Chapter 41 – Sailing My New Love

I am no longer marathon walking, as the years of pounding the pavement have taken its toll on me, as have the sports injuries from my youth. Like everyone, a half a century young, I have many bumps and bruises. One of my ankle ligaments is now completely gone. I had walked enough, between the miracle surgeries, to stay alive. When I stopped, my testosterone levels plummeted. The same doctor who fought the insurance companies on my behalf, saw this in a blood test and immediately put me on hormone therapy. He said I was going through “manopause” and my hormones were off from the sudden change in lifestyle.

He implanted some Tic Tac sized pellets in my abdomen that helped my body manufacture more testosterone. My body made a ton of it. All a sudden I was losing weight. My belly that had been growing, without explanation, melted away, well, most of it. I started to grow hair all over my body and I woke up with a woody every day. It was like I was fifteen again. While I had remained mostly celibate for several years, I was now hornier than a hotdog on Viagra. I wanted to stay committed to my sexual sobriety, but there was just no way. I had come full circle. Shortly after putting myself on several dating services as “Husband 4 Hire,” I started to get tons of likes, winks and chat requests. I had girls from around the globe contacting me through online dating services. Big data and members of those networks, were spreading my profile all over the world. I already made the decision to meet my soul mate organically, so although I chatted with hundreds of women, I only dated a handful. One such woman joined me to go sailing, but as it was raining, we never made it out of the marina. We put the time to good use and were all over each other.

I am no longer marathon walking, as the years of pounding the pavement have taken its toll on me, as have the sports injuries from my youth. Like everyone, a half a century young, I have many bumps and bruises. One of my ankle ligaments is now completely gone. I had walked enough, between the miracle surgeries, to stay alive. When I stopped, my testosterone levels plummeted. The same doctor who fought the insurance companies on my behalf, saw this in a blood test and immediately put me on hormone therapy. He said I was going through “manopause” and my hormones were off from the sudden change in lifestyle.

He implanted some Tic Tac sized pellets in my abdomen that helped my body manufacture more testosterone. My body made a ton of it. All a sudden I was losing weight. My belly that had been growing, without explanation, melted away, well, most of it. I started to grow hair all over my body and I woke up with a woody every day. It was like I was fifteen again. While I had remained mostly celibate for several years, I was now hornier than a hotdog on Viagra. I wanted to stay committed to my sexual sobriety, but there was just no way. I had come full circle. Shortly after putting myself on several dating services as “Husband 4 Hire,” I started to get tons of likes, winks and chat requests. I had girls from around the globe contacting me through online dating services. Big data and members of those networks, were spreading my profile all over the world. I already made the decision to meet my soul mate organically, so although I chatted with hundreds of women, I only dated a handful. One such woman joined me to go sailing, but as it was raining, we never made it out of the marina. We put the time to good use and were all over each other.

I thought that I could get to know a woman through a pen pal style relationship. I soon learned that who people say they are and who they really are, rarely match. I had at least ten women try to scam me for money, pretending to be in love with me. I was never fooled and kept most of those dialogues in archives. They are pretty funny. I have made hundreds of real friends via social networking. My online friends or contacts, became the only social life I had, while I was walking and recovering. My social network became my support group, as much as I became theirs. Many who were reading my posts, were battling adversity as well, and shared their experiences in addition to their chapters of love.

I’ve been told many times that I missed my calling. I should have been a therapist. All I was doing was being honest and giving people hope. I am a perfect example of, no matter what your organic destiny, or your genetics, which my health issues stemmed from, miracles happen every day. I am one of those miracles. I connected with many people who showed me love and helped me through my bleakest moments. I also connected with many of my chapters of love who were following my story; although, at the time, I had no idea they had any interest. When I went back and read my former posts, I realized that pain killers act like truth serum. Despite my memory issues, when I meditated and was relaxed, I could recall so much more about my life than I ever could before.

It was as if my brain connected so much more with the love than ever before. I felt the love in my heart I had lost for so long. I now no longer try to fix every woman I date, or seek out women with broken wings. I do not confuse compassion and empathy with love. I have come to know love at a deeper level than I had ever known it. Deciding to live my life, for several years, without sexual or romantic relationships taught me what love is really about. My life-long obsession with sex and love was over. My quest for a true soul mate had started. I still reflect on my chapters of love. I continue to be surprised every time a new memory pops into my head. I run to my computer or cell phone and write it down. For the first time in a year, I took a five-month hiatus from trade brokering and everything else, to edit this novel.

I have taken all my testosterone-induced energy and focused it on restoring a classic Tartan 33 sailboat. Sailing has become the way I escape the limitations I have on land. I am not quite one hundred percent, as the years of surgeries, disease and stents have made the arteries in my heart rigid. When it’s too cold, I am limited. I feel my heart beat much stronger on those days. It is not a comfortable feeling. It’s not life threatening, just a limitation. Hopefully, one day, some genius scientist will figure out a way to make arteries flexible again. When I am sailing, I mostly use my upper body and I can go almost anywhere. It gives me the greatest feeling of freedom I have had since I got sick thirty years ago.

Restoring that sailboat also brought me closer to my son who I gave the sailboat to. It was his graduation gift. While it was maybe a bit much, I was able to obtain the entire sailboat, slip and restoration in trade. My angels took a risk on the trade and it paid off. It was the first time I could give them anything back, for their years of support and generosity. It felt good to give and at the same time be able to give to my son. We had no idea we would love sailing together so much. We are a very good sailing team, despite our few fender benders, when we first started sailing. So far the winter has been very mild, but the cold days are truly challenging. Still, I would not live anywhere else. I hope that in sharing my stories, and chapters of love, I have somehow helped others heal their own hearts, or at least entertained them with my journey. I will post the rest of my stories and chapters of love. I have come to realize that I have lived such a different life, that it is worth sharing, as are the many more chapters of love I can remember.

Even now, as I write this, I am chuckling, remembering the time my friend Peter and I were going to meet two of his Sunday school classmates. They were sisters and wanted us to come over the night Sunday school ended. Their parents were going out late and had made it clear, ironically in Sunday School, that if we came over we were both going to get lucky. We put our white shirts and ties on and waited. They told us to come over after their parents left and gave us their address. We were both so nerdy. It was hilarious. He bought flowers for the older sister. He was a year or two older than me, so it made sense. As far as I was concerned, the younger sister was much hotter anyway. We knocked at the door, but no one answered. Then, through the window, we saw them with nothing but bras and panties on. They signaled to us, giggling and looking through the curtains, hiding themselves. They wanted us to see them half dressed.

They eventually opened the door. They had tons of makeup on and were wearing the Sunday School outfits they wore to mass that night. They invited us in. We all sat on a couch drinking Kool-Aid and eating chips. We were talking about who was going to be with whom. It was similar to a business negotiation. The younger sister was conducting the meeting. They made us both promise that we would not tell anyone, made sure we both had condoms, which were a bitch to get back then; and that we were going to be gentle with them. They both then went to their rooms to change. As soon as they were ready, they were going to call us simultaneously to have sex with them. They wanted to lose their virginity together. They went into their rooms. We were surprised they were going through with it. We were both nervous. Just as they called us, the door behind us opened and we heard their father calling them. They were yelling, “We’re ready,” “We’re ready.” Their father didn’t see us. As soon as the door opened, my friend bolted into the kitchen and I followed. Unlike most houses, there was no back door, just a staircase to the basement. He ran down the steps and I followed, thinking he must know something about the father I didn’t. I practically flew down those steps.

As we learned, there was no way out from the basement either. After making that discovery, Peter climbed into the dryer and shut the door. By that time, the father was calling “Peter,” “Peter,” come up here. He just stayed in the dryer. I was not about to climb into the washing machine. Finally, the girls’ father came down the stairs and looked at me dumbfounded. He asked where Peter was. I pointed to the dryer. At that moment, the door opened and he tumbled out. He tried to tell him that we were playing Hide and Seek, but he knew it was bullshit.

When we got back upstairs, I just sat there. The girls were mortified. They couldn’t believe how badly Peter screwed up. If he just stayed in the living room, their father would have left in two minutes. He just came home to get some show tickets he and his wife forgot. We would have had the time of our life. Instead, he sat there red-faced and was blasted by the girl’s very religious mother and father. It was one of the funniest things I ever saw in my life. Every time I looked at the girls we started laughing. Neither Peter nor the parents seemed to find any of it amusing.

Peter never did hook up with the older sister. She hated him after that debacle. As soon as the younger sister was no longer grounded, we met at the park and had a very sweet one-time encounter. It was on the black railroad train that was a major attraction in Eisenhower park. However, when I think back, what immediately comes to mind isn’t the encounter in the park. All I could picture was my friend Peter, tumbling out of that dryer.

