Chapters 2 – South American Princess

Chapter 2, “South American Princess,” recalls a petite South American woman who walked into John Joseph Dowling Jr.’s photo studio at sunset — a nine-month romance of photo shoots, weekend affairs, and a love that lingered even as heart surgery approached.

The first time I looked into her eyes, she was walking into my studio. It was just after sunset. She was late. At least two hours late, but she had walked miles, taking several trains and finally a taxi to get to my studio, a good four hours from her home. I lit candles in the studio and had both fireplaces going. I was hoping to start at sunset, one of my two favorite times of the day to shoot, with sunrise my absolute favorite. But, one of her trains was delayed. I had a glass of wine waiting for her, as I was both flattered and interested to see what kind of person would travel so far to shoot with me. As I opened the door I was quite surprised to see that her beauty matched her online photographs. That was not always the case.

The golden flame of the fireplace lit her face as she entered the door. She looked like an Indian princess. She was petite, dark, with eyes almost black and perfect cheekbones. Not to mention, a slender well-curved body. I will never forget her first words to me. “Oh my God, you are as handsome as your Facebook photographs.” I was both flattered and taken aback. Despite her four-hour adventure, her hair and makeup were perfect and she was ready to shoot. She walked in with her flight attendant style rolling wardrobe and immediately gave me a kiss. It was a kiss of friendship like those given in so many countries. I knew she could not be from here and later learned she was from South America.

She took a glass of wine, sat on the stool in front of the seamless backdrop and lights, as if she had been modeling her entire life and we started shooting. She was great. Her eyes were strikingly beautiful, so deep and dark, yet alive and sensual. She was very much a model though she was new to the New York modeling scene. She had modeled and danced her entire life, so the studio was a natural and safe environment for her. I found out rather quickly, photography was not why she came to my studio.

Before long she was wearing sexier and sexier outfits and the small talk between us became sexual. I was not the impetus for this. She was flirting well beyond the task at hand. It was not long before we were taking lingerie and bathing suit shots. Soon, her wardrobe changes started to take place in front of me. She was younger than me by at least twenty years. I was getting nervous thinking, what if she really wants me? What will I do? Will I open my heart to such a young woman? Or, will I just make a joke of it, as I usually do, when approached romantically? Finally, after a bottle or two of wine she suggested that we shoot some nudes. I agreed. Her body was beyond sensational with beautiful curves and firm, with dark nipples.

We started shooting against the seamless backdrop, but very quickly she moved to the couch. I turned the strobe lights off and used one hot light, a technique to best capture nudes or implied nudes. Not that I have photographed thousands of nudes. It was always a gift when a model trusted me enough to experiment with the human figure. Even so, once she was on the couch I knew that she wanted me. I drank more wine to calm myself. It was many years ago that I had last opened my heart and let myself just go with it. Especially, with a model, as I did not want to get a reputation as a player. I wanted to keep my reputation as an artist intact. But she was too hard to resist.

It did not take long for me to go fully mobile with indirect flash from my handheld flash unit attached to my camera. We wound up in my bedroom, where the light was best and I had white sheets that would make for a great prop. Once she started rolling around on my bed and giving me those bedroom eyes, I knew that it was now or never. I sat down next to her. She reached up and started to stroke my lips and hair as if to give me permission to move forward. I starting kissing her forearm softly, working my way down her arm, to her forehead, shoulders and eventually her lips. She had the softest lips I have ever kissed; I was mesmerized by what was about to happen. I was shaking, overwhelmed with her passion and stunned at how comfortable she was in inviting me into my own bed. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Not figuratively, but literally. I was in trouble as she had me going and I had not taken my blood pressure pills, or any of my meds, including my daily aspirin. So, I did what any middle-aged man would do, I excused myself, swallowed my pills, checked my blood pressure, and stalled for a few minutes before I went back to the bedroom. I knew that if I continued, it very well could be my last time. I could die.

This was long before my successful heart surgery, so my blood pressure would go so high during sex that I was putting my life at risk. As I reached out to her, she started to kiss me again and my heart started to beat faster and faster. The wine was kicking in and without giving it another thought I starting kissing her all over her body. I mean everywhere and not just for a minute or two. She was writhing with passion. At times the softness of my kisses tickled her and she flinched. This was clearly a new experience for her. She had not been with many men before. Her inexperience was obvious.

For a petite woman, she enjoyed love a bit rougher than I was used to. Her body had a sexy curve I had never seen, or experienced before. It was a particularly sensual experience. We spent hours and hours in the bedroom. Now that the fireplace light was extinguished, candles were the only form of light in the entire house. We laughed and held each other for hours upon hours, until we fell to sleep. The next morning I did not know what to expect? How much did the wine affect her, or me for that matter? Would we have the same passion in the morning that we experienced the night before? Equally important, what was I supposed to do or how was I supposed to feel? It did not take long to find out. As I laid there, gazing into her eyes as she awoke, her eyes met mine. She pulled me on top of her and we started right where we left off. After a quick breakfast, I drove her home. The thought occurred to me that I might not ever see her again. As destiny would have it, that would not be the case.

It had been so long since my last intimate moment that I was reeling from feelings of love. We all hope to experience this with someone special, but I barely knew her. I was thinking, maybe she is just easy and sleeps around a lot. Yet, she seemed so inexperienced. In time, I learned that I was not only an exception, but also one of her first encounters. We texted day and night and talked frequently, as she was planning her next trip to my studio. The photographs were exquisite. I knew that they were the best photographs of her she had ever seen. By that weekend she made the four-hour trip to see them, and me.

I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. I picked her up at the train station. She immediately hugged me and kissed me lovingly. I knew then, this was not going to be a one-time affair. She had the look of love in her eyes. But, she was so young. I did not know what to do. What would people think? I did not care. She came to my home studio to shoot again and again and again, weekend after weekend, for months. Almost every time it was the same. She would get off from work and make the long trip. We would shoot all night, sleep in and she would go back the next day to study or to get to work. I worked mostly on my computer or phone, so my hours were much more flexible. But, I did wish she could just stay.

She was making her own way thru life and paying for her own education. She was a hard worker. I had a great deal of respect for her, but at the same time I started to crave her like a drug. She was passionate, so passionate that before long she walked into my studio and went right to the bedroom. There was no shoot or even lunch or dinner. I figured that she knew that eating a full gourmet meal, which I cooked for her every time she came, was probably not the best idea for a guy with a few stents, in addition to a plethora of heart issues. But it was simply her insatiable desire and obsession with our sexual relationship that drove her. I could not understand why. Surely, if I were a much younger man I would have performed better and found a way to fulfill her insatiable passion.

It had been about nine months and the new-year was approaching. I promised myself, at some point, I would end the relationship. She was just too young. Despite the fact we were in love there was no way I could give her a future with children and a long life together. Her twenty years was the deal breaker. Everything else was pure love and I was still suffering from a broken heart. As the love grew every time we would shoot, so too grew the guilt. I felt that I was stealing her heart. I tried to find ways to drop hints about our age difference and where we were in life. She caught on quickly and it angered her.

At one point, as Christmas approached, I thought I would buy her a powerful vibrator. Maybe she would start to like it and maybe just maybe, stop thinking of me as much. Truth be told, I simply could not keep up with her and eventually started asking her if she was;” trying to kill me,” as we spent more and more time in the bedroom. When she unwrapped her gift, not a holiday present, just a random one, she took it out of the box and asked me what it was. I was surprised. I thought everyone knew what a vibrator was for. She asked why I was giving it to her. I told her, so she could enjoy sex more. Without even batting an eyelash, she took that brand-new vibrator and tried to stick it up my ass! She was very aggressive and pissed off. When I resisted, she threw it against my bedroom wall! For the first and only time since I had met her, she was angry and screamed out with her South American accent, “do you think I travel four hours to see you for that vibrating piece of plastic?” With that she began passionately kissing me and we continued our torrid romance all day and night.

When we were not in the bedroom we were shooting and when we weren’t shooting, I was cooking. Typically, I would cook many of the recipes from my childhood. I frequently merged them with recipes I picked-up from my travels, or from my work in the hospitality business. I was not exactly sure if she was in love with my food or me. I must ask her one-day. For a petite woman she could really eat.

New Year’s Eve was approaching and it was almost a year of weekend affairs, almost every one of them the same. We started in the bedroom or pretty much anywhere. We would shoot and then cook and eat. When it got late I would drive her to the train station and she would go home. She did not want me driving four hours each way late at night and did not mind sleeping on the train. So, the train it was. When we were not together I often would text her. But, never did I feel that she was the one I would spend my life with. Not that I thought I had much life left, but the age difference was too much for me.

On New Year’s Eve, we went to a concert. It was delayed for hours and it was just a mess. She was pissed and did not hide her disappointment. In fact, she took it out on me. It was the perfect opportunity to end the relationship. After she left we both knew that something had changed. We were not using any protection and during the evening she made a sudden movement to suggest she felt a kick in her stomach. At that point the fear factor immediately took control of my heart and I shut down.

The last thing I wanted to do before my heart surgery was to bring a child into the world, especially with such a young woman, who was clearly not ready to be a mother. All the same, for years afterwards, after a brief pause, we would meet and the heat would take over. Again, we would find ourselves in passionate embraces and more. Even though she found herself an age appropriate boyfriend, we just could not control the passion. The sexual chemistry was too powerful. All the same I was not getting any better and I knew I would have to leave New York for warmer winters or further risk my life. Eventually I left. I would have died otherwise.

She remains single, although she is not the cute innocent young woman she was when I first met her. Now she is approaching thirty and remains as young at heart as when we first met. I know that time and heartaches, like me, have toughened her heart. I sometimes think what life would be with a younger woman by my side, probably with a new generation of children with us. But, all the same, I believe I did the right thing ending it. It was a chapter of love I will never forget. I know that the love I showed her helped her get through life as much as it helped me when I was lonely and heartbroken. The fact that she loved me when I was at my heaviest and in my worst health, spoke clearly to how genuine and authentic her passion was. She used my photographs to help her land many modeling and acting jobs, including feature films.

I hope she will always cherish our chapter of love, as she will always be my “South American princess” and will always have a place deep within my heart. As I have found, so many times, love does not need to be a lifetime novel to be cherished. Chapters of love, no matter how long or short, are all sacred.

Dedication graphic: “Chapters of Love is dedicated to all of those who chose to love me, if even for a day” — Live in Gratitude, Pay it Forward, Cherish Your Chapters of Love, by John Joseph Dowling Jr.

“Chapters of Love” Copyright John Joseph Dowling Jr.

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Chapter 3 – Late Night Facebook Call: Next Chapter →

Chapter 3 – Late Night Facebook Call

Chapter 3, “Late Night Facebook Call,” begins with a late-night video chat from a beautiful actress — a whirlwind New York encounter of candid conversation, passion, and drama that lingered for years.

