0 comments/ 93455 views/ 2 favorites Dear Abby By: Just Plain Bob Dear Abby, When I was younger, a lot younger, I was really stupid. I used drugs and eventually became a prostitute to feed my drug habit. During that period of my life I had so little self esteem that I allowed men (and women) to do what they wanted with me as long as they gave me the money I needed for my next fix. I ran around on my husband, got pregnant twice and had two abortions, the last of which ended in my getting a hysterectomy. It started out as a lot of fun. Several boys that I dated were into pot, they talked me into trying some and I did. It made me mellow and I saw things in a nice rosy glow, but it also put me in a very susceptible condition and when one of the guys made a move on me I just laid back and said "groovy." Before long every guy at school was showing me his stash of 'killer weed' and asking me out for a date; a date that consisted of the guy getting me high and then collecting his reward for keeping me high. This went on for several months before one night my date took me to a college fraternity party. I got high that night too and when I woke up the next morning I was naked and laying on a dirty mattress on a floor. I found out later that I had been used by seventeen guys that night and some of them had used me more than once. I started to get up and I heard someone say, "Hey, she's awake" and several naked guys came into the room. They were passing a bong around and they gave it to me and I took a hit and then another, and another and pretty soon the guys were between my legs. Sometime later that night somebody put me in a cab and sent me home. Luckily for me my parents were out of town for the weekend and I didn't have to worry about them making a stink. When I woke up the next morning my pussy was sore and I hurt when I walked and I swore that I wasn't ever going to let that happen to me again. But the next Friday I went out on a date and the same thing happened. This time my parents were home and I caught holy hell for staying out all night. It's a good thing that they didn't know what I'd done or they would have locked me in the basement for six months. As it was I wasn't allowed to date again for two months. The guys must have missed my easy pussy and didn't want to get cut off again because when I started dating again they always made sure I got home on time. My parents went out of town a lot leaving me and my older sister home alone. My sister and I had an agreement; we each went our own separate way and we kept our mouths shut. On the weekends my parents were gone, so was I. I was high from the time my date picked me up and I rarely knew what happened from then until I woke up the next day. I did know that my pussy got used - got used a lot! Before I knew it I was the gangbang girl for three different fraternities and I didn't care as long as they gave me what I needed to stay high. Then the AIDS and herpes scare came along and all of a sudden I didn't seem to be popular anymore. Without guys giving me pot my life got back to that of a fairly normal eighteen-year-old and I finished high school, met a nice guy and got married. For a year everything was cool and then my husband got transferred to the afternoon shift. One night one of his friends, who didn't know about the shift change, stopped by. I hadn't been adapting well to being alone in the evening and so I asked his friend to stay and have a cup of coffee with me. I didn't mean for anything to happen - I just wanted some company - but his friend took out a baggie and asked me if I would mind his lighting up. "Not as long as you share" I said. Before he left that night I had sucked his cock twice and he had fucked me three times including once in the ass. After that he started coming over every night that Tom worked, I would get high and Al would have sex with me. After a week Al showed up with a buddy and by the end of the third week I was getting high and pulling trains for Al. That went on for about six months and then one night Tom came home and found me with a cock in my ass, in my pussy and in my mouth. There were also five other guys waiting for their turn and when Tom tried to break things up they tied him to a chair in the dining room. I was so high that I didn't know that it had happened until I woke up in the morning and found Tom. He tossed me out onto the street and Al took me in and for the next two months I stayed high and fucked whoever Al brought me. It was the night of my twenty-first birthday that things got really bad for me. Al threw a party for me that ended up with my getting high and with guys depositing gifts in me. I vaguely remembered the first six guys and then it got very hazy. I remember hearing portions of conversations, but I had no idea what they meant at the time: "...is young, ain't she." "How much you..." "Anyone going to miss..." and then I woke up and found myself on a cot in a windowless room. When I tried the door I found that it was locked so I beat on the door and hollered for someone to let me out. Finally I heard a key in the lock and the door swung open and three black men came in. They didn't say anything, two of them just took my arms and held me while the third did something with a hypodermic needle and then came toward me. I started kicking and screaming and the two guys holding me pushed me back on the cot and held me down while the third man stuck the needle in my arm. I never left that room or saw clothes for the next week or so. There were injections every day, followed by euphoria and a steady stream of men who did whatever they wanted with me. Black, white Asian, Mexican, they all took my ass, my mouth or my pussy. Then one day no one came into the room, not to use me or to give me an injection. It wasn't long before my skin began to itch and then it almost seemed like my skin began to crawl and I began crying, beating on the door and begging someone to come and help me. After a couple of hours of absolute misery the door opened and one of the black guys came in. He prepared my dose, gave it to me and I immediately felt better. The man said, "You need this" and he held up the needle "and that means you need me. And here is what you are going to do if you want me to help when you start feeling bad." What I had to do was give my body to who ever he said. His name was Washington; he was my pimp and I was his whore. That's the way it was for the next two years. I did