 

Chapter 26 – A Bitter Sweet Chapter

By this time I was shooting for almost every modeling agency from NY to LA, as well as some of the most elite models from all over the world. I was living in Hell’s kitchen and just getting to know the city. Other than family events, or as a child, going to work with my father, I didn’t know Manhattan. For the first time in my life, I was learning the streets of New York. Not just as a passenger in my father’s car, or a school field trip, but by living and working in the city. It was a virtual playground with huge nightclubs and millions of women from around the world. I was in a single man’s paradise, as there was a plethora of opportunity and a smorgasbord of women from just about everywhere. That is why I found it so strange that I was falling in love with a shy coal miner’s daughter from Allentown, Pennsylvania.

I don’t understand how I could fall in love so often, or why certain women immediately triggered that love at first sight switch in my brain. But those love hormones, like dopamine and all the others, would simply drive me wild at times. I would experience these amazing floodgates of love for certain women. She was one of them. After our first shoot I thought we would spend a lot of time together. It was a simple shoot. She modeled in a torn pair of jeans and a ripped t-shirt. She was slender and much cooler looking than most models. She carried herself like the main character in the feature film “Flash Dance.” That was the style at the time. She was definitely a tomboy, but shy. Acting and modeling was drawing her out of her shell. She had long curly brown hair. Not naturally curly, just part of the act. Kind of her unique style. She was very fashionable. She wore outfits that looked like they came out of Vogue or Elle’s sportswear section. She came off as a sexy, hot, jock, dancer chick.

By this time I was shooting for almost every modeling agency from NY to LA, as well as some of the most elite models from all over the world. I was living in Hell’s kitchen and just getting to know the city. Other than family events, or as a child, going to work with my father, I didn’t know Manhattan. For the first time in my life, I was learning the streets of New York. Not just as a passenger in my father’s car, or a school field trip, but by living and working in the city. It was a virtual playground with huge nightclubs and millions of women from around the world. I was in a single man’s paradise, as there was a plethora of opportunity and a smorgasbord of women from just about everywhere. That is why I found it so strange that I was falling in love with a shy coal miner’s daughter from Allentown, Pennsylvania.

I don’t understand how I could fall in love so often, or why certain women immediately triggered that love at first sight switch in my brain. But those love hormones, like dopamine and all the others, would simply drive me wild at times. I would experience these amazing floodgates of love for certain women. She was one of them. After our first shoot I thought we would spend a lot of time together. It was a simple shoot. She modeled in a torn pair of jeans and a ripped t-shirt. She was slender and much cooler looking than most models. She carried herself like the main character in the feature film “Flash Dance.” That was the style at the time. She was definitely a tomboy, but shy. Acting and modeling was drawing her out of her shell. She had long curly brown hair. Not naturally curly, just part of the act. Kind of her unique style. She was very fashionable. She wore outfits that looked like they came out of Vogue or Elle’s sportswear section. She came off as a sexy, hot, jock, dancer chick.

She took the train from Allentown to the city. She would stay with me as often as she could. We always shot at sunset. There was a beautiful golden glow emanating from the windows. The entire floor to ceiling wall of windows, facing the sunset, was the reason I sublet the place to begin with. That wall of light was my first natural light studio. She would come by unannounced. I was always happy whenever she buzzed up. It made the apartment start to feel like a home. She was generally in the city for casting calls and to see her agent, so I was pretty much last on her list. But I was a steady stop. She had a boyfriend back in Allentown, which is why, at first, we never became more than, friends. We would order in Chinese food or pizza and hang out. She was very affectionate and was always hanging onto me. I loved that feeling.

What we became is rather difficult to describe. I did have that initial love at first sight feeling, but it took so long for us to become intimate, that I was screwing around with a lot of other women. Plus, I had to control my feelings, because she had a boyfriend. It was an entirely different story after she broke up with him. We would have sex every time I saw her, even though I was screwing around with everyone else. So as much as I began to love her and build on that incredible, love at first sight feeling, I was in a strange place, juggling many women at the same time.

I may have had many chapters of love, but I did love every woman I slept with. I have chosen to love them all, almost as a religion. I often think that love is the universal foundation of any religion or society. Even though we had great sex, often in front of those enormous windows, we were never exclusive. Oh yes, the windows. At first we thought the coating on the windows would prevent people from seeing in. Later we learned that at sunset you could see everything. We were more careful after that, but we were certain scores of people had seen us.

It must have been very erotic for our neighbors whose windows faced ours. There was a month we were going at it almost every day while we were playing house together. Sex with her was almost always the same. We would shoot at sunset, smoke some herb or hash, put on Cat Stevens and screw. Most of the time we would just strip in front of the windows and make love standing up. I think she got off on it. Outside of photography and sex, we didn’t speak about too much else. We had three to five hours for each other at a time and then we were both off doing our own thing.

Eventually she started getting a lot of attention, becoming quite a bit more polished, but had less and less time for me. When she wasn’t there I hooked up with other women, but I always hoped it would be her who rang my buzzer. I started to feel I was as much a hotel room to her as I was a fun hook-up, but nothing more. Over time, we drifted apart, but occasionally, we would meet for lunch. Our relationship turned into more of a friendship again. We just hung out instead of hooking-up. We never discussed why. It just changed. I had a feeling she was seeing someone else in town. I wasn’t jealous. I was kind of relieved, as by that time, I was hitting everything that moved. She became family to me. I loved her like I would if I had grown up with her as a neighbor, or true friend. The city was no bed of roses. I started to see the real underbelly of New York City, especially with what was about to happen to her. It was a playground, albeit a dangerous one.

She didn’t know where she was or what had happened when she awoke, naked in a strange bed. She had no recollection of how she got there. She knew she had been violated. She was terrified. She saw guys with guns standing outside the doorway of the bedroom she woke up in. She heard a voice she thought was her agent. She told me she never trusted him. She said there was something creepy about him. Somehow, she got caught up with some bad business dealings and now she was paying the price.

When my phone rang, I didn’t know who it was at first. The woman on the other side of the phone was crying and absolutely terrified. She sounded familiar, but as she was whispering I thought it might be a crank call. But, the crying was too real for it to be anything but a call for help. As she started to calm herself, she told me everything she knew. What she couldn’t tell me was where she was. She was terrified of the guys with the guns. She saw them on their ankles through the doorway that was intentionally left open. As she became more lucid, I could tell it was my friend. She told me she had been raped and she was afraid to get up and leave. She was afraid the guys with the guns would kill her.

Since she thought she heard her agents voice I told her I would call him and to hang up and not say a thing. I told her to call me back in a few minutes. If she didn’t hear a phone ring she would call me back, or the police. As soon as she hung up I called the agent. He picked up as if nothing was wrong. I asked him if he had seen her because I had a booking for her first thing in the morning. It wasn’t unusual for me to call him, as I originally booked her for a gig through him. He started to get suspicious but I played it cool. I could tell he was lying when He said, he would have to make a few phone calls to find her.

Then the impossible happened. She picked up the other phone and started dialing me. I couldn’t believe it. She was dialing as I was speaking to him. Now, I was terrified for myself as well. If he was a rapist and killer, he would come for me as well. She heard my voice and said “John, Is that you?” I played it so cool. I couldn’t believe I thought of this. I said “yes! I was just asking for you. I have to come pick you up right now. We have a shoot at dawn.” I acted like I had no idea she was in trouble. She just kept saying, “Ok. Ok. Ok,” to everything I said. She couldn’t say much more. I said she sounded tired and she took the hint. She said she had fallen asleep and asked me what time it was.

The agent thought he had gotten away with it. He said he would send her down when I got there. When I got there, she was a mess. They did a job on her. Her makeup was running down her face from crying so much. I said, “oh man you look drunk. Are you drunk again?” They fell for it and let her go with me. I saw the guns and knew that if anyone said anything about it, we were both dead.

I took her home to my apartment and bathed her as if she was my child. She cried a good part of the night. Later, she admitted that she had taken advances from the agency to pay for her family’s food and other bills, thinking that she had a huge booking coming that would pay for it. I had no idea her family was having such a tough time of it. I began to realize that the reason she started spending time with me was that her agent wanted her to. When she stopped being his eyes in my apartment, he punished her.

Apparently, all the hash and herb we were smoking was stashed in my sublet apartment. She was picking it up and transporting it to him to pay her family’s bills. I was the fall guy in case the place was raided. He was also using her to make sure none of it went missing. The very night she came back to my apartment she asked me for a pair of socks. I didn’t have any so I went to my roommate’s drawer to borrow a pair. He was never there, so I didn’t think he would mind.

