“Where’ve you been?” asked Nikki, wide-eyed. “I haven’t seen you in a couple of months!”

“Out on the road managing jobs.” I explained, hoping to avoid further inquiries. “It’s the summer—everyone’s on vacation it seems.”

Then she hit me with it.

“What’s goin’ on with you and Lexi?” She asked, hope in her voice.

“You mean Lexi Luthor?”

“Huh? Who’s that?”

“I’m just kiddin’.” I recovered, realizing Nikki wasn’t much of a Superman aficionado. “I’ll just say it didn’t go as well as hoped—she still wasn’t over her ex.”

“Really? He’s a jerk, Mr. Lastman.” She declared. “You need to call her again.”

“Ah…yeah…I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I replied, shaking my head knowing all too well how that kind of romance only works out in books and movies.

“Why not?”

“She needs some time to figure things out without my interference.” I reasoned, hiding behind the knowledge that once a woman’s mind was made up about me, it was made up. “If she changes her mind, she knows where she can find me.”

“Well, it would be her loss.”

“Even though it didn’t work out the way I hoped, thank you for introducing her to me.” I said. “I never thanked you for that. It felt good to take a chance again.”

“Oh please. Thank you for all your patience and understanding. I would’ve been fired or given up and quit without your help and belief in me.”

“All the time and anytime.” I smiled. “This firm made an investment in you and it’s my job to make sure we get out money’s worth.”

Nikki howled and then smiled before leaving my office. There was no denying I still reeled over what happened with Lexi. I really liked her and almost took Nikki’s advice, but her email more than announced her mind was made up about me. She stated at the beginning of her email that she didn’t think I wanted to wait for her if she went to school on the east coast. She then later stated that she didn’t want to be in the middle of a relationship if she went back to school. She was clearly into either the disc jockey or her ex, and maybe even both. It was really none of my business to care—I was not on her radar anyway. Unless she was in her forties and more self-aware, I couldn’t compete with someone who could get her into venues like the Playboy Mansion. The only mansion I could get her into was the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland, and with their price of admission these days, that might be a stretch. Although she could easily pose on the cover of Playboy if she chose to, it would officially disqualify her of being my type of girl. In fact, her just visiting that manor made me realize she wasn’t my type at all.

They say over time, eventually, your thoughts become your actions, and in the end, it is those actions that define you as a person. After Lexi, I was at a real loss in my personal life. Although I felt they were mostly out for themselves, I wasn’t angry with women, but just livid at love. In my mind, women were the face it wore in a loveless world. Reaching a jagged crossroad in my life, I now had to go backwards to move forward—teaming up my bitterness with despair to form a militia against love, its many faces, and all it stood for. The time came to make my unhappiness with love’s absence known—by accepting being a gentleman was not what a woman in a loveless world wanted. Chivalry was not dead, it was extinct—succumbing to the realization that no matter what I was told, shown or read, all that led me to believe in love’s magic, was untrue. Women never yearned for men who cared about their feelings. They only desired those who gave them the power to be admired by others. I’ve heard complaints about all the jerks; from Karyn’s abusive boyfriend to Denise’s cheating friend turned lover to Nikki’s revealing of Lexi’s ex who was not good to her. Yet, in each instance, it was the douchebags who wound up having what I’ve always wanted. It was simply time for me to join the rank and file.

At times, you have to be willing to lose a battle to win the war. After losing my fair share of battles, the time arrived for a major offensive—an ambush into hostile territory. Both an army and general in this army of one, my boots weren’t ready to be put on the ground just yet. Like the strategy employed by the United States against Iraq, my offensive would be launched stealthily from the air; incognito. Operation Social Experiment first began with renewing my subscription with TheOne.com for three months. Upon signing back on for the first time since my date with Carrie months ago, I noticed her profile was still active, bringing a COL from me—a chuckle out loud. Although my profile was inactive for nine months, people could still view my profile. In those nine months of inactive status, I was curious to see how many “cheers” I had from people who liked my picture or profile. After receiving only one cheer, from a woman who appeared transgender, I had to find a way to draw the enemy out of their foxhole—with no collateral damage done to my fragile sense of self-worth. Needing to bait the trap, I raised my income level from fifty thousand dollars a year to over one hundred thousand dollars. That one change alone, brought my profile thirty-four cheers and thirty emails in a span of just two days. Disgusted, I then lowered my income level to twenty thousand dollars a year, changed my profile name from LLastman to LastDance and wrote a new section to my personal profile. One that was more indicative of my current state of mind.