whatever I was told to do and I was rewarded with what I had to have. I did not go quietly into the life; twice I broke away, but it did me no good. The first time I managed to get home, but my parents threw me out; called me a worthless druggie and a whore and slammed the door in my face. By noon the next day I was begging Washington to help me because I was sure that I was going to die. Five months later I tried again and was hooking on my own to earn money for a fix, but I couldn't find anyone that would sell to me and I ended up crawling back to Washington. After that I gave up any thought of trying to get away and settled in to be the punch board for everyone willing to pay Washington for the privilege; twosomes, threesomes and foursomes were common place and gangbangs were the norm rather than the exception. I was made to sit in a bathtub and be peed on and I had to straddle the tub and do the peeing and there were lots of other things that I had to do that were too disgusting to write about. Then one day a miracle occurred; I was being gangbanged during a high stakes poker game and the police raided the place. A couple of people at the game told the cops that I was being paid to be there and I was arrested and given six months. The good part was that I was given treatment for my drug problem. I have been clean for almost a full year now and I've met the most wonderful man and we have a great relationship. He wants to marry me and my question is: Should I tell him about my past or cross my fingers and hope to God he never finds out? Dear Abby Landers Ann Landers and Abigail Van Buren did more than anybody else in the history of America to set back the cause of equal rights for women. Certainly in terms of sexual equality, these two women, who were twin sisters born in Sioux City, Iowa on July 4, 1918, unquestionably contributed more to the repression of female libidos than any other two Americans who have ever lived. Although they were born on Independence Day, Esther and Pauline Friedman, to use their actual maiden names, constantly preached that no girl or woman should ever achieve any kind of meaningful independence for herself, at least not in sexual or relationship matters. They were both rich, successful women with careers, but their principal dictum to the girls and women of America was always that the primary duty for women was taking care of the homes of their husbands and tending to their children. Either they were unaware of the fact that many women choose to remain single and/or childless or they tried to talk such women out of it. To these harridans, being married and having children, always in that order and with the second event occurring at least nine months after the first, were the highest careers any American woman should strive for. I never could tell the two columns apart, for they both said the same thing, so I never tried. For the purpose of this essay, I will refer to "Abby Landers" so I will always have the woman's name half correct. The fact that it's always half wrong too doesn't bother me even a little bit. Esther was the first of the twins to begin to wreak havoc on the libidos of girls and women who were foolish enough to accept her advice. To make a longer story short, she apparently won the job of taking over an existing advice column in the Chicago Sun-Times in 1955 and did not change the name. I don't know how she was chosen but, if it was for the quality of her advice, the publisher must have been even more of a troglodyte than his new staff member. Shortly after she began giving out her bad advice, her column was in syndication. The following year, Pauline emulated her twin sister and started her own rival advice column in The San Francisco Chronicle, and this one also quickly went into syndication. The competition caused quite a rift between them, which was a matter of some hilarity among those, such as I, who did not see their pronouncements as being the gospel. Among other things, Abby Landers piously preached against extended family estrangements, so to have these twin sisters on the outs made them into even a bigger joke than they would have otherwise been. Abby Landers apparently believed in the Snow White/Sleeping Beauty school of thought in terms of women meeting men. Their mantra was "Don't contact men (or boys, if the writer was a teenager.)" They mostly condemned telephone calls to members of the male gender, but they also included initiating any kind of personal or romantic relationship. Perhaps they believed that Prince Charming or Mr. Right would always come along, and everything would be hunky-dory, peachy-keen. Of course, once in a while they may have been right. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. That was something at least one of them used to say quite frequently, by the way. If a woman were to suggest she was on the verge of having sex with her long term boyfriend, the readers could practically hear their screams of outrage all the way from Chicago to Chunking. "Don't do it!" they would cry (in print, of course.) "Think of your reputation!" The fact the only person who would know of the interlude was her long term boyfriend didn't seem to make any difference to Abby Landers. That is not to say they never gave any good advice, although most of that was no more than common sense. I remember one teenage girl writing and telling Abby Landers she wanted to become a groupie and follow a rock band around. Well, duh, anybody with as much as a tenth of a brain would have told her that was an incredibly dumb idea, and she should not do it. Of course, that's what the columnist did tell her. Was this good advice? Well, sure, but it didn't take an overrated advice columnist to give it. Eventually, of course, American girls and women came to realize the two Iowa farm girls they trusted so much were no more than issuers of pure bullshit. The double standard, for which Abby Landers was a stout advocate, was long outdated, even assuming it might have once had some justification. They didn't really know anything, and their advice in matters of relationships was about as useful or reliable as the message in a Chinese fortune cookie. American females started taking matters into their own hands and actually talking to and otherwise treating their male counterparts as the equals they should have always been. Thank you for reading this short essay. Whether you agree or disagree, I would appreciate hearing from you.