When I opened the drawer, I saw at least a hundred kilos of Lebanese brown hash. I was done. I knew I had to get out of there. I told no one what happened and that I just had to move downtown for work. My roommate helped me find a place downtown. I learned later that there was more of a connection between my roommate and the agent than I knew, but it took months for me to find out. When I left her at the train station we both said we were going home, never to return to the city. She left. I stayed, but I never spoke to her or her agent again. Her last words to me were that the only reason she slept with me was because she wanted to and that she loved me. No matter what she did, or how she deceived me, I loved her and was devastated by what happened to her. It taught me how dangerous the city could be. I thanked God my father taught me how to survive challenging situations.

Later, I learned the rest of the story. She took an apartment from her agent on credit. He promised her she was going to get that big break and threw phony contracts at her to convince her she was going to be rich and famous. He advanced her money for her fancy outfits and she got lost in the dark underbelly of the industry. She was a great friend and a unique chapter of love. If it were not for her getting into that trouble and me learning from it, I could have been next in line, as there were so many notorious people working within the entertainment industry back in the 80’s.

 

Chapter 21 – College Roommates

After REDS I started promoting many nightclubs part time to help pay for college. I started in high school, when I would throw keg parties for my fellow athletes. It carried over to college. In addition to promoting clubs I started bartending also. One of the bartending jobs I already shared was at the Salty Dog. That gig turned into more than just bartending. The restaurant was failing and the bar was not doing the kind of business it did in its heyday. I thought it was ridiculous that a bar and restaurant across the street from two colleges was serving whisky to locals, as opposed to promoting college nights. So, I asked the management for an opportunity to take on marketing and promotions. Within a few months they went from grossing less than seven thousand a week, to over twenty-one thousand, with the majority of that revenue coming from the lady’s nights and college nights I was promoting.

I was effective as a promotional and marketing manager. One way I promoted was to carry free drink cards with me everywhere I went on campus, give out a few hundred a day and then meet the people at the bar that night. The free drink cards always expired quickly, so people would often come for their drink that same day. I engaged them in conversation at the bar and introduced one to another. As a result, the people who I invited became friendly with each other. I loved bartending and the combination of bartending and marketing was a natural fit for me. But, it was not always so easy. There was tons of competition. The only thing we had going for us is that we were within walking distance or a short taxi ride from the colleges. The huge discos were always more exciting.

I was doing everything I could to grow revenue. I would go to area colleges, including the one I was attending and seek out the cheerleaders and athletes. I would flirt with the most beautiful girls I could find. It was working so well that I bought a tuxedo, purchased roses and gave them out daily to the cheerleaders. I did not let anyone see me give out multiple roses to many girls. I only carried one at a time. I would leave them in my car, see a beautiful girl, walk up to her and hand her a rose. I would flirt with her and make believe I purchased that rose just for her. They were always flattered, often blushed and would ask what the rose was for. I would always say the same thing, “Come to my bar tonight and I will show you.” Then I would either walk away, while making eye contact as I walked, or walk her to class. I did this hundreds of times a week, for months.

After REDS I started promoting many nightclubs part time to help pay for college. I started in high school, when I would throw keg parties for my fellow athletes. It carried over to college. In addition to promoting clubs I started bartending also. One of the bartending jobs I already shared was at the Salty Dog. That gig turned into more than just bartending. The restaurant was failing and the bar was not doing the kind of business it did in its heyday. I thought it was ridiculous that a bar and restaurant across the street from two colleges was serving whisky to locals, as opposed to promoting college nights. So, I asked the management for an opportunity to take on marketing and promotions. Within a few months they went from grossing less than seven thousand a week, to over twenty-one thousand, with the majority of that revenue coming from the lady’s nights and college nights I was promoting.

I was effective as a promotional and marketing manager. One way I promoted was to carry free drink cards with me everywhere I went on campus, give out a few hundred a day and then meet the people at the bar that night. The free drink cards always expired quickly, so people would often come for their drink that same day. I engaged them in conversation at the bar and introduced one to another. As a result, the people who I invited became friendly with each other. I loved bartending and the combination of bartending and marketing was a natural fit for me. But, it was not always so easy. There was tons of competition. The only thing we had going for us is that we were within walking distance or a short taxi ride from the colleges. The huge discos were always more exciting.

I was doing everything I could to grow revenue. I would go to area colleges, including the one I was attending and seek out the cheerleaders and athletes. I would flirt with the most beautiful girls I could find. It was working so well that I bought a tuxedo, purchased roses and gave them out daily to the cheerleaders. I did not let anyone see me give out multiple roses to many girls. I only carried one at a time. I would leave them in my car, see a beautiful girl, walk up to her and hand her a rose. I would flirt with her and make believe I purchased that rose just for her. They were always flattered, often blushed and would ask what the rose was for. I would always say the same thing, “Come to my bar tonight and I will show you.” Then I would either walk away, while making eye contact as I walked, or walk her to class. I did this hundreds of times a week, for months.

Many of the girls would come to the bar looking for me. I would wait until there was a large crowd, so I could get to the bar without being swamped by every one of them at the same time. Most of the time guys would come with them, or their girlfriends, so they were not there alone. When I did not meet them early, as promised, I would have the other bartenders befriend them while I was still in the manager’s office. I met a lot of women that way. I would wait for the prettiest girl to show up and invite her to dinner. Yes, I was very shallow at times. I’m not proud of it. But, it is a fact. I would have the other bartenders tell the girls I was in a business meeting. I would typically conduct those meetings with one of the girls who came early, at one of the second-floor tables that overlooked the bar, so all the girls could see me. I wanted to meet one great woman, but it seemed impossible. Anyway, I was meeting so many beautiful women that it went to my head. I was becoming a player and was getting good at picking-up girls. Previously, I was always involved in a relationship, so being in college and meeting a host of new faces was a new experience. After a while, the girls started to catch-on and I had to find a new way to get girls to come to the bar. I was starting to feel guilty about it anyway.

I asked the owners of the place for a marketing budget to publish a small college newspaper. I recruited a few college newspaper editors to work on it with me. That was not my first experience writing. I wrote in high school and took a creative writing class. But, this was a different kind of writing. It was marketing and editorial. Nothing like college newspapers or Chapters Of Love. I sent the newspaper to the editors of the individual college newspapers. They loved it! I tried to get them to reference it in the papers they published. Often, they did. One of the contributing editors was a beautiful and intelligent writer and photographer who was the editor of the Farmingdale College newspaper.

She was one of the girls I gave a rose to. She had not come to the bar but she was taken with me and we did speak often. I always teased her about how she blew me off. She was way ahead of me and knew what I was up to. I didn’t much hide it, at that point, anyway. She was the nerdy girl you would see in teen movies. The one with glasses, yet with a subtle hidden beauty. Then at some point in the film they would do a makeover and a stunning babe would emerge. For some reason, she would always hide her amazing body by wearing loose fitting clothing. I could tell what she was hiding under those, loose fitting, sweats, anyway. One night she invited me to the college to interview me for an article. I was thrilled. I was even able to get a budget for a small paid ad, so we would be featured in more than editorial alone.

We met at a bar that was either on campus or just down the street. I can’t remember. After many pitchers of beer, we were hammered. I do remember almost everything else about that night, including how inexpensive the pitchers of beer were. After we got hammered she took off her coat. She had an amazing body. Before she revealed it to me she waited to see if I liked her, or if I was just playing her with the rose. At that point, I was honest with her and pretty much everyone. I told them all that I was promoting the club. The intrigue of a guy wearing a tux, when handing them a rose, was enough of an enticement anyway.

It was getting late. She invited me back to her dorm room to have a few shots. I never did shots, unless I had a good reason. At the bar, I often filled vodka bottles with water for that reason. In this case, I just went for it. I figured the invitation was for something more than just a few shots. As soon as we entered her dorm room we were going at it. Although we were passionate it was just a hook-up. She knew it. I knew it. She even told me she was thinking about getting back together with her boyfriend. There was nothing particularly romantic about the connection; it was purely a hook-up for sex. Her body was even hotter than I thought. She had lots of curves but not an ounce of extra weight. Just pure “shake and bake,” as I called it back then. Her room was small and she shared it with another student. She told me her roommate would not be back. They prearranged for her to not come back until after midnight. It was clear that she wanted me. The beer eased her inhibitions and she started telling me everything she planned for the night. It was a huge turn-on.

She wanted it doggy style. If ever a woman was built for doggy style sex, it was her. She was fit. Her breasts were huge, yet perky. As I pumped her from behind, her breasts would swing back and forth. The slapping of our bodies had a distinct sound to it, so it was both a visual and auditory feast. You know it is intense when that loud, wet, slapping noise starts. That’s when a woman forgets her image and just lets go. She was very free with herself so it didn’t take long for her to roll me over and sit on top of me. I was surprised, when making eye contact, she started to grind just as hard and rough as she did when I was behind her. She clearly was more into herself and her own orgasms then my pleasure. Even so, it was one of the roughest and longest nights of non-stop passion I ever shared. She liked it fast, hard and rough. At one point, she even insisted that I spank her while she laid across my body and fingered herself, so I did, but as gentle as I could while still getting her off.

