I was wrongly accused! Seeing Chris in the front of the courtroom was amazing. Finally, a person helped me!
I was in shock and "emotionally wowed" when Chris rescued me and got me out on bail... and I was exhausted!
Chris told me how my mother returned to my "home", after my arrest, and demanded him to leave and never return. After discovering how to find the courthouse, he slept in his car.
Immediately, I called my Pastor—the only "adult figure" I had in my orbit—for a lawyer recommendation, and he referred me to the church’s attorney, Brendan Twomey. He accepted my case... for cash-only payments. He asked for paperwork pertaining to the mortgage, late payments, my parent's divorce, et cetera. I went home to look, but they were gone! After having me arrested and then kicking Chris out, my mother stole all the files and financial documents out of our home. An entire drawer from my file cabinet was gone! She probably brought them to Edith's home or kept them in her Mercedes.
My lawyer sought copies from the mortgage bank and county clerk. He told me that I was an idiot for signing away my interest in the house. He got a copy of the paperwork from my mother’s divorce attorney, Bob Cohen, in Suffolk County. In my defense, who would suspect their own parents of swindling their children? Thanks to my good credit, she possessed the house. As the severity of this calamity set on me, I felt suffocated. Full of righteous indignation, I wanted to scream!
Over the course of a WHOLE YEAR, I took mornings off from work to meet with my fat lawyer at the District Attorney’s office—whenever the appointments arose. After I no longer owned a car, I needed to borrow cars from coworkers, and either take the day off or try to win favor with my GM to come in late. (My GM nastily used my predicament as leverage against me).
The District Attorney had a severe-looking waiting room with crude people clamoring around their own attorneys. Every single time, as cops stood over me—looking menacing—I assumed they were waiting to haul me away, again! They stared at me, and I imagined that they awaited orders from the DA about my felony/prison charge. I think I lost hair during the ordeal!
My lawyer called HSBC’s Fraud Division to explain my “family disagreement”, indicating that I agreed to transfer the money back to the insurance company, and that my mother and I co-existed—on paper and by living together—for several years. Meanwhile, Wells Fargo didn't help me. They were too busy receiving $25 billion in taxpayer Federal Bailout money! Their blunders/risk-taking were getting paid for by people like me, while I was being unjustly penalized by the same government.
Letters and calls from my lawyer and the District Attorney’s office to my mother to ask about dropping the charges went unanswered. She let me fend for myself in the mess she conjured up for me. Their calls and letters to my sister and father were unanswered, too... during an entire year! To this day, my sister and father claim that they never got any… but they don't deny that they knew I was suffering amidst the court case.
Can you imagine knowing that a family member is going to jail and facing a felony prison term—when you know they're innocent—and not doing anything?! Such was my f*cked up family! They probably read this book...
Pastor Eberhardt tried to contact my mother, because she falsely gossiped to everyone in our community about me "getting arrested for trying to steal from her", and how hard she worked to do "everything around the house", and what a farce of a "faggot homo" son I was—despite how I might "appear on the outside".
Immediately, I called my Pastor—the only "adult figure" I had in my orbit—for a lawyer recommendation, and he referred me to the church’s attorney, Brendan Twomey. He accepted my case... for cash-only payments. He asked for paperwork pertaining to the mortgage, late payments, my parent's divorce, et cetera. I went home to look, but they were gone! After having me arrested and then kicking Chris out, my mother stole all the files and financial documents out of our home. An entire drawer from my file cabinet was gone! She probably brought them to Edith's home or kept them in her Mercedes.
My lawyer sought copies from the mortgage bank and county clerk. He told me that I was an idiot for signing away my interest in the house. He got a copy of the paperwork from my mother’s divorce attorney, Bob Cohen, in Suffolk County. In my defense, who would suspect their own parents of swindling their children? Thanks to my good credit, she possessed the house. As the severity of this calamity set on me, I felt suffocated. Full of righteous indignation, I wanted to scream!
Over the course of a WHOLE YEAR, I took mornings off from work to meet with my fat lawyer at the District Attorney’s office—whenever the appointments arose. After I no longer owned a car, I needed to borrow cars from coworkers, and either take the day off or try to win favor with my GM to come in late. (My GM nastily used my predicament as leverage against me).