One night while working late, I received a video chat request from a beautiful actress I recognized from her television appearances. She was not only a romance novel cover model, but also acted with very famous people, in some major roles. While she was not as famous as those she acted with, she was a very successful actress and model. So, of course I answered the call. When I picked up, she asked me if she had reached a depression outreach service. I said no. She said, I am often up late at night and wanted to volunteer. Within five minutes, I knew that it was not volunteering she was calling for. She was in trouble. Serious trouble. I stayed on the line with her all night to make sure she was ok.

I was still living down south, as I had not yet reached my target weight. I had at least seventeen pounds to go and nothing was going to stop me. I had already gone through massive surgeries and walked thousands of miles to rebuild my circulatory system, but still, I was not myself. That being the case, I was not exactly sleeping around. In fact, I was intentionally avoiding relationships. The last thing I needed was a passion induced heart attack while I was recovering. Also, the surgeries were so challenging and caused such a massive amount of pain that in time I became immune to the effects of pain killers. I suffered greatly. In retrospect, I likely suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was in agony and the recovery period was beyond intense.

I reasoned that if I walked thousands, or even tens of thousands of miles, my arteries would grow stronger and my heart would follow. I was ready to move back to New York and almost ready to test out the ticker the hard way. But, at this point in my life I did not want to engage in casual sex. I decided that the next time I was going to be with a woman, it would be for love, not a hook-up or anything remotely casual.

When I made it back to New York for a short assignment, she insisted that we meet. She was beautiful and her portfolio was stunning. Her likeness graced hundreds of romance novel covers. She was beyond successful. That she wanted to meet me was a bit surprising and intriguing. Prior to meeting we maintained contact. Her areas of discussion were surprising. Often, she would express opinions about sexual preferences and topics that were usually reserved for one’s most trusted friends. Clearly not subjects to discuss with an internet friend, or perhaps I should say …. acquaintance.

But as I have learned from so many years of using instant messaging and from movies like “You’ve Got Mail,” you can’t truly get to know someone through pen pal style communications. So, when I arrived in New York, I agreed to meet. Our liaison took place at an Italian restaurant on the Upper West Side, in close proximity to my hotel. I was not making much, if any profit, from the assignment. I accepted it because I needed something new and current for my portfolio and reel.

When I finished filming for the day, I packed my gear and walked to the restaurant. She arrived wearing absolutely no makeup, as would a model at a casting call. But, all the same, she was beautiful; stunningly beautiful. Being the insecure man I am, I had two glasses of wine before she arrived. In keeping with her status, she was fashionably late. We killed the first bottle of wine quickly. Conversation just flowed. We were having fun, taking photographs, eating artichokes and flirting. She was not only beautiful, but also, beyond entertaining.

We had spoken several times about sex and sexual topics prior, but this conversation was more candid by far. I knew she was interested in being with me. I too was interested, but also resolute in my promise to not hook-up and to wait for my soul mate. I was taking photographs of some interesting people walking by. The wine was disappearing at a rather quick rate so I ordered another bottle. And then another. She would pour us both a glass and make a toast. Before I knew it, the wine was gone again. I was getting hammered. I could not keep up with her and I didn’t understand why. After dinner, I was for the first time in decades, kind of wobbly. She suggested that she should walk me back to my hotel. I accepted, as I was quite dizzy. It was a feeling I had never experienced before…at least not to that degree.

The air conditioning in my hotel room was blasting on my feet and I started to feel quite cold. My entire body was freezing. I reached for a blanket and felt a naked body lay on top of me. A woman’s voice whispered in my ear. She was coaching me, urging me to perform. It was almost as if I was dreaming. It was as if I was a character in a romance novel. Time after time I woke to a female voice whispering in my ear… seducing me…urging me on! She was doing just about everything a woman could do to get me excited. It was working, but I had no idea where I was or who I was with. I was completely out of it. At times, I would get my perspective back. Every time I did, there she was, on top of me or dragging me on top of her.

This seemed to go on for at least ten hours. Each time I awoke, the clock on the side of the bed, with its big red numbers, would show me the hour. I would start to thrust and we would go at it again and again. Instinct just took over. The dirty talk would continue until I literally either passed out from whatever drug she had given me, or from sheer physical exhaustion. As time went by, flashes of the previous hours began to come into perspective. Was I in some sort of lurid dream? As morning approached, the sprint like rounds of passion and re-engagements continued. She insisted that we keep going until I “completed the task at hand.” By the time the birds were chirping and a thin stream of light was shining through the hotel curtain windows, I was again coaxed into another round, as she pulled my body into her own.

She was extremely effective at getting what she wanted. She told me that she was long past child bearing, so there was no risk of complications. With that, she pulled me into her with such ferocity I am surprised I lived through it. I mean that literally. This was very risky business for me. We both fell into a deep sleep. We lay together floating in and out of sleep for hours. When I woke, I had an enormous hangover, like nothing I had ever experienced.

When I could finally walk, I took a shower and lay back down in bed with her. I asked her how we got back to my hotel room and how things started. I couldn’t remember much of anything. In fact, it took quite a while for me to remember the entire night and more than a bit of honesty on her part to tell me what happened. She was pouring her wine into my glass when I wasn’t looking and then refilling them both, over and over. So, while I thought we each drank a half bottle of wine, the reality was I had most of that first bottle and the second as well. I don’t even remember if there was a third. She confessed to having put a tranquilizer into her own glass, because she was nervous and that she may have poured it into mine. I knew she did and that it was no accident.

I went for a walk in Central Park. I needed time to think and walked for almost three hours. The battery on my cell phone was out of power long before I got back to the hotel. When I arrived, she was still there. She wanted to go out for breakfast. I didn’t know what to make of the situation, as I was basically drugged to be an easy target for sex. That had never happened to me before. I know that many women have shared stories about how they were manipulated or drugged, but I had no idea that women actually drugged men! I was quite upset, although as I started to remember bits and pieces, flashes of memories, I was amazed. Yet, the idea of being drugged….

I took her to breakfast. Her hands were shaking. She knew that I was about to confront her. As we sat at the cafe she said, “ok I drugged you.” I just could not leave it to chance. I had to have you. That night we first spoke I probably would have killed myself. I hadn’t been out of my house in two years. You saved me and I was intent on being with you no matter what I had to do. With that, I excused myself, dropped a couple of Jackson’s on the table and said both thank-you and goodbye. No matter how great the sex, or how convenient it would have been to look the other way and continue to hook-up, I wanted no part of the drama. To me, drugging someone to get them to do what they would not, is just wrong.

But the drama was just beginning. Within days the phone calls came. She started suggesting that she may be pregnant and that perhaps she was wrong about not being able to conceive. She said that she had no idea that I was releasing inside her. I did not know what to say. I was the one who was drugged and tricked into drinking entirely too much wine. Now, she was telling me that she might be pregnant. At first, I said ok, so what if you are. She said she would have the baby. I said ok and that I would take responsibility for any child I fathered. After about a month of agreeing to whatever agenda she decided to go with, it became obvious that she was using a possible pregnancy to keep me in her life. It was emotional blackmail, pure and simple. When I discontinued communication with her she became irrational and abusive so I just ignored her calls.

Years have passed. From time to time I have run into her. There of course was no child from that evening. At the end of the day, it was a passionate marathon of lurid reflections from one of the sexiest romance cover models I ever met. She went on to do many more television and movie rolls. In one there was a particularly torrid sexual scene. That shook me and my mind replayed a slew of real- life scenes. At that moment, I realized that it was a truly spectacular experience, despite the bad karma. We always think that we know people. But we never really know a person’s intentions until we are both in a position to act out the possibilities. In the end, I do believe that picking up that call, in the middle of the night, did save her life. That made the entire chapter, however drama-filled, worthwhile. But for me, it meant that I again was walking and photographing everything and everyone in my path… alone still chasing sunrises.

 

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Chapter 4 – My Virgin Babysitter: Next Chapter →

Chapter 4 – My Virgin Babysitter

Chapter 4, “My Virgin Babysitter,” reflects on obsession — an all-consuming fixation with romance and sex that began in youth and became a lifelong pattern.

Obsession is typically defined by a thought that preoccupies or intrudes into one’s mind to such a degree that he or she is powerless to resist the object of that obsession. It is an all-consuming passion that takes hold of your thoughts until you are totally dominated by your compulsion and persistently overwhelmed by your desire. There is no question in my mind, that without ever realizing it, most of my life was spent powerless to my obsession with romance.

I was so obsessed with romance, that for the better part of my life, I spent most every waking hour searching for it. Typically, I would find women who were also obsessed, but most of the time, with me. I would go so far as to say that most of my relationships were based on obsession… not love. I was powerless. I spent much of my time pursuing that obsession. Photography was a means to feed that desire because I would meet thousands of women from every corner of the world. Typically, I would be alone with those women and we would almost always be shooting in the most intimate of settings. I am not sure what came first, the camera or the obsession, but they fed each other. Not that there is anything wrong with a healthy sexual desire, but I was consumed. Beyond consumed. That is one of the reasons I stopped dating. I wanted to break the addiction. But, as hard as I tried, it did not work. I literally had to take medication to stop myself from obsessing so enthusiastically.

Most men are driven by their obsession with sex. It has been said, “men are dogs.” I was powerless against that obsession, even when I was in a relationship. My greatest fear was that I would not be able to be faithful, as I had so many opportunities and was powerless to turn them down. I do not know when or why my obsession began, but I started young. When I was ten I shared some intimate moments with a sixteen-year-old, smoking hot, cheerleader. I did not know what the word sex was, but when she took off her bathing suit I reacted physically to her. It did not take long before we were experimenting. She definitely knew what sex was and eagerly shared that knowledge with me.

It was not like those romantic moments you see in movies. It was more like a game in which we laughed and touched each other in ways I had never touched anyone previously. Before very long, I figured out what goes where and we were engaged in full-blown relations. No one had any idea that a sixteen-year-old would experiment with a boy as young as I was. I was so enamored with the experience that I wanted to do it again and again. And yes, everything works, even at that young age.

Relations at such a young age are completely different. It is only later that you begin to understand what sex is and all the emotional baggage that comes with it. At that age, you are innocent and pure. Nothing ever compares to that type of connection afterwards. But from the very moment we started to experiment, until she moved and I never saw her again, we would go at it every time we were alone. Of course, we were secretive about it. The only feeling outside of pure ecstasy we shared, was the fear that someone would catch us.

For some reason, even though we did not know what we were doing, we thought it was wrong. We knew we could not tell anyone or get caught. The world was a lot more conservative back then. All the same, as I look back on my life, I know that my obsession started with that cheerleader and continued for the better part of my life. I would even go as far as to say, that we fell in love. When she moved, I was heartbroken for months, maybe even a year. And, I could tell no one. She simply disappeared. When she did, I had a bad case of “blue balls.” Sorry, but there is no other way to explain it. My father had to take me to the doctor to find out why.