After she came a few times, she got up, turned off the dim light in the room and we went to sleep. We were sleeping for about an hour. I woke up and was going to make a quick getaway. Yes, I was going to be that guy who left in the middle of the night. I was a bit nervous that her roommate was going to come back at midnight. I was quite shy, despite the number of partners I was with. I was behind her. We were both naked. My penis was nicely tucked against her ass and she had her arms wrapped around mine. We did not shower or even kiss much afterwards. We both passed out from all the beer and shots. It was almost midnight.

I slipped my arms out from hers and started getting out of the bed very slowly and carefully. I didn’t want to stay. Nor did I want to wake her, as I knew she would insist I stay. She was not typically promiscuous, so she wanted me there in the morning. I got out of bed slowly and was stepping on the floor tippy toeing to not to wake her. At that moment, I heard a key unlocking the door. I froze. I stood there like a statue. The door opened and in walked her roommate. I froze in place and stayed rigid as if that would prevent her from seeing me. I had no idea what to do! There was no way I was going to be able to get back in bed without waking her up. I couldn’t make a quick exit. As soon as her roommate entered the room and saw me, she turned and locked the door. She then turned around and crossed her arms. She stood their leaning against the door, just staring at me. She looked me up and down as I stood there hiding my package and then signaled me to be quiet. For some reason, I thought it was the gentlemanly thing to do. I thought her shhhhh signal was because she was being considerate of her roommate.

She made a circle motion with one of her hands, instructing me to spin around, as If I were a piece of meat. I had no idea what to do, so I just dropped my hands and spun around slowly, I was still drunk. She was a petite Latino girl who was even better looking than the editor. I probably should have put on my clothes and bolted. But, she was stunning. After I finished my spinning reveal, I stood there in the dark. I couldn’t see much. Within thirty seconds, she pulled her jacket off, then her shirt and bra. She pulled her pants down next. I couldn’t believe what was happening. She went to her bed, slid under the covers and patted the bed, as a gesture for me to join her. This was a tiny room. The bed was right next to her roommate’s. I figured this would never happen again, so I just slipped under the covers with her and we started making out. She almost immediately started to fondle my package and I quickly got hard again. I sat on the bed and before I knew it she was going down on me. I quietly whispered to her, “what about your roommate?” She said she wouldn’t care, but didn’t want to wake her. I thought they might have planned this, but I was too intoxicated to think much about it, or care.

She was more romantic and a much softer lover than her roommate. She was also a better kisser. She was so small, that while her roommate was sleeping right next to us, , I stood up and lifted her. Her hands were around my neck and I was rocking her back and forth, pushing the bottom of her ass away from me and then letting gravity do the rest of the work. She started to pant and moan and was whispering words to me in Spanish. At that point I lowered her back onto the bed quietly and we started to kiss even more passionately. We did it, very slow and quietly, in the missionary position with her legs over my shoulders most of the time. I didn’t want to wake her roommate. Neither did she. We made love in almost complete silence. It was stimulating to see her eyes and facial expressions. She was in ecstasy, yet, not a sound was coming from either of us. All the passion while at the same time knowing we could get caught was a total turn on for both of us. When we both came together, it was in complete silence. If you never had an orgasm in complete silence, I suggest you try it. It was surreal. It was almost one in the morning and I had so much to drink earlier. I was so tired. We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The following morning when we woke, the sun had risen. I could see the editor sitting up in her bed with her arms folded, looking confused and pissed-off. I had no idea what the fuck to do, so I woke the Latino girl. I was a bit delusional thinking that I could convince them to fool around with me together. That was not going to happen. Within a few seconds they started yelling and screaming at each other, the editor in English and the Latino in Spanish. I couldn’t believe what was happening. My heart was racing. I had never experienced anything like that in my life. It was getting physical, so I grabbed my clothes and left. I was in my underwear as I ran down the hallway, putting my clothes on as quickly as I could. As I backed into a doorway to pull my pants on, I could hear them both calling me to come back. The calls to come back seemed genuine and the tone seemed much calmer than when they were screaming at each other. They must have realized just how ridiculous it was to fight with each other, but I just kept going. Much to my surprise, she ran a great article on the Salty Dog for me. She even admitted that she was breaking the rules by featuring a bar in the school paper. I never did see either one of them again, but I will never forget the time I slept with two roommates, in the same room, the same night. Both made me feel very wanted. Not quite as much as the coat check girl, but it did take my mind off her.

 

Chapter 19 The Kiss That Broke My Ribs

I went to Switzerland to test my heart while it was still freezing in the Swiss Alps. At the time, I was living in Southern Florida. I had to leave New York, despite my life-long love for the city and the beaches of Long Island. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life. I was depressed, lonely and lost, as I knew no one and nothing about Florida. I did know it was over eighty degrees, year round- It was the perfect climate for walking, but it was the most boring place I have ever lived. It was like being stuck in a perma-vaction nightmare. Granted, if you were on vacation for a week or even three months and living as a snowbird, it was paradise. But to give up everything and everyone I knew; friends, clients, family, to live in Naples, was nothing short of waiting to die in paradise. I was deathly homesick.

I left New York knowing that the cold winters would kill me if I stayed. I cheated death so many times, despite the fact the surgeons couldn’t fix my heart completely for almost fifteen years. I was walking a marathon (26.2 miles) every two days, seven days a week, for almost six months. I recently learned, when one has stents inside failed stents, the arteries become less flexible. When it gets cold, there is more pressure. You can feel it because the walls of your arteries do not give as much as they normally would. It could cause a heart attack. So, when I left Florida for Switzerland, I did not know if I would survive. A heart attack was a distinct possibility. Yet, this was a rare opportunity to live on a farm in the countryside, so I packed my three hundred pounds of production gear and computers and was on my way. At the very least I would know if I could move back to New York, or if I had stay and try to build some kind of life for myself in Naples. Or even more concerning, If I could survive in the cold again at all.

I was going to stay with one of my best friends. I photographed her for years. On her birthday, she would always fly to NY, without her husband, to shoot with me. She did this for eight years. She extended an invitation to stay with her while we looked for backing for a feature film we started in Florida, months earlier. It was definitely an experiment. My friend was a world-class model, but I didn’t know if she would to be able to develop her acting skills fast enough to pull this off. I cared about her and we were very close, but we never crossed that line. She was married. I thought that there might be something between us, but I would never lure a married woman away from her husband, no matter how beautiful she was, or how close we had become. I had been in love, with creating with her, for at least five of those eight years.

I went to Switzerland to test my heart while it was still freezing in the Swiss Alps. At the time, I was living in Southern Florida. I had to leave New York, despite my life-long love for the city and the beaches of Long Island. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life. I was depressed, lonely and lost, as I knew no one and nothing about Florida. I did know it was over eighty degrees, year round- It was the perfect climate for walking, but it was the most boring place I have ever lived. It was like being stuck in a perma-vaction nightmare. Granted, if you were on vacation for a week or even three months and living as a snowbird, it was paradise. But to give up everything and everyone I knew; friends, clients, family, to live in Naples, was nothing short of waiting to die in paradise. I was deathly homesick.

I left New York knowing that the cold winters would kill me if I stayed. I cheated death so many times, despite the fact the surgeons couldn’t fix my heart completely for almost fifteen years. I was walking a marathon (26.2 miles) every two days, seven days a week, for almost six months. I recently learned, when one has stents inside failed stents, the arteries become less flexible. When it gets cold, there is more pressure. You can feel it because the walls of your arteries do not give as much as they normally would. It could cause a heart attack. So, when I left Florida for Switzerland, I did not know if I would survive. A heart attack was a distinct possibility. Yet, this was a rare opportunity to live on a farm in the countryside, so I packed my three hundred pounds of production gear and computers and was on my way. At the very least I would know if I could move back to New York, or if I had stay and try to build some kind of life for myself in Naples. Or even more concerning, If I could survive in the cold again at all.

I was going to stay with one of my best friends. I photographed her for years. On her birthday, she would always fly to NY, without her husband, to shoot with me. She did this for eight years. She extended an invitation to stay with her while we looked for backing for a feature film we started in Florida, months earlier. It was definitely an experiment. My friend was a world-class model, but I didn’t know if she would to be able to develop her acting skills fast enough to pull this off. I cared about her and we were very close, but we never crossed that line. She was married. I thought that there might be something between us, but I would never lure a married woman away from her husband, no matter how beautiful she was, or how close we had become. I had been in love, with creating with her, for at least five of those eight years.