The District Attorney had a severe-looking waiting room with crude people clamoring around their own attorneys. Every single time, as cops stood over me—looking menacing—I assumed they were waiting to haul me away, again! They stared at me, and I imagined that they awaited orders from the DA about my felony/prison charge. I think I lost hair during the ordeal!
My lawyer called HSBC’s Fraud Division to explain my “family disagreement”, indicating that I agreed to transfer the money back to the insurance company, and that my mother and I co-existed—on paper and by living together—for several years. Meanwhile, Wells Fargo didn't help me. They were too busy receiving $25 billion in taxpayer Federal Bailout money! Their blunders/risk-taking were getting paid for by people like me, while I was being unjustly penalized by the same government.
Letters and calls from my lawyer and the District Attorney’s office to my mother to ask about dropping the charges went unanswered. She let me fend for myself in the mess she conjured up for me. Their calls and letters to my sister and father were unanswered, too... during an entire year! To this day, my sister and father claim that they never got any… but they don't deny that they knew I was suffering amidst the court case.
Can you imagine knowing that a family member is going to jail and facing a felony prison term—when you know they're innocent—and not doing anything?! Such was my f*cked up family! They probably read this book...
Pastor Eberhardt tried to contact my mother, because she falsely gossiped to everyone in our community about me "getting arrested for trying to steal from her", and how hard she worked to do "everything around the house", and what a farce of a "faggot homo" son I was—despite how I might "appear on the outside".
When she discovered that Pastor wanted to intervene, she stopped going to church, quit the choir, and
sent a scalding letter to the Church Council, "outing me" and saying, “Shame on Reverend Rodney Eberhardt for
helping a gay man—who is a sin against God!”
My own mother spread vicious lies about me, and the gullible members of the Church Council believed her... without hearing from me. Thus, her illegal slandering and defamation of my reputation was not penalized, and I was jilted further. I was shocked to see people shrink away from me and avoid helping me; being homosexual was considered unforgivable. I was the first one in the 2,000-person congregation's history.
Like "salt in the wound", I was abandoned because I was inconvenient. Despite my decades of contributions, I was forsaken by the influential men of the Stewardship and Long Range Planning committees. The parish secretary quickly forgot how I helped her infirm husband, and the organist forgot my fundraising efforts for his extra organ pipes. The Director of Music forgot my fundraising and membership efforts, and how I helped his troubled son. The newest Assistant Pastor (a stuffy Princeton Seminary graduate) forgot how I helped him get acclimated in the community. Women and men with influence in the world forsook me (as if that was suddenly the Christian way to regard mankind). The Laws of Probability did not help me; hundreds of people could've aided me, even in a small way, but chose not to.
Incidentally, it was then that my pastor—whom I surprised at his office in January for his birthday—
sat me down and said, “You are a gay man, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Officially, I can’t support it, but personally, I do. It’s too bad you never came to me earlier; I could’ve helped you and introduced you to supportive people.” I felt like choking him! If he “suspected that I needed support”, why hadn’t he approached me during all of those years? Isn’t that what the clergy do? Reach out and help folks? He did reach out to me, when he needed help resurrecting the church newsletter, and to volunteer several nights a week for different church committees... so I knew his phone worked for some things. Ah, but I forgot: people in my world weren’t allowed to make the first move in my life! In addition, I wouldn’t have thought to approach him, NEVER knowing he was gay-friendly. It was like, "Thanks for telling me now!" AND "I told you so about my mother plotting against me!" Thanks a million!
[Ironically, my pastor's home suffered damage, that year. The parsonage had a fireplace in the living room, and a stray ember slipped through a crack in the chimney lining, setting the exterior wall on fire! Everyone was saved, and the Village of Farmingdale's Fire Department extinguished it quickly. The pastor's Home Owner's Insurance paid him handsomely, and that money was re-appropriated—not only for repairs—but to do other improvements on the house. Pastor claimed that smoke damage affected every piece of fabric on both floors. He had the upholstery, curtains, and his clothes cleaned/replaced. The new fireplace's marble mantle, new wallpaper, new paneling, and new furniture (to replace ones that were water-damaged by the firefighters) were magnificent! Fate gave him and his wife a beautiful home—that I waitered at, until I got arrested—at no cost. My homeowner's insurance produced a nightmare for me. Thanks again, Karma!].
