Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts

Sunday, February 12, 2023

'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.

Wednesday, November 17, 2021

'Twin Franklins': The Price Of Prostitution

[This  bears  repeating  here: I cannot make  these stories  from my life  nice and neat or, rather, whitewashed and sweet, in order to make them more palatable, or easier to  cope with, for anyone  reading them. Whenever the truth gets watered-down, it stops being the truth! I have lived through all these things. It is my story. It is what it is. Our lives  are greatly affected  by the  pervasive  consequences  of Original Sin, the sins of others, and our own sin, and we must acknowledge that.]

NOTE: I write this blog because one of my VAMC counselors that I had, during the summer of 2017 (when I was a homeless veteran living in a shelter), told me that I needed to write about my life experiences so that I could process them better. It is often painful, and always difficult, to write these posts, for various reasons, as I am doing them, but it does help me alot, by the time that I get through it. I am a broken person, and surely, an imperfect one, in so many ways. We are all sinners. The healing, that I get, from, dealing directly, with these things, that have been a part of my life, for better or for worse, is something that I need, for myself. There are alot of other damaged people walking this earth, besides me. If you, have not lived through such things, as I have, or, have lived, a particularly, straightforward, and simple life, count yourself lucky, or blessed; but don't sit in judgement on the ones, such as myself, that have had a much harder road to walk, in this life. I am hoping, as I share, these things, about my life, that it may be helpful to someone else, who is going through, similar things, in their lives. Alot of people are! Some, have had a harder life, than I have had, on this earth. I don't know how they deal with that. My compassion, and care, go out to them. I pray, they make it through. It has been hard, for me, to survive, the heartbreak, of what I have been through. If my blog helps others, to know that it isn't just them, or that they are not alone, and offers them any hope, or encouragement, in their situation, then it is worth it to me, to share my true life story here, as I do, as being both test, and testimony.




I have covered alot about my years working as a nightclub dancer in my previous posts. The various aspects of that job, and, lifestyle. This post, is about my doing prostitution, near the very end of that career, that I had so enjoyed, for the most part. There wasn't any part, of my doing the prostitution, that I enjoyed. It was a very dark, sad, time, for my soul. But more than that, the Holy Spirit of God, who was sent to reside within me (as a Christian believer), was grieved by my causing Him to dwell within the tainted temple that my body was due to what I would call 'The Dirty Dozen' (because that was the number of times I committed this crime; but, not with a dozen, different, men. I had some repeat customers, sinning with me). There was never any shortage of men coming into these 'gentlemen's clubs' trying to 'get laid' by some woman working there, since, they, wrongly, assumed, that if we were dancers, we must also be whores. We could just never shake that stereotype. It followed us around in the minds of the men that were trying to get in our pants. Sadly, I learned alot (more, than I ever wanted to know) about how casually even the married men sought out sex for sex sake even when they loved their wives. That really haunts me, to this day. It made me question everything, I ever believed, about men, that was positive. Some of these men, were really nice guys, that their pastors would never believe hired a woman for sex on the side in their lives. Heck, some of them WERE pastors! I am not smiling, as I write this. I don't think that I could EVER really trust a man, again. I don't want one, anyway. Not after all that I have seen, of them, in my life, and been put through by them. They, seek us out, for sex, but it is us who get the, disparaging, labels; not them.

There is even a Bible story, focusing on the woman, who was caught in the act, of adultery; and the men, who brought her to Jesus, for judgement. One by one, the men all walked away, after Jesus knelt down and just began to simply and silently write something in the dirt. Over the years people have conjectured about what it was Jesus was writing, which seemed to have such an impact, on these men, who had just been so adamantly accusing of that woman. The best explanation, I ever heard preached, about this, was that He was writing out, for all to see, the sins of each one of them. These, self-righteous, males, who wanted this woman who was involved to be judged, and condemned, for, her, actions. After those men had, all, vanished, Jesus told that woman to "Go and sin no more." (John 8:3-11) Romans 3:23, also makes it clear, that, "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God". This is something, about the Bible story, that has always bothered me: For her, to have committed adultery, she couldn't have been doing it alone. She had to have, a man, doing that with her. The Bible, makes no distinction, between a man doing this, and a woman doing this. Sin is sin. 1 Corinthians 6:9, says that, wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God, and that list includes adulterers. Jesus clearly said to the woman that there was hope for any participating person by sinning no more. I thank God for His Grace! Without that, great gift, of His, I, would have no hope. I am a sinner. I did do prostitution almost 25 years ago. I truly repented of it. In this post, I will try to explain, the various forces at work that drove me to it. Satan himself could not have orchestrated a more perfect situational storm in my life, to, finally, get ME to GO THERE, when I NEVER HAD BEFORE; even during all of my years working as a dancer in the clubs where men constantly propositioned me almost every single night to have sex with them and I didn't. I didn't want to!

 


I was still working as a dancer in the nightclubs, during, this, chapter, of my life. I lived in my, very favorite, apartment, in the downtown Omaha area, at the time. I was wearing the blinders of denial, about my steadily approaching the day when I would be seen as, 'too old', to be, up on stage, anymore. Girls were considered to be too old, for this business, by their late 30s, usually; but that was because they looked drained and dried-up. Most, of the dancers, drank alcohol, every shift, and some, did drugs, as well, and/or smoked. Bad habits, that can age a person, very quickly. However, how old we, actually, were didn't matter. It was, how young, we looked, that boosted our job security, and longevity in the business. I was always blessed to look significantly younger than my actual age, for many years. Now, at 65, I am 'a little old lady', with gray hair, pinned up in a bun on top of my head. I was 41, and slipping from the height of my heyday into a sad and scary abyss, at the time that I did the prostitution. It didn't happen, with me, because of any one thing, though. It was due to a, complicated, convergence, of things, I was dealing with, at the time. Underneath, all of that, I was, now, constantly, questioning, my value; as a dancer, as a woman, as a human being. It was a very unsettling time, in my life. My identity had become 'Stevie'-- my dancer alias, and alter ego-- and now that was facing the very real threat of extinction! I didn't really know myself, as Deborah, anymore. Life as Stevie had, in some ways, seemed like a party that would never end. But, it was; and soon. I sensed that. I saw that. It scared me. I was starting to be treated with the scorn of superiority, by some younger women, who were suddenly showing up on the scene where I had reigned for many years, now. They were naturally, rightfully, entering, their, time to shine, and they didn't hide the fact, that, they wanted me to, move aside, now, and get out of their way. I felt, threatened. I felt, humiliated. I felt, insecure. I felt, angry. But mostly I felt scared. What was going to become of me? I had NO idea AT ALL what I would do, when, I was, no longer, able, or allowed, to dance, in, these nightclubs, anymore.

I, still, looked good, but I was beginning to have people give me that compliment with the dreaded addendum of "for your age"; something that, brought the issue into focus, front and center, whether, I felt ready, to deal with it, or not. Because, women are usually ranked or rated based on our appearance, any decline in that, is something so disconcerting that it can shake us to our core. Our self esteem is wounded. We don't get the reassurance that we once did, from men tripping over themselves, to ask us out, or even just to open a door for us to pay tribute to our nubility and attractiveness. We go from being highly sought out, to, eventually, at my age, now, nearly invisible. We were, welcomed, and wanted. Now, we are just tolerated. Conversations men have with us, go from, coveted, to being charitable. 
It is a real reality check, and a dissolution of the personal power which my visible sexuality and desirability had previously provided me in this man's world I live in. That started all those years ago, when I was aging out of dancing, but I have had to learn how to navigate this life with that as an ever-increasing factor ever since then. It constantly assaults my self-esteem and undermines my confidence. I am never really sure what the perception of my value is. If people care or are merely being beneficent, when they do interact with me now. This slippery slope, due to, aging and ageism, is very humbling, and very frustrating. Especially for a woman.

So, at work, my tips were beginning to diminish, some. In my private life, I had a police officer stalking me-- for years, at this point. We had been friends originally. Then, he had stopped interacting with me, directly, for the most part, but he was following me, alot of the time, and watching me, from a distance, which was both confusing and creepy to me. In trying to make sense of his odd behaviors toward me now, I had come to the conclusion that he must like me, in a romantic sort of way, to put that much effort into invading my personal space on such a continual basis, for so long. However, when I tried to ask him about that, directly, he didn't acknowledge any such feelings, toward me, leaving me with, only one, possibility. For whatever sick reason, he had, he was playing, some game, with me; and was intimidating me, in the process, by preventing me from having, peace, or privacy, in my personal life, almost all the time. It messed with my mind, so much, that, I eventually became trauma bonded, to him-- this, stalker cop. If you've never had that happen to you, you won't understand my explanation of what actually defies explanation. But, it is a very real thing, a very toxic thing, and I was the victim of it, of him, for over a decade of my life. I remember, breaking down, in, hysterical, tears, over it, at one point, as I tried to describe it, to a male friend of mine, who came into the club where I worked, one night; and its multi-layered, problematic, impact on me. If someone's behavior doesn't seem right or rational, many people will give them the benefit of the doubt, and simply assign some sane rationale, to those behaviors, to explain it away, rather than accept or realize that it's real and wrong. Because, people often won't acknowledge, that it is going on, and is toxic, to the victim of it, the one, doing it, to their victim, continues, to get away with it. These perpetrators count on a very high probability that no one, that we may talk to, about this being done to us, will actually believe us. It seems too farfetched to them. This further invalidates and isolates the victim of the abuse, and enables it.




I eventually made a formal, written, complaint, about this stalker cop's behaviors disrupting my private life, and destroying my peace of mind. A female sergeant in Internal Affairs handled my complaint against him, so I naively thought that since she was a female, herself, she would be more prone to believe me, as I struggled to explain his uncalled for behaviors. Describing them, sounded silly, for the most part, but, when they are routinely being done to you, I assure you, it is not funny, and is very disruptive and destructive to someone's life and peace of mind. It was bad enough that he followed me almost everywhere I went, and watched me with whoever I was with, but he did potentially dangerous things, for no reason, at all, such as using his police cruiser to pin me up against the dumpster, in the isolated alley, when I went to take out my trash, one day. He said nothing to me, when he did that to me. He just sat silently, in the driver's seat, smirking at me, after that. He, also, drove his cruiser, right up onto the sidewalk, coming toward me, when, I was walking back to my apartment one day, after visiting with some friends in the Old Market. I have no idea, what was going on, in his head, when he behaved this way. I cannot explain why he would do any of these things, to me. I am not lying, and I am not leaving anything out, that was going on, between us, that may shed some light on, why, this man, that used to be friendly toward me, began doing all these dangerous, and dysfunctional, things, toward me, for over a decade, on top of stalking me almost all the time, and almost everywhere I went. It angered me, and caused me to feel alot of anxiety, and agitation. It was truly unsettling to me!