When I went to Switzerland to meet with potential financiers and investors, I knew it was a long shot, but I needed something to believe in. I was lonely and depressed. Traveling with her, dancing with her and creating with her, gave me hope. She even walked with me. Even dreaming that our friendship might turn into something more was a dream to hold onto. This trip was different, as I could tell that she was no longer in love with her husband. She was dropping hints and suggested that I should move to Switzerland and continue to create with her full time.

Florida was not anything like I expected it to be. Not that I had a choice. I needed someplace warm to live while I was recovering from numerous surgeries. I had a multi- foot bypass surgery on my right leg that not only saved it, but also relieved the agonizing pain of intermittent claudication and from the gigantic aneurism that went undetected for so long the main artery in my leg was 100% blocked from my hip to below my knee. I was in agony for over ten years before they diagnosed it. That damaged artery was causing intermittent blood clots in my calf, so walking was extremely painful. At times, I could barely walk. Before I left for Naples, the surgeons finally fixed my heart, both of my legs and removed a golf ball sized blockage in my abdomen. The surgeries were so painful I was traumatized. I was not only in Florida to avoid the cold and lose weight; I was there because my brain was as fried as my body. I needed to get my body back and I needed to be out of pain. If I continued to suffer, even my children wouldn’t be enough motivation for me to continue to fight. I would have thrown in the towel. I just had enough.

Being on massive amounts of painkillers was not an option. It was an absolute necessity and a recommendation that ultimately saved my life. The surgeries were done at a time that I was in so much pain I stopped eating. I would rather have died of starvation than be in pain any longer. I was either going to lose the weight and make it through the surgeries, or die trying. I quit working, other than writing my memoirs. I quit everything. I gave up medical coverage, my home, everything and just started walking. I had walked for many years prior, but nothing like a marathon every two days. It was a pace I didn’t think anyone could sustain, let alone a guy with 27 stents and a three-foot bypass in his right leg. Not to mention, complication from the other surgeries that caused me to bleed profusely, on and off, for years. I was walking every day post-surgery. I even walked home from the hospital after my heart surgery. I walked everywhere and even gave up my car to make sure I had no choice but to walk. The painkillers did their job, or there is no way I would have survived. I hated the feeling of being on heavy pain meds. It affected my memory and caused me to constantly repeat things. The greatest side effect was that it acted as a truth serum. I started writing emails to everyone I knew. I said and shared things that were best left unsaid. And for the first and only time in my life, I became angry that I was suffering so much, not grateful for more life. I believe it was a side effect from the prolonged pain, as MRI studies have proven that pain over long periods of time will change the way your brain functions.

Tramelan, Switzerland would be the place I either got back my life, or died. I had to put some space between myself and my children and everyone else I loved. I had been an athlete in my youth. Years of disease had ravaged my body and I wanted it back. Even at the expense of going bankrupt, losing everything and temporarily leaving my children. I truly owe my life to my children. They were the only reason I could endure the years of pain and push on. Everyone wants to live. I decided life was not worth living if I was disabled and useless to my family. It was time to kick the painkillers before I moved back to Long Island. If the cold was going to kill me, it was not going to be while I was with my children. I wouldn’t allow them to see me suffer or die in front of them. I didn’t want them to be traumatized, so Switzerland would become my test.

So, with that, I flew to Geneva. There, I walked to the train station and took a several hour train ride to the country farm I was to live on for the next three months. I had three one hundred pound rolling suit cases with me, so it was a small miracle that I managed to traverse my way around, pulling all that weight.

I was walking every day in the Alps, often alongside my friend and her children. It was reminiscent of The Sound of Music. Beautiful snow-covered mountains complete with the smell of cow manure in the fields. They were adorable black and white cows. They would run to greet you, carefully avoiding the electric fences. And yes, I did get shocked once while photographing a model. As I tried to duck under the fence, my arm hit a wire and I was knocked on my butt. It shocked the hell out of me, but acted as sort of stress relief. It reset my “fear factor”. It was a hell of a jolt. The cows knew not to greet me when I was too close to the electric wires. They also had natural stone barriers to keep the cows corralled. They were much like giant dogs, very affectionate and so much more intelligent than you would think. Keep that in mind the next time you eat a hamburger a.k.a. a cow burger. It was at that time I decided to become a vegetarian. For the most part I have maintained that diet ever since. I do eat burgers and steaks occasionally, but I always think of those beautiful cows and feel guilty about it. So, on those rare occasions, I only eat grass-fed, humanely handled, animal products.

I would walk for miles in the freezing cold. I couldn’t believe I was surviving. Not only was I surviving, I was doing well. I still had to deal with the effects of withdrawals from three plus years of taking strong painkillers. I did not take a single pain killer with me. In fact, as soon as I called my primary care physician and told him I was now walking a marathon every two days he said to throw the painkillers out and get ready for all hell to break loose. AS is evident from all the data out there, getting off pain killers after that prolonged a period was going to have side effects. Going cold turkey was going to complicate it even further. Before leaving for Switzerland I threw them in the toilet, took a photo and sent it to my doctor. He was very supportive and literally put his medical license on the line for me knowing that it was my only hope. With that, I was prepared to go through everything I had seen in the movies about going cold turkey and the horrendous withdrawals that came with it. They were horrendous, so I will spare you the details. After living through it I understand why even the strongest willed individuals become heroin addicts when they can no longer get pain killers. I was never going to be one of them. I went through withdrawals over the next year, while I was in Switzerland and couldn’t get more pain killers anyway. Well, not easily. As you will read, I could have gotten them for my two broken ribs, but I chose to suffer without them rather than extend my addiction to them.

I made a great deal of progress. It was also apparent that my life would no longer be the same in winter. The arteries in my heart would forever be somewhat stiff. Still, it was better than being three hundred and fifty pounds and alone, basically in solitary confinement. Apparently, I could tolerate the cold, even though it did slow me down. The next challenge was to see if I could shoot in the cold. Would my heart hold up? Did all the walking and resistance exercises grow enough new arteries? If so, could I start over with nothing but my health? The only way I would know was to try. I had tried for decades and it was not possible. I was always limited, even disabled. I prayed for better results and the opportunity to rebuild my life so I could leave something to my children. During this period, I wrote my memoirs. Often I would post excerpts on social networks and man did I piss a lot of people off. When I was on painkillers, even my emails were six pages long. The first draft of Chapters of Love was a mess. It was over nine hundred pages long, most of it written on my smartphone while I was walking. I was seriously lost.

I vomited daily as my body went through withdrawals. In retrospect my doctor really should have put me in rehab as we both knew I would become addicted taking pain medication for over three years. But back then the pharmaceutical companies campaigned heavily that Oxycodone was safe, but that was a joke. I managed to keep it a secret, but it was ugly. I started to shoot and promote my production company as if I was already in New York. I was again walking and shooting for free to build a reputation in Switzerland and test my heart. My friend was a huge help. To return the favor, I made her the focal point of my photography. Years earlier she was hit by a truck and had to go through a tremendous amount of rehab to get her life back. I always did what I could to help her. Love is not always about sex. It is often about unconditional compassion, loyalty and giving. She was the object of my “paying it forward” when I had nothing to give but my photography. I was hoping to somehow help her build her career to the point she could live her dream of acting in a movie. Soon after arriving and reviewing her screen tests, it was obvious that she had made little progress. She could speak five languages, but she could not remember her lines or express herself in a role. I didn’t know how I could help her. It was then I decided I would dedicate the rest of my life to paying it forward, with my camera, to everyone I could, as I had done so many years prior while walking the country and living in an RV; even for hundreds of charity events.

I came up with what I believed to be a brilliant Idea. I was going to shoot, write, edit, and do the layout for an international magazine that recognized model citizens. I bought the domain ModelCitizensMagazine.com and was on my way to becoming an international publisher. Within days of sharing the first layouts on Facebook I had hundreds of models contacting me about being in the magazine. Since this was about my friend, I put her on the cover and made her the focus of the entire 110-page issue. I included her family, friends and clients. When I saw how hopelessly in love her husband was with her, I knew that despite our chemistry and her assurances that she wouldn’t be with her husband for long, we were never going to be a couple. Neither one of us wanted to cross that line even though at times I was tempted. I am sure she was as well. After all, she lived with me every time we shot, no matter where I was living. She even came to stay with me in Florida, all the way from Switzerland.

I was proud of myself. I again turned downtime into something productive. After a while, many of the top models in Europe were coming to shoot with me. I was humbled by the experience. I also loved the Swiss people and their culture. I was fortunate to see how the farmers lived, while at the same time working with some of the most attractive and charismatic models and actors in Europe. Most importantly, I realized although limited, I could manage my life in cold weather again. Life was by no means perfect, but I was no longer disabled, even though I was still quite handicapped. I could no longer carry my own equipment. Nor could I shoot every day. Photography was no longer going to be my career. It was going to become a compliment to my writing. I had been writing most of my life. Most people seemed to think I was pretty good, so it was natural to blog and to write copy for social networking and web sites. Model Citizens Magazine was a way to help her and of course test myself. What it became was an artist’s dream. I have so much gratitude to the incredible models and people who came together to participate in the very first issues. I was writing about them, showing them love and was sharing their stories with everyone back home. I was honored.