I was faced with was an extremely serious crime. I was terrified about losing the house, ruining my credit, worried about my mother behaving illegally and dragging Edith into this, and I had no more money! I was practically alone. I was tormented as my sluggish lawyer dragged my case for over a year, collecting my cash as he went. We met with the DA every month or so, only to be told to have another conversation with the bank or insurance company's various departments. You might think that an upstanding lawyer would finish such a "low priority" case, to take bigger ones. Yet, he was probably at the courthouse/DA's office on a monthly basis anyway, and was happy to have me meet him there, pay him cash, and tell me that we'd meet again the next month!!! I believe that he was a crook. In that regard, he matched perfectly with the other crooked men involved with my church.
At my job, I strove for every sale I could make—just to pay the lawyer… and also my new RENT! Noticing my physique, coworkers said that the stress and anxiety made me lose weight. Unfortunately, my workplace didn't alleviate stress.
sat me down and said, “You are a gay man, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Officially, I can’t support it, but personally, I do. It’s too bad you never came to me earlier; I could’ve helped you and introduced you to supportive people.” I felt like choking him! If he “suspected that I needed support”, why hadn’t he approached me during all of those years? Isn’t that what the clergy do? Reach out and help folks? He did reach out to me, when he needed help resurrecting the church newsletter, and to volunteer several nights a week for different church committees... so I knew his phone worked for some things. Ah, but I forgot: people in my world weren’t allowed to make the first move in my life! In addition, I wouldn’t have thought to approach him, NEVER knowing he was gay-friendly. It was like, "Thanks for telling me now!" AND "I told you so about my mother plotting against me!" Thanks a million!
[Ironically, my pastor's home suffered damage, that year. The parsonage had a fireplace in the living room, and a stray ember slipped through a crack in the chimney lining, setting the exterior wall on fire! Everyone was saved, and the Village of Farmingdale's Fire Department extinguished it quickly. The pastor's Home Owner's Insurance paid him handsomely, and that money was re-appropriated—not only for repairs—but to do other improvements on the house. Pastor claimed that smoke damage affected every piece of fabric on both floors. He had the upholstery, curtains, and his clothes cleaned/replaced. The new fireplace's marble mantle, new wallpaper, new paneling, and new furniture (to replace ones that were water-damaged by the firefighters) were magnificent! Fate gave him and his wife a beautiful home—that I waitered at, until I got arrested—at no cost. My homeowner's insurance produced a nightmare for me. Thanks again, Karma!].
I was faced with was an extremely serious crime. I was terrified about losing the house, ruining my credit, worried about my mother behaving illegally and dragging Edith into this, and I had no more money! I was practically alone. I was tormented as my sluggish lawyer dragged my case for over a year, collecting my cash as he went. We met with the DA every month or so, only to be told to have another conversation with the bank or insurance company's various departments. You might think that an upstanding lawyer would finish such a "low priority" case, to take bigger ones. Yet, he was probably at the courthouse/DA's office on a monthly basis anyway, and was happy to have me meet him there, pay him cash, and tell me that we'd meet again the next month!!! I believe that he was a crook. In that regard, he matched perfectly with the other crooked men involved with my church.
At my job, I strove for every sale I could make—just to pay the lawyer… and also my new RENT! Noticing my physique, coworkers said that the stress and anxiety made me lose weight. Unfortunately, my workplace didn't alleviate stress.
Yes, ME—who earnestly strove to make a handsome loving home—was kicked out of it. Despite all my hard work, charity, and gifts, I was drained of my money. Despite all my home-care efforts, I was channeled into a series of rudely unpleasant and fowl homes.
My mother—who let my sister ruin her credit, who let my sister steal money to start her own new life, who begged me not to press charges against my abusive father, and who behaved illegally herself with Edith—had ME arrested... the only one who stayed by her side to help and who "signed away" his young-adult life to support her. She added insult to injury by getting an “Order of Protection” against me. It's like a "restraining order" so I couldn’t communicate with her or approach her. Naturally, I returned home, after my arraignment. She ordered me to move out of our home—with ONLY the possessions that I had receipts for! I telephoned my lawyer to strategize a refusal of her demand, but he told me to do obey it. I had to leave.
For years, I lavished thousands of hours and hard-earned dollars on that home and its gardens. I invested creativity, care, and sweat on its maintenance and accoutrements. My deceitful mother should've failed at hurting me (see the formula below), so why did she succeed at defrauding me?