About me and what I'm looking for:

Hi there. Thanks for reading my profile. When I signed up with TheOne.com it was in hope of changing my perception of how the world works and to give someone a chance. Quite honestly, I’m just waiting for my subscription to run out. I’ve come to the conclusion the women I perceive to be “good catches” are simply not so I’ve decided to embrace this reality and show all my cards. I’d much rather be single than date someone who only cares about what I can give and what they can take and that’s roughly 75% of you. I want to thank those who glanced at my height and income level then decided I wouldn’t make a good partner. Seriously, I thank you for passing up on me because I need to meet someone with a head on their shoulders and who has common sense. I don’t care if you’ve read every book on the shelf, traveled the world five times and plastered masters and doctorate degrees on your wall. You could be the world’s most renown erudite but it’s apparent you still have a lot to learn about life. I do however wish you the best of luck in your searches, even though I think you’ll need this later on down the road.

Oddly enough, my words brought me instant feedback.

From: CuteStuff112:

To: LastDance:

You have the most negative, bitter ad I’ve ever read. You may want to get off TheOne before your year is up. You’re gonna get a lot of hate mail. No doubt. Best wishes, I mean that, you really do need it.

From: TheOne4U:

To: LastDance:

I think you need to make some different choices. Now in saying all this I am also talking about myself. I realize that I have often said, men are all looking for Barbie dolls, fake plastic woman to hang on their arm. Again, I think that was my protection from being hurt. Anyway, again, best wishes.

After reading these emails written by the twenty five percent of decent women out there, it seemed my bitter profile was working like rotten cheese in a mousetrap. It was time now to enter into the second phase of my war—surgical strikes from the air on those I deemed to be frauds. The ones most responsible for sowing mistrust in a loveless society. While stealthily perusing through many profiles, I came upon the unsuspecting TheSassyFlower, a profile wrought of contradiction. Unable to help myself, I composed an email to her.

From: LastDance:

To: TheSassyFlower:

Hi there,

I’ve noticed a contradiction in your profile. You wrote the following:

“If you’re a guy who is way hung up on looks then you probably don’t have the character or personality to interest me. Charm is deceptive, beauty is fleeting and attraction is vital but growing old one day is what we do and too many men are led by just our looks. It’s a scary place to base a relationship from. Right now, I know I’m really hot but you better like me when I’m 60!”

All your photos are nice but they appear to be professionally done. I think you have to believe in what you state in your profile and go with some natural photos. The touched-up photos tell men looks carry a lot of weight with you. You can’t call the guys out on here when looks matter to you a lot as well.

A few minutes passed before she responded.

From: TheSassyFlower:

To: LastDance:

DAHHHHH I’m an actress! Those are my headshots!!! The pics I have of just myself are those! I don’t like to post pics of other people who don’t want to be in them. I did not get “professional” photos done for this website OMG! I live in Hollywood and those are actor shots! I would hope being from CA you would have had a clue that THAT is what a headshot IS! And quite frankly, no one invited your opinion. DAH! I don’t blame people for wanting to be attracted to someone. That wasn’t the point jackass! What I meant was how obsessed men are with beauty and how dangerous that can be in seeking a mate. The professional pics tell people, “oh, she’s an actor and those are just her headshots” and not “she must be shallow b/c she is so hot”. Just because I take nice pics and I’m an actor doesn’t mean looks matter to me. I said “attraction”.