One of the shoots was with a young lady who had not always had it so easy. She was a recovering heroin addict. I wasn’t aware of her past when I agreed to photograph her. After she modeled nude, on the train tracks and in the forest, she told me how much the photographs meant to her and how much it meant for her to be featured in the magazine. It touched my heart. We shot together many more times. Once she brought me some medicinal herbs and wax to help when I fell down a mountain and broke two ribs. Yes, I fell while filming on the side of a mountain. That fall would set my health back years, as nothing can be done to fix broken ribs. They heal, but slowly. I refused to take narcotics of any kind, as fate had it, I was literally still going through massive pain killer withdrawal at the same time.

I was only in Switzerland a month or so. My plan was to stay the legal limit before I had to apply for a work visa. I had approximately three months. When I took that bad fall, I was not photographing the model with the past heroin issue. It was another model who excited me even more. She was the reason I fell. Not only did I fall down the mountain, I fell for her. I had met her online. She was coming to shoot with me in Tramelan. She was gorgeous. She didn’t look Swiss at all. In fact, she looked Italian. She spoke Italian quite well and seemed to have an Italian accent. However, I was no expert in accents.

We shot, after my friend did her hair and makeup in her downtown Tramelan salon. Then she drove me to a lake. On the way, we stopped for bread, cheese and wine. The bread was fresh baked. And, everyone knows the Swiss reputation for great cheese. We drank both bottles of wine in about an hour as we shot on stone stairs that were on the side of a mountain, overlooking a beautiful lake that in the valley below. The stairs that went up to that hill were very steep. They were carved right into the stone hillside. The scene was straight out of a French magazine or postcard. It was there she took her shirt off and posed. I had thousands of watts of portable strobe lights on her. The shots were magical. She was magical. After a while I realized that she was not just posing, she was flirting. When we finished shooting by the lake, we went to another mountain, which was much rockier and steeper. We drove around until we found a perfect view. I could photograph her with a majestic view of the snow-covered peaks of the Swiss Alps in the distance. It was a winter wonderland paradise.

We were now finishing yet another bottle of wine and I think we even had some champagne. She was so European. Her accent was driving me crazy. When she spoke, she was very expressive with her hand gestures. She would gently touch me. I liked it. My body was responding to her touch. The more she touched me the more I wanted to see if it was just flirting or she had something more in mind. Out of nowhere I had a rather impulsive thought. What if I asked her play the role in the film I wanted to produce with my friend? Maybe she could be the lead and my friend who was not doing particularly well as the lead, could play a supporting role? Maybe that would get us funding?

I asked her if she had a monologue and she said no. That burst my bubble because I realized that she was a model, not an actress. If she couldn’t improv a monologue I doubted she could carry a film. So, with that I said, “You’re not an actress, we’ll never pull this off” and went back to our photo session. What happened next was quite unbelievable. I was photographing her. She was in lingerie and out of nowhere she walked directly over to me and kissed me with the most passionate kiss I ever had. It warmed my entire body as if I had been injected with passion. I kissed her back and we kissed again until we were enthusiastically making out. Then she put her finger to her mouth and made the shhhhhh sign, literally communicating that the kiss was just between us. With a wink of her eye we were back to shooting. My heart was beating so fast; I could barely focus. The adrenaline was rushing through my body. I was so dizzy I literally fainted and fell to the ground like a shy teenager and knocked her down the side of that mountain. She fell right on top of me.

I didn’t pass out, but I did go down hard. To protect my camera, I did what any red-blooded photographer would do; I held it up and sacrificed my body. I broke two ribs. Her elbow was bleeding; despite the fact she fell on top of me. That didn’t help my cracked ribs. If I wasn’t buzzed I would not have been able to continue shooting. I was in so much pain. To top it off, I was still in the middle of going through pain killer withdrawals. All I could think about was that amazing kiss. For a brief moment, I believe the cracks in my heart started healing and love flowed throughout my body. Endorphins were washing into my brain. Was this love? Was this somewhat famous, younger, gorgeous model my soul mate? Or was I just dreaming, or even worse, did I have a cardiac event or a stroke?

It was going to take much more than two broken ribs to stop me, so I continued to shoot the rest of the day. The following morning, after she spent the night in the country house with us, we drove to a smaller more intimate lake that had a winding path around it. It was cold and foggy that morning. We were going to shoot video to see if she could act. That one passionate kiss motivated me to see if she could pick it up quickly. I had already started writing Chapters Of Love and thought it would make a great screen play. I used a working title, “Chasing Sunrise,” but never let anyone see the story. I didn’t want anyone to steal it. I also didn’t know if I had the health or the courage to ever share it, so I used that working title while I tried to recruit both investors and actors.

She was a model by profession, not an actress. But, the Italian looking Miss Switzerland runner- up was a natural. All it took was that one kiss and she touched my heart. I thought to myself, maybe I could start my life over in Switzerland, publish a magazine and produce another film. If I had to, I’d shoot in Switzerland, where I was becoming more and more popular. The people in town were treating me like a movie star. That kiss was making me think of all kinds of ways to try to co-mingle our lives. I had very little money left. In fact, I had practically nothing. I had just enough to fly back to New York and with some luck get a place in in the city. I was simply not thinking straight. Her kiss had totally taken over my heart.

When we went to the lake the next morning, we filmed a great amount of video. All I had her say was, “I love you.” This was a directorial technique I used many times to judge the ability of an actor to make me believe what she was saying even though I knew she was just acting. By the end of that days filming I did not believe it was acting. I believed she loved me. She wanted me to believe and she wanted the part. I wanted her to have it, but I had to find out if she was going to be truly dedicated and if we could raise money with her in the lead role.

I thought that putting her on the cover of Model Citizens Magazine might give her the credibility we needed, but I would never take my friend off the cover. So, after thinking about it, I came up with the idea to publish another issue at the same time. It would be the Italian version of the magazine. She agreed and said she would help me write it and translate it into Italian, as my fifty-fifty partner. I agreed. A few weeks later, despite my broken ribs, the three of us flew to Venice to shoot “Model Citizens Magazine Italy” and give her a real screen test. She would start by hosting a travel style magazine, both for the issue and for a video version of it. We booked a tiny hotel room and started filming every day and drinking Prosecco every night. The hotel was giving us as much as we wanted gratis because they were thrilled with the publicity. Both models were pretty much becoming local celebrities as we shared the photographs with the merchants who supported our efforts. Within hours of our arrival, I was getting hit on by dozens of women. It would start almost as soon as I put my tripod out in the square and started shooting.

But something had changed with both models after our arrival in Venice. They were no longer competing for my attention, or even camera time. They started hooking-up with each other and were falling in love. They tried to keep it a secret, but it soon became obvious. Later, my Swiss friend’s husband told me it was the reason their marriage ended. It had nothing to do with her obsession with my photography any longer, or our almost ten year friendship, that extended a bit beyond. It was because she was expressing more love for a woman than for him. Venice was the most beautiful city I had ever seen. The people were so warm. I felt love from everyone; the shop owners who donated clothing for our shoot, to the restaurateurs who comped almost every meal. It was like being a celebrity, if even for a few months. We left Venice a few days later. We would never kiss again, nor would we make the film. My photographs put her on the map and her career skyrocketed within days. She was not supposed to use them before the issue came out, but did so against my wishes. She became quite the diva. It became rather apparent that the kiss was strategic and not the least bit authentic.

When we got back to the farm my dear friend was a mess. Her marriage was falling apart. She was miserable, no longer in love with her husband and totally obsessed with her new girlfriend, who was hooking-up with everyone, both men and women. Each of them were the object of so many admirers’ obsessions. It was not surprising they became the object of each other’s. My friend was building a small house in the country, on property given to her by her mom. For a moment, I thought, maybe I would stay. She wanted me to. They both did. They were both bi-sexual and thought we might live out a three’s company kind of arrangement. It was very tempting, but nothing was going to keep me from my children and my true home on Long Island. Not even the thought of building a publishing empire in a European paradise, while engaging in a modern family with two of the most beautiful women in Switzerland.