Of course, I never told him that I was engaged in sexual relations with a sixteen-year-old cheerleader. It did not take long for the doctor to see that I was, as he described it, “fully mature at only ten.” He told my father and I that the only way to eliminate the pressure was to masturbate. He suggested to my father that he should to teach me how to do it. It was one of the most awkward moments in my life. Dad bought me some Playboy magazines, but before long I was engaging in relations with girls my own age. I did not know why I was the only one doing it. None of my friends were even talking about it.

As I quickly learned, for every willing guy, there is always a willing girl. And, there were many. I was so obsessed that, later in life, I chose to be celibate. This went on for years. Often I would tell potential girlfriends that it was because of my health that I chose not to engage in sex. The sad truth was, I was trying hard to break a lifelong addiction. It was the only way I could try and beat it. But, I was helpless. I became obsessed that very first time and it continued for the better part of my life.

Of course, I would never share any of the names of those I was engaging in relations with, because I am old school. Even then I would never kiss and tell. I would meet a girl at the public pool, or the park and almost immediately we knew it was going to happen. Maybe the world was different back then, but that obsession and the willingness for girls my age and older to just go for it, dates back as far as I can remember. Back to that cheerleader who was babysitting and decided that I was a safe person to experiment with. I do not think that it was that moment that created the obsession within me. That was just the first time I engaged in sex. The obsession grew stronger every year of my life, as did the choices I made. I became a slave to that obsession, choosing it above most everything else.

I never did see that cheerleader again, nor can I remember her name, but I will never forget the innocent and naive way in which we both learned about life and how natural the affair was. I know most people start their experimentation at a much older age. I consider myself fortunate that we met and the chemistry was so intense that we decided to trust each other. I often wonder if she remembers me, or even thinks of me.

There is no doubt in my mind that she knew what she was doing. For me, it was the beginning of a life-long adventure that became a life-long obsession. I have been celibate for some time now, except for the occasional “oops did that just happen’ moments. To this day I do not even know if I have beaten it. Nor do I want to know anymore. But, this I do know. I will not settle for less than my true soul mate and pray that such a person exists.

 

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Chapter 5- Midwest Farmer’s Daughter: Next Chapter →

Chapter 5- Midwest Farmer’s Daughter

Chapter 5, “Midwest Farmer’s Daughter,” recalls early-1980s New York — bartending at a nightclub, photographing celebrities, and falling for an exceptionally cute Midwest farmer’s daughter in a nine-month romance that ended in betrayal.

I was promoting a nightclub and bartending in the early eighties. Eventually I found myself bartending at the Palladium, in downtown New York City, the largest and most popular nightclub in the world, at the time. It was an incredible time for music. MTV was all the rage. I was actually featured on the first MTV music awards, drinking champagne and toasting with Mark Goodman. BB King, Robert Palmer, Robin Williams, Andy Warhol and Deborah Harry, were just a few of the celebrities that I hung with at my bar. Hundreds of other celebrities, in the peak of their careers, came to the club and drank with me. In truth, they were not drinking with me, but at my bar in the Michael Todd Room. It was there that I bartended for many celebrity parties. I was in my early twenties and getting bookings that would have me flying around the country. I stayed in places like the Beverly Hills Hotel.

I photographed everyone from Miss Canada to Andy Warhol, Deborah Harry, Mohammad Ali, Brooke Shields, Patty Duke, Tina Louise, as well as other actors and celebrities I had seen on television most of my life. I was even invited to Tina Louise’s (Ginger on Gilligan’s Island) home for tea and to pray with her minister. That same minister invited me to photograph the King of Tonga and to become his personal photographer, offering me an enormous amount of money. I didn’t, because I was concerned about leaving New York City when my career was exploding. My popularity was growing exponentially and there seemed to be a never-ending source of clients who wanted me.

It was a surreal experience. Not only did I tend bar at the club, but the manager and head of security often had me personally work the VIP list and the ropes at major events like the Directors Guild of America Annual Awards Ceremony. I kept a tux in my locker and I was “that guy.” I had no idea that it was such cool thing. I was just working. Initially I preferred to be inside, at the bar, flipping glasses and meeting beautiful women. After a while, I realized that being, the club gatekeeper and holder of the VIP list made me considerably more desirable. Women thought it was a position of power, but I had no power at all. I simply followed the list, except for that occasional hot model who wanted to slip through.

I was living downtown, on Thompson Street, in a third story walk-up. It was in the heart of the art district where all the movie stars lived back then. There was a definitive artsy and gay tone to the neighborhood and it truly was a neighborhood. It made for easy access to the Palladium, which was located between 13th and 14th street, just a bit uptown. Later, I upgraded to a penthouse duplex when the dollars started rolling in from photography and bartending. All in all, it was a wild New York City lifestyle that lasted for over a year, until I moved back to Long Island. There, I experienced hundreds of chapters of love. Far too many to write about. They were typically short in nature. I simply could not keep it in my pants. I would wake up in the morning and go to the beach with 2-5 international models and shoot their portfolios. By dinnertime I would be at happy hour and then work until four AM. I was going 24/7 for the most part, just occasionally coming up for air. We would always be at the beach before sunrise, as that was the golden hour, so I only had to carry my camera and a reflector. There was no need for bulky lighting setups. At times, I would fool around with one of the models at lunch and then with another while I was bartending, or afterwards.

But there was one girl who captured my heart while I was living in New York City. This was despite the fact that I was completely insensitive to her needs. It was the only time in my life that I was with a girlfriend and still living the playboy lifestyle. I simply could not choose between the two. We were neighbors in the apartment building. Since I was living in a duplex, her second-floor door was right at my first-floor entrance. I thought she used that door because she lived on the second floor. Later, she admitted that the only reason she used it was to intentionally run into me.

She was exceptionally cute and the first Midwest farmer’s daughter I ever met. This is no exaggeration. She truly was a farm girl. For her, the city was a circus and she loved it. She would come out of her door at the same time I did and say sweet things like, “hey neighbor what you cooking?” With that, she invited herself for dinner. We hooked-up every chance we could. I had a balcony facing a huge Upper East Side courtyard, a block or two from Central Park. Her balcony was just underneath mine. I would intentionally go out onto the balcony with my guitar and sing love songs until I got a response from her. I would leave my door open and wait for her to enter.

When she did, I stayed right on the balcony. I wanted her right there. It was an exhibitionist thing. Before you knew it, we were both naked on that balcony. If you had a decent pair of binoculars, or a telescope, you could see everything. We pretty much knew it, but that was what made our relationship so unique. We both loved it. It was kinky and outrageous. We knew others were watching. It was a turn-on and an extreme public display of affection. I never did anything like it prior. I have no idea what motivated me. We said we would never fall in love, that we were just neighbors. But, when your hook-up hundreds of times, sometimes several times a day, you develop feelings for each other. That is when everything went wrong.

After bartending, I was bringing models home in limousines. Sometimes, even two girls at a time. We were making all kinds of noise right above her bedroom. Even though we said it was going to be casual between us, it never truly was. She started to get jealous. When I would sing on the balcony she would say things like “can’t you shut that thing up,” or, “do you have a volume control on that contraption.” She would be steaming and I didn’t understand why she was upset. I thought we were just neighbors who were hooking-up. I was also regularly dating other girls. I was naive enough to think that if I kept the music loud she would have no idea what was going on. We never said anything about being exclusive, but man did she get pissed-off when the music started. I would hear things banging downstairs and all kinds of obscure rantings, but she never said anything to me. Every time I saw her, she was that same cute country girl, “hey neighbor, you have any butter?” which was her way of saying can I come in and can we hook-up. It was always something like that; milk or salt or pepper and it always meant the same thing, great care-free sex. She would refer to me, when her roommates were around, as her sentimental fuck… so why would I have thought anything different?

Of course, over nine months it came to mean more than that. Until I was in the same situation, I had no idea what she was feeling. The first time I heard a man’s voice in her apartment and what sounded like sex, I went into a jealous rage. What made it worse was that I thought I knew who the man was. It sounded like my landlord…our landlord. I was upstairs hooking-up with one of my regular girls from the Palladium and she was hooking-up with our landlord, who was thirty years older?

When I saw her and asked if she had a man over, she denied it completely. She swore I was dreaming or hallucinating. She played it very cool, as if nothing was wrong. Soon I was the one yelling down the balcony, as it became a regular event for them. It got to me. Jealously is a much stronger emotion than love. At one point, my landlord, who I was friendly with, invited me to California to shoot for Vidal Sassoon. I went just to get away from it all. I never had any proof and did not want to approach the subject with him, as I was making a lot of money from him and his associates. Plus, I was not exclusive with her, so what could I really say about it? I was staying at the former Beverly Hills Town Hall, which was a mansion.

There I photographed models from around the world and slept with many of them. I even photographed Sassoon’s daughter and yes, we fooled around at her apartment. I was sort of being set-up with her. Vidal made it known that he approved of me. But, I was surrounded by so many models, who were living at the mansion, that I was hooking up with a different one every day. There were so many that I cannot even remember them all. When I heard my landlord force himself on one of them, I realized the kind of shady individual he was. I left immediately. I began to realize he was sleeping with my neighbor to throw it in my face. He did not know that despite my promiscuity, I loved my neighbor, hook-up, and pseudo-girlfriend. I was just realizing it myself. I had to fly back and see if I could rescue the relationship before he took control of it, or even worse, me.

I flew back to New York. When I got back, my neighbor was in my penthouse. She had packed all my things and put them out the door. She made a deal with my landlord that if she slept with him, she would get my apartment. It was a deal he kept. I was out before sunset and back on Long Island. My heart was broken, but I did not understand why. How could I be hurting so much over this hook-up? We weren’t even exclusive! That Midwest farmer’s daughter played me like a fiddle and taught me a lesson I would never forget. Never play with a woman’s heart. Later, I finally understood that you could not hook-up with another human being, hundreds of times, without it affecting your heart. And, when your neighbor comes looking for butter or milk, know it has nothing to do with baking a cake. She could wind up with your rent controlled apartment, just before it turns into a condo.

 

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Chapter 6 – Golden Showers: Next Chapter →

Chapter 7 – Runway Modeling

Chapter 7, “Runway Modeling,” recalls an embarrassing turn as a Macy’s runway model — a Chippendale-style dance at Studio 54 and a freezing pool stunt that led to a Gazelle bathing-suit booking.

When I walked the runway for Macy’s in Roosevelt field, I thought I was acting quite professional and looking supremely confident, but it scared the shit out of me. At this point in my life I was no performer. I was still growing up and becoming comfortable in my own skin. Being the subject of cameras or on a runway, in front of so many people, frightened me. But, modeling was proving to be a great way to meet gorgeous women and to score great clothing for free. I was building my wardrobe and getting paid! I couldn’t believe people were willing to pay me to stand in front of their cameras.

But walking down a runway in front of hundreds of women was embarrassing, especially because I had a hard-on the entire time. And it showed. I did not model for long because I was shy and I preferred photography to modeling. But for a moment, I was modeling professionally. At first, it was kind of an ego thing. It felt good that professionals wanted to photograph me and pay me for it. As happens with most who model, it gave me a confidence boost and of course it was profitable.