Please don’t email me your opinions. I am so no interested.

Initially not intending to engage in hostile fire with the enemy, I was in a war and now had to return her crossfire.

From: LastDance:

To: TheSassyFlower:

The last time anyone used the word “Dah” around me was back in the 2nd grade. How old are you again?

Are you an actor or an actress? I’m confused. What movies have you done? “TheSassyFlower meets the Dirty Sanchez”? It’s not only time to change your pics but it might be time to choose another career. If you were realistically going anywhere don’t you think you’d be there by now? I suggest you get a real job and stop looking for a man to support your career as an extra.

Dah! You wrote it, not me. You need to revisit your profile. If men being attracted to just your looks because you’re “hot” bothers you so much, then lose the headshots and put up some real pics and not these airbrushed photos. You can always hide the faces of those who don’t want to be on the site. Stop pretending you’re not a photoshop expert. If you had a bad experience on here, it’s probably because the guy you were supposed to meet was expecting someone super hot then you showed up.

When TheSassyFlower never responded to my pointed reply, it bummed me out, leaving me to wonder if a majority of the online profiles were fake. Either created by the site to attract subscribers or to catfish a person genuinely looking to end their loneliness. In this instance, it seemed I conquered the enemy but without the spoils. For the meantime, I remained vigilant, searching for TheOne.com’s Osama Bin Laden—the leader of those who turned love into a fairy tale. It wasn’t until a few weeks later did I discover the dating profile who encompassed in one human being the reason for my war. A person who proclaimed to the world from her lofty pedestal her greatness, and how little we all were in comparison. Every hero had an enemy. Superman had Lex Luthor. Batman had The Joker. Landyn Lastman had the TootlesKitty.

The most annoying thing about her profile, aside from the numerous phony pics, were the apologies she made for being unable to reply to all her fan email. Her profile begged the question; what would happen if one of those fans called her out? It was time to drop the A-bomb on the TootlesKitty.

From: LastDance:

To: TootlesKitty:

Let me get this straight.

You graduated with honors from UCLA.

You make $150,000 plus a year.

You’re a very attractive woman.

You live in Beverly Hills.

You’ve created your own success.

I believed everything up until you said you did this on your own. The only thing you ever did on your own was either grow up in an affluent family, receive an inheritance or met a guy who was a pushover who bought their way into your heart.

If you lived anywhere else in the United States except for Los Angeles, I would’ve thought you were telling the truth. Generally, women that are as attractive as you, who live in L.A., spend way too much time with their legs in the air to ever care enough about being successful, let alone finding the time out of their busy schedule to create a profile on TheOne.com. They simply wouldn’t have to.

Good luck with your tomfoolery!

Minutes after sending this email, it seemed the TootlesKitty could easily find the time to respond to hate mail while giving the men worth a response her silence.

From: TootlesKitty:

To: LastDance:

Listen you disgusting peice of shit. You can believe anything you want but I’ve never been so insulted in my life. I am going to report you to TheOne.com. I am on this because I am EVERYTHING I SAY I AM AND do not have TIME to fuck around with losers like you. HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT! YOU DONT EVEN KNOW ME! AND YOU ARE DEAD DEAD WRONG!! ITS ALMOST LAUGHABLE! YOU MUST HAVE BEEN SCREWED REAL BAD BY A GIRL BUT HOW DARE YOU TAKE IT OUT ON ME. THE FUNNY THING IS THAT I HAVE MADE MORE MONEY THAT MY PARENTS EVER DID, HAVE NEVER HAD A SUGAR DADDY, AND HAVE NEVER "HAD MY LEGS IN THE AIR" FOR ANY CLIENT AS YOU HAVE SO DISGUSTINGLY SAID. IN FACT, I AM THE REAL DEAL, AN OPRAH STORY, AND AM CURRENTLY FEATURED ON TONY ROBBINS INFOMERCIAL AS A SUCCESS STORY AND INTERVIED BY ANTHONY ROBBINS AND LEEZA GIBBONS HIMSELF. YOU CAN TURN ON THE TV AND WATCH IT YOURSELF! PART OF MY STORY IS THAT I DIDNT COME FROM AN INHERITANCE BUT IN FACT CAME FROM THE DEPTHS OF HELL. SO HOW FUCKING DARE YOU WRITE SOMETHING SO HORRIBLE AND VICIOUS TO ME WHEN YOU DONT EVEN KNOW ME! I AM TOO SMART AND TALENTED TO HAVE TO LIE TO ANYONE! GO OFF MY LOOKS ALONE, I DONT HAVE TO LIE TO GET A MAN, PERIOD! IF YOU ARE THAT SIMPLE AND SHALLOW YOU MINDLESS JERK. I AM SINGLE BECAUSE I AM TOO DAMN GOOD AND SMARTER THAN 95% OF THE LOSER MEN OUT THERE LIKE YOU. I ALSO INTIMIDATE MOST MEN. YOU ARE THE LOWEST OF THE SCUM AND YOU SHOULD HANG YOUR FUCKING HEAD IN SHAME FOR WHAT YOU HAVE WRONGLY SAID TO ME YOU 5'8 PEICE OF SHIT. I WOULD TOWER OVER YOU IN MY BUSINESS SUIT AND SPIT ON YOUR ASS IF I EVER SAW YOU. ONLY SCUM LIKE YOU WITH NO INTIGRITY THINK THAT WAY. JUST BECAUSE I CHOSE TO UTILISE THEONE.COM AS AN OPTION DOESNT MEAN ANYTHING OTHER THAN THAT BEING MY PERSONAL CHOICE AND NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUNSINESS OR RIGHT TO JUDGE. NOT EVERYONE ON HERE IS A LOW LIKE NOBODY LIKE YOU! YOU MUST HAVE A MOTHER THAT ONLY KNEW HOW TO PUT HER LEGS UP TO GET PLACES, BUT I CERTAINLY NEVER HAVE! DO NOT EVER CONTACT ME AGAIN OR I WILL CONTACT THE ONE.COM AGAIN AND MY ATTORNEY FOR SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND SEEK OTHER DAMAGES. I AM PRETTY WELL VERSED IN THIS AREA, AS A LOT OF SMALL MEN SUCH AS YOURSELF CANT HANDLE POWEFUL WOMEN LIKE ME AND THE FACT THAT THEY ACTUALLY LIVE THE ULTIMATE LIFE ON THEIR OWN AND KICK THEIR ASSES ALL OVER THE PLACE. YOU ARE A VERY SMALL MAN, LITERALLY! STAY AWAY FROM ME U RESENTFUL SICKO! I LAUGH IN YOUR FACE AND IT MAKES ME FEEL SO AMAZING TO KNOW JUST HOW WRONG YOU ARE WHICH IN TURN REMINDS ME OF JUST HOW AMAZING AND ACCOMPLISHED OF A PERSON I AM. JESUS, YOU MUST REALLY BE A SAD PERSON TO SEND AN EMAIL LIKE THAT TO SOMEONE YOU DONT EVEN KNOW AND JUST ATTACK ME LIKE THAT. TOO BAD FOR YOU, YOU PITIFUL LITTLE MAN.

After receiving a heavy barrage of gunfire from an enraged TootlesKitty, there was no other option but to throw a grenade and yell fire in the hole. No hold barred; we were at war.

From: LastDance:

To: TootlesKitty:

Dear Oprah Story,

Since you’re obviously the greatest human being to ever grace the planet, every sentence you wrote deserves its proper attention from me.

Listen you disgusting peice of shit. (I believe you’re referring to me here.)

You can believe anything you want but I have never been so insulted in my life. (Well, there’s a first for everything in life.)

I am going to report you to TheOne.com. (Please do! I could use the refund.)

