your feelings were not hurt. I hope you realize that I didn't mean to make you mad. Sometimes I guess I get too wrapped up in my own head. Trying to figure out myself and my feelings for myself. Thats what I was doing today. Maybe I should pay more attention to the feelings of people close to me. Maybe I should express my feelings instead of keeping them hidden inside of me. I know I don't say it alot, but you really are the sweetest, warmest, most caring person I know. And you are a very pretty lady. I'm sorry I'm this way. It's something that has bothered me for a long time. I want to change, but don't quite know what to do. I hope you accept my apology. I thank you for all the things you have done for me, you have been a true inspiration. I will always have a special place in my heart for you.                                                                                          

                                                    Love. Ron 

P.S. - You're a very sexy woman also."

 

>sigh<

Valentine's Day is in two days, and just like, it seems to be, every year, for me, I have no one special in my life, to give that any real, romantic, meaning. As I pop candy hearts into my mouth as a very unhealthy comfort food, to console myself while there are no knocks at my door delivering flowers, and no candlelight meal,  I'll watch Hallmark movies, where love triumphs over all and culminates in a kiss.

At least Amazon sells vibrators.

We human beings are complicated creatures. Therefore, our feeling, or finding, love, can be quite complicated. My best, physical, relationship has been with a piece of plastic that I ordered online. It is both intimate and impersonal, at the same time. There are pros and cons to almost everything in life, and this is no exception.  I had to learn all about the eye-opening array of available sex toys. The 'lover' in my bed is a piece of plastic, that I turn on, but with the push of a button. It touches my body, but it doesn't come equipped to look into my eyes  and tell me that it loves me above all others on the earth. There are no mutual expressions of affection, verbally or physically. I can't lie there and listen to its heartbeat, because it doesn't have a heart. It just vibrates, at different speeds.  These helpful, and even gratifying, gadgets, are something that I am extremely pleased to have, however, as a, viable, alternative. Without them, it would be a very long, 'dry', spell, since, I remain celibate, and I have been so for 25 years.

It is what it is.

 

Happy Valentine's Day to all of my blog readers in 62 countries around the world!

                    

* 'Miranda' was a different dancer alias I was using at the time because I have a sense of humor and it was funny to me to introduce myself to club customers as "Miranda Wright" and have them say to me, "Wow! You might not KNOW this but that is like 'miranda rights' that the cops say to people they're arresting like, 'You have the right to remain silent.' and stuff." Specifically because I was working as an undercover informant, for the Omaha Police Department, which was a strange motivation behind my involving myself in prostitution in the first place, I went by that name, during that timeframe.

** Looking Glass - https://medium.com/exploring-history/operation-looking-glass-americas-terrifying-doomsday-plane-eca1bcb4765f and https://nuke.fas.org/guide/usa/c3i/ec-135.htm  

*** Jim was the 2nd Lieutenant that I was completely in love with, who was still stationed at Keesler AFB in Biloxi MS, when I got orders to report to Offutt AFB in Nebraska, where Mark met me. Jim became my second husband, is my son's father, and is the same man that I wrote several blog posts about being "the one man that I would love forever". Jim was also the ONLY man that I had sex with when I was in the service.

"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