I had a pup tent in my pants every time I went behind the runway to change. Backstage there were always ten naked, beautiful older, well-developed models. They were exceptionally beautiful women. Two of them were assigned to undress me and re-dress me super-fast. So fast, that they did not have time to get dressed in between walks. So, they were nude. They were models. They were beautiful. And there I was, naked, in a small tent like changing area with them. To top it off, I was the only guy in the fashion show. The music started and every time one of the females was walking the runway, two of the models were ripping my clothing off and quickly getting me into a new outfit. They did not want me to wear underwear. Looking back, I believe they knew what they were doing. The pants were designed to show the male anatomy quite effectively.

They would quickly restyle or change my hair, tuck my shirt in, never thinking twice about what else they were tucking in. Most of the time they were doing so with little or no clothing on. So, when it was my turn to go back out onto the runway, I was erect and there was not a woman in the audience who didn’t notice. There was no fucking way I could turn it off or tone it down. This went on for about thirty minutes when I was on the runway, but it seemed like hours to me. I pulled it off because I did not have time to think about it. If I knew what was coming, I would never have done it. I only did runway work one other time in my life. Before the fashion show every model was drinking. Afterwards as well. It was very free spirited for such a corporate event. Later I realized that most of the runway modeling gigs, no matter how large or corporate, were always the same. I would go so far as to say that the few models that were helping me dress were intentionally fondling my package, not because they wanted the pup tent for the fashion statement, but because they wanted me.

After the fashion show I wanted to bolt. I was so embarrassed. I did not want to see any of the females who were in the audience. As I learned from the models, no one pays attention to such things. Half the models had their breasts showing through the outfits. That was considerably more suggestive than a pup tent. Given my age and my rather shy ways back then, it was all too unbelievable. As the show ended the models quickly dressed and prepared to leave. I had no idea that one of the models who was dressing me had other plans for me. I was quite happy she did. We went back to her apartment, which was nearby, in Garden City. Before we even had our coats off we were going at it. She was about ten years older than I was, tall and slim the way most runway models are built. There was not much more about it I remember, other than the fact that she was not from the US and was one of the first older women I was ever with. Frankly, it ended almost as soon as it started as I almost came in my pants several times during the runway show itself. The only really unique aspect to the encounter was the mask she wore while we were fooling around. No one really ever did that before other than Halloween.

We kept in contact for a short while but it was obvious that this was just one of those casual hook-ups that happen in the entertainment industry. The age difference made it awkward, other than when we were in bed. This was to be a very short but memorable chapter of love for me as well as a very funny event in my life. But not nearly as funny as the next time I did runway, which was my last. At the time, New York City photographers started booking me more frequently. One of them was publishing a book about lifeguards and Chippendale dancers. He was looking for one more male runway model to walk the runway at Studio 54. It was a world-famous nightclub, even though I did not know it at the time. I was to be paid a grand cash, which was more money for a one-hour gig than I was making in a month. Of course, I accepted. I didn’t even know where it was, or how to get there, so the model from the Macy’s runway show drove me there. She dropped me off backstage where the models were meeting before the show. She parked and went into the audience. It was the last time I ever saw her. I was too embarrassed to call her or even pick-up the phone when she called me. Here’s why.

When I entered Studio 54 via the stage entrance, everything was very dark. We were corralled into a changing room and given tiny speedo like white bikinis. I never wore a speedo or anything like it in my life. My idea of shorts was cut-off jeans that went down to my knees. I was very self-conscious as the bathing suit was small and my package did not fit entirely. I was literally bulging out of the suit. In retrospect, I realized they did it on purpose as that was one of the selling points of Speedo style bathing suits. It was a fashion and sexual statement. I had never seen anyone in a suit like that other than in body building competitions. It was what body builders and professional wrestlers wore not everyday people.

We were brought up to a second-floor stage like platform that surrounded a dance floor we were curtained off from. We lined up around a lifeguard stand and fake beach and were told when the lights came on to start dancing. We were also told, at the end of the show, to follow the guy next to you and jump into the pool. They built a temporary pool on the dance floor. This was a lot more than I bargained for when I took the gig.

The music started and the professional Chippendale dancers started dancing. I felt like a string bean next to them. Not only were they better dancers, but they were much more developed muscularly than I was. I started to dance. The curtains came up, and before I knew it spotlights came on. They were as bright as auto headlights and I couldn’t see a thing. So, I just kept dancing and waiting to follow the guy next to me into the pool. I realized while I was on stage that we were not jumping thirty feet, into a four-foot pool. They set up a slide. But, we were not given proper instructions. It was all happening so fast. The professional dancers/ performers / male models knew what to do. So, as the song was ending, the models began to zip down the slide. Once they were in the pool, it looked like they were hitting beach balls to the crowd. I was trying not to puke from stage fright.

The water was freezing! As nervous as I was, I remember it being shockingly cold. I still couldn’t see a thing, as there was a spotlight on each of us the entire time. It was blinding. When I hit the pool, I was frozen! I quite literally, went into “cold shock” and knew I was going to get the hell out of that pool no matter who was watching, or what future opportunities I might be sabotaging. At the time, I was hoping to get noticed and book bigger gigs.

My eyes adjusted to the light and I started to look for a ladder or some other way to get out of the pool. It was then I was shocked to learn that the entire audience was comprised of gay men! This was Studio 54’s Gay night. I realized I was totally tricked by the photographer. I knew he was gay, as he lived with another man. They would openly kiss. Until them, I didn’t even know a gay person. For a straight guy, from the suburbs, this was humiliating.

I quickly got out of the pool and went backstage to get my pay envelope. The photographer who was the author of the book eventually came backstage with the other models. He and the few male models that knew me were laughing hysterically. I would never have agreed if I knew the audience was comprised entirely of gay men. I got my thousand dollars in cash, left through the back door and totally ditched my model friend out of sheer embarrassment. I never saw her again. That was the absolute end to my modeling career. I was not going to go through that kind of experience again.

How ironic, that years later, the same photographer who tricked me into doing that runway show became my photography mentor. I was working at New York Film Works, the premiere photo-finishing studio in NYC. He requested that I manage his account. My first lighting equipment came from him. Most everything I learned about the technical aspects of photography, I learned from him as well. Ken Haak was the photographer. He has long since passed away. Even back then he was as old as god. Like many photographers, he lives on through his work and the thousands of careers he helped develop.

I am sure the runway model that brought me to Studio 54 got a good laugh that night. I would never see her or anyone else that knew what happened again. I was too uptight about it. Now I look a back on it with great fondness, and think of it as the funniest scene of my life, or at least one of them.

Shortly after the runway show, Gazelle, the manufacturer of the bathing suits booked me and I was photographed and published in GQ Magazine. This was a huge deal for me at the time. There were three of us including the cover model from the Ken Haak’s book “Working Out.” To my disappointment they just used a close-up of our packages in the suits. Our heads were completely cut off. A fitting, and very appropriate end to my modeling career. It was rather uncanny that over thirty years later, I was shooting runway shows for Simon Mall, with some top Macy’s models. Ironically, they had a very similar tent setup. Some things never change.

 

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Chapter 8 – My Playboy Bunny Muse: Next Chapter →

Chapter 8 – My Playboy Bunny Muse

Chapter 8, “My Playboy Bunny Muse,” recalls an open relationship with a Playboy Bunny-esque aspiring model — candlelit photo shoots, a calendar cover, and a creative collaboration that unraveled at Hedonism.

If ever I could say I was in an open relationship with a Playboy Bunny-esque woman, she would be the one. It also was the long-term affair that was my midlife crisis romance. She was different than any woman I had ever known. She was carefree, extremely sexual, and had a stripper vibe. As a bonus, she was a tremendous athlete. We fooled around a bit prior, but she seriously entered my life after she suffered an abrupt breakup of a long-term relationship. It was then, she moved in with me.

I was a single father and had two children to consider. It was important to me to make sure it was in the best interests of my children. After all, a woman that hot, who exuded sex out of every pore, was not your typical suburban mom or even girlfriend. Fortunately, she understood and respected the situation, so she had a home. In return, she became the inspiration for my first real professional video and DP work. She brought her Panasonic 720p state of the art HD camera with her. The rest is history. I took to shooting video as if it was photography. In the process of producing videos with her, I learned the art of editing. We produced amazingly sensual beach and love scenes together.

It started when she attended a holiday party in NYC. We were both invited to an after-party and dinner. Later we all went to a nightclub. As is the unfortunate case with many beautiful women, the host was inappropriate to her. She asked me if I would get her home safely. She was drunk and quite vulnerable. I walked her to her door and we shook hands. She promised to call me about a shoot date. I felt good that I got her home safely and that she seemed to be interested in more than photographs. I was inspired to say the least..

Our first shoot occurred just a few days later. The mutual attraction was strong…and obvious. We shot until the very early morning hours. It started in my studio, which was a renovated garage. Before long, we were shooting in my bedroom and her clothing came off. She was the aggressive one. I just went with it. For over a year she was my inspiration and motivation to become a DP and editor. We wrote a script and sourced locations. She was sure she had funding for our film through her extremely wealthy grandmother. It would have been my second feature film.

She had just gotten implants. They looked and felt anything but artificial and the result was jaw dropping. She desired to seduce the world, sharing her enhanced features via a love scene so sensual, it would melt the hearts of most men (even many women). As an aside, her breasts truly enhanced the curves of her smoking hot Brazilian body. She treated them as if they were assets. In fact, she treated her entire body as if it was a bought and paid for asset. This was something I had never experienced before.

She was addicted to our photo sessions. Anyone with an eye for art would have to know we had chemistry. As for the love scenes, no one knew about them until long after we shot them. The unfortunate truth is that while we saw them as erotic love scenes, others saw them as soft porn. It became embarrassing when we showed them to anyone. All the same, she was the woman who inspired me to become a DP and who also chose me as her co-star. That too was a new experience.

It was not my idea to do shoot love scenes with her. It was hers. In fact, she insisted. It did not start that way. She began interviewing and casting for actors. Interviewing for her meant sleeping with many of them. This was the true casting couch interview in reverse.   It seemed that she was using the casting call to get laid by handsome models and actors. Somewhat ironically, she learned that for some reason, most of the men who applied were gay. Few had any real interest in her and most were awful actors.

So, after yet another casting call at which I shot three test love scenes, she finally said, “fuck it, you’re doing it.” I was shocked! She was sick of waiting. This had been going on for months. She was starting to feel as if no one wanted her and that she wasn’t attractive. The truth was they were just bad actors who were not comfortable shooting love scenes in my living room. For that matter, neither was I.

In retrospect, it was more soft porn than love scenes. What made them love scenes to us was simple and undeniable. We were falling in love. She was just coming out of an eight-year relationship that ended when she was caught cheating with me. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, so I was a part of the breakup without even knowing it. But it was why I believed I was obligated to give her a home. She was tired of being mentally and even physically abused. She put up with it for years because of his money. I knew that she craved wealth. Everything else, aside from sex, came in second.