I felt 'imprisoned' by his constant attention, toward me. It was scary, and stifling. He would just do bizarre behaviors, that made me wonder, fearfully, what else he might be capable of doing! Because he stalked me, all that he could, under cover of patrolling his police beat, in the Old Market/downtown Omaha area, often as a bike patrol officer, he, almost always, knew, where I went, and, where I was, and whom, if anyone, I was with. One day I walked into Cubby's convenience store in the Old Market, and began talking to a guy, I knew, that worked there. I became very observant of being followed by this stalker cop, though, so I kept an eye out for him. Sure enough, just after, I had entered the store, in he came, acting as if, he didn't see me, standing there, talking to this man who worked there. However, as he walked back toward the restrooms, as if he were going in there, he actually ducked down, just before he got to the men's room door, so he could hide behind the counter, that was between us, and listen, to my conversation with this guy! It was ridiculous things, like this, that Darren kept doing, to me, while not talking to me directly, anymore, ever since, I tried to clarify with him, conversationally, if he was behaving in these ways because, he had some, romantic, feelings toward me.

    


I tried to be as detailed as possible, about all that he was continually doing to me, when I filed the formal complaint. But, when the female sergeant called me, after receiving, and investigating, what I was saying, about him, she simply said, "This officer was called in, and asked about it, and he says he didn't do it." I was upset, that this, was, apparently, all that the police department planned to do about it. I had been forced to deal with it on my own without involving them, for years. Now that I finally told the police department, nothing was going to be done about this! Clearly, 'the thin blue line' was alive and well, closing its ranks, and leaving me to deal with their stalker cop, on my own. It was constantly negatively impacting my everyday life, though. I was aware that, the fact that I was a dancer, in the clubs, may have caused the police not to take this complaint seriously. Police, are one of the biggest groups, to negatively stereotype people. I'm such an open and honest person, that I felt that, if she would just get to know me, apart from, my job title, that she would realize, that I am telling the truth, about Darren, stalking me, and would get it stopped. So, remembering that Darren had once asked me if I would do undercover work, for the police, in the clubs, that I danced in, when we met, I offered this much-needed service to Diana-- the sergeant, in Internal Affairs, who was handling my complaint against Darren. I hoped that she would be able to see how honest I was, and believe me, about him stalking me. Maybe then she would give serious thought to disciplining Darren regarding the stalking, so that it would finally stop. I had tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to stop doing it-- several ways, and times-- but he literally laughed in my face, seeing how upset, and agitated, it was making me feel; and he just kept on doing it, to me. I needed help with this!


 

I had no intention of, finding out, or reporting on, anything, that, my employers, might possibly be involved in. I wasn't about to 'bite the hand' that hired me, no matter what; and I didn't. It was the criminal activity, of some, of the customers who came into the club that I worked in, that Diana specifically asked me about, and I reported on, to her, if I heard or saw anything, about them. We also had a few, undercover, police officers, come into the club, at the time. Diana wanted to introduce me to them, but I told her that, I would rather not know, for sure, who they were, because, it might make me nervous, when they were around, and my feeling anxious, about it, might draw some attention that would not be helpful to whatever I was investigating, and/or they were, when they were in there. I went to police headquarters, to Diana's office, to talk with her there. She also came to my apartment and brought pictures of club customers that the police had, to see  if I knew them, or anything about them or their illegal activities. Diana was close to retirement at the time, so she was more relaxed about maintaining the proper police bearing. I had to be escorted, from the lobby of police headquarters, up to the floor where her office was. I took my cockatiel, CeeBee, to see her there, one time, because she had interacted with him when she was at my apartment, so he knew her. I carried him in my hands, in a plastic basket, that had an open-weave pattern, on the sides and the top, causing CeeBee to look rather like he had been incarcerated, as he peered through the 'bars' on his basket. Diana, came down to get me, and we were on the elevator alone, with CeeBee, when the doors opened and a, very somber looking, male police officer, got on the elevator with us as we rode up to her floor. Diana and I looked at each other sideways, with a faint smile on, both, our faces, as the man did his best, to overlook, the bird in the basket. It was, most likely, a very unusual, and, previously unheard of, scene, I am sure, for Omaha Police Headquarters! Diana, seemed to feel that, this other cop, was doing too good a job at maintaining his composure, so she upped the ante, by saying to him, something like, "It's okay. This is just a jailbird." The man stopped just short of rolling his eyes, as he maintained his firmly set jaw, and never cracked a smile; exiting the elevator before we did. Diana and I, both, grinned, about that, though.

Diana and I became friends, but she never did do anything about Darren, stalking me. So, my life was, now, in this bizarre tangle, of my working undercover for the same police department that my stalker was part of, while I was still employed as a dancer. I was truly traumatized, by Darren's-- illegal-- stalking behavior, toward me. I was getting to know more about what the police department did behind the scenes, as I reported to Diana, who became, my sergeant; and worked with some of the other officers at one point, as we tried to solve a Cold Case of a young man who was shot and killed in the parking lot of the Bittersweet-- a club I had danced at, in the past. I wasn't working there when that happened, but I knew alot of the dancers, who worked in the Omaha clubs, and I had heard that it really shook the girls up, who had been working there the night that happened. I also heard that a lot of them quit and went to work somewhere else, after that, because they knew that a gun could also shoot right through the wall of the building, and possibly, hit them, as they were working inside. The gunman had not been caught, whoever it was, so they weren't sure if it would happen there again. I knew that, since these girls that had just left the Bittersweet were working in the other clubs, because of that incident, they would be prone to talk about that, in a 'catch up' conversation, with another dancer. Especially, one, that they knew. That, was where, I, came in.

This was a, completely, Cold Case with no real leads, so any information, about it, could help the cops find the killer. Diana arranged a meeting at Headquarters with me, and a few of the undercover cops. I just went in a t-shirt and jeans; not fixed up. We decided, to try the Razzle Dazzle, just across the Missouri River, in Council Bluffs-- the first Go Go bar I ever worked at-- because, I had heard, from dancers I knew, that alot of the girls from the Bittersweet went to work there following the shooting. I was going on the operation, as 'Stevie', so I had to really fix myself up to play that role. Mike, was the officer that played 'my date' that night, and two of the other officers also went to the Razzle, as backup for us, in case anything went wrong (which, I thought, was kind of paranoid, about it, since all I would be doing was making regular conversation, with dancers, that I knew, about their changing clubs). The two backups were already in the club when Mike and I got there and I had to pretend not to know them, or react, when, one, walked right by me, to the men's room, at one point. Mike picked me up in an old pickup truck, that the OPD used for undercover work. I had been in it once before, when another Omaha cop had given me a ride home from the club in it, after my shift one night. Seeing my transformation, to 'Stevie', Mike said, "YOU FIX UP NICE!" I stayed in my, 'Stevie' persona, so he really enjoyed the flirtiness of that. (Mike was very sexy, himself!)

Sure enough, one of the girls that I used to dance with-- Shaum, who danced as, 'Cleo'-- stopped by our table at the Razzle, to talk to me; to apologize, to me, for jumping me, in the dressing room, of the Backdoor Lounge, when we last worked together. We had always been friends, but, that night, she took her bad mood out on me, and since I was feeling, equally, grouchy, about having to work that night, (because of, working undercover, trying to catch a killer, I had not had a night off, for months, at that point, causing me, to feel, REALLY burned out), I punched her back, until Bambi, eventually, set down, her eyeliner, that she had been applying, and intervened, pulling me off of Cleo. None of the girls knew that I had a violent bone in my body, so it really shocked them. Maybe, it shocked me, too, but I just reacted, in the moment, to being physically attacked. By this point, I had already been badly beaten, by Faith, at The Twenties, and I'd come back to dancing, after going through some very traumatic domestic abuse that led to divorce. I had just had it, with people hitting me, apparently, and I finally just fought back this time. Cleo cried; but, not me, even though, I worked the shift feeling the pain from the blows. I believe she cried because she was ashamed, that she took her anger out on me, her friend, when it wasn't even about me at all. She was also in a state of shock, because she somehow never expected me to hit her back. She had picked on the gentlest girl in there, who landed enough good blows to her body that she learned, the hard way, that, I may be caring, and a good friend, but I will only be pushed, so far, by people, that decide, to mistreat me. It, really, brought home to her, how unfair it was of her, to attack and assault me (because of burn out and a bad day) when I actually started punching her back, snapping her out of her funk.
The girls would never expect that, from me. Fighting back. But, I was really tired, of people's shit, right about then, and was just not in the mood, to be mistreated. When I called Diana, to tell her, about it, she sounded surprised, that I stayed, to do the shift, and hadn't gone home, since the fight had happened right before we opened. She sounded very concerned that I might've been beaten up because my cover was blown (people in this business take a very dim view of informants), but I assured her that it was not the case. If that ever happened, I'd have to quit, the business, for sure, for safety reasons. My career and my life were on the line now.

Cleo and I hadn't worked together since that time at the Backdoor. Now, here she was, standing by my table, at the Razzle, where Mike and I, had just arrived. She came up to us as soon as she saw me. When I saw her standing there next to me all I could think was, this could derail our undercover operation right off the bat if she wanted to start more trouble with me, and in doing so drew alot of unwanted attention to us. Looking up at her from where I was sitting with Mike, I asked her very flatly, "Are you, going to hit me, again?" She looked remorseful, though, and replied, "I came over to apologize, to you, Stevie. You, did not deserve that, from me, and I really felt bad, about it." Then, she began telling me-- with Mike sitting there, listening-- that she had just recently started working here after leaving the Bittersweet, due to that shooting in the parking lot (Score! The very case, that we were, in there, working on!). She didn't know, the guy, who was killed, though, or who the shooter might have been. So no luck. All I really ended up accomplishing that night, was the chance to, pose as a dating couple-- who were out, clubbing-- with a sexy, undercover, cop. We did a little flirting, with one another, in between, our, fact-finding, conversations. I even, did a, table dance, for him, while I was in my 'Stevie' persona; and, got up on stage, with 'Cleo', at one point, to dance, her song, with her. Diana, had called me, at home, prior to Mike picking me up, to ask if I was nervous, but I told her I wasn't, because being 'Stevie' was always sort of an undercover thing, for me, anyway, in its own way. I called her, the next day, to tell her that we didn't get any, really, usable, info, about this Cold Case, though. I was bummed out about it. The victim's family needed closure. We had NO LEADS.
   
