“Nice? Honey, what is wrong with you?” My worry escalated, even though I continued to sit on the couch and stroke my shih tzu.
There were moments when he seemed to make eye contact, but the rest of the time he stared at the dog or my shirt or the back of the couch. “She was a good kisser. She desired me and got hot for me. She made me feel like she wanted to be with me, needed me.” He took his shirt off and hung it over his arm like a butler’s towel.
“So, it was good then? Why are you acting so weird?”
“It was really good, actually.” He walked toward me, shirt hung from his forearm, and sat on the coffee table at my feet. He seemed fascinated with how amazing the sex was as he retold the details. I listened while he explained how wet she became after her breathing changed, and her entire body temperature went up. Her pupils dilated when she was aroused. Those things, he said, you cannot fake. Those things were biological reactions to stimulation, and those things did not happen when we were in bed together.
There was a long pause. My fingers repetitiously combed through the dog’s hair because I was nervous as to where he was going with this. Doug finally tilted his head, scrunched his eyebrows, and said, “You really don’t like having sex with me, do you?”
My hands immediately jerked to cover my open mouth. The tears filled my eyes in an instant because he wasn’t blinded by love anymore; he finally understood. It didn’t matter how many ways I explained my sexuality; it took another woman’s affections for him to see the comparison. It was a reminder of how a man and a woman should behave in the bedroom. Biology provided tangible evidence to support my claims. For an agnostic man, it was proof positive.
I cried because the reality of it all was a painful truth for him to discover. I never meant to cause him this torment, but there it was sitting on our coffee table. How we ever fell to sleep with our shattered minds frankly eludes me, but we did. The realization of our seemingly flamboyant lifestyle was pushed aside for a time. We didn’t know what to do with that information, anyway. I’m sure we felt everything would just work itself out. So, Douglas continued schooling and dating. My life resumed with two relationships and college. I phased out stripping as mud wrestling became my main source of income. It actually paid better after honing my skills to become the champion.
To be clear, it was never a legit job. It was something fun for the tourists to volunteer doing with the additional bonus of free drinks and money if you won. It was instant cash at the end of the night that I didn’t have to claim on my taxes. For months, it brought in about four hundred dollars a week.
The thing is, it was a show that looked very intense and real, but I knew when to lose too. Had I wrestled and taken the entire pot of cash every time, the crowd would have caught on. My talent was so perfected I learned how to flip girls from a kneeling position, making sure they landed safely, yet with just enough power to spray onlookers with a nice coat of mud. Because of my mad skills, I have been in the background of a few reality dating shows, but the true life story behind the dirt is always deeper than it seems.
The three of us maintained what we felt was the best scenario for our lives so, yes, mud wrestling was how we paid the bills.
One evening the manager of the show called to ask if I was coming in to “work.” She was worried because she only had three girls signed up. “Don’t worry, I always come, so I’ll get you more wrestlers.” That was when I began calling it my job.
Work began at 9:30 pm. At that time I would start manipulating the crowd for recruits. This was not part of the routine, but getting more girls to voluntarily wrestle was more money in my pocket. The night ended when the last girls showered. Then we all walked to the front of the casino for our payout. About six months after I began, the casino earned such a huge profit that they began doing it two nights a week, which was only more money for me. Patty went with me and was the only non-wrestler allowed in the ready room other than the manager. She helped clean up the hotel room at the end of each night and provided assistance to the manager. It gave her a validating role, and she rather enjoyed hosing off the bikini-clad girls in the walkway between buildings.
She was always supportive of the crazy things I did, including margarita wrestling at a club, which was broadcast on pay-per-view. I lost after six minutes in the green water, but it was the quickest 375 bucks ever earned. A seven-hour day shift at the strip club might bring in that much.
Money was tight, even with the National Guard income, so I entered myself into a karaoke contest in hopes of winning the thousand-dollar prize. After I made it into the top ten finalists, Doug and Patty went with me to the taping of the finale, which was to be broadcasted on a local television station.
It was a typical Vegas setup with lights and a flamboyant host. Most of the contestants were strangers to each other. Each won their place at different karaoke nights across Las Vegas.
While waiting in the wings, I befriended Kim, a thick Italian girl with an exceptionally bold personality. She had huge brown eyes, a large white smile, and huge tits that were almost too big for her body. Her wit impressed me more than her beautiful voice, which nearly had me in tears. After her song, she suggested we get a drink at one of the many bars in the casino. We were there about an hour before I got a text message from Doug and Patty, who wanted to wish me luck at intermission. They met us at the bar, where we shared brief introductions before Kim and I left for our losing results.
There wasn’t another mention of Kim until I ran into her at karaoke night the next week. Patty opted to stay in that night, so I went alone. When Kim invited me to sit with her and a few friends, my night was so much fun I had to tell Patty all about it.
After a year of absolute devotion to Patty, others found it hard to believe my level of faithfulness. We had our rare issues, but, otherwise, we had a great relationship. I never wanted to be with other women. Given my scandalous history, Rayya and Joy were stunned with my loyalty, especially since they thought she was the ugliest girl I had ever been with besides Lindsey, I mean “April.”
I always defended Patty’s beautiful green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. I doted endlessly over every freckle and dimple on her body. Her sense of humor was ingenious, and her passion for trying new things was a point I proudly emphasized. We were inseparable and had the most amazing, adventurous sex, with heavy lovemaking overtones. We were solid—until she accused me of cheating on her with Kim.
The accusation caught me off guard. In my reality, other women didn’t exist.
Did she see something developing that I did not? Doug and Patty fulfilled my every desire, so being with Kim was absolutely unnecessary, but a week later, I found myself fully engulfed in the middle of a makeout session in the back of Kim’s car. However, the guilt was as overwhelming as her passionate kisses. I felt terrible about each little pleasure and finally told her I shouldn’t be there. She backed away from my face for a moment to ask, “Then, why are you?”
It was that easy for me to realize my mistake and leave regardless of her protests.
Between Doug and Patty and the slow burn of self-discovery, my emotional state was beginning to unravel. Rivers of tears flowed in front of my friends that year. I cried on the phone to my stepmom about being gay. She told me that if I loved Douglas, I would let him go. My sister caught an earful of heartache and confusion every time she phoned. My mother pretended to understand until the actuality of my life was fully explained during a traffic jam on the Vegas strip. The conversation turned sour when she asked how Doug was doing and never asked about Patty, and then preached the Bible. She told me that I needed to start praying. This was the first time I ever scolded my mother and hung up on her. “Patty and I pray every night before we go to bed.”