She was not particularly interested in me long term as much as she was obsessed with becoming famous and putting her new and improved perfect breasts and body to good use. Her dream of riches by marriage to her hedge fund billionaire was over. Her new dream was to make her fortune as a movie star. To her, it was ironic that this would in part be a result of the physical enhancements he paid for. She was determined and she was smart. She believed that becoming famous was well within her grasp. From my perspective, I was now living with a sexpot, intent on making a feature film with me as her love interest. By default, I became the producer. Her role would be both executive producer and the star of the film.

At the time, I was not in a good place health-wise I had several new stents, so the blood was flowing like I was seventeen again. At least for a few months. And then they failed. We were shooting almost every day. She believed the film we were creating was beautiful. The process however was anything but. It went like this. She would come home from a party or a wild night with her friends quite drunk. She would insist that I turn on the spot lights, open the set, and film ourselves screwing around.

Often she would tag along to events I was photographing to network with just about anyone. She was not shy about using her assets to make a deal. I never knew anyone so carefree and willing to literally embrace most anyone with power or connections.

We would often shoot at night, utilizing only candlelight to create a truly mysterious effect. We would also shoot at sunrise, which was the prime part of the day to accentuate her body and many nude shots. We would go to Target Rock, Fire Island, the Hamptons, Robert Moses, Jones Beach, Centerport Bay, Huntington Bay and the Northport Docks. Mostly, we were filming in or around water as the film we were developing was about a girl who worked at a marina with her father and sister.

As such, she was wet a lot. We often timed the shoots to film at the break of dawn. In the middle of the day, when the sun was too high in the sky, we would stop shooting. It was then I got my editing and proofing done for my paying clients. When the bills were paid, I would come back to her project. She became very frustrated in between shoots. Her M.O. was to bribe me with sex to get me to go back on the project. So, I would work seven days a week, twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes a day with the other fifteen minutes reserved for what she would call “mercy fucks.” Yes, I would get up to three mercy fucks a day when we shot. It seemed she wanted Tarzan as opposed to me, an older man. This was despite our intense relationship and our creative collaboration. She was out of my league. Or, so I thought.

Because she would offer a mercy fuck very casually, almost humorously, as if it were simply a back rub, I was never sure if she truly wanted it. After all, three times a day, on top of the sex during filming seemed like a lot. Maybe she was rehearsing for her role, or simply staying in character. She said she was a method actress. When we were filming a love scene she would get horny on demand. I would say, “are you ready?” She was always ready. It was like Christmas morning the moment she found out we would be shooting and she took it seriously. The characters we were depicting made the roles extremely physically demanding. Due to the number of times we would have to shoot a scene, it could be quite an athletic effort. We treated the film as an athletic competition. She could get me going with minimal effort. In return I gave her five-minutes warnings for my mercy fucks. In most cases, she was ready long before the words ever left my mouth. She would spread her legs on demand. Never in my life had I experienced this. But, she was by no means exclusive to me.

Paying clients, even those with small budgets always took priority over our project. We needed the cash flow. We had to eat and the expenses were high and of course I spent most everything I earned on my children. She was a calculated investment with benefits.

Technically, the digital cameras I used were challenging to shoot with. The goal was to achieve the look of film. Often I would use expensive adapters that would simulate a film grain and the shallower depth of field one gets with film cameras. The resulting video looked more like film than video. It was particularly challenging, as you could not crop video the way you could stills. There were many artistic and technical considerations. Digital video, which made this possible, was new. As such, the lenses were extremely expensive that were available to create the shallow depth of field effect, which is the benchmark for most experienced cinematographers. We would set-up cameras twenty feet away and shoot by candlelight. I would focus the camera on her assets. When she was orgasmic and lost in the moment I would use the remote to zoom in and pan. It was all about her anyway. I was just a prop. But it was the best prop-job I ever had. Being her prop had its advantages. She was so obsessed with making the film that she wanted to shoot every day, sometimes for hours on end.

When people suggesting the shots looked too much like porn, we went back to the drawing board. I was not an experienced director at the time, but I learned quickly. We reworked the script. She began to read lines with other actresses. Painfully, it became more and more obvious. She was awful. She was so bad that eventually we realized that we would never get funding for the film. Her grandmother who promised to assist her bailed when she quit college only months before graduating, I thought that was an insane decision and did everything I could to inspire her to finish, but it was too late. She was depressed but wanted to keep shooting, I did not. I didn’t have the time. I had children to take care of and bills to pay. I was having a hard time catching up, after years of bad health and stents failing one after the other.

That was my other concern. For a while I was in better health. When winter came, it was obvious the stents were failing again. The constant stress on my heart was not the best idea. I was taking two nitro pills before we would film. Even later, when we knew she could not act, she still wanted to practice. She would often say to me “hey do you want to pick out the best shots from yesterday’s shoot?” I would tell her that I didn’t have the time and that she could do so solo. Her response was to sit on my lap and offer a quickie. Mostly it worked, as Jessica Alba or even Marylyn Monroe would have been in awe of her body.

At one point, I got her a job as cover model for a calendar. Even with my obsessive sexual desire, I was already becoming tired of her, even more so as the sex became a significant risk to my health. I couldn’t handle her insatiable desire and the frequency of how often she wanted to do it. She was getting angry, even obsessive, like a true nymphomaniac. Finally, I suggested she go to parties to try to find funding. I told her that I could not produce her film without a budget and that I could not spend as much time in the bedroom anymore either. Initially she told me she had the funding. She didn’t and I couldn’t help her get it. I had to do paying work no matter what she used to bribe me.

She started to sleep with many of my friends. I was relieved that I did not have to service her anymore. Not only was it putting too much pressure on my heart, it was killing my back. Eventually I had to undergo lower back surgery because of that affair. Before the surgery I accepted a photo assignment at Hedonism III. It was an erotic adventure. I was photographing a dozen or so models on the beach, many of them nude. Hedonism was a sexual playground for adults. The management paid for the models, the agents and myself to shoot a calendar for marketing purposes. They considered it good practice to stage voyeuristic events featuring nude photo shoots.

I flew down first. We filmed all week. She came down the second week, which was supposed to be more recreational. We were going to swim with dolphins, climb waterfalls and go to private clubs and beaches. She was hammered within an hour, the first day she got there. She dragged me back to our room to put some makeup on. Of course, that turned into twenty minutes on the bathroom sink. It was her idea of a grand welcome to a tropical paradise. When we began shooting again it was a disaster. She had never seen me photograph other models before. She was so jealous she started bringing female models back to the hotel room to have sex, right in front of me. She needed to be the center of attention. She tried to insert herself into every shot, with every model.

Before we left, her jealousy reached new heights. She was also doing drugs. I knew we would not be together much longer. I had pretty much told her when we got back that she would need to find another place to live. It crushed her. She never understood the connection between sex and love. Maybe it could be attributed to the time, as a young girl, she was abused in a shopping mall. She was literally kidnapped. Her family told her never to tell anyone what happened. She revealed that to me shortly after I asked her to find a new living arrangement.

In a way, she was reliving the incident time and time again. At times, she would insist on being submissive and would cry during rough sex. If I would stop and ask her if she was all right, she would get angry and say “don’t stop and don’t step out of character.” All of this was being filmed. She even wanted to have others film us. We did that one time. It was one of the most awkward moments of my life. Looking back, I think the only reason I allowed it was that I was supposed to die anyway, so who cared. Originally the concept was that no one would ever know who the man was. I certainly was never going to let anyone know it was me. In theory that worked, no one would ever know who the man was in the videos, but once we previewed the footage on higher quality computer screens, we realized that the obscurity of darkness and shadows could not hide my identity once the brightness was turned up.

While at Hedonism we knew our creative collaboration was coming to an end. At one point a friend asked me if she liked to cry when we did it. I knew then he had been with her. That was it for me. So, Hedonism would be our last adventure. While we were filming with dolphins, the dolphin handler came over to us and asked if she was pregnant. She said yes. I was shocked. What a way to find out the girl you were living with for almost a year and who was leaving shortly, was pregnant. I could not let her go with the possibility that my child could be inside of her.

But was it my child? When I asked her, she said she didn’t know. She thought she was having a miscarriage when she got on the plane. I believe she took a day after pill. The dolphins knew she was pregnant because of their sonar and were reacting strangely to her. The dolphin handler said it would be difficult to get the shot of her getting thrust into the air by them. They did not want to hurt what was inside of her. I was amazed at the pregnancy, the miscarriage and the dolphins. Truly I was filled with every emotion you could think of. That evening she spent the entire night in the bathtub. Whatever was happening must have been completed that evening. She was sad and then manic. She rested for a day and I did not see her for much for the rest of the trip. She totally lost it and began doing things I wanted no part of. When we returned, she did not leave and I never asked her to leave again. One evening she was on something and was totally irrational. She wanted to film with my children there. I, of course, refused. That was it. She left the next day.

A few years later, a family member of hers told me that after a long love affair with a much older man, she disappeared in Europe with him. They had not heard from her again. I was told that it was the family’s preference that she marry me. She told them she wanted to but it was news to me. I do not know if they ever will hear from her again. But, something tells me that she is still partying and putting her incredible body to good use. In the last email I received from her, she thanked me and told me that she was working for a charity and had raised millions for them. She went on to say that she was completely sober and in love. She thanked me for being kind to her and giving her a home and a real opportunity, and apologized for how our chapter of love ended. I hope that is the way I can remember her always. I loved my mid-life crisis girlfriend and creative collaborator. I kept the love scene we created together, but deleted all the original footage out of respect for her privacy. I wish her well in her new life, wherever that may be.

 

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Chapter 9 – My Rock Star Fiancé: Next Chapter →

Chapter 9 – My Rock Star Fiancé

Chapter 9, “My Rock Star Fiancé,” recalls a creative musical genius he loved deeply — a romance he ended to spare her from his terminal diagnosis, rekindled years later, and lost again to betrayal and addiction.

I wrote several songs for my rock star long after we broke-up.” Tomorrows not so far away, she’ll come back and she’ll come back and stay. So, close your eyes now and go to sleep and pray to god her soul he’ll keep… “The first couple of lines from one of those songs, “Tomorrow,” which still resonates deep within my soul. I have sung that song for other chapters since then. Love with my rock star was an organic reaction. It was a reaction I have felt and shared so many times. I still do not understand it, despite the scientific evidence proving love at first sight is in fact, a legitimate and very real phenomenon.

There is no explanation for it, but some say they fell in love the moment they first laid eyes on one another. If ever in my life I was so smitten, she was the one. I had not heard her voice in over twenty years, but after a single word “, John,” my heart started beating uncontrollably and I felt the love as strongly as I did the last time I saw her. It was decades ago and it was a true heartbreak. Until I heard her voice again, I did not realize I was carrying the loss with me for all that time. She was my rock star.