I left Switzerland with three issues of Model Citizens Magazine and very little money. But, I had proven to myself that I had my health back. I also was fortunate enough to go to Paris and Stockholm where women were much more sexual and free spirited than they were even in Switzerland. I knew my career as a full-time photographer was coming to an end, no matter how much I loved it. I also knew that my heart was healing in more ways than just physically. The crack in my heart was on the mend. That single kiss, gave me hope I could find my true soul mate and could love again. I had finally started to heal and was ready to look for true love. That passionate kiss that broke my ribs was one of the most romantic and passionate kisses I ever was blessed with. When I am asked, “was it worth it?” I always say yes. I was in Switzerland for only a few months, but I experienced some of the most creative and romantic experiences of my life. I am sure if I took them up on their invitation to stay that we might have all shared a very long and modern chapter of love. I just could not keep my heart from wanting to go home to my island, Long Island so I left as soon as I was healthy enough to fly back.

 

Chapter 15 – Cadet Training

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.

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.

 

Chapter 13 – Ménage A trios’

The sun had barely risen. It was a golden haze partially hidden by the morning fog. As we walked through the sea grass, the morning dew was cold and wet against our ankles. We were approaching the shoreline. The waves were lightly rolling in. They were large enough to create the beautiful white and blue highlights that compliment my swimsuit and body shots. The seagulls were flying low across the horizon. It was a typical, tranquil, sunrise on Jones Beach. I was quite young and would often shoot at the fields I grew up on, field 3 and 4, sometimes the West End and Robert Moses. She was a native Long Islander. Despite the fact I was now living in New York City, I continued filming on the beaches, as I have most of my life.

I was not making a lot of money as a photographer, but I was making a living and meeting women from all over the world. It was unusual that this model was from Long Island. She was gorgeous, very sculptured and European looking. She was a tall blonde. For a model, she was exceptionally well endowed. When she took off her top, it became evident as to how curvaceous she truly was.. She was a teen model who just turned eighteen. I was only a few years older. I had shot hundreds of models, but I had never photographed anyone with breasts of that size. Most models were considerably less well endowed.

I never understood why models loved to get naked when we shot. Later, I learned that they are just as free spirited as I am. For them, it made the shoot more fun and fulfilling. Despite what people might think, every one of my chapters of love was a beautiful experience, even the ones that began quickly after meeting. I never judged any of the women I was with, at least I tried not to. My father once told me, “For every willing guy there is always a willing girl. What makes you think women are any different than us?” He was right, but I was still very naïve when it came to women, what they wanted and what they were willing to do to get it. This was despite my obsessive sexual appetite.

The sun had barely risen. It was a golden haze partially hidden by the morning fog. As we walked through the sea grass, the morning dew was cold and wet against our ankles. We were approaching the shoreline. The waves were lightly rolling in. They were large enough to create the beautiful white and blue highlights that compliment my swimsuit and body shots. The seagulls were flying low across the horizon. It was a typical, tranquil, sunrise on Jones Beach. I was quite young and would often shoot at the fields I grew up on, field 3 and 4, sometimes the West End and Robert Moses. She was a native Long Islander. Despite the fact I was now living in New York City, I continued filming on the beaches, as I have most of my life.

I was not making a lot of money as a photographer, but I was making a living and meeting women from all over the world. It was unusual that this model was from Long Island. She was gorgeous, very sculptured and European looking. She was a tall blonde. For a model, she was exceptionally well endowed. When she took off her top, it became evident as to how curvaceous she truly was.. She was a teen model who just turned eighteen. I was only a few years older. I had shot hundreds of models, but I had never photographed anyone with breasts of that size. Most models were considerably less well endowed.

I never understood why models loved to get naked when we shot. Later, I learned that they are just as free spirited as I am. For them, it made the shoot more fun and fulfilling. Despite what people might think, every one of my chapters of love was a beautiful experience, even the ones that began quickly after meeting. I never judged any of the women I was with, at least I tried not to. My father once told me, “For every willing guy there is always a willing girl. What makes you think women are any different than us?” He was right, but I was still very naïve when it came to women, what they wanted and what they were willing to do to get it. This was despite my obsessive sexual appetite.

As the sun rose higher and higher, we started to get tired. It was about an hour or two after sunrise. We had been shooting for hours. We were near a lifeguard stand. I liked to use them as props and it also allowed me to shoot from the God point of view, almost directly above a subject. As usual, I brought a bottle of champagne. Champagne was a great prop that would never go to waste.

We started drinking directly from the bottle before it was even eight in the morning. We laughed and said it was noon somewhere. Soon those tiny beach flies materialized out of nowhere, millions of them and they were biting us. They have a nasty bite. It was getting worse and worse, so we took a sheet and covered ourselves. After the champagne, she attacked me. I thought she was an innocent young lady. Maybe, she was. She told me she was with her boyfriend for almost seven years and never had an orgasm. And now, she wanted one.

We started going at it and she had plenty of orgasms. In fact, I would go so far as to say that she may have been the most orgasmic partner I have ever been with. After about an hour of non-stop pumping and cuming, I suggested that we take a nap. I was dead tired. She agreed. She lay in my arms and we fell asleep with the sheet still covering us. I woke with my penis inside her mouth. She was trying to get me going again, but I was so tired. After a while I was ready. She rolled on top of me, inserted me inside her and started to grind. We were both sweating and came together. This time she really came. She started to scream. She grinded and milked every ounce of cum out of me she could.

She was dripping sweat onto my chest. It was hot, so she threw the sheet off us to get some air, bugs or no bugs. As she did, we realized that we had fallen asleep for several hours and there were thousands of people around us. Everyone saw the entire event, even the lifeguards who were only a few feet away. They were watching us while we were under the sheets. When she threw the sheet off we were completely naked. We couldn’t believe that we didn’t hear the crowd around us, but we were in our own world. While it excited her, she wanted to leave the beach immediately. She was so embarrassed. We drove to a local bar and had raw oysters and a few beers. The drinking age was eighteen back then and it seemed like the thing to do. Neither of us was of a mindset to continue the shoot, plus the sun was too strong and the angle too high. I figured we would have lunch and shoot at sunset. She had a different plan. Of this, I was unaware.

She dropped her swimsuit bottoms at the bar without me seeing and suggested that we play a game of pool. When the bartender was busy stocking the bar, she bent over the pool table to show me show me what was, or in this case, wasn’t under her short skirt. Before I knew it, we were at it again, this time at the side of a pool table in a bar. It was dark for a bar. There were no windows, just faint light emanating from the entrance and a dirty bulb over the pool table. She started to scream. The bartender came up from the basement to see what was going on. As he got to the top he saw my gestures to get lost. You should have seen the look in his face when he spotted her amazing breasts. He was very cool about the whole thing. He knew me, as I had been to this bar many times before. When we were done, she wanted more but I couldn’t perform. I was raw and tired. Every muscle in my body ached. She had worked me all morning and rode me all afternoon. I was shot. The shy innocent girl who showed up for the shoot was, in reality, a firecracker, maybe much more. When I refused to do it again she took off her shirt and sat at the bar. We were the only two people in the bar except for the bartender. He was loving it. I didn’t really know her, but I was getting jealous. I had already assumed that we were going to become boyfriend and girlfriend, or at least something more than how we started out.

She was trying to coerce me into doing it again. She said she was going to screw the bartender if I didn’t. I refused and shortly afterwards we left, but she was angry. We went to shoot at the relatively new EAB plaza in Uniondale. Fifteen minutes later she was going down on me. When I again refused, she got upset. I asked her how many times did she think I could do it. Her feeling was, she waited years for the right guy. When they did it, it was lousy. I was going to be fortunate enough to get it. But, she was insatiable.

I wanted it as often as possible as well. But, a man can only do so much before he can’t go any more. Her break-up was just a day or two before, so she wanted it again and again. She decided before the shoot that she was going to have me. I didn’t know what to do, so I took her back to my apartment. On the way, I left messages for two of my friends to call me after they got off from work. I invited them over to meet my new friend. It seemed as if they got to my apartment before we even hung up the phone. One of my friends put on a suit and tie. It was hilarious. By this time, I knew she was a nymphomaniac. I was never going to be able to keep up with her so I invited them to help. My message was “I’m with a super-hot model. I can’t handle her. Please take a shower and meet me at my apartment.”

They arrived separately. As each knocked on the door she greeted them nude with a juicy kiss. Five seconds later they were all over her. She refused to do anything unless I was in bed also, so I joined them. One of my friends was going down on her. I thought to myself, if he only knew how many loads I dropped into her. Then one moved up to her breasts and was sort of motor boating with his lips. My other friend went down on her and was sucking on her vagina in the weirdest way. I could barely keep from laughing, even when she went down on me, as I was standing by the side of the bed.

It was just too funny for a young man like myself. They were going to have sex with her at the same time. It was too dirty for me. I had no interest in doing it again, especially not in the presence of two of my friends. I was raw and hurting from all the earlier sex. Even my tongue and mouth were sore, as I went down on her for hours over the course of the morning and afternoon. With that I burst out laughing and left the room. They were both with her all evening. They thought I was the man. Of course, I never had the heart to tell them what had transpired earlier that day. The next day, I bought each of them a bottle of strong mouthwash.