I am on this because I am EVERYTHING I SAY I AM AND do not have TIME to fuck around with losers like you. (Just time enough to write them the next great American novel.)

HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT! YOU DONT EVEN KNOW ME! AND YOU ARE DEAD DEAD WRONG!! ITS ALMOST LAUGHABLE! (Almost laughable? Am I the only one laughing here?)

YOU MUST HAVE BEEN SCREWED REAL BAD BY A GIRL BUT HOW DARE YOU TAKE IT OUT ON ME. (If you used a humble approach, like most decent people do, I wouldn’t have believed you were a phony.)

THE FUNNY THING IS THAT I HAVE MADE MORE MONEY THAT MY PARENTS EVER DID. (I think the word is “Than” my parents did but then again, I’m not a UCLA Honors student like you.)

HAVE NEVER HAD A SUGAR DADDY, AND HAVE NEVER "HAD MY LEGS IN THE AIR" FOR ANY CLIENT AS YOU HAVE SO DISGUSTINGLY SAID. (I didn’t mention anything about having your legs in the air for a client but thanks for clarifying. I knew you’ve had your legs in the air for someone.)

I AM THE REAL DEAL, AN OPRAH STORY, AND AM CURRENTLY FEATURED ON TONY ROBBINS' INFOMERCIAL AS A SUCCESS STORY AND INTERVIED BY ANTHONY ROBBINS AND LEEZA GIBBONS HIMSELF. (Did Leeza Gibbons have a sex change operation I wasn’t aware of? I could’ve sworn she was female last time I checked.)

YOU CAN TURN ON THE TV AND WATCH IT YOURSELF! (I’d love to do that, but I can’t stay up past 3 a.m. to watch infomercials.)

PART OF MY STORY IS THAT I DIDNT COME FROM AN INHERITANCE BUT IN FACT CAME FROM THE DEPTHS OF HELL. (Do you find it ironic that you came from the depths of hell only to find yourself on the road leading back there?)

SO HOW FUCKING DARE YOU WRITE SOMETHING SO HORRIBLE AND VICIOUS TO ME WHEN YOU DONT EVEN KNOW ME! (Reality is a horrible and vicious thing to phony people.)

I AM TOO SMART AND TALENTED TO HAVE TO LIE TO ANYONE! (Sure, you are. Don’t let yourself tell you anything different. You might join the planet earth if you did.)

IF YOU ARE THAT SIMPLE AND SHALLOW YOU MINDLESS JERK. I AM SINGLE BECAUSE I AM TOO DAMN GOOD AND SMARTER THAN 95% OF THE LOSER MEN OUT THERE LIKE YOU. I ALSO INTIMIDATE MOST MEN. (It’s shocking you’re single, you seem like a great catch. For the record, psychopaths usually intimidate everyone. Just Ask Oprah.)

YOU ARE THE LOWEST OF THE SCUM AND YOU SHOULD HANG YOUR FUCKING HEAD IN SHAME FOR WHAT YOU HAVE WRONGLY SAID TO ME YOU 5'8 PEICE OF SHIT. (What do you think, Tootles? Is it wrong for me to expect a UCLA Honors student to know how to spell the word “piece”? I’m more bothered by that than your opinions about me.)

I WOULD TOWER OVER YOU IN MY BUSINESS SUIT AND SPIT ON YOUR ASS IF I EVER SAW YOU. (I knew you were accomplished but classy too? You’re the entire package.)

ONLY SCUM LIKE YOU WITH NO INTIGRITY THINK THAT WAY. (What I lack in integrity I make up for with honesty, UCLA Honors student.)

JUST BECAUSE I CHOSE TO UTILISE THEONE.COM AS AN OPTION DOESNT MEAN ANYTHING OTHER THAN THAT BEING MY PERSONAL CHOICE AND NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUNSINESS OR RIGHT TO JUDGE. (Why would someone better than 95% of the men out there need a dating service?)

NOT EVERYONE ON HERE IS A LOW LIKE NOBODY LIKE YOU! (Superb grammar from a UCLA honors student.)