My mother—who let my sister ruin her credit, who let my sister steal money to start her own new life, who begged me not to press charges against my abusive father, and who behaved illegally herself with Edith—had ME arrested... the only one who stayed by her side to help and who "signed away" his young-adult life to support her. She added insult to injury by getting an “Order of Protection” against me. It's like a "restraining order" so I couldn’t communicate with her or approach her. Naturally, I returned home, after my arraignment. She ordered me to move out of our home—with ONLY the possessions that I had receipts for! I telephoned my lawyer to strategize a refusal of her demand, but he told me to do obey it. I had to leave.
For years, I lavished thousands of hours and hard-earned dollars on that home and its gardens. I invested creativity, care, and sweat on its maintenance and accoutrements. My deceitful mother should've failed at hurting me (see the formula below), so why did she succeed at defrauding me?
Chris frantically searched online, via his laptop at Starbucks, to find apartments that I (we) “qualified” for… considering my damaged credit, legal problems, frozen bank account, shortage of cash, and my mother's deadline of "5 days to get out". I hardly slept,
ate very little, still went to work (that hellhole), met Chris immediately afterwards and drove all
over two counties, looking at seedy apartments from bloodsucking landlords.
Through it all, Chris seemed like a proverbial "knight in shining armor".
Finally, we found an apartment in a 3-level townhouse in Bayside, Queens (a borough of New York City named for the Queen of England of 1683: Catherine Stuart).
In that instant, I became a resident of a megacity.
Unfortunately, the townhouse was owned by a greedy, bloodsucking landlord from Israel.
(His persona will seem typical in NYC, but he doesn't represent the values of other Israelis whom I have the pleasure to know). His name was Isaac, and he wanted two month’s rent plus a security deposit (equal to one month's rent), in advance... and he didn’t care what my
personal situation was. He didn't want to see my bank statements, or references, or a clean criminal record. He did not care if I was gay or not. He purely wanted money from me. The apartment was available immediately. The rent was a staggering $2,400 per month, for the 2 bedroom/1 bath apartment!!! No, we were not allowed to sublet the other bedroom for extra income. With no other options in sight, and with 2 days left in my deadline, I accepted. The lease was only in my name, but Chris paid half of the security deposit. Below are images of townhouses on that street. Ours was a corner property without a garage.
For comparison, a BRAND NEW 2-bedroom, 2-bathroom apartment in a NEW apartment building—with elevator, gym, laundry and live-in Superintendent—in a place like luxurious Kew Gardens, Queens (conveniently closer to NYC and is on a subway route) goes for only $1,700 per month!!! For my apartment—in a part of Queens furthest from the city, without those amenities, and no subway—my landlord charged me $2,400 per month!!! I had to carry my laundry 6 blocks to a Laundromat (in rain and snow). I had no thermostat (because it was an illegal apartment). I had no choice. The fun got better.
I maxed out my other credit card to pay $800 for movers to pack and move
the furniture and possessions that I had receipts for.
To cut moving costs, I indebted
myself to the landlord to borrow his SUV to make two midnight trips carrying my
small furnishings. I din't have a receipt for it, but I took my painting from Florence. I sold whatever I couldn’t take—that I had receipts for—in order to make quick money. Seen below, my six-seat patio set went for a mere $50...
… so did my $250 hammock. I didn't have time to ask for more reasonable amounts. My mother’s parting gesture was to show that she opened my boxes before the movers came and cut out the faces in my pictures and photo albums.
She bent wire hangers into odd shapes and hung them from her bedroom doorknob (which was locked). Thinking it was spooky, Chris researched online and identified them as amateur “energy treatments” to keep people out of the room. In addition, she used a “hex technique” of writing my name on small pieces of paper and freezing them in ice cube trays. Chris observed a lantern hanging "decoratively" in my dining room that was known (online) to be a “witch’s cauldron”. That night, he threw it away in a local dumpster. The next day, I moved out. My mother’s parting words were an accusation that Chris and I were secret lovers, and how disgusting it was to have a gay son! I imagined her putting pins in a voodoo doll likeness of me.