Anyone who looks back on his or her chapters of love knows that love can ignite in a millisecond. It doesn’t always grow stronger over long periods of time. Nor does love have to last forever to be true love. Or does it? In this case, we were together for years. We planned on spending our lives together. I had just moved back to Long Island from New York City. Not long afterwards I met her on the Long Island Rail Road. I was recovering from a relationship with my NYC neighbor that taught me a lesson about love or what I thought was love. As such, I was not looking at that moment. When I saw her, I was stopped dead in my tracks. I mustered up the courage to speak to her, as I was quite shy despite the act I put on. I do not know why she even spoke to me. She was not just pretty, but stunningly beautiful. Men would constantly stare at her. I was no exception.

She was my rock star. She was a creative, musical genius, who played many instruments. I should mention that she had the best rhythm of any lover I have ever been with. We would literally plan our social life around sex and would engage in sex at the most inappropriate of places and times. We would screw around in the basement of her parent’s home. In the midst of this, her dad would wander downstairs. One Thanksgiving, during dinner, I went to use the upstairs bathroom. She followed me upstairs. She was wearing a short jeans skirt and tight white shirt with no underwear. She coaxed me into doing it right there. Everyone must have heard her moaning. It was virtually impossible that they didn’t. She was bent over the sink. I was behind her. Her skirt was lifted just above her waist. I can envision that moment in my mind’s eye to this day. We would do it in her above ground pool, even when her parents were home. We did it in my small apartment in the lower level of my parent’s house. We did it everywhere. We went on many camping adventures and just hung out, mostly with her other girlfriends. She never knew it but they all hit on me. I thought that if I went for it, she and her girlfriends would have wanted us to all be together…group sex therapy of sorts. I never accepted her friend’s offers, but they were there.

She had absolutely no idea I was diagnosed with a terminal condition, nor was there any reason for her to think that a man in his twenties was sick. She simply thought something changed when I drove her away. That was possibly the most life changing decision I ever made. I went for what was supposed to be a routine physical. My blood tests and EKG came back abnormal. When I didn’t pass the physical I was shocked. I was even more shocked to hear a diagnosis that included, “don’t make any long-term plans.” I was terrified. We were to be married in a year.

I had to find a way to break-up quickly, without self-destructing and without breaking her heart. I decided to move our plans up so drastically she would reject the idea. I figured forcing the issue, of marriage and immediately having children would damage our relationship and she would bolt. We were young and both nervous about marriage as it was. This was despite the love we had for each other. The reality of it was that it did not take much for her to leave. Aside from the passing of my father, I never cried so much in my life. At the time, I was not sure if it was for her or the fact that my life literally did “flash before my eyes.” It was bad. I started to self-destruct and sabotage our relationship within days of my diagnosis. I was put on one of the first anti-depressant medications, which only made things worse. It made me feel invincible and I went into denial about my condition shortly afterwards.

Despite the fact I thought it better to drive her away than to leave her a newlywed widow, I was torn. I loved her too much to just leave her. Driving her away would protect her from going to my funeral either just prior to or just after we would marry. I knew something was wrong long before we broke off our engagement. I was constantly getting pains in my chest and arms. As a life-long athlete, that was simply not supposed to be happening. A misdiagnosis of possible asthma was the only thing that made me believe things weren’t as bad as they felt. Maybe I wanted to be fooled, but with symptoms like mine, one knows something is very wrong.

For twenty years, I thought she left me far too easily and the never tried to reach out to me. So, I always felt I loved her more than she loved me. After all, why did she run away so fast when I gave her the opportunity? I am sure that seeing me in tears when we were together caused her concern, but she never spoke about it. It was humiliating. I never explained, so she must have wondered what the fuck was going on. I know I would have freaked out if the roles were reversed.

I loved her more than I had loved anyone before and I never thought I could love anyone more. It also meant I would die alone. I would die without leaving my bloodline intact. It was a devastating thought to believe that I would die before even starting my life. But, it was what I was told and what I believed. Back then, doctors were considered gods and we never questioned a diagnosis. You just accepted it as a fact. What saved me was that medical science developed one step ahead of my demise. I was told walking would help, so prior to that, I compensated by walking three to five hours per day, waiting for the next breakthrough.

When we met for lunch she was as beautiful as she was the last time I saw her. It was if she lived in a time warp. She did not look a day older. She was as “Jessica Alba” gorgeous as she was when we were together. Twenty years later she was just as hot. The sexual tension was unbearable.

She learned about my condition from an actress whom I was producing an entertainment series with. One night, my co-producer asked me who the love of my life was. She was curious as to who was” the one that got away.” It was a question no one had ever asked me. Most assumed it was my former wife. At that moment, her name came into my heart. I told my co-producer the story. All of it. How I drove my former love away without telling her about my death sentence. As fate would have it, my co-producer would meet her years later and tell her. When we met, the first thing she asked me was why I never told her. I said I just did not have the heart to leave her as a widow. It was a powerful emotional moment. I never thought I would see her again. My co-producer had other ideas.

We started seeing each other again. She was, for the most part single .Getting together not only provided some closure, but also the opportunity to share romantic moments again. She swore her husband had a girlfriend who he was in love with, so it was morally acceptable to me. Our sexual encounters were just as special as they were when we first were together. I gather sexual compatibility does not change, even over decades. We continued to see each other for quite some time, but we both knew that we could not turn back the clock and erase all that had come between us. Once, while she was going down on me in my car, I wondered if I died and went to heaven. I dreamed of that moment for decades. I do not know that I ever loved anyone with as much passion. She was a tremendously talented lover and just as passionate as she was decades earlier.

We drifted apart again eventually. I probably would have married her if she were open to it at the time. I was helplessly in love with her. She had become so much more of a woman than I ever imagined she would be. At the time, despite decades of surgeries, I was still waiting for the final surgery that would give me back my life. I didn’t think it would be fair to have her fall in love with me again, as my life was still in jeopardy. Funny how life repeats itself, Actually, not funny at all.

At one point, she admitted that the cash she had generating from a small business I helped her build, was going towards some pretty serious drugs. This was while we were engaged. I lost a lot of respect for her. It took the steam out of our renewed relationship.

Afterwards, I accepted the fact that she was not the woman I thought she. At one point she came to my studio with a male musician. She said that he was a potential client and was buttering him up…flirting furiously, even taking her clothing off for some shots. I thought she was trying very hard to hold onto me, but it became very apparent that we were long past a lifetime of love. Our chapter(s) of love were over.

I thought I knew everything about her. I didn’t know she was freebasing cocaine. That was something I would never tolerate. I have often thought that if she were in a better place when we were younger and my diagnosis was not so severe, we would have married. Fulfilled destiny is not something you often find, even with those you love. I know in my heart that I will always love her and I hope she has a happy and fulfilling life. She is a musician, an extremely talented one. Perhaps one day I will be the subject of one of her songs, as she was the inspiration for many of mine. I truly considered our chapters of love as memorable as any I have ever shared.

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Chapter 10 – My Dockgirl: Next Chapter →

Chapter 12 – The Girl In The Red Dress

Chapter 12, “The Girl In The Red Dress,” recalls a wild night with a woman in a red dress at the bar — a lady’s-room encounter, a limo ride home, and a sunrise scare that ended the romance before it began.

I’d never been in the lady’s bathroom before. This was no way to get my feet wet, but she was making it impossible to refuse. When we agreed to meet by the bathrooms I had no idea that she was going to drag me into one, lock me inside a stall and rip my clothes off. I was working the bar and I would never just leave it, except to use the rest room. Certainly, not for this purpose. She was hot. She wore a tight red dress that hugged her body perfectly. She had an amazing body. She was all-American looking with brown hair and bright blue eyes. She was not my usual type. I was taken with her. I knew I had to get back to the bar, but with every thrust I also knew that this was a once-in-a lifetime opportunity. I didn’t want to get caught away from my bar for an extended period of time, certainly not with my pants down, in the lady’s room, I just could not resist.

She had been coming up to the bar every fifteen minutes asking for water. Each time she gave me a huge tip. No one tipped for water back then, even when it was fancy mineral water. It was about the time in the hospitality business when bottled water became popular for the first time. Clientele pretty much felt obligated to buy it, but they were not going to tip you for it, at least not more than a buck or two. So, when this amazingly beautiful girl, in a red dress, started flipping twenties at me and telling me to keep the change, I knew something was up.

We started kissing. After a few minutes, she dropped her dress off her shoulders. She was completely naked underneath. She was tall and slim with a professional swimsuit or lingerie model’s body. I had never seen her before. I recognized most of the models who came to the Palladium from Elle or Vogue, or from their headshots the agencies sent me. I was shooting every day when I was not bartending, so I knew many of the working New York City models by their images, but not this one.

I could not hear her very well at the bar or outside the bathroom. I just kept following her and willingly following her directions. Originally, I thought she just wanted to get my number so we could shoot, but she never asked me for it. Once we were in front of the lady’s room she started kissing me and dragged me inside. There were a few men in there. As a guy, if you went into the lady’s room you were going for a bump, or you were gay. Straight guys rarely went into the lady’s room back then, so I was a trendsetter. As we entered, she put some lipstick on and then took my hand and dragged me into a stall. No one was paying much attention.

It was tight with the two of us inside, but the bathrooms were new, so they were clean. The lady’s room seemed to be much nicer than the men’s room. I never compared them before. They seemed luxurious. She went inside first, turned towards me, put her arms around my neck and pulled me towards her. She was kissing me quite passionately and I was of course loving every second of it. After only a few minutes, or so, she lifted her arms over her head, folded them together and her shoulder straps fell off both shoulders. She pulled me close to her and pushed her pelvis into mine. I rarely wore underwear behind the bar, so I could feel the curve of her pelvis grind against mine. Almost immediately she was unbuckling my belt and ripping my clothes off.

I lifted her legs, as she supported herself with both arms around my neck and I swung her hips towards me and away. She was a tall woman so it was an awkward position. She was supporting herself by bracing her arms on the walls of the bathroom stall. I thrust as deeply as I could but she was slipping from my grasp. There just wasn’t much room. As she slid out of my arms, I spun her around and re-inserted myself inside of her from behind. She braced herself against the back wall of the stall, but still there was not enough pumping room. Eventually, as I was thrusting fairly hard, her hands slipped down the wall until she grabbed the stainless-steel top to the toilet with her right hand and the flusher with her left. By now she was moaning loudly. Between my ass banging against the bathroom door and her moaning, we were starting to attract attention, although we weren’t aware of it.

It became dead quite in the lady’s room. People knew exactly what we were doing, but we were oblivious. At times, we stopped and listened to see if anyone was saying anything, but we heard nothing. I was nervous that someone would catch us. While it was undeniably exciting, I was nervous and self-conscious. Soon she not only was moaning to the rhythm of my ass banging against the stall door, but she started to orgasm, screaming and flushing the toilet over and over. It was moan moan, flush, scream, moan moan, flush, scream. At this point I was pumping so hard it must have sounded like a bull was trying to break out of the stall. Finally, we came together and we started kissing again. As fast as her red dress came off, she put it back on. Then, she sat down on the toilet and started peeing.