DO NOT EVER CONTACT ME AGAIN OR I WILL CONTACT THE ONE.COM AGAIN AND MY ATTORNEY FOR SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND SEEK OTHER DAMAGES. (It’s now safe to say this low like 5'8" peice of shit nobody has officially gotten under TootlesKitty fur.)

YOU ARE A VERY SMALL MAN, LITERALLY! (Didn’t you already cover this? Oh, that’s right I forgot. I’m the mindless shallow one.)

I LAUGH IN YOUR FACE AND IT MAKES ME FEEL SO AMAZING TO KNOW JUST HOW WRONG YOU ARE WHICH IN TURN REMINDS ME OF JUST HOW AMAZING AND ACCOMPLISHED OF A PERSON I AM. (If I'm wrong, why bother taking time out of your busy schedule to write me a long ass email?)

TOO BAD FOR YOU, YOU PITIFUL LITTLE MAN. (How will I ever recover?)

You are quite the piece of work TootlesKitty. All jokes aside, when you find time to break away from your amazing accomplished life of lying to people on the internet about who you really are, please ask yourself this question; what man in his right mind would honestly date you? I hate to break it to you Tootlepants but you just spent an hour or so writing me back only to confirm what I believe. Although I think your being sexually harassed is wishful thinking on your part, please feel free to report me to TheOne.com. Save me some time and money from meeting psychos like yourself. How you’re able to put a profile up without arousing any suspicion of legitimacy is beyond me.

P.S. After you take off your power suit, please untie and release Tony Robbins. He’s not a miracle worker.

Love,

The 5’8” low like disgusting peice of shit.

Based on my prior exchange with TheSassyFlower, there was no way TootlesKitty would even dare to return fire. Then again, in today’s loveless society, attractive women usually gave their attention to the men who weren’t worthy of it.

From: TootlesKitty:

To: LastDance:

Ha! I love what a hippocrite you are you disgusting loser. Did you notice you wrote something even longer than mine? Ha! You, a stranger, attacks me and what the fuck do you expect me to do? You can call me psycho but I am tough as shit and know how to deal with the little man complex quite well and the only recourse uneducated men have is to call women like that "nuts". Ha! I love it! Your profile sucks. You suck! I know what I am, I could prove it all to you but would never want to release my identity to such a psyco that seeks out women who are better than him on the internet to attack and deny because he feels rejected because he knows he can never attain such a woman and it makes him feel even smaller. Thanks, I am now going to retreat to my amazing life because I, unlike you, am a happy person, if you didn’t already get that by the pictures.... oh, woops, I must have fabricated the South of France in those shots... duhh. Fuck off you Loser! You are now BLOCKED! P.S. I love how you call yourself a "nice and respectful" person" haha. Whose the Liar now!?? "I don’t drive a big car... hmmm do I sense the fact that your an unaccomplished loser of a man?" Yes! U CANT POSSIBLY IMAGINE THAT A WOMAN CAN DO IT JUST LIKE A MAN CAN WITHOUT FAMILY MONEY OR FUCKING HER WAY TO THE TOP... well let me tell you honey, ITS POSSIBLE! U JUST CANT ADMIT IT BECAUSE YOU YOURSELF COULDNT EVEN DO IT!! YOU OBVIOUSLY HAVE BEEN BURNED BY WOMEN BADLY BEFORE AND I CAN SEE WHY. oh... and as far as my looong emails, since I think and type faster than your brain functions, it takes me all of about 20 seconds to punch out this stupid email to your worthless ass. You may think I have accomplished nothing, but that doesn’t phase me since the rest of the universe thinks I am incredible. And my profile doesn’t mention about the half of it...cant scare away everyone. Good Luck finding any woman who will care about your worthless ass! You have NOTHING GOIG FOR YOU! You are UGLY, UNSUCCESSFUL, AND UGLY INSIDE! I am the nicest person in the world but if you fuck with me, I will take you out! You can call that psycho, but I call that how I am able to rendevous at the top with the big boys and gain respect WITHOUT having to FUCK my WAY to the TOP. (HAVE A NICE LIFE! I know I will! :)

From: LastDance:

To: TootlesKitty:

Dear UCLA Honors Student,

This is the last time I’m doing this for you Tootles.