I hadn't been taking my nights off because of another Cold Case I was working on with the police department, that involved the Backdoor, where I was dancing now. So I was weary, and feeling burned out. Here is how that undercover work began: I had been sitting with Bambi and a club customer of hers, looking at her vacation pictures from Cancun, one night. It was just a normal conversation between the 3 of us. Bambi, me, and this guy that she knew, who had come to see her. The next morning, though, when I turned on the TV in my bedroom, as I woke up, to check the weather forecast, the local news, was reporting on a murder, in South Omaha. Someone, had been shot and killed, on the street. This time, they had a photo, of the perpetrator, though, and I sat upright, in bed, when I saw it. It was the SAME GUY, that Bambi and I had sat with in the Backdoor Lounge, just the night before! I called Diana, right away, to tell her, and that began, a long stretch, of not taking any night off at the club, as I watched, and waited, for him to return. It started to wear on me, after awhile. Finally, one night, I was sitting at the bar talking with a club customer, and in walks a man, that could be his twin-- only, up close, did not appear to be him. I asked the handsy guy I was sitting with at the bar if he would move to a table (which was the one closest to where he went and sat with Bambi) to give me a back massage. I already could not keep this guy's hands off me, so I could, at least, put that to good use, now. As, he rubbed my back, up and down, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, so I could get a really good look, at Bambi's customer, to try to be sure it wasn't the killer we were after. He looked so similar, but, something, was just not the same. I had sat with him, and Bambi, long enough to know what he looked like. This guy looked more like he could be a twin, or, just a brother, to the killer. It was hard to see, in the dark room, with the flashing lights all along the stage and mirror ball reflections affecting our eyesight and peoples' appearances. I couldn't just openly stare at him but needed to know.

Very soon after he came into the club, the room started, suddenly, filling up, with about a dozen more men (so I knew, that, some branch, of law enforcement had, also, been keeping an eye on the club, and thought this was the killer). As coolly, as I could, I asked him, if I could try on, his, wide-brimmed, hat, because I knew that the cops needed to get a much better look at him, to see that, he could be a twin or a brother, but was not actually the killer. Then, when, I went up to dance, on stage, the undercover cops looked at me, and I decided to signal to them, not to suddenly rush at this guy, and cuff him, because he was not actually the perp. Dancers are used to sniffing out, undercover, or vice, cops, in these clubs as it is, and something, as unusual, as a dozen men, suddenly coming in, all at once, but spreading out all around the room, and all looking very serious, had, already, led Bambi to say to me, as she observed this, "What the hell?!? SOMETHING'S going on, in here!", while I tried to respond nonchalantly that I hadn't noticed anything.  I knew that I needed for these men (that were obviously law enforcement) to not create complete chaos in this club by ganging up on a customer, to cuff him, that was NOT THEIR MAN they were after; this time. So, to communicate this to them, I leaned back against the big mirror, that was behind the stage, and kept shaking my head, from side to side, very emphatically, while trying to look to others like I was flipping my long hair simply to be sexy, so it wouldn't LOOK like a SIGNAL. A cop came up to the stage to tip me following that, so we could speak, quickly, for clarification, and I was able to say to him, under cover of the, blaring, music, that THIS man was NOT the killer, they were after. He saw, the disappointment, on my face, so he responded to me that we would have other chances; but we never did.

I suspect that the killer left town as soon as he was on the news as being a MOST WANTED fugitive from justice, and they, showed his picture, on TV. So, neither, of the murders, that became Cold Cases, that I worked on, were solved. Because, of my working undercover, in general, now, though, I was about to actually become, a criminal, myself. I confess, I was prone to jaywalking, since I lived in downtown Omaha, but had never actually been ticketed for that minor crime. The only other  thing I ever got a ticket for was speeding on the highway in Missouri. I think that, I may have had a ticket for expired plates, long ago, because of not realizing that, I had to update that little sticker on them, when Jim helped me get the car, at the end of our marriage, so that I would have it to care for my son. I do not have any criminal record. Even, as a dancer, all those years, I was clean. I didn't smoke, or do drugs, and I rarely ever drank. That, was, precisely, the problem, though, with me, now that I was working undercover for the cops. Club owners and employees and sometimes customers, would actually ask me, if I was a cop-- throughout my dancer career. Long before, I ever started, actually, working for, the Omaha Police Department, as an undercover informant. I was just too, 'squeaky clean', by their standards. It caused them to, not open up, around me, in general, but, especially, if they were doing something illegal. That made it, very difficult, if not impossible, to learn much of anything, about anyone, which would be helpful, to solve a case.

I had to, somehow, convince the people in the club that I was not as clean-cut as they thought. I couldn't PRETEND, to use DRUGS, to do that, because there were alot of drugs around these clubs, and inevitably someone would ask me to smoke or snort something that they had; which I wouldn't be willing to do. I had no idea what effect(s) any illegal drugs might have on me. It was just too risky. As it was, one of the dancers had some, hallucinogenic, drug put in her drink one night, and she thought she had gone back to the dressing room, to change her costume, but she had actually walked out the back, alley, door, of the club, into the darkness of night; completely naked, and out of it. It was terrifying, to think about what could have happened to her-- beyond what actually already had, from that incident. So, that was out. I couldn't fake drinking, beyond what I already did in order to make my quota of drink sales, each shift. Most of my drinks were actually fruit juice, as  I had seen the horrible health effects of what happened to the dancers who drank alcohol night after night. It also aged them alot faster which I was trying to avoid. Even if, I could pretend, to slur, and stagger around, they would know, if I wasn't, really, drunk. I wasn't going to smoke cigarettes. I have allergies and asthma and it wouldn't 'corrupt' me, enough, in their eyes, for me to be allowed to be privy to what went on, in the darkest parts, of the underbelly, of this business, anyway. So that left prostitution. It seemed like the perfect solution because the people in the club share cigarettes, drugs, and drinks, but, the girls who do prostitution, do that somewhere in private. So, I thought, that I should be able to just say that, I did it now, and get the girls to accept that. They had, known me, too long, and too well, to, believe me, though, as it turned out. So, I had, a real dilemma, to solve, then.
I would have to give up, trying to work undercover, because I wouldn't ever get to be included in the conversations, about crimes being committed, and such. People shut those down when I approached. They didn't dislike me. They didn't trust me!

So, at first, I tried to fake becoming a prostitute, to see if the girls would open up more around me, if they believed it. I wrote a poem which is included here in this post, that was about prostitution. I tried, to word it as if I were writing it from my own experiences with that, although, at the time that I wrote it, I had never done sex for money. I penned it and took it to work, putting it up on the dressing room wall, for the girls to see. Some started to believe that it was true, because what it said, and how it said it, was so powerful. (I once read it to a guy, who was a, very self-centered, 'player', toward women, who was, also, a neighbor of mine. He was just a young punk, with alot still to figure out, in his life; and I was a middle-aged mother-figure, when I shared this poem with him, about the impact men have, on women, when they mistreat us. I didn't think he was capable of, really 'getting it'. But, he cried! He actually cried. That, was when, I knew, my poem was powerful.) I had done, a little artwork, at the top of it, for emphasis, as well, which is shown, below. People opposed to the war, in Vietnam, in the 1960s, used a phrase, 'Make Love Not War'. I took, blood-red, marker, to indicate, a battle, AGAINST that idea, and wrote over it, after crossing it out, in the prohibitive, 'No symbol', or 'Do Not', way that is used on signs, that are posted: "WAR ZONE NO MAN'S LAND". I aimed to show hostility. After all, prostitution, is not about love. It opposes that, in ways. I was able to draw on my many, disappointing, and even devastating, experiences with men, to word it, the way I did; although, when it came to the prostitution, all I could do was, project myself into that situation, and imagine what that might be like, since, at this point, I had not actually done it. Not long after this, was when I did do it, though, because even my poignant poem did not convince the girls, that I was doing that, now. One, of the dancers, was about to push the point, with me.
 


                                           Living In No-Man's-Land

                                               one dancer's story

My heart lost its feeling                                                                                      And has grown very cold.
Every thing in my life
Now tastes stale or seems old.

The eyes in the mirror
Don't twinkle or shine:
It's hard to believe
That they even are mine.

Yet I don't care, either,
In a weary sort of way,
For life just was not nice
For whole years worth of days.

I finally gave up--
Gave in, killed my hope--
So the pain would go numb
And I could at least cope.

With love not an option,
I began to let go:
Beliefs, then behaviors,
I tossed out the window.

Now I laugh at these guys
Who expect me to care.
Where was this sappy stuff
When I needed love there?

These guys grabbed at my crotch,
Stuck their tongues down my throat,
Played head games with my heart;
When I hurt, they would gloat.

I'm living this war out
In my own No-Man's-Land.
They're around it, alright,
But they can't work their plan.

They can't reach me, now, 'cause
Even under my cover
I might choose to fuck them
But I won't be their lover.

They say to me, "Babe, I need
You to love me, and care!"
But I simply glance back
With a cool, glassy stare.

And say, "Can't help you, Honey,
But I'll fake it, if you
First hand over your money
To make that worth it to do!"

And their male indignation
Is this dancer's delight;
How the hell do they think
They could turn on my light?

No, I never met him--
I would know if I had--
With his love in my life
Could I have gone bad?

They say living in warmth
Keeps one from being cold;
By fools, still believing,
That's what I've been told.

But who knows? And who cares?
Now I don't give a damn.
A seven-inch wallet's what
I look for on a man!

When the guy's come . . . and gone
His money's still there;
There's no need pretending
Either one of us care.

Both of us got something
To hold in our hot hand--
Not something for nothing,
Like before, understand.

Sometimes girls try to screw
Deep into a guy's heart,
But this one can see that
That just isn't smart.

Nothing for something
Is poor payback, indeed,
And you lick your own wounds
When he leaves you to bleed.

But this much I know, now,
And you can bank on this:
The money men give you
Is worth more than their kiss.

Their lies of "I love you!"
Will all just waste your time--
When it's all said and done
They're not worth one thin dime.

I've never yet met one
Whose "I'll love you forever!"
Hung in through life's problems
And tried to endeavor.

They don't know the meaning;
Until they figure it out,
Get your hands on their money
While your crotch has got clout.

You may never find love
So this is the news flash:
Next-best-thing's getting laid
If it pays off in cash.


                                                    Written by:

                                                      STEVIE

                                                 February 1997


Things just, weren't, going well with my plan. People, in those bars, can 'sniff out' pretty much anyone that seems like a 'cop', to them, and they just didn't buy the story, from me, that I had suddenly changed, so drastically, that, I started having sex for money. Especially, after so many years, in this business, and my being, so clean, all those years. I was the girl that the others teased because I was 'holding out for love', for so long. I had given up on that by the time of my last divorce, in my thirties. But, giving up on love, did not convince them that I had started doing prostitution, on the side, though. I had written the poem by taking all of my, true, frustrations, and heartache, about men, and trying to describe how that led me to do prostitution, so that, it would ring true. None, of the girls bought it, though! In talking with some of the girls, I worked with, that did, do prostitution, I started to learn how they word it, and such, and I tried 'talking the talk', then. But, they still didn't believe it, about me. >sigh< Finally, one day, a really brash dancer that had a big mouth called me over, to a table, to meet a guy-- I had never seen before in my life-- and said, outright, that he was in there, looking for a girl, to 'turn tricks'.