The next week, at the Mineola court complex with my lawyer, I encountered Adele, my former family therapist! She was doing work for the courts. We were happy to see each other. I unobtrusively questioned why I hadn't heard back from her? She replied that my mother told her to stop communicating with us, and because of my non-adult age at the time, Adele agreed. I was furious at my mother! I saw the pattern of her keeping people away from me. We exchanged numbers (again), and her professional understanding of my mother was helpful to me. I was amazed that Adele suddenly returned to my life, once I was away from my mother. Spooky! Chris claimed that my mother's "voodoo" was breaking down.
Meanwhile, my penny-pinching/greedy/shrewd landlord, overcharged me for a pre-used air-conditioner (my top-floor apartment in the brick townhouse got immensely hot—with sunlight hitting three sides of it), and a chrome kitchen rack (there was minimal counter space in my $2,400-per-month apartment. Past the sink, the counter was only 4-feet long).
… so did my $250 hammock. I didn't have time to ask for more reasonable amounts. My mother’s parting gesture was to show that she opened my boxes before the movers came and cut out the faces in my pictures and photo albums.
She bent wire hangers into odd shapes and hung them from her bedroom doorknob (which was locked). Thinking it was spooky, Chris researched online and identified them as amateur “energy treatments” to keep people out of the room. In addition, she used a “hex technique” of writing my name on small pieces of paper and freezing them in ice cube trays. Chris observed a lantern hanging "decoratively" in my dining room that was known (online) to be a “witch’s cauldron”. That night, he threw it away in a local dumpster. The next day, I moved out. My mother’s parting words were an accusation that Chris and I were secret lovers, and how disgusting it was to have a gay son! I imagined her putting pins in a voodoo doll likeness of me.
The next week, at the Mineola court complex with my lawyer, I encountered Adele, my former family therapist! She was doing work for the courts. We were happy to see each other. I unobtrusively questioned why I hadn't heard back from her? She replied that my mother told her to stop communicating with us, and because of my non-adult age at the time, Adele agreed. I was furious at my mother! I saw the pattern of her keeping people away from me. We exchanged numbers (again), and her professional understanding of my mother was helpful to me. I was amazed that Adele suddenly returned to my life, once I was away from my mother. Spooky! Chris claimed that my mother's "voodoo" was breaking down.
Meanwhile, my penny-pinching/greedy/shrewd landlord, overcharged me for a pre-used air-conditioner (my top-floor apartment in the brick townhouse got immensely hot—with sunlight hitting three sides of it), and a chrome kitchen rack (there was minimal counter space in my $2,400-per-month apartment. Past the sink, the counter was only 4-feet long).
*Never live in a redbrick building that lacks updated insulation; it is like living in a pizza oven! At sundown, all the heat stored in the bricks is released, which bakes your home hotter through the night!
Due to overwhelming greed, nearly all redbrick buildings in the five boroughs of NYC lack insulation; landlords only care about charging modern rent but not providing modern comforts.
I continued working miserably at a thankless deteriorating job, where my career was stymied, and my boss—who flaunted his happy gay life—took advantage of me. Still without a job, Chris enrolled in Flight Attendant School. He loftily spoke about taking me places... if I kept paying for things while he went through training.
My landlord’s shrewd wife devised the scheme that I could “work off” my debt to them by doing chores around their house. It was like indentured servitude! Cinderella again! She wanted me to clean out her garage and basement. I had prior experience cleaning out my maternal grandparents’ house, constantly tidying up my former home, and sorting/discarding what my father abandoned and what my mother hoarded.
Therefore, after a leg-tiring, stressful day (with bitchy-rude customers and temperamental managers), I came home to discover what chores I had to do for my landlady. I wished it had been "light" stuff like paperwork or choosing outfits for them... but no. I left work, took the bus (a 60-minute ride, where I often stood without seats) to my apartment, changed out of my "retail clothes"...
...and then I took another bus for 20-minutes to their posh neighborhood. Sometimes, Isaac picked me up from home. Their chores consumed my days off, too!
I cleaned out their disgusting garage and cleaned out their overstuffed closets. I boxed & bagged and then hauled that stuff to clothing donations in the next town (using their new Nissan SUV). I scrubbed/wiped/vacuumed their 3-story modern home before the landlady's mother visited. I decorated their home for for Thanksgiving and Hanukkah parties. I did their laundry and folded it, each week.
At least their home had air-conditioning throughout, unlike the apartment they rented to me! Isaac made me help him carry new refrigerators and stoves into his other apartments across town. It was heavy work.