Ha! I love what a hippocrite you are you disgusting loser. (Hungry Hungry Hippocrite? UCLA needs to seriously reevaluate who gets in their Honors Program.)

Ha! (Ahhhh! These “ha’s” are scaring the crap out of me! I feel like Clarise.)

You, a stranger, attacks me and what the fuck do you expect me to do? (Ignore my email like you would when a good guy emails you?)

You can call me psycho but I am tough as shit and know how to deal with the little man complex quite well and the only recourse uneducated men have is to call women like that "nuts". Ha! (Nuts, psycho…it’s all relative, TootlesLecter.)

I love it! Your profile sucks. You suck! (I have no comeback for this. This is your greatest accomplishment yet. I wish I had come up with this insult.)

I know what I am, I could prove it all to you but (Just like you could sue me for damages done to your ego as well?) would never want to release my identity to such a psyco that seeks out women that are better than him on the internet to attack and deny because he feels rejected because he knows he can never attain such a woman and it makes him feel even smaller. (I’ve now come to realize I could never attain a woman, of such a high psychotic caliber as the TootlesKitty. Where do I go from here?)

Thanks, I am now going to retreat to my amazing life because I, unlike you, am a happy person, if you didn’t already get that by the pictures (What I got from the pictures is a fraud, that's why I emailed you. Thanks for confirming.)

Oh, woops, I must have fabricated the South of France in those shots... duhh. (One would think a woman who graduated with Honors from a fine institution like UCLA would know what superimposing is. Then again, most students who graduate with honors at least know how to spell.)

Fuck off you Loser! You are now BLOCKED! (Blocked? WTF? Where did I go wrong? What happened to your sexual harassment lawsuit? Report me to TheOne.com! I need a refund!)

P.S. I love how you call yourself a "nice and respectful" person" haha. (For the record, respect is earned not handed out to phonies like yourself.)

Whose the Liar now!?? "I don’t drive a big car... hmmm do I sense the fact that your an unaccomplished loser of a man?" (First, it’s “who’s”. Second it’s “you’re” and third yes, I’m a loser. You’ve found me out…I drive a small Mercedes.)

U CANT POSSIBLY IMAGINE THAT A WOMAN CAN DO IT JUST LIKE A MAN CAN WITHOUT FAMILY MONEY OR FUCKING HER WAY TO THE TOP... well let me tell you honey, ITS POSSIBLE! (I believe it’s possible…just not by you.)

U JUST CANT ADMIT IT BECAUSE YOU YOURSELF COULDNT EVEN DO IT!! (If this is what it would turn me into then no thank you. I'd rather stay a loser who drives a small Mercedes.)

oh... and as far as my looong emails, since I think and type faster than your brain functions, it takes me all of about 20 seconds to punch out this stupid email to your worthless ass. (With all these typing errors you might want to retake a typing class. I could type a more readable email if I skidded my ass across the keyboard.)

You may think I have accomplished nothing, but that doesn’t phase me since the rest of the universe thinks I am incredible. (You’re definitely out there.)

Good Luck finding any woman who will care about your worthless ass! You have NLTHING GOIG FOR YOU! You are UGLY, UNSUCCESSFUL, AND UGL INSIDE! (Hey! Watch it now! No need to get nasty!)

I am the nicest person in the world but if you fuck with me, I will take you out! (It has been a real treat meeting someone who makes Michael Myers appear misunderstood.)

You can call that psycho, but I call that how I am able to rendevous at the top with the big boys and gain respect WITHOUT having to FUCK my WAY to the TOP. HAVE A NICE LIFE! I know I will! :) (Only a bonafide psycho would end that email with a smiley face. Let me guess you’re having an old friend for dinner tonight.)