I gave her a wet kiss and told her I would meet her at the bar. I opened the bar stall door slowly. She said she would wait a few minutes before she came out, to be discreet. Nice plan, but as soon as I took a step out of that bathroom stall about a hundred women started to clap, whistle and scream all kinds of things at me. They knew what was happening. I was shocked! I figured maybe one or two girls would hear the noise, but this was insane. We had an audience the entire time. I ran out of there, back to the bar, hoping no one would know it was me. It didn’t take long before I was getting tons of phone numbers slipped to me at the bar.

She waited for me to get off. I frequently used a limo service, so I called one of them and we took a ride uptown to my penthouse. We fooled around in the limo the entire way home. I always kept chilled champagne at the bar, so we were drinking Dom before we even got there. When we arrived, we went right to my second-floor bedroom and I went down on her for the longest time. Eventually after several sweaty orgasms we both fell to sleep.

The sun would always stream through the French doors to my bedroom. At sunrise, she was in a deep sleep, but I wanted more. We drank a lot of champagne, so she was probably hung-over. She must have thought we were going to sleep-in, but I had a shoot at the beach with other models that morning. Despite how great the night was, I knew the models would be terribly disappointed if I didn’t keep the booking. I figured that I would wake her up with a “bang”. Then, I would make a graceful exit. I had a great time, but I figured any woman who bangs a guy she doesn’t know and goes home with him, was probably not the kind of woman I wanted to bring home to meet my family. I often laugh at myself because of that now.

So, I started to position myself closer to her and used my fingers to lightly tickle the inside of her thighs until the moaning started again. I slid down and started to use my tongue until she was humping the bed slightly and rolling her hips higher and higher, arching her back to provide me with more access. Once her hips were high enough and she was dripping wet, I kneeled behind her and inserted myself inside her slowly. She was very wet, so before long we were going at it with a much greater degree of thrust and momentum. I remembered from the bathroom stall that she liked it that way. She was using her arms to support herself doggy style as she pushed back into me with every stroke. Even though she started to participate more in the thrusting, something told me that she was new to intimacy. That made it even more of a turn on.

I came so many times I did not think I could cum again. I wanted to give her a parting favor so she would come back. I slid one leg off the bed and then managed to pull her towards me as I put both my feet onto the floor. She was moaning louder and louder. As I was cuming, she started to cum with me. Her entire body started to quiver uncontrollably. As she quivered and moaned louder, her vagina started to tighten around me. It was much tighter than I had ever experienced. She became, what seemed to be, twice as tight. I thought she was orgasming particularly hard, I know I was.

I was in pure ecstasy. Not only from the amazing physical feeling but also from hearing and feeling her intense orgasm. It was one hell of an orgasm. It lasted so much longer than usual. Soon, she turned to me and the quivering started to intensify, so much so, that she started to scream as she came. In the midst of her climax I looked up at her and saw the whites of her eyes. Her entire body tightened. Her hands were ripping the blanket off the bed and she started quivering violently. She looked possessed. It was scary, so scary that I wanted out. But, there was no way I was getting out unless she let me out; and she was not letting go. Finally, she passed out. I thought I had “fucked her to death” and was terrified! I thought she might have taken drugs. I was I shocked at what was happening.

When the quivering stopped, she was out cold. I could not wake her! I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t detect a pulse or a heartbeat. My heart was beating so hard I thought I was going to pass out. Did I kill her? Was she really dead? I ran for the phone and called the emergency room at the hospital, which was only blocks away. She was only out for minutes but it felt as if time stood still. I finally got a doctor on the phone. He calmed me down and told me that she probably had a seizure. He said that most of the time they were not dangerous. He instructed me to make sure she didn’t swallow her tongue, bite it off, or damage her eyes. I held her hands away from her eyes and put a washcloth inside of her mouth to keep her teeth from touching her tongue. It seemed the worst was over, but she was still unconscious.

The doctor said to wait ten minutes and If she didn’t wake up to call 911. He told me to get her ID and to try to call someone who knew her. He also wanted me to try to find out what medications she was taking. She didn’t have medication in her purse, but she did have a learners permit. To my amazement, she was only seventeen. I was terrified. I had no idea how she could get into the Palladium without proper ID was beyond me. They were extremely diligent about ID. No one could get in without a legitimate age verification and I worked the door so I saw how strict they were. I was only a few years older, but never would think of being with someone under eighteen. I never even met anyone under eighteen at the bar. Finally, she woke up. The first thing she said was, “what are you doing in my pocket book?” My response was, how old are you? She didn’t remember we were together. In fact, she didn’t even know who I was or what happened. At that point I was like, holy shit, did she take drugs last night? I started to ask her questions. The doctor said when she woke up she might need some time to understand what happened to her. Meanwhile she was dripping with my cum. She started to become more coherent and told she was seventeen. She was afraid I would not have slept with her if she told me her real age. She was going to be eighteen shortly, but still.

About thirty minutes later she started to remember the events of the previous evening. She would ask, “did we have sex in the bathroom last night? Did we take a limo back here? Is your name John?” Everything was coming back to her. She told me she could not call her family as she told them she was sleeping at her girlfriend’s house. Her father was old school. He ran a sanitation company and would kill me if he found out. Not only was she on the border of illegal, she was the daughter of a mobster. I was now even more nervous. Not for her, but for me! I knew I couldn’t ask her to leave, or take the chance she would have an unattended seizure, so I came to the conclusion that I would have to find a way to get her home. I was completely overreacting, but I didn’t know what to do. She was so unsteady. She wanted to go home, so I put her in a limo.

I never did go out with the girl in the red dress again. She did call to thank me for the evening. She wanted to date, but I told her she had to wait until she was eighteen. She was embarrassed that she had an epileptic seizure during our relations. I told her not to sweat it. Still, she felt I was blowing her off because of it. I did not want her to feel any less a woman, so despite my fear of becoming fish food, courtesy of her father, I continued to speak to her until she finally stopped calling. The moral to this chapter is, the next time you are taking a woman from the reverse side and she starts to get tighter and tighter, tap her on the shoulder and check her eyes. While that chapter only lasted twenty-four hours, it was one of my most memorable and certainly one of the kinkiest. I did shoot the following day with another model and we did go at it all day. But, that is another chapter. It really did take me so long to really understand the meaning of true love, live and learn.

 

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Chapter 13 – Ménage A trios’: Next Chapter →

Chapter 14 – Monkey Business

Chapter 14, “Monkey Business,” recalls childhood games of Truth or Dare — a sixth-grade lakeside adventure that ended with poison ivy and a hospital visit, and a reconnection years later in high school.

I was in elementary school. After a sixth-grade graduation, I managed to convince the principal to let me have the flower arrangements at each end of the stage. I combined them into one nice bouquet and left them outside the classroom of a, very cute, girl who I was taken with. I included a note. It worked, for soon afterwards we were experimenting in my tent, playing Spin The Bottle, or Truth Or Dare. Each of those games was a popular way to tempt girls into fooling around, while at the same time being somewhat innocent. But, by this time, I was not sure how innocent I was.

I had already gone through communion class. I figured I was going straight to hell for having gone all the way with my babysitter. I believed it. The nuns at church solidified that belief when I hinted I was not a virgin. There was something about going to confession I could not stomach at that age. I was not about to ask for absolution from fucking, when I was ten. It just seemed a bit much. Since I was going to hell anyway, I said screw religion. I do not believe in a God that would condemn me to hell. But, all the same, it was always in the back of my mind. I went through communion, but as soon as it was over I never went back to church again. Well, at times I had to and I always sat in the back and never ever went for confession again. I had not real mentoring when it came to religion as my father rebelled against the catholic church for beating him while he was an alter boy in a Christian boys home.

We would mostly pick Truth Or Dare. We would play with other kids who knew we were fooling around. Word spread like wild fire.   Not only were we the first kids in the school to be dating, we were the youngest. None of the sixth graders were dating. Most were feeling the first throngs of sexual awakening, but had no concept of what to do about it. When we started to get nervous about fooling around in my backyard tent, we thought that we could use a secluded area of the park. At first, we were going to use that same tent for privacy, but tents were not allowed. So, we improvised and took our bicycles and a blanket to the park.

Because we were so young, we had to tell our parents exactly where we were going. Beyond that, we were worried that someone would see us under the blanket. We had decided to stop with the oral and hand experimentation and go for it. We searched for a private spot, but there weren’t any. People were playing tennis, basketball, football, running and jogging. It seemed that every single sport in the entire world was going on around us.

I was not particularly nervous about doing it again. In fact, I had a major case of blue balls. They were aching like crazy. In between the babysitter and my new love interest, my doctor told me, that I had to rub one out. Truth was, I was rubbing one out at least once a day anyway. I was using my gym socks as a repository. Unfortunately, I was running out of gym socks. Interestingly, they were never as soft afterwards. No matter how many times they were washed, they would always be crispy in places I came. I thought I had super sperm.

I was determined to start the sex games I played before I moved back to East Meadow, a year earlier. We found a few spots that had vegetation so we could crawl in between the plants. Although we could hear everyone and they could hear us, no one could see us. But time and time again, footballs were tossed close to us and joggers would almost be looking down at us as they ran by. If they were walking, they would have seen everything. So, we packed up our bicycles and went to the lake. The lake had many pine trees and hills. It was infamous as the “make-out lake” by most of my older friends who would talk about such things in front of me.

I decided to tell my friend that we were going to take a bike ride by the lake. He was tagging along waiting for his girlfriend to show up. He knew what we were up to and was acting as our look-out. For him, it was more like a spy game than romance. For us, a look-out as we were afraid of getting caught. So, we took our bicycles and rode to the lake. There were couples on blankets making out behind every bush, so there was nowhere for us to go. Eventually, we found a large group of cypress trees with branches that were low to the ground. We rested our bicycles up against the tree to block the view. But we knew we weren’t hidden enough, so without saying a word we looked at each other with a mischievous smile on both of our faces, and then we both started climbing.

The tree had large branches. They were all parallel to the ground, so it was an easy climb. The branches were almost like stairs to a tree house. As we climbed higher and higher, we realized that the foliage around us was so thick that we were well hidden. I was about half a body length above her. I dropped my shorts to my ankles. Without saying a word, she went down on me. I remember the tree was sticky with sap. Everything was sticking to everything. Her hand could not slide over me because it was so tacky. I think that was the only reason she agreed to use her mouth. Even though we kept half joking about going all the way, we were both very nervous.