He compelled me rip up old carpet & padding from an apartment, and remove the hundreds of staples that held it down. We then discarded that stuff.
I helped the landlady go food shopping or "home accessories" shopping—while babysitting her toddler. As if I didn't have enough misery at work, the landlady sought my advice about her crappy marriage, and she complained about how cheap her husband was.
It taught me a LIFE LESSON. She deliberately married a "rich man" for financial security. But her husband valued money more than his family, and their frequent arguments were about her and their infant daughter costing him too much. She didn't marry for love, and the security she married for was unstable. She wanted to tell me all her problems. With the toddler crying, it was like having two females crying at the same time! Watch this quick video to see how I felt (turn the sound on)...
I did my best to get through it, but the emotional toll was heavy, since I had nobody to turn to. I couldn't even interact with the "neighbors" of my townhouse: the college girl who lived in the basement was never home, and the young married couple who lived beneath me seemed to constantly argue and have shouting matches that I heard through my floor. It didn't make my evenings at home pleasant.
...and then I took another bus for 20-minutes to their posh neighborhood. Sometimes, Isaac picked me up from home. Their chores consumed my days off, too!
I cleaned out their disgusting garage and cleaned out their overstuffed closets. I boxed & bagged and then hauled that stuff to clothing donations in the next town (using their new Nissan SUV). I scrubbed/wiped/vacuumed their 3-story modern home before the landlady's mother visited. I decorated their home for for Thanksgiving and Hanukkah parties. I did their laundry and folded it, each week.
At least their home had air-conditioning throughout, unlike the apartment they rented to me! Isaac made me help him carry new refrigerators and stoves into his other apartments across town. It was heavy work.
He compelled me rip up old carpet & padding from an apartment, and remove the hundreds of staples that held it down. We then discarded that stuff.
I helped the landlady go food shopping or "home accessories" shopping—while babysitting her toddler. As if I didn't have enough misery at work, the landlady sought my advice about her crappy marriage, and she complained about how cheap her husband was.
It taught me a LIFE LESSON. She deliberately married a "rich man" for financial security. But her husband valued money more than his family, and their frequent arguments were about her and their infant daughter costing him too much. She didn't marry for love, and the security she married for was unstable. She wanted to tell me all her problems. With the toddler crying, it was like having two females crying at the same time! Watch this quick video to see how I felt (turn the sound on)...
[I laughed at Life when I heard a story from a temporary neighbor, similar in age. That's him below...
Born to an affluent family in the Midwest, he "ran away" from his self-created disagreements at home. He aimed for NYC. During his journey, he blithely looked online for apartments in Queens. He was lackadaisical about it (not caring to find one in advance), figuring that there must be lots of apartments and he’d surely find one when he arrived! (Who does that!?) Sure enough, he arrived in NY, parked his car, and found one—with a female roommate. The girl often worked out-of-state, and her boyfriend worked in Home Construction, so their apartment had lots of new remodeling and a new kitchen. His roommate’s friend was moving to Italy and gave them all of his stylish furniture. That was great, because the young man only left home with an air mattress and clothes (intending to buy things "when he got to NY"). He was thrilled with his “arrival in NYC”, without a care in the world. He told me not to worry about my life. I wondered what bad things I could’ve done to create such bad karma for myself, thus causing my very different “arrival in NYC” experience? I tried to implement his advice.]
Born to an affluent family in the Midwest, he "ran away" from his self-created disagreements at home. He aimed for NYC. During his journey, he blithely looked online for apartments in Queens. He was lackadaisical about it (not caring to find one in advance), figuring that there must be lots of apartments and he’d surely find one when he arrived! (Who does that!?) Sure enough, he arrived in NY, parked his car, and found one—with a female roommate. The girl often worked out-of-state, and her boyfriend worked in Home Construction, so their apartment had lots of new remodeling and a new kitchen. His roommate’s friend was moving to Italy and gave them all of his stylish furniture. That was great, because the young man only left home with an air mattress and clothes (intending to buy things "when he got to NY"). He was thrilled with his “arrival in NYC”, without a care in the world. He told me not to worry about my life. I wondered what bad things I could’ve done to create such bad karma for myself, thus causing my very different “arrival in NYC” experience? I tried to implement his advice.]
Weeks after settling in to our new "home", Chris got horny and indicated that he wanted "more than friendship", and I—having
been wooed by his chivalrous rescue from the courthouse—agreed. After all, he had been my “knight in
shining armor”.