True to her word, the TootlesKitty immediately blocked me after she received this email, ending our shootout at TheOne.com corral. A week later, likely after meeting with her psychic advisor, she had a change of heart and unblocked me. After making several failed attempts to reestablish contact with the universe’s greatest treasure, it sadly appeared she did retreat back to her amazing life.

Although it helped letting off some steam and providing me with great entertainment, my air bombardments were a short-lived phase in my war against love—there was no way to top my exchange with the TootlesKitty. There was also no time with my busy schedule to cycle through hundreds of dating profiles either. TootlesKitty was only great white whale out there anyway. Since my personal and professional lives were so out of whack, something that made absolutely no sense to anyone, but me, offered the best way to balance my life out. While attempting to eliminate my heart from every interaction with the opposite sex, there was no away around the reason for my war; an anger with myself over letting my guard down with Lexi—a barrier I fortified for over six years. Regardless of her contradictions, Lexi showed respect for my feelings by writing me an email that couldn’t have been easy for her to write. One of the reasons for reaching out to her was to make it easier on her and mercifully she took it. As much appreciated her response was, though, it greatly disappointed me. After Karyn and Denise, I preferred a woman’s brutal honesty over being left to piece together how they truly feel. I would insist that the next woman, if there ever was one, rip the heart from my chest and stomp on it. We all deserve closure; to be given the chance to save years from our lives without obsessing over what we could’ve done differently.

Ending my surprise air assaults, this one-man regiment entered his next stage; the ground phase. It was time to put my boots on the rugged terrain. No matter how hard I tried, being disrespectful to women wasn’t in me. Making a decision not to care for them or show any interest was a skill to be attained only in order to survive. My war was only an indifference towards what they perceived love to be, and not a hatred towards them. Of course, a phony like TootlesKitty deserved a wake-up call, but my words were purely meant to provide her with another angle to consider. Even someone like her deserved happiness—this was a difficult world to navigate in for all of us. My personal war on love was nothing more than an awareness and acceptance of our loveless society. All those years believing in one girl, a soulmate made only for me, only proved how unaware I was about how love worked—only romanticizing through books and movies but never through the lenses of reality. Staring down the barrel of the loaded chamber of heartbreak brought me to a hard truth—she wasn’t coming and was further away than she had ever been. My greatest weakness was the enormous weight I gave to intimacy. How imagining making love, and or experiencing it, made me easily hand my heart over. If I could become numb to sex, then I’d be strong enough to gain control in any relationship. If a war were to be waged against love, I needed to sow these oats of mine. Whether they were wild or just Quaker, I wasn’t quite sure.

Taking a week off from work, my boots hit the hot desert and its surrounding Las Vegas lights for a weekend getaway. Booking a room at the MGM Grand for Friday and Saturday nights, I’d implement my new approach at the bars and clubs. After settling into my hotel room, I stuffed five hundred dollars into my pocket and headed downstairs to the casino. Being on a low-end budget, pretty much turned me into a full-time Wheel of Fortune slots player. Occasionally, I’d play the tables, but never found them to be fruitful on my budget. The Wheel of Fortune slots gave me two ways of winning big; a shot at spinning the wheel or hitting the two million dollars progressive.

My technique when playing slots, if you called it that, was to pay the maximum three dollars on every spin. For example, getting a Wheel of Fortune spin produced a chance to win between twenty-five and a thousand dollars, but you needed to play the maximum three bucks to be able to spin. My average win on a spin was a hundred dollars, and whenever that happened, I then moved to the five-dollar minimum Wheel of Fortune slot machine in the high roller area. This strategy paid off nicely at times, but also made for a depressing trip back home when it backfired, as it often did. On this particular trip, however, on the first three-dollar maximum bet I fed into the machine, a spin yielded me a thousand dollars. I then moved immediately to the red carpeted empty high rollers room, losing two