They looked at me strangely. I simply said, “don’t ask, just use it liberally.” I did see her many times over the years but she became markedly more conservative. Even when I saw her at Penn Station once or twice over the years I never said anything about that crazy day at the beach. I could tell she appreciated the confidential way I kept my chapters of love. I was only too happy to see that her modeling career was taking off and she was working consistently. For years I saw my photographs on her comp card. That short chapter of love was very satisfying in many ways, both creatively and passionately. Of course my two high school buddies always thought I was the man because of that one day they hooked up with a beautiful model because of me. It would not be the last time I introduced my friends, even my friends with benefits.

 

Chapter 12 – The Girl In The Red Dress

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.

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.

 

Chapter 8 – My Playboy Bunny Muse

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..

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.

 

Chapter 6 – Golden Showers

She became a famous actress, but it was long after our chapter of love. Her stardom occurred in her native Israel. When she lived in the America she was a particularly emotional chapter of love for me. She was my first real “international” romance. Reflecting back, I believe the relationship meant more to me than to her, sometimes you never know. We fell in love, even though she was already pre-committed, through family and political arrangements, to marry someone else. It was an old-school, arranged marriage. She kept her commitment. I believe she wanted to stay with me. That would have meant leaving her entire family and everything she knew, for a city she barely knew and for me. It was not a risk she was willing to take. It hurt deeply to lose her.

It was crushing when we split, but I knew it was what she wanted and was obligated to do. Her politically powerful father gained considerable fame by having set himself on fire. He was a formidable man. His political statements were intense and his power base impressive. I could not compete, certainly, not at those levels. Of course, the reality was that it was her choice. For her, New York City was a prolonged bachelorette party prior to the big event.

Ours was a heated sexual relationship. It was smoking hot love and photography. Nothing much else. It was intense and we created beautiful images. She turned her modeling and business trips into quite an adventure. I was a big part of it. She was one of the loves of my life. I cannot even remember how long we were together. It was hot. It was constant. And then, it was over.

She became a famous actress, but it was long after our chapter of love. Her stardom occurred in her native Israel. When she lived in the America she was a particularly emotional chapter of love for me. She was my first real “international” romance. Reflecting back, I believe the relationship meant more to me than to her, sometimes you never know. We fell in love, even though she was already pre-committed, through family and political arrangements, to marry someone else. It was an old-school, arranged marriage. She kept her commitment. I believe she wanted to stay with me. That would have meant leaving her entire family and everything she knew, for a city she barely knew and for me. It was not a risk she was willing to take. It hurt deeply to lose her.

It was crushing when we split, but I knew it was what she wanted and was obligated to do. Her politically powerful father gained considerable fame by having set himself on fire. He was a formidable man. His political statements were intense and his power base impressive. I could not compete, certainly, not at those levels. Of course, the reality was that it was her choice. For her, New York City was a prolonged bachelorette party prior to the big event.

Ours was a heated sexual relationship. It was smoking hot love and photography. Nothing much else. It was intense and we created beautiful images. She turned her modeling and business trips into quite an adventure. I was a big part of it. She was one of the loves of my life. I cannot even remember how long we were together. It was hot. It was constant. And then, it was over.

I have had so many of these short intense chapters of love. I now realize that many women saw me as a sex object. To a degree, I believe she started out using me for sex, but over time fell in love with me. As for being a sex object…it became quite apparent. Models and actresses would come to town for a meeting or for a few days. Inevitably, many of them would find their way to my bar or my photography studio. I was so naïve. I had no idea that they knew each other and told each other about me. Apparently, I was a form of entertainment for many models back then. Later, many of them told me outright that they just wanted to have an affair when they were in New York City. When they met me, no matter what their marital or boyfriend status, they simply went for it.

Often these women would contact me after social networking became widely used. By then, I was older and understood women better. But back then, if you were an artist and bartender you were looked at as a sort of a local personality or entertainer, especially if you were good looking. So, I was just living up to the role and enjoying the lifestyle. All the same, I was looking for my soul mate, while most of these women were looking for a secret NYC one-night-stand. I was young and filled with energy. I was pretty much always ready to go. It was life on constant dosages of passion and endorphins pouring into your system day and night, almost like a drug. I was physically addicted to that passion and the bonding that came with it. I could go and go and go. After all, I was an athlete my entire life. I was in great shape. My body was a well-oiled machine.

I loved her as deeply as I have ever loved. When it ended, it was one of the saddest and most challenging moments in my life. I acted cool and tough, but privately I was listening to Cat Stevens and sinking into a mini depression. But before I mourned the loss of our chapter of love, I first embraced it. I lost myself in the fantasy of photographing and making love to an internationally known super model. When one is young it is easy to become enchanted with someone such as her. She was a cover model and one of a kind. She was very comfortable in bed and very affectionate. She loved the before and the after. She relished the embracing and sweating together while our hearts raced. When they slowed, we would fall asleep to the rhythm of each other’s heartbeats.

I loved photographing her, but even more, I loved sleeping in each other’s arms. I became both accustomed to it and reliant upon it. I felt so loved. It was inconceivable how well she knew me and what I needed. I never had to ask for it. She was as emotionally dependent on my love as I was for hers. The first time we shot together a designer hired me for a Vogue or ELLE shoot. My shots came out great. They were high end photo-journalistic and 80’s model cool. She came out looking both ethnic and European, yet somehow different. Her DNA must date back to Aphrodite. She was a remarkable beauty, somewhat like an 80’s version of Natalie Portman; beauty, talent, and intense sensuality to go with it.

Her agent wanted me to get shots for her portfolio because he knew it would be at least six months before the magazine issues were published. When I arrived at the shoot I could tell right away that she was a higher level of model. She had large, juicy lips, perfect cheekbones and a slim but well-rounded body. That same evening, we drove to a farm in Old Brookville, on Long Island. I shot utilizing the headlights of my car as the only form of lighting. It was the first time I tried that technique. It intrigued her. I drove her back to NYC. She invited me up to her small room in a then, world-famous, commune style actor’s hotel. Once we were in her room she immediately invited me into the shower. We had just met that day, but she was kissing me before we even got to the hotel. I knew she wanted me.

Oddly, she did not have a shower in her room, so we walked down the long narrow hallway with one towel wrapped around the two of us. We entered a small room with a tiny radiator and a shower. The water was cold. She clung to my chest as the water ran down her body and onto mine, slightly warmer as it flowed from her shivering body. Finally, it got a little warmer. Within the first few moments in the shower she began peeing on me. No one had ever done that to me. It was my first golden shower I suppose. It was warm and very kinky. I could see it in her eyes and in her hint of a sneaky smile, that she was getting off on it. She was silently saying that she knew what she was doing was kinky and unconventional, but that it was no accident. She wanted to do it. So, I let her pee on me. She was surprised when afterwards I returned the favor. We both had mischievous smiles on our faces as we embraced under the now warmer water. It was a strange and kinky start to the night. Despite the constant knocking on the door, we stayed in the shower for at least an hour. Many lovemaking firsts occurred that night. Many coming right out of our imaginations. We did everything two people could possibly do with each other and did it over and over, until we finally fell asleep in each other’s arms. We both had shoots the next morning. I left early, but not before she we started where we left off. We continued this for months and months. Not the peeing, but the shooting, sex, showers, and sleeping in each other’s arms.

She left me heartbroken when she told me that she had to go back to her fiancé in Israel. She said, “there’s nothing I can change about my future.” We tried to figure out a way to scrape together enough money for her to stay, but it wasn’t possible. We were young and I had roommates. I didn’t even have a lease in my own name back then. I was subletting, a common practice for many young people. Her politically active father and her modeling and movie career predetermined her destiny. I was not to be part of her future. I was her last affair before she would get married. She was a lot stronger than I was. About a month before she left New York City, she said we had to stop seeing each other, so we did.

Before long I was looking for ways to change her mind. But it was too late. By then someone told her father. He took measures to keep me from seeing her or even knowing her whereabouts. The few times I did manage to see her were brief. I caught glimpses of her being escorted into security driven cars. She would look at me sadly, with longing in her eyes. Often she cried. Eventually, she left New York City for Israel. Despite the distance my heart was with her. But, I would not go to Israel and chase her. She had to follow her path, so I followed mine. After many months of heartache, depression, sadness and literally missing her with every ounce of my heart, I began working at the Palladium. It was during that period I slept with every woman I could, to forget her, but I never will.

Chapter 5- Midwest Farmer’s Daughter

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 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.

 

Chapter 4 – My Virgin Babysitter

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.

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.