One night, I arrived home to a candlelit living room and a cooked salmon/veggie dinner. He even gave me a present! That didn't happen too often to me. (I recall the last Christmas soirée that I hosted for relatives. They were moving to a custom-built home in Pennsylvania. I hosted a lavish Christmas feast, and I bought thoughtful gifts for each of them, each from a different store. [Remember that Christmastime mall shopping compares with attempted suicide, but I still did it]. What did they give me? A box of assorted batteries! That was the extend of their gift-giving thoughtfulness). So, I was smitten with Chris.
Friends had no idea that I waited
YEARS for a regular sex life… but it was TERRIBLE
with Chris. He wasn't a good kisser, and after that first night, Chris simply "expected it". Expected to be "serviced". He loved the affection that I labored on him (and all along him).
He claimed that since he was slightly "overweight", I needed to do most of the effort. He was "big" in length and girth, which is not a problem for me, but he was always rough with me. He used one position and it always hurt. He basically savored my oral skills, flipped me over and roughly used my tightness for his pleasure only. When he was finished, he carelessly "handled me" for 30 seconds—often expressing how tired he was, so that I had to "finish myself" on my own. It was the same thing each time.
On my days off, he took advantage of my photography skills to take hundreds of pictures of him in Manhattan. Lots of walking and being on my feet. He said that it was all payback for his help! While he joined a gym and got into shape, I was put to work on his computer photoshopping his images and editing his music videos. (He aspired for fame on YouTube). What fun, after a full day of work at a 3-story store! Yet, I thought doing such deeds for him (and the landlady) might help my apparently worsened karma.
He claimed that since he was slightly "overweight", I needed to do most of the effort. He was "big" in length and girth, which is not a problem for me, but he was always rough with me. He used one position and it always hurt. He basically savored my oral skills, flipped me over and roughly used my tightness for his pleasure only. When he was finished, he carelessly "handled me" for 30 seconds—often expressing how tired he was, so that I had to "finish myself" on my own. It was the same thing each time.
On my days off, he took advantage of my photography skills to take hundreds of pictures of him in Manhattan. Lots of walking and being on my feet. He said that it was all payback for his help! While he joined a gym and got into shape, I was put to work on his computer photoshopping his images and editing his music videos. (He aspired for fame on YouTube). What fun, after a full day of work at a 3-story store! Yet, I thought doing such deeds for him (and the landlady) might help my apparently worsened karma.
That didn’t stop Chris from cheating on me with a young black man while in North Carolina for
US Airways Training. The pictures popped up when he was showing me
things on his cellphone.
It was a reoccurrence of someone whom I trusted betraying me! (a psychiatrist’s dream). That succinctly ended our sexual relationship. The night he came home late, shivering and sobbing from a drug overdose, I told him that his behavior wasn't acceptable in our shared home. When he was sober, he replied to me. His reply was hurtful, spewing how pathetic I was, how I didn't have money to buy "non-suburban" clothes, how I didn't have any gay friends, or money to go to Happy Hour with, and how I "got myself" into such a mess. !!!
It was a reoccurrence of someone whom I trusted betraying me! (a psychiatrist’s dream). That succinctly ended our sexual relationship. The night he came home late, shivering and sobbing from a drug overdose, I told him that his behavior wasn't acceptable in our shared home. When he was sober, he replied to me. His reply was hurtful, spewing how pathetic I was, how I didn't have money to buy "non-suburban" clothes, how I didn't have any gay friends, or money to go to Happy Hour with, and how I "got myself" into such a mess. !!!
Normally, people sulk after they are cheated on, or after they break up with someone. They spend days being sullen, having friends comfort them, having family make their favorite recipes, and having mothers console them.
Well, not for me. I needed to go to work, share my home with Chris, do labor for my landlord, and worry about my legal case. Nobody comforted me. Fate surrounded me with a parasitic landlord, "hyena" coworkers, and price-scavenging customers to deal with. My life was void of friends, loved ones, or advisors. After I moved away from Levittown, none of my old "friends" called me again. Maybe they believed my mother's ravings? I sorted things out on my own, as usual.
Yet, unlike others who fester mistrust after a breakup—and project it onto all future relationships—I "took stock" of myself and the situation, and I "jumped back into the pool again".
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