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.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.
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 niceFor 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.