As she introduced us while saying that right out in the open, he looked at me, and I looked at him, while she just stood there, waiting, and said, "So, Stevie, are you gonna take him up on it, or not? I, don't believe, you DO. So, I, don't believe, you WILL!" 'Now what?' I thought to myself, as the other girls heard her and began to pay attention, to this 'double-dare-you' kind of confrontation, that she was openly calling me out, in. The whole thing, would completely crumble, if I did not do this. My credibility, was, clearly, on the line. If I blew this, now, I knew, I would NEVER be able to gain their trust enough, to get them to open up, in front of me, so that  I could get better information, for my undercover work. Criminals really only trust other criminals. So, I told her-- and him-- that I would do it. Have sex, for money. Prostitution! She went up to dance then, leaving me to talk to him about specifics. Peaches, and Krystal, both of whom did it, had taught me some things, about how they did it, so I used that information, as a starting point. Some, of Krystal's, 'Call Girl tricks-of-the-trade', weren't appealing, to me, though. She described how she was willing to 'service' her clients, in ways that I would not; and, I also, didn't like the taste of peppermint candy, so her option, was out. He told me that, he was an over-the-road truck driver and was only home for a couple of days before heading back out on the road. The pushy, skeptical, dancer who had orchestrated this 'gig' between the two of us, might have even put him up to it, to force the issue; and I knew she would ask him if I had followed through on it. So I made the 'date', with him, so to speak. I hoped I had been 'tutored' enough, by the other girls, to know what to do, and when to do it, when the day came. It was just going to be us two.




It felt like, a regular date, at first, although, this short, shy, sweet-seeming, guy, was not someone that, I would have ever gone out with, on a real date. He took me to lunch, because it was a daytime 'date'; then, he drove me to his house, in Council Bluffs, Iowa-- just across the river from Omaha. I just got chills as I was typing that, because of my awareness of what COULD have happened, to me, by doing that. Honestly, I was focused on my fear that if I blew this, and he told the other dancer that, then I would not get another chance to get deeper undercover at the club. Without being able to go deeper, I would be of little use to the police. He showed me around his, older, house, as I tried not to let it show how scared I was. After all, he thought, that, I had ALREADY done this, with someone. He had NO idea that HE WAS MY FIRST 'customer'. I do feel that God was protecting me, because of, His Love, for me, and by His Grace, toward me, even (and especially) during 'The Dirty Dozen' prostitution gigs, I did for a short time. So much COULD HAVE happened, to me, when I was doing that, but I came through it, unscathed.
Physically anyway. I did get extremely agitated, before doing it, each time, and it felt to me like that was due to the Holy Spirit, manifesting His deep distress, over being inside of a believer's body, that was set to sin. I did it as safely and cleanly as I, physically, could. I didn't kiss the men on the mouth, or exchange any body fluids. They had to use a condom. There were alot of protective barriers involved.

We would go out to eat somewhere first and talk for awhile, before going to have sex. Sometimes, they even brought me, flowers, or gifts! I was surprised by how these MEN seemed to, want, or, maybe, even need, it to be, 'romanticized'. I had always thought that, the, actual, sex act, involved, was all, that they really cared about. They took me to eat in nice restaurants, paid for a motel or hotel room for the sex part (I realized it was safer to do it there, than where I had done my first two 'gigs'), and, paid me, $200.00, in cash-- 'twin Franklins'-- because Benjamin Franklin is on hundred dollar bills. The flowers and gifts, to me, were, completely, unexpected, and unnecessary, given the situation; which made that kind of thing, touching, to me, in a way, when they did it. Nevertheless, it was, sex, for money,  when it was all said and done. I never lost sight of that. Half of them were single, but, half, of them, were, married, men. Fornication, and adultery, are, both, sin. I realized that, every one, of these men, that, I did this with, all, looked, as if, they were 'the boy next door' or 'the loving husband'; or just 'a really nice guy'. If you knew them, or looked at a photo of them, you would never think that, they would be someone who would, hire a prostitute. Because, of that, I became, completely, unable to trust men or to assess them correctly based on how nice they looked or seemed. The married ones would chat, with me, about their wives, during dinner; and not look as if, they had, any problem, at all, reconciling, these, two, types, of sexual relationships, in their own hearts and minds. They never even spoke badly of their wives, in any way. Describing them as, nice, caring, women! Where is the disconnect, in men's hearts, and minds, that, even makes that, POSSIBLE, to do?
   
Never having done this, before, it was, an eye-opening, learning, experience, for me. The first time, I naively agreed to go to the guy's house, with him. When we got to his bed, he asked me to put the requisite rubber on him. I have truly been completely celibate, for most of my life, including, 99%, of the time, that I was a dancer. So, I was clumsy, as I struggled to get the rubber on his erect penis. The next thing, I know, he said, to me, "You just want me to, come, fast, don't you?" and he was done. Right into the rubber. He never even came close to penetrating me. He still paid me. He even came back to the club when he got back into town, again, from making his over the road runs in his 18-wheeler, and wanted to do it, again; but I declined. At that point, I planned to, not ever, do it again. I figured I was extremely lucky, that nothing horrible happened to me, that once, and I just didn't think it was worth it, to do this, just to change, the others', perceptions, of me, so that I could go deeper undercover, as a police informant, through gaining their trust, by being more like them. Peaches, had schooled me on the basics, of being, an exclusive, 'Call Girl' (as opposed to, a streetwalker, which, I never did).  I didn't want to do it again, anyway. I was just hoping, I could get some mileage, out of 'going there' (though, not really 'doing it') with, the over-the-road trucker, by him telling the other dancer, that had pushed me into, actually, doing it, that I had, in fact, done prostitution with him (although, we did not have sex together). 

He paid me, despite not penetrating me, at all; and I was pretty sure he wouldn't tell her that we never had sex, because he came, so easily, and so fast. I got him to tell her we had done it, by telling him that, she found gigs, for me, like a pimp, and that, she would want to know, if he had a good time, with me, since, she had arranged it, with me, for him. When he went, and sat at the bar, and told her, the older, male, bartender, heard him, telling her this, and I heard, later, that, he had gone to the woman co-owner of the club, afterward, in shock, lamenting that, the one girl, that WOULD NEVER DO THIS, had, JUST DONE THIS. >sigh< It did hurt, to know, he was so sad, about it; but, I had NO WAY AT ALL to do the undercover work if the girls kept shutting me out of their talks on the criminal activity of their club customers, boyfriends, gangbanger buddies, and such, just because, of their, perception, of me, as being, 'squeaky clean'. People were starting to believe, that  I was doing prostitution, now. I was hoping, I could keep that reputation, without having to, actually, ever do it, since I, surprisingly, got out of having to do it, that once. When he came back to the club wanting to do it again, I told him that I was back together with an old boyfriend now so I wasn't available to do that with him. I am normally extremely honest; but that was very hard to ALWAYS do, in the bar business, and THIS was A MATTER OF SURVIVAL. I had to keep my concocted life from crumbling, if I were going to keep trying to score some really good intel, for the cops, in the hope that, if and when I could, Diana would honor that effort and finally, actually, really, do something, about Darren's making my life so miserable.

I was sitting in the bar, one night, talking to another dancer, while waiting for my turn to go up on stage to dance. I was, continuing my story, about having sex for money, as I talked with her, although there had only been the one time, and that had not actually turned out to be sex between me and that guy, when he came in the rubber, in my hand. I was also expressing my frustration that my tips at work had been declining some, lately, and didn't seem to be picking back up. I was 41, now. Some, of the girls I worked with were half my age-- I could actually be their mom! Even though club customers almost always guessed my age as being in my late 30s, now, THAT WAS CONSIDERED OLD, for a dancer in these Omaha bars. I hadn't done what I should have done and been saving my money for the day that  I would have to finally retire from dancing. Still, I made a good living as a dancer. The problem, now, was, that I had not allowed myself to really think about what I would do, when I had to get a 'regular' job-- that, I knew, would not pay this well. I wouldn't be able to cover all the bills, I paid now. I had, too many, charge cards, and I lived to the limit of my income. I made good money, but it took all I had, to keep the monthly bills paid. I was maxed out, financially. I had, bought my shoes in 2 sizes, and my jeans, in every color. I ate out, almost all the time. I was living within my means, but, with no room to spare, and I had neglected saving money. In other words, I was beginning to have, some, real, financial trouble. When I did finally have to leave dancing behind, I ended up going bankrupt. I had been living in denial, and because of that I had gotten myself into a really tight, and tenuous, spot, financially. As, my tips, at work, started to dry up, more, and more, which, I attributed to my aging, and because I had been around so long in these bars, that the customers were ready for some, new, company, to sit and talk with, I was just starting to struggle some, to keep all the bills paid on time. I was getting nervous.

When, this other, girl, I had been talking to, went up to dance, I was sitting there alone. There had been a, nice looking, man, sitting at the table just in front of us, who had seemed to be watching the girls, on stage, as he sipped the soft drink in front of him. As it turned out, he had actually been listening, to my conversation, with the other dancer. When she left to go on stage he came and sat with me. He was just very well-mannered, and caring, and we talked, together, for that whole shift. The club management didn't care, who we sat with, or how long, if we were selling our drink quota for the shift. Most guys came into these clubs to see some ass, not hear some heartbreak. But, this man, Ken, seemed so, sincere, and safe, somehow. Just before closing, he asked me if I would have sex with him, though; and, he said he would pay me money, for that. I decided to 'broaden my resume', regarding the prostitution, and said yes. Ken and I were both sober. When we got outside, to his truck, he had to, breathe into some tubular apparatus, that was in it, before his truck would start. I had never seen anything like it. He said it was a requirement for him, because he had issues with DUIs in his past. That explained why he drank soft drinks all night. I rarely ever drank, at all, and almost never, at work, so I had been drinking fruit juices. Because, these nightclubs were open an hour later, in Council Bluffs, Iowa, than in Omaha, Nebraska, we went, across the river, to the Razzle Dazzle. Ken stopped at an Adult store on the way there to buy a box of condoms. When he went in to get them, it started hitting me, what I was about to actually do. I had some advance notice, before I had that 'date', with the truck driver, to-- try to-- mentally prepare, for prostitution; if that's even possible. But, tonight, with Ken, it was, spur of the moment, and I didn't know if I would be able to, do it. I was really nervous! My heart was pounding! I was freaking out, on the inside, while trying to look as cool and calm as I could manage on the outside.
     
When we got to the Razzle, my friend, Robin-- a, very masculine, Navy vet who I met when he worked at The Twenties 'Showgirl' for awhile, as assistant manager, when I danced there-- was DJing. He had gone through, almost the entire dancer lineup, when he was at The Twenties, sleeping with one girl after another, which I held against him, and prevented us from ever really blossoming into a romance. I did finally take him home with me, after work, one night, because he really was a hot guy. But we couldn't have sex, because he had the biggest cock I'd ever seen and it would just not fit in the rubber that I had for it. He ended up finding my G-spot with his finger, though, which NO man had ever done BEFORE that or SINCE, and, when he did, I probably, woke up everyone, on my floor, in the building, and the floors above and below me. A significant and, sadly, singular, sexual event for me, that was impossible to forget. Robin and I always acknowledged that, we had a strong sexual chemistry, with one another, but he was, far too promiscuous, for my taste, and I was too monogamous, by nature, for him. It would never work. I was in pure panic mode at the moment, because of what I was about to try to do, with Ken, as we ordered our required beverages from the waitress. Ken asked for, a soft drink, and I asked for, a line of shots-- 5 shot glasses, of alcohol, at once-- FOR ME! I almost never drank booze, and I was a 'lightweight' female at 5'9" and 128 pounds. Right now, I was almost praying, that the drinks would hit me, hard, and fast, in time to give me 'liquid courage', to do 'the dirty deed' with Ken, soon.

Ken had plenty of money on him, and I must have really upped the profits, in the till, at the Razzle, that night, because I was scared sober, so I ordered another 5-shot-round-- FOR ME. I couldn't feel it, kicking in, at all, when I, normally, would feel a buzz starting, from just one glass of wine, if I drank. It was a nightmare. I ordered a 3rd 5-shot round, and was lifting the first of them up to my lips, when, something Robin said, over his DJ mic, caught my attention. In between spinning songs for the dancers, on stage, and the typical engaging and entertaining talk to keep the customers involved, he had suddenly said, that "This song goes out to a friend of mine, who is here, tonight. . . . WHATEVER IT TAKES, right?" I looked at him, and our eyes met, as I slugged down all 5 shots, of my third round, in about 20 seconds. I looked like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, so he knew (because he knew me, so well) that SOMETHING was REALLY GOING ON with me, that was not 'normal'. If he hadn't been working, and responsible for keeping the whole show going, as the DJ, I think he would have come over, and intervened. I had all those shots in about 40 minutes, and by Last Call they were starting to hit me, finally. Ken, was, handsome, nice, generous, and, married. We had only, just met, but, I felt NO sexual chemistry, with him, at all, and we were about to leave the Razzle, to go have sex somewhere. Sex FOR MONEY. HOW was I supposed to DO that when I wasn't actually sexually turned on by this sweet-but-short man? I mean, I figured prostitution was not going to be about personal preference, as far as the men being my 'type', since it was transactional, not relational, but because of my own issues, I had to find some way, to be ABLE to do this. I'd been through rape, and other, troubling, things, at the hands of men. I'd been frigid, for awhile, because of that, until my second husband had acted as my own sex therapist and brought me back to full sexual functioning when we were basically living together, when we dated, while we were both stationed at Keesler Air Force Base for school.

That didn't mean that it was EASY FOR ME, though. I was a very damaged woman and I didn't know how I was going to get through this NEW TRAUMA, tonight! As I began to feel the drunken haze of the drinks kicking in, and the lights came up for the club to close, Ken, went to the men's room, and I made a beeline for Robin, in the DJ booth, to try to, get my 'jumpstart', from Robin, through our strong sexual chemistry. Ken would not be gone long, so I walked right up, to Robin, and kissed him, passionately, without saying a word, or giving him any explanations about it.
I was nearly in a drunken stupor by then, but I recall hearing several males which were probably bouncers and bartenders all going "WHOAAAAA!", as Robin and I started, making out, hot, and heavy, right there, in the DJ booth. After I began to kiss him, he lifted me, off my feet, in his strong arms, and pinned me, against the wall, behind the booth, pushing his full body up against mine. I bet, all those guys looking on, at us, went home, and took very cold showers, that night; for starters. Robin told me, once, years later, after he finally settled down, with one of the girls at the Razzle, and had a child with her, that, I was the most intriguing girl, he had ever known. Considering the large number of women, that he knew, I took that as a real compliment, coming from him. It's kind of sad, how we can be, so near, and yet, so far, in our relationships, in this life; able to have the ones, we really aren't, that into, but often, denied the chance, if only by, circumstance, character, timing, or trust issues, to end up with someone that really rocks our world, when we kiss.

Ken and I, left, the Razzle, and drove over to the parking lot of one of the casinos, that was along the river in Council Bluffs. He chose an area with very few vehicles and parked his truck there. It was not quite Spring, and was still cold, at night, so the windows in his pickup truck began to fog up, some, from our body heat, as we talked some. We weren't kissing, or making out, or anything like that. I didn't kiss any of the men that I did prostitution with. Maybe, that's due to, the scene, in the movie, 'Pretty Woman', where Julia Roberts tells Richard Gere that, she won't kiss her 'johns', on the mouth. I, never, exchanged, ANY body fluids, of ANY kind, with the men that paid me for sex; and they all had to wear rubbers. I've never had an STD, and I never want one, either. (I got tested, for all those, and examined, by a doctor, when I stopped doing prostitution-- just for my own peace of mind-- and I  didn't have any STDS and the doctor said that my vagina was very clean looking.)
Although, Ken was very nice looking, he was quite short, in stature; and, at least, with him, that seemed to carry over into his penis size. When he had unzipped his pants, so we could put the condom on him, I didn't think that he had an erection! When I realized, that he DID-- and it WAS-- I wondered, how he could have even fathered kids. It was no more than 3", fully erect. Even though I straddled him by sitting facing him, in the truck, he wasn't long enough to really penetrate me. If I moved, at all, we came disconnected, because he was so short. I wondered if this caused problems in his marriage and/or if it had something to do with him paying for sex, on the side. People are very complex. I didn't want to hurt him. So, I said nothing about it, at all. He was done, quickly, making me wonder-- since that was twice, now (two for two!)-- if men hiring women for sex always come almost right away, and with, very little, physical stimulation. It was a good thing, he was done, though, because, we had no sooner got our pants back on, than a security officer, for the casino property, that we were parked on, came driving straight toward us!

Realizing, that, we must have been spotted, doing that, on some security camera, Ken started the truck, as fast as he could, and we drove off quickly, just ahead of them reaching us. I'm not sure what exactly might have happened, but it seemed to me, that I came close to being arrested, for prostitution, that night; along with Ken. That, was why, the other 10 times, of my 'dirty dozen' acts, of prostitution, I  had them pay for a motel or hotel room. It added more to the cost but they didn't mind paying it. Ken paid me the $200.00 and, still pretty drunk, I staggered up to my apartment, after he had dropped me off, and passed out for the night. When I woke up, and saw that money, I just stared, at it, and then said to myself, "It was real! It wasn't a dream. I actually did that!" I was, so shocked, that I actually took the money, to a copy center, near my apartment, and xeroxed it, as a record of it.  I never was with Ken, again. He came in the club, again, awhile later, and told me that he wanted to, save me, from my life of crime, ending my days of prostitution, so he had BOUGHT A RESTAURANT, in downtown Omaha, on, the SAME BLOCK, as MY APARTMENT, but right around the corner, so that, he could offer me a job, in it. I was, so annoyed, by all the, various PRESUMPTIONS, that he made, with all that he was, trying to, DECIDE FOR ME, about MY life, that I got pissed off, at him, and wouldn't talk to him, anymore. HE HAD SOME NERVE! This, MARRIED MAN, who, I was HIRED BY, to HAVE SEX WITH HIM. Caring or not, it hit me THE WRONG WAY!



               When women go wrong, men go right after them. - Mae West


My friend, Don, had invited me out to lunch, in the Old Market. I knew him when, he was a shoe salesman, at Dillard's, in the mall. (It strikes me as humorous that a woman would have a friend, that sells women's shoes, since, we tend to buy so many shoes, that I feel it is almost inevitable to become personal friends with the sales people!) He caught me up on his life. I had wondered where he had seemed to disappear to, after not seeing him around, anywhere, for a year or two. He told me, that he had gotten arrested, on a felony drug charge, and was sent to prison. We discussed politics, some, and he lamented that, as a convicted felon, he'd lost the right to vote. He described how, he was now, working as a forklift driver, for a company, which was willing, to give felons, a second chance for employment, and that they drug-tested him regularly. He had been living a life of being a successful salesman, who was well-liked, by everyone, and popular, as a person. I could tell, he felt, really bummed out, by what his life was like, now. When it was my turn to catch him up, on my life, now, he was shocked, when I told him that I had started doing prostitution (of the, more discriminatory, and elite, 'Call Girl', genre, versus, just standing on street corners and 'taking any comers' (pun intended) that drove up). Because, convicted felons have a really difficult time, with alot of things, that included, finding landlords willing to rent to them, Don lived with his mother, now.

He was a personal friend, that I knew fairly well, both from, Dillard's, and because he used to stop in to The Twenties nightclub, after work, to see me dance, and we would talk there. He was a, tall, slender, blond, average-looking, affable, man who did not strike me as a guy who had any trouble, finding girlfriends (which, I never was, with him, because I was not attracted to him, in that way; and he had never approached me, in that way, in all the years I had known him). He confided in me that, since being sent away to prison, and his former lifestyle being stripped away from him, as a result, of all that, his confidence, in himself, was, severely, shaken. He asked me, if he could, book me, for a 'gig' (what, the dancers, at the club, who did prostitution, had taught me, that, they called, these, paid, 'dates', for sex). He said his job paid good money, but his, social involvements, with women, had been pretty much shut down, completely, since he lived with his mother, now, where he couldn't really entertain friends, or have girlfriends stay over. The explanations, he had to give, to girls, about that, being his lifestyle, now, wasn't exactly reassuring to women, as far as, what he had to offer them, as a good future prospect, either. I could tell he was really feeling down, restricted, and isolated. So, I agreed to go, with him, to a motel, over in Council Bluffs, for a, paid, gig. It was a quid pro quo. I would boost his morale, and he would boost my resume (and budget), so I could continue to convince the people, at the club, that I was, in fact, turning tricks. The dancers knew Don. We sat outside the restaurant, awhile longer, sipping on 2 or 3 48-ounce glasses of cold beer (they sold Millstream Amber, which was my all-time favorite beer, from the Amana Colonies, in Iowa), and then, we went to the motel, after making sure we had the condoms. I'm sure I was feeling more relaxed, and, probably, more 'playful', since I knew and trusted Don. (I didn't kiss him though.)

I had also started drinking alot, since I began doing the prostitution; to try to dull the Holy Spirit's 'speaking up', in me, about His great distress, over all of this. He was right, of course, but I didn't want to hear it, and did all I could, to drown Him out. He seemed hard to hear sometimes before this chapter of my life due to that still, small, voice, of His (Hebrews 3:6-8). But, now, especially, on the days, when I was doing the prostitution, He was so much louder and more insistent. It caused me to become very irritable, on those days. I started snapping at my beloved bird baby, CeeBee (who was himself, also, a miraculous gift of God to me), when I was normally calm, upbeat and loving around him. I would even scream at him, which wasn't something I had ever done, with him, before; and he was doing nothing to deserve that, from me, now. I was a wreck! Trying to, psych myself up, to be able to get through these, sinful, acts, took all I had, and then some (usually being the addition of alcohol, to help me cope, with something so foreign, to my values, and nature). The thing I feel saddest about, in my whole life, is when, I have known, I was grieving God's Spirit, by my actions, but for whatever reason(s), I didn't stop doing that. At least, not, as soon, as I, should have. He is pure love! He loves me, and the men who were doing this, with me; and, I know, He wanted better, for us, and from us. I would finally repent of all this, but not yet. Not until it touched and tainted more lives than it already had. I still feel so sad thinking about those days. Don called me up, the next day, after this 'date' was over, and told me that he had been surprised that it was as good as it was, and he said that he wanted me to be his girlfriend. So I ended up eroding his confidence even more than it already was by telling him that I wasn't looking for a 'boyfriend', and I didn't see him that way.

At that point, I was becoming very aware that, my trauma bonding, to Darren, the stalker cop, had a very strong and unhealthy grip on me, which caused me to shut down, emotionally, toward all men, now. I also was realizing, that my son's father, my second husband, was, the one man, that I truly loved, and apparently couldn't get over. I felt it in my gut, when Jay's stepmom, Linnea, would tell me things, on our phone calls, that were going on, in their lives, as a family-- including with Jim. I felt like I couldn't breathe, hearing those things, and I consciously tried to sound as nonchalant and unaffected, by what she shared with me, about him, as I could. I had divorced him soon after Jay was born, because his family made it extremely clear that I was only tolerated, but not wanted or accepted, as part of their family. For one thing, they blamed me, for getting pregnant; which was not on purpose. I had married Jim, because, of that happening, which, didn't help matters any. But, even before that, they didn't think I was the right person for Jim. Because I loved him so deeply, it took me decades, to really see clearly, and accept, that we, truly, weren't right, for each other; and NEVER COULD HAVE BEEN. It was, very painful, for me, to hear, Linnea, sound so happy, in their relationship, when he hadn't had that with me. I was grateful, and glad, that he had her. To this day, she's the best woman I have ever known; and I KNOW, she was a literal GODSEND, to us ALL! I actually, felt bad, for loving, the man, that was, now, HER husband, as MUCH as I did. I didn't want it to be this way, in my life; but, I couldn't stop feelings, for him, or create feelings, for these, other, men, that were in my life. Jim, captivated, me, because, what I felt, for him, and with him, was LOVE, AND, SEXUAL CHEMISTRY.  My life was a shipwreck of sadness, at this point; and I was sinking, fast. 

George, was an average-looking, middle-aged, man, with an office job, who went on, scuba diving, trips, to Mexico, and was a divorced, single, father. I met him in the Backdoor Lounge, where I was working during the time that I did sex for hire. He was a, painfully pleasant, man. So, politically correct, that I wondered if there was ever anything that he was actually 'passionate' about. He was so banal that I found myself trying not to yawn, when I would sit and talk with him. George, was so low-key, that, for me, he was almost NO-key. I am emotive, and expressive. If  I had to, give him a nickname, I would, probably, have dubbed him 'Mr. Monotone Man'. He was, safe, reliable, and a gentleman; were the best things, I could say. I found out that still waters run deep, where he was concerned, though, by the end of my gigs, with him, that he booked me for; and, not, in a good way. He, usually, sat with a girl that I did not like, very well. She was, very insecure, and attention-seeking, as a dancer, and was, always trying to find, some way, to diminish, other girls, including me, rather than, just focus on making herself shine, without doing that. When the older, male, bartender, who was also the club manager (after Dick McGinnis finally had to go to prison; his lawyers had maneuvered, to stall that, as long as they could), was let go for skimming the cash drawer, Lori got the job and started wielding that new position of power, to 'pay back' those of us who she had previously felt the most insecure around and inadequate next to, regardless of the fact, that, we had, actually, not done anything, to her, to, cause, her, to feel those things. We just weren't willing, to spend our money-making time, at work, to feed her constant, endless, need, for validation, and approval, from others. It defeated the purpose of our being at work to make our living; was a downer, for whomever she approached, to (try to) insist, that her, always-shaky, ego, be stroked, as she humiliated herself, in the process, of being that pathetic; and it sucked the air out of the room, from the sheer magnitude of her neediness, at times. Because, of all that, I admit that I did get a bit of pleasure out of stealing George away, from her, to have sex with him, for money. I, normally, didn't take the low road, with any of my co-workers. But Lori was just supremely annoying, to me, and had been, for a long time. Her getting, the bartender/club management position, only, intensified, her seeking adoration and affirmation from everyone; and going out of her way to make things more difficult for those she felt ignored, or slighted by, when her ego wasn't fed the way that she wanted done, for her, by them. That included me. She instructed the DJ, to play archaic songs, that were not even danceable, in order to detract from my dance, and discourage tips for my performance on stage. I finally had to, go to the woman that owned the bar with her husband, and tell her, about it. She immediately agreed that it was wrong of Lori, to ambush me that way, and put a stop to it. Because of crap like that, I was pissed off, so I decided to . . . get to know ('her' club customer), George. I wasn't the competing type; but, she was, and I knew, based on customers' reactions, to the two of us, that, if I 'went there' SHE WOULD LOSE. I, eventually, gave George back, to her; when I was done with him. Yes, this, was my, dark side, which I, normally, didn't operate out of, but was certainly, capable, of it; and did, bring it out, at times, when, people wronged me.

I walked up to George, with a smile, locked both, my laser-focused, blue eyes, on him, and asked, if I could join him. I knew, it was a done deal, before I ever even sat with him, that first time. I gave him, full-on 'Stevie'. He didn't stand a chance. The owners of the club had already warned Lori, when she was a dancer, that club customers, who walked through that door, belonged to the business, not her; and, as such, any and all employees were allowed to join the customer at their table, if the customer so desired. George, DESIRED. I'm pretty sure, I had him booked for a 'date', with me, almost as soon, as we started, sitting together, in the club. I am NOT saying that I was PROUD of ANY of this behavior of mine, that I'm describing. I said, to God, that if I were going to write this blog, I was GOING TO BE HONEST, because the whole point of writing it, to begin with, was to process experiences in my life. So, I HAVE TO KEEP IT REAL, about WHAT those WERE. For better and for worse. I AM NO SAINT. I am a SINNER. SAVED BY GOD. I am SO FAR from being, a 'perfect' person; and, to be honest, I don't KNOW ANY OF THOSE. That includes Lori, and George, and YOU, too (whoever you are). Sometimes, we, all, just stink. I would end up reaping what I sowed, with this, with George, though. Bad karma, was going to come around, and make me regret, that I ever walked up to George. There's something else, that I should say, about this subject, while I am on it. My lack of empathy, for Lori, when she was so insecure, and so needy of acceptance, and affirmation, and probably, affection, too; all those years ago. I AM THAT WAY, right now, in my life, and, it feels AWFUL. It is scary, to not feel sure of what your worth is, to others, around you, that are in your life. To not know if you are being tolerated, or are really wanted. To feel like you can't find your footing with others. To be unsure of yourself. Lori felt that way, then; and, I feel that way, now, in life.

George became my most regular 'customer'. He was a nice guy, but so bland and basic. He was so, 'middle-of-the-road'. He was tall, with an average build, and an average appearance. If I hadn't been, somewhat motivated, to 'get Lori's goat', I don't think George and I would have lasted for long, at all, even though, it wasn't a real, romantic, relationship, but a strictly sexual one; as in, he paid me for sex. He took me out to eat, at the start of our 'dates', and then drove us to the motel, in Bellevue (a small town that's one of several of those that surround Omaha and are considered part of the Metro area). It was hard enough, for me to have, real, enthusiasm, about having sex with these men that I didn't love and had no heart for. But, it was the worst, with George. I, honestly, felt like, a man would have to really work at it, to be as bad, in bed, as George was. It was awful. I wondered if that had anything to do with, him, being left, by his wife, to be a single father, to his kids. All of that had happened before I ever knew him. All I knew, was that, it was really unpleasant, having sex, with him. He had no talent, for it; no real skill. It couldn't be attributed to nerves because of this being prostitution, because, he didn't act nervous, or stressed, and he was my, most frequent, repeat, client. He booked half, of the 12 times, that I did prostitution. Ironically, unlike, the, first 2, men, I did this with, who had come so easily, and quickly, George actually took a long time, to finish. I don't know why. Some men say, they don't feel as much, in  a rubber; but George never said anything, like that. So, I don't know what it was.

He may have actually felt he was doing me some favor, as a man, by holding out, as long as he did, before coming; and, normally, he might have been right. Being with him sexually was the worst I ever had, though. He had no technique, and no rhythm. He was strictly a Mission Position man. Very straight-laced. I felt nothing, but my hands on his back, as I stared at the ceiling of the dowdy motel room and wished, he would end, my boredom, before I fell asleep like that. It wasn't about, MY sexual fulfillment, anyway. To be honest, I NEVER had an orgasm or any other sexual gratification, of my own, ANY of the times, that I had sex for money. I was focused on, JUST TRYING TO GET THROUGH IT, as coolly, and calmly, as possible, and fulfill the customers needs, so they 'got their money's worth' from me in their overall experience, of it. I went so far as to do the fake moans, like that scene, in the diner, in the movie 'When Harry Met Sally' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_lEs4FYkhs), to try to make the situation more exciting and fulfilling for these men. Especially for George, because frankly, I wanted to try to excite him enough that he would GET IT OVER WITH. At this point I was only doing this with George, and I was trying my best, to make it, as good as possible, for him. I was actually, starting to have some flashbacks, from my rape trauma, when I was in the motel with George. Maybe, because with him, taking so long, I had more time, to really think about what it was that I was doing there, with him. It wasn't about love, or relationship, and truly MY HEART OF HEARTS is VERY monogamous and loving by nature. So, it was really hard on MY SOUL. MY TRUE SELF, underneath, the act, I was putting on, for the benefit, of these 'johns'. With, the Holy Spirit, continually, RISING UP IN ME, letting me know that He was EXTREMELY DISTRESSED by this, there wasn't really ANY way I could EVER have had 'a good time', doing this stuff.

By the time these 'dates' were over, with George, and I was back home, I started feeling, traumatized, by it. To make it more stressful, I was also starting to count on the extra money to pay my bills. That was a really dangerous slippery slope to be on. It felt like, I was getting to the point, financially, that, I HAD NO CHOICE. I HAD TO DO IT. I already, didn't really WANT to do it. As, I kept, getting older, and my tips, for dancing on stage, kept dwindling, more and more, I felt trapped, and  was anxious, and stressed, almost all, the time, now. I had no clue, what I would do, to make a living, when I wasn't able to dance anymore; and I definitely didn't want to do EVEN MORE prostitution. One day, I was, sitting at the bar, before, the club opened, and was telling one of the other girls, that I was actually feeling like, doing 'pro', was traumatizing me, because the client I had, right now, was so bad in bed, that it was causing me to have, flashbacks, of rape, for some reason. Lori overheard me saying that, and she knew my current client was her customer and friend, George. She jumped in and defended him. Whether that was because she was his friend, and she spoke from that loyalty, or she had been with him, in bed, and somehow, thought that, for her, anyway, he did okay, with that, I don't know. It seemed that she must have told George, I said that, though, because, the next time that we went to the motel for a gig George took in a duffle bag and carefully positioned it on the chair by the bed. Then he disappeared into the bathroom and stayed gone for a long while. I don't know if he had a hidden camera in there or a recording device [perhaps thinking that he would record my sexy-sounding (fake) moans, to play, for Lori, as 'evidence', that my saying, the client (he), was bad, in bed, could not be true], but something was very different, this time, with him. He was probably, in the bathroom, a half hour, or so, and while he was in there, I sat on the bed, fully clothed, and fought back tears. In the quiet, the Holy Spirit, just started manifesting, in me, and I was so miserable! I felt like, this sex, I did, with George, was, so unpleasant, and, unhappy, for me, that it was traumatizing me. I was actually, in tears, by the time he finally came out of the bathroom, and I told him how I felt. I don't know why, or what for, but, he paid me, anyway. That, was the last time, that George and I ever did that. He, had been half, of my, 12 times.

Greg was the last of the guys that I did this with. He had come into the Backdoor, specifically looking for sex, and happened to sit with me. He was nice-looking. An average build, and height. And married. He looked and acted like such a nice guy. I was amazed, that these guys had all been, really nice-seeming guys. They were caring guys. Men, that, I would, NEVER HAVE THOUGHT, even, for a minute, were hiring a prostitute. I, wondered, how, the married ones, explained, to their wives, where they were. This last one, of my clients, took me out, to eat, right out in the open. Sitting outside restaurants, in the historic, Old Market area, of Omaha. That was, the 'see and be seen' hub, of the city. EVERYONE came, to the Old Market. It was just a matter of when. He never seemed nervous, at all, about anyone seeing him, that knew him; sitting there, with me all fixed up, and, as, sexy-looking, as I could possibly be-- which was, part of what they paid for, in this 'date' experience. He worked in management for a company that repaired cars after fender benders, etc. There had to have been lots of customers from there, that could see him with me; but, he always acted, very attentive, toward, and focused on, me, during our 'dates'. He even made it romantic, for me, while simultaneously telling me what a warm, and wonderful, woman, his wife was. She was a manager in a credit union, where, as it so happened, I had my account. I don't believe she ever knew, about me, but God did, and I took notice when, after her husband hired me to have sex with him, my account there, suddenly, started having, mix ups, and errors, that it had never had, before, causing me to have to keep going in there, to straighten it out; where I had to look at her, and KNOW, what I was doing, with her husband. I have heard men say that, they don't think, too deeply, about, alot, of things, and, they tend to compartmentalize, the different parts of their lives; keeping them all separate, from one another. With women, it is ALL a BLEND. There's NO WAY that a WOMAN can keep the various aspects of her life separate, from one another. We are, a composite, of, all, that, while men are, one compartment, or the other, at a time, for the most part. Greg and I were together 3 times. We went to a motel, in Council Bluffs, after dining out. He was, the thoughtful one, that even brought me flowers. Not that he needed to. There was no 'customer discount' for doing such a thing. It still cost him the price of dinner, the motel room, and the 'twin Franklins', each time. The last time, he also bought some drinks, at a pub, in the Old Market, before taking me to the motel. That was the very last time, I ever did prostitution.




I became, more frazzled, in my spirit, the more I did this, with these men. It was, so against, everything, that I, truly, was, in 'my heart of hearts'; as the, primarily, Catholic, Omahans, say. I had, a bad day, before Greg met me, for our last 'date', and I was really upset. I wasn't coping well, with any, of it, at this point. I was, in alot of debt-- primarily, credit card debt, and I was spending all the money, I had, as fast, as I got it, in my hand, while I was realizing, subconsciously, more, every day, that I needed to shake off, the denial and escapism, that I was using, to hide from the looming realities, of my life, as it was, now. I was scared. Panicked. Sad. I KNEW I was in TROUBLE, for sure, as a Wake-up Call, when I started depending on getting gigs, just to pay bills, while I was showing more and more signs of that causing me alot of trauma, and flashbacks, due to, my being a rape victim. It was something I could cope with, and compensate for, when I felt safe, and loved. But this was not that, and it was creating more issues within me at a time when I had more going on than I could handle well, anymore. Greg called, at the last minute, to cancel, one of our 'dates', once, saying that he had realized that he needed the money, himself, to cover some of his girls' school tuition; and I coldly went off, on him, about that, because, I realized, I was not going to be able to cover, my, bills, on time, now, without, the money, from him. It was a, real, reality check, for him, that I was that focused, on the money, I was losing, on that gig. He sounded hurt.

I was being a bitch. Nothing was GOOD about ANY OF THIS. I had developed neck problems, from turning around so often, to find Stalker Cop trailing me, and Diana still had not done anything, about Darren, besides tell me that she did give him 'a talking to' about it, and told him to stop (stalking me). Clearly that hadn't stopped him. There was NO change, with that issue, at all, and I was at my breaking point with it. Especially after, I finally went up to him and confronted him directly about it, to get it stopped, and he had, literally, just smirked at me, and then laughed in my face, and didn't stop. (I finally took him to court to get him to stop; as well as moved out of my favorite apartment and all the way to West Omaha, to try to get away from him.) I had already done so much to try to help the police department, through Diana, in the desperate hope, that, she would, recognize, and appreciate, it, and do right by me. One day, I saw on the news, that there was a public forum to speak out about issues with the police department, and I went, and stood up to tell them about my being stalked, for a decade at that point, by one of the bicycle patrol officers. Nothing got done, then, either. What hurt me, the most, though, is that, Diana, was there, at that forum, when I arrived, and she heard me speaking out, about it; and, she STILL didn't GET IT STOPPED. I had SOLD MY BODY, to get 'behind the scenes', for this department, to help them, with their, Cold Cases, and criminal investigations; and all, that I had to show for it, was excessive emotional trauma, rape flashbacks, and a Holy Spirit, that was doing all He could, to get me to STOP, doing that. I started to distrust Diana, and feel like, she had just, played me; taken advantage, of me; of my trust, and naivete, about how cops really are.

I felt, used, and disrespected, by her. I WAS AT MY BREAKING POINT. Something, in me, just SNAPPED. My own self-esteem was SHOT. I was, SO ANGRY, and SAD. When Greg met me in the Old Market, for what would turn out to be my very last gig, I asked him if he would buy me a drink. We went to Mr. Toad's Pub, and Greg ordered me, the Long Island Iced Tea, I asked for. It is a very strong mixed drink. I had always heard that, mixing different types of alcohol, causes someone to get drunker, and all I wanted to do, was, get drunk. Very, very, drunk. My world, was crashing, all around me, and I didn't feel like anybody was helping me! I felt like, everyone, was just, using me. Club customers, the police department, the guys I was doing prostitution with, the cop, who kept stalking me, and spying on me, to, apparently, amuse himself, at the expense of my peace and privacy. The one man that I would love forever-- my second husband Jim-- was very happily married to a woman, that was, a much better, human being, than me-- because, she, hadn't been as broken, by life, as I'd been. NOT EVEN CLOSE! I was definitely DAMAGED GOODS. The things I was put through, in my life, by people, CHANGED ME. HURT me. TWISTED me. RUINED ME, in ways. I was trying as hard as I could to survive it all. The drink Greg bought me at the pub had vodka, rum, tequila, and gin in it, plus, some other, things. I had, also, heard that, sucking drinks, through a straw, made you drunker, so I slurped that, whole thing, down, in a matter of SECONDS, and ordered another one. I did the same thing with that one and ordered another one. After doing the same thing with it, too, drinking all 3, in a matter of minutes, all at once, I went to the restroom. I didn't throw up. It would have been better, if I had. Those drinks SLAMMED ME. Almost, right away. By the time, I came out, of there, I saw someone, sitting there, at the table I had been at, looking at me, and smiling. I squinted my eyes, as I looked back, at this person, because, they didn't look familiar to me! I was too drunk, to think straight, and whoever this was, they didn't LOOK, like GREG, and I couldn't, figure out, what was going on, with that. I was hallucinating, or something, that caused him to look so weirdly distorted that, I couldn't, recognize him, now. I vaguely wondered if, one of my drinks had been, drugged, by someone, or if this just happened because of how much booze I had.

I wondered where Greg went, as this man that I couldn't even recognize anymore asked me, if I was ready to go, and led me out to his car. I leaned against the car door, trying not to pass out. By the time we pulled up in the parking lot of a motel in Council Bluffs, all I could manage to say, as I felt close to blacking out, with my own voice sounding so, far away, somehow, as I spoke, my slurred words, to him, was  "Hurry. I need to lie down." I, barely, remember, getting to the room; and, I don't remember ANYTHING AT ALL, after that. ANYTHING could have happened to me, or been done to me, by ANYONE, there, and I would have been totally unable to protect or defend myself. I could have even been killed, if I had been with such a person. I guess I was 'lucky', I was with Greg; although, he never told me what actually happened, with us, if anything, in that motel room, that last time. All that I can really remember, after, getting to the room, and him helping me, to the bed, was me, lying on the bed, and, him, leaning over me, saying, "Stevie! Wake up! I have to get home. It's getting late." He had to basically support my weight, to get me to the car because I was, still, wasted, and would be, until many hours later. I leaned against the car door, on the way back, to my place. He, pushed the, folded up, 'twin Franklins', into my limp hand, and said, "Are you, going to be able to get up to your apartment? I have to go. I have to go home." I have no idea, how I got up to my apartment. I just remember staggering to the bed, and passing out. The money was lying on the floor by my bed, when I woke up the next day. Between a hangover, and the prostitution, I just felt sick. I knew, that I could not do it again.