Shortly after she finished going down on me, she climbed a bit higher and I started on her. She was either shaving or she was bare down there, so it was clean. I enjoyed it immensely. Then, she hung her pants on a tree branch and lowered herself onto me. We were going all the way. We did this for just a short while. My lookout friend was fixing his bicycle chain under our tree, probably sneaking a peak. As fate would have it, the wind started blowing. This was a scenario too inconceivable for anyone to write into a script. The wind was moving the branches so we could now see the ground. We also realized that anyone on the golf course could also see us. I called down to my friend. When he looked up, the wind blew and there was a perfect opening for him to see me still inside her. He was shocked that we were actually doing it, started laughing uncontrollably and then just took off on his bicycle. We dressed quickly and went after him. Don’t ask me why. It seemed like he was upset and the wind was getting stronger.

When we caught up to him she asked if he was upset that his girlfriend hadn’t shown up and if he wanted to go up the tree with her. I said that I didn’t mind. After we discussed it for a while, we decided against it. For me this was like a sport and had nothing really to do with love. There really was no love involved as I did not know her long enough to love her. Although any time you are intimate with another person, I think it is accompanied by a feeling of love.

She was a virgin and was pretty sore, so we walked our bicycles home. Although she did not bleed during, she did bleed a lot afterwards. I didn’t know to be gentle with her, as I too was so inexperienced. We just wanted to do it. She was a tomboy. We played lots of sports together. She was very taken with the time I gave her flowers. The entire school was gossiping about us. That made her happy. She wanted everyone to know that she was with me. I didn’t want her to tell anyone about our tryst in the tree. I thought we would be marked with a scarlet letter. You just knew that sex at that age was not supposed to be happening. We didn’t care enough to abstain though.

Later that evening she called and said that she was sticky and itching all over her vagina. She thought she caught a venereal disease. The next day the skin on my penis started to bubble up. In places, the skin was peeling off. We thought we were doomed, that the devil had given us venereal disease. I made her swear not to tell her mother or anyone. She agreed. The next day was really tough. I was afraid to even take a bath. The skin was bubbling up all over my body. She was suffering the same fate. We were convinced it was God’s wrath. What else could it be?

Finally, she told her mother. Her mom took her to the hospital. They found she was covered in a poison ivy rash. We both were. I found out that I was also allergic to sap, so I was in much worse shape. Her mother and father were livid. The next time I called she told me I was not allowed to call her anymore. We were not allowed to see each other. I cried privately for at least a week and was singing sad songs. I could not tell anyone my heart was broken for a second time. I thought she was just a friend but I really did get attached to that cute tomboy. I think if not for poison ivy, we would have been together for a very long time. Fate stepped in that same year as we both went off to different junior high schools.

Years later, in high school, she came back into my life again. We talked for the first time in years. There definitely was a connection. But, that connection was based only on our shared intimacy. She chose to be with women for the remainder of her junior high experience. By the time we reunited it was clear that she only wanted women. I was shocked. I never told anyone, as she asked me to keep it a secret. We formed a genuine friendship, but every time I saw her I could not forget making love to her in a tree, in broad daylight. At my sixteenths birthday party, my “lookout” and best friend, who was still a virgin, gave everyone at the party a silk-screened shirt that read “Do it in the TREE’S.” With the cat partially out of the bag, he told the story to all my friends, even my girlfriend at the time, who said she wanted to do it in a tree with me too. . So, we did. Only this time it was a much larger tree with no sap. It had fallen behind the school, next to the Wantagh Parkway. I usually rode the minibikes I built there, but this was considerably more fun.

 

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Chapter 15 – Cadet Training

Chapter 15, “Cadet Training,” recalls a police-academy cadet who visited his bar every weekend — a cocaine-fueled romance he ended dramatically before moving to New York to pursue photography.

I was very naïve about love; despite the fact I was sleeping with more women than I could have ever imagined. I was bartending. It was the 80’s. Just about everyone was experimenting with fetishes. I was no different. This was a very strange chapter of my life. She was a police officer in training who really liked her handcuffs. I had no idea she was training to become a cop when we first met, at my bar, as she was in street clothing. I was still shy, so I occasionally tapped into the liquor supply to give myself a little extra boost of courage. I had worked in the hospitality business for a short time, but typically as a waiter. This was both my first full-time management and bartending gig. By the time I found out she was an actual cadet she had me in handcuffs. While in uniform, she started cutting up lines at the then infamous Bethpage Hotel on Hempstead Turnpike. I was ridiculously nervous because I couldn’t believe a future cop was doing blow.

There was no way for me to escape. Frankly, I did not want to. But, I never did blow and never wanted to. This was going to be my first time, except for one tiny bump when I was drunk with a cheerleader. She was not only hot, but also very persuasive. For those unfamiliar, blow is an extremely dangerous drug, especially to anyone who has obsessive or addictive personality. This was a very bad decision. It became a weekend ritual. She would handcuff me to the bed and go to town on me. She was the more active participant in the actual thrusting and pumping. I was kind of her sex slave of sorts. Our relationship was completely based on role-play and sex. I really didn’t know her. I did know that she was related to many different families of cops to much later on in our relationship. Almost every working adult in her family was a police officer, so the fact that she was bringing blow to the hotel freaked me out. As much as it terrified me, the sex was so different and so intense I couldn’t bring myself to end it.

For months, every Friday or Saturday night, she would come to my bar after she finished at the academy. We would leave my car at the bar and she would drive us to the hotel and check-in. She got some kind of a cop discount. Then it was off to the room, where we would party all night. We would sleep most of the next day. Then, she would drive me back to the bar for the next night’s shift, or home to shower first and then the bar. She was not a model, as I did not date models at that time. Most of the time I dated fun, tomboy, type girls. She was no different. Except for one key point, to say she was the dominant one in our relationship would be an understatement. She was soft and pretty. It seemed as if she had absolutely no fear, not even of getting caught with blow. She was like the tough female cops you see on television. I think the Bethpage Motel was making most of its revenue from weekend affairs. It was set-up as a kind of sex motel where you could book rooms for the night or even for a few hours. I never knew a hotel to have such an elaborate collection of headboards, especially brass ones. Then again, most of my corporate life I stayed in business or commercial hotel chains.

I was snorting blow off her breasts and teasing her. Not that I wanted to or liked it, I just did it to appease her. Most of the time I would blow it away first and then pretend to snort it. She loved it. It was a huge turn on for her. For me, not so much. It made my heart race and I was paranoid. I hated the stuff. All the same, she was an amazing lover. This was truly kinky sex for anyone, let alone a guy who preferred the standard missionary position. Other than when we were at the hotel, she was quite serious about her future as a police officer. But, at the hotel it was always the same. After meeting her parents, it was clear that her father wanted a son. He treated her more like a fellow cop than a daughter.

Eventually she proposed to me, she actually wanted to marry me. I wanted no part of it. I only stayed with her because she threatened me. She told me that if I ever left her she was going to shoot me. I thought she was just screwing around at first but eventually I knew that I had to end it. I didn’t want a cocaine-using cop as a life partner, no matter how intense the sex was. I felt trapped. If you ever hear a woman admit that she is too afraid to leave her boyfriend, or husband, believe her. I was terrified about breaking up with my cadet girlfriend. If not for a frightening event that gave me the opportunity to leave her, I believe she would have carried out that threat. She was obsessed with me and addicted to cocaine.

I finally found a way to end it. One night, when I was going down on her, we heard sirens coming closer and closer, until they were outside the hotel. At first, it was a turn on for her, as it made things more realistic. She was enjoying the change of being in the submissive role. I enjoyed it quite a bit certainly more than being handcuffed. As the sirens got louder and louder, she was getting more and more turned on. I was wearing a police uniform she brought from the academy… guns and all.

I never felt comfortable doing it, but I would go along with most anything at that point. I was afraid she would use her connections to screw with me if I tried to end it. Even possibly getting me fired from my bartending job. She was even trying to get me to go to the academy to become a police officer. She said with her connections and my reputation I would get in easily. It was something I was considering seriously at the time. She was a virgin when I met her, despite her fetishes. Because of that I couldn’t have sex with her and then just dump her, so I stayed with her much longer than I would have otherwise, especially because she was a virgin. Well, it was that, but also the threats.

So, we were at the hotel and I was going down on her. I was wearing the cop outfit with the entire package. She was handcuffed and completely high. She was screaming quite loud. Mostly, “no no,” “please stop.” I was supposed to gag her but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. What we didn’t know was that someone in another room heard her screaming and called the police. Before we knew it, there was a knock at the door. They identified themselves as police. There was a female and a male cop. I was freaking out. She went to the door without any clothing on and showed her credentials. They left as soon as she said she was fine and they realized that she and her entire family was “on the job.” For a good ten minutes, I was sure we were going to be arrested for breaking what I thought were so many laws. I had idea which laws, but I was sure we were in deep trouble. I was so naïve that I thought I could be arrested for simply “impersonating and officer” never mind the blow she had.

When they left, she wanted to go back at it, but I was done. I called a taxi when she was sleeping and went back to the bar to get my car. After that, I didn’t return her calls or communicate with her again. It was cruel of me. I know she was heartbroken, but I wanted nothing to do with a blow-using cadet who was forcing me to indulge. Eventually, she stopped showing up at my bar and I stopped hiding from her. In time, she became a police officer. At that point she started coming to the bar with other cops. It was obvious they were the ones now going to the Bethpage Hotel with her. A few times I could swear I saw white powder on their noses. But, that was the eighties for you.

Eventually, I left that job and moved to New York City to pursue my photography career. Jobs were coming to me faster than I could shoot them. I was also going to school locally for both business and engineering, but I decided to take a semester off, to see how far I could take my photography. I never did go back for my degree. It is a decision I now regret. But I had to get as far away from her as possible. She was now a police officer. Who knows whom she was handcuffing?

Years later, I was involved in a massive street brawl with two gang members, on Long Island. I was defending my life against two of them, terrified as they attacked me just before I got into my car. I was tough, but these guys were ten years older and wasted. They were trying to steal my wallet and intimidate me into giving it to them by not allowing me into my car. When I refused, they took an entire pizza and wiped it across the front windshield of my car. Then they came at me. Somehow, I left them both face down and bloody in the puddles that accumulated in the mostly dirt parking lot. Finally, the police arrived. Four officers got out of their cars. The two gang members got up and started screaming, “that guy attacked us both. Arrest him.” I never had to defend myself against two people at the same time, let alone gang members. I simply fought for my life and in the end thought I was going to be arrested. I couldn’t believe what they looked like. They were bloody. I really hurt them, but had no choice.

I didn’t have that killer instinct when I boxed or wrestled, but it was better off getting arrested than being killed. Just when I thought I was going to be arrested, several of the store merchants who saw the event, told the officers that I was attacked. Moments later, a detective showed up. It was that same cadet. She spoke to the officers who then left. She followed me back to my parents’ house with her lights flashing. When I got home, she and another officer told my father that the gang members were going to kill me if they found me. She smiled at me as she was leaving. Clearly she kept any mention of our previous relationship from her partner. Later that night my father went to that bar and beat the shit out of every gang member in the place. He was not a violent man but would never allow anything to happen to me. I will never forget that night, or those nights, I spent with my cadet. She was one adrenaline filled chapter of love.

 

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