I had to retire, from dancing, soon after that. I ended up going bankrupt, because I couldn't pay my bills, on a mall store retail sales job, that I got, after leaving the good money, I made, from dancing, in the clubs, behind me. I had to move out of my, most loved, apartment, to one that, I didn't like, as far west, as I could go, to (try to) escape Darren's stalking of me, because Diana, and the rest of the police, never got him to stop, doing that, to me. I, never, did another prostitution gig. As soon, as I could, I got tested, for everything, in the STD category, and also, had a pelvic exam. Mostly due to my having no idea, at all, what, if anything, happened, in that motel room, during that last gig with Greg. I was clean, and healthy! I was relieved. I became celibate, and have, remained, so, to the present day. That, has created, other, issues, for me. I developed, 'vaginal atrophy', which has had some pain associated with it. It is, basically, my vagina slowly collapsing in on itself, like a flower that had been in full bloom, but is drying up, and wilting. My gynecologist explained that, with, a vagina, it really is, important, to 'use it, or lose it', because the penetration, and pushing, of intercourse, stimulates, blood flow, to the vaginal walls, helping to keep it healthy, and supple. Without that, the walls become pale, and thin, as mine have (the doctor described), and can, become, dry, and, brittle, making them, more, susceptible, to, cracking, and, bleeding, and, other, issues. I intend, to stay single, and celibate, the rest of my life, so, I am trying, to address this, health, issue, as best I can. Doctors recommend penetrating and stimulating sex toys, to promote better blood flow. I try, but it is very hard to want to do that when the, mechanical, noises are so distressing and distracting, and I end up with more dead batteries than I do better blood flow. There are, positives, too, though!

I have learned, to live happily, in God's Love, for me, in the years since, all, these things, took place, in my life. He is the One who saved me! Including from myself. The Holy Spirit, within me, is alot happier being there, for me, now. I apologize to Him, at times, if I realize, that, I did, or said, something, that made Him feel, sad. I try to be cognizant of my body being His temple; His home away from Home (in Heaven), so to speak. I don't want to, pollute, His 'house', when, He likes it to be, kept, clean. I DO make mistakes with that. Some days, I am weak; or my focus is on, someone, or something, other than, making sure, that the Holy Spirit feels 'at home' in me. I have to repent, then, and do my best, to 'make it right', for Him. I am SO GLAD that He LOVES me and LIVES WITHIN ME! I need to really CHERISH the relationship, I have, with Him, and try, to make it one that, He can enjoy, and feel HAPPY about! He doesn't deserve, to be, grieved, saddened, or distressed, by sins that I commit; even if, they happen, because of my brokenness and my pain. Remembering, what, scripture says, about it, is really helpful, to keep priorities in line with God's Will. Here is a passage from the Bible that addresses this in detail:


                                                 Romans 8:5-16


However, you are not [living] in the flesh [controlled by the sinful nature] but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God lives in you [directing and guiding you].

Romans 8: 6Now the mind of the flesh is death [both now and forever--because it pursues sin]; but the mind of the Spirit is life and peace [the spiritual well-being that comes from walking with God--both now and forever]; 7the mind of the flesh [with its sinful pursuits] is actively hostile to God. It does not submit itself to God’s law, since it cannot, 8and those who are in the flesh [living a life that caters to sinful appetites and impulses] cannot please God.

9However, you are not [living] in the flesh [controlled by the sinful nature] but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God lives in you [directing and guiding you]. But if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Him [and is not a child of God]. 10If Christ lives in you, though your [natural] body is dead because of sin, your spirit is alive because of righteousness [which He provides]. 11And if the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you, He who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit, who lives in you.

12So then, [a]brothers and sisters, we have an obligation, but not to our flesh [our human nature, our worldliness, our sinful capacity], to live according to the [impulses of the] flesh [our nature without the Holy Spirit]-- 13for if you are living according to the [impulses of the] flesh, you are going to die. But if [you are living] by the [power of the Holy] Spirit you are habitually putting to death the sinful deeds of the body, you will [really] live forever. 14For all who are allowing themselves to be led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. 15For you have not received a spirit of slavery leading again to fear [of God’s judgment], but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons [the Spirit producing sonship] by which we [joyfully] cry, “[b]Abba! Father!” 16The Spirit Himself testifies and confirms together with our spirit [assuring us] that we [believers] are children of God.


This, really speaks to, us having great value and worth, to God, despite our falling short, and, into sin, at times. There is, real, encouragement, in the fact, that, God knew ALL the days of our lives, before we were even born, scripture says, and He still Calls us, to be His own, and heirs with Christ! He loves us, forgives us, writes our name in the book of Salvation, and when others accuse us, and want us to be condemned, by Him, for, our sins, and shortcomings, the Lord tells us to, "Go and sin no more". I AM SO GRATEFUL, for God's GRACE, toward me. I would be LOST, without it! Your sins may not be the same, as mine, but, you have sinned too. So, before you decide to judge and condemn me, if you are tempted to do that, think about what Jesus could kneel down and start to write in the dirt that you've done.    



                                                  In Conclusion:

What I got paid doing prostitution was never enough, to make it worth what that cost me; spiritually speaking. The worst part, about it, was how grieved the Holy Spirit was by my doing that; using the temple (my body) which was His dwelling place because of my being a believer in Christ. A Christian. I had pastors tell me, that I couldn't even be a real Christian, because I was a dancer in the nightclubs.  I am sure that, had they known, about my brief foray into this fornication, they'd have told me that, from their point of view, there was no redemption for my soul. The Bible does say that, adulterers, among others, will not inherit the kingdom of God (1 Corinthians 6:9). As miserable as my sin made Him, the Holy Spirit didn't leave me, during this immoral and illegal activity. I think it must be because, God loves us while we are yet sinners, and Jesus came to Earth not to judge us but to redeem us from sin. The Holy Spirit, knowing all things, including the future, also knew, that I would repent of it. I feel so sad that I put Him through that, though.
When, you love someone-- really, deeply, love someone, you do not want to hurt them. I had been so hurt, so let down, so broken, by people, not loving me, well, or, properly, which also contributed to my ending up in this dark place, of being a prostitute. While, I am, solely, responsible, for, my own sin, including, this one, it is also true that, the sins of others twisted and turned my path in life, and in that way, contributed to my ending up where I was-- both spiritually and physically. A woman that is loved well, and true, and faithfully, and forever, isn't one who ends up in the places that I did, in my life. Only those who have read my previous blog posts, and have a pretty good idea of what others have subjected me to, through their sins, will come close to comprehending, how I ended up where I was, in life.

I didn't stand up in school, as a sweet little girl, when asked, what I wanted to be when I grew up, and say, "I want to be married-- multiple times!-- and raped and be the lifelong scapegoat for my dysfunctional family-- so, I can live 'Happily Ever After'!" When I became too broken to handle anymore shit from people, very well at all, it didn't stop happening to me. It kept coming. Other peoples' sins, causing me pain. My reactions to this 'bullcrap overload' haven't been the best. Ultimately my own sin became part of the cycle of 'hurt people hurt people', as I hurt others. Rarely is anything, or anyone, either, all good, or all bad. You may be surprised to know that, when I went off to college I planned to be in the ministry of some sort, so my classes were things like, Philosophy, Religion, New Testament Greek, Public Speaking. They say that life is what happens to you, when you are planning to do something else, and my road took a definite downturn when my older cousin, that my relatives had asked to, look out for me, in that big city, where I went away, to college, took advantage of me in an intimate sexual way. I ended up dropping out of college, marrying him, and eloping; because, I felt like I had no choice. I didn't love him. In fact, I really resented him for doing that to me. But, back then, even more so than now, people were very quick to judge, and I was conditioned by the social judgments to believe that, if I were no longer 'pure', then I was, unlovable, and undesirable; and no 'decent' man would ever want to marry 'damaged goods' like me. Those judgements boxed me in; surrounding me and dragging me down.

They buried all my plans, and hopes, and dreams, along with me! Those opinions, of me, of who I was, now, overshadowed everything, leaving me, living in, a very, dark, place, where, I felt, robbed, of, any, desirable, future. All, that did, was add insult, after the injury that my half-first-cousin had done to me. I was just an 18-year-old girl. People were so busy judging me, and stereotyping me, and shoving me into their box-- deciding, who and what I was-- that, no one, was helping me, supporting me, loving me. When I did the prostitution, I was, definitely, behaving carnally, rather than spiritually. But, the Bible says, that people tried to get Jesus to 'pass judgment', on others (although, those people, were sinners, themselves; and often, even bigger sinners, than the one they tried to condemn), but He said, "As for anyone who hears My words and does not keep them, I do not judge him. For I have not come to judge the world, but to save the world." (John 12:47) MY testimony, from MY life story, is that, God, Himself, is my greatest blessing-- just because of, WHO HE IS, and HOW HE IS. I love Him, with all that I am, because, He won my heart, by loving me, and saving me, and helping me, and being there for me, when, people, were hurting me, and harming me, and harassing me, etc.

Humans tend to rank sins, as if lying (which EVERYONE has done, at SOME point) is not as 'bad' of a sin, as committing adultery, or doing prostitution. God doesn't see it that way, though. He is always completely righteous, so any sin, at all-- no matter what that is-- separates, the person sinning, from Him. So, someone that 'only' told a lie is just as separated from God by that sin, as someone doing what  I did with those men. ALL have sinned, have fallen short, and have need of being saved. When, the men, who brought the woman, caught, in adultery, to Jesus, to be judged by Him, He replied, "He who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first.” (John 8:7) To, the, guilty, woman, he simply said, "Go, and sin no more." I stopped, doing, the prostitution, which was, decades ago, and I have even been, completely, celibate, since then. God, forgave me, and loves me! It is interesting, to me, that the woman, caught in adultery, didn't drop dead from any judgment, of God, but, two people, who told a lie, did drop dead, from that lie. In Acts 5, Ananias and Sapphira, died, as, a direct result, of their LYING, to the Holy Spirit. They actually dropped dead, because they lied, to the Spirit of ALL TRUTH. A huge reason-- the MAIN reason-- that being very honest is so important to me, even when, it makes me, look bad, or sound bad, or describes, my shortcomings, and sins, that I am not proud of, as I 'confess my sins before men' (James 5:16), is because, God is Truth, and I LOVE GOD! My blog posts are my TRUE testimony.  I haven't been with any man for anything for almost two and a half decades now.  I think that's a sure sign of a heart that repented, of sexual sin. Don't expect me to be a 'perfect' person, in this life, though. YOU aren't. I'M not. NOBODY, is that. It is also, highly likely, that there will, always, be, some, area, where, I fall short. 

I did talk to Greg, my last customer, that I did prostitution with, one last time, by phone. Even though he had come into the Backdoor Lounge, seeking someone for sex on the side, and, as a, married man, I still called him, and apologized, for my part, in enabling him, to participate in that sin. I told him that the Holy Spirit had convicted me, that it was sin, and that I had repented of it. I told Greg about the scripture that says that, (unrepentant) fornicators, and adulterers, will not inherit the kingdom of God. I asked him for his forgiveness for my part in helping him to sin against God and against his wife and the vows they took to one another when they married. I don't know, how many prostitutes have ever done that, with their former clients, but I really felt led by God's Holy Spirit in me, to do that; so I did.
I hope Greg repented of it, too, and went on to be a devoted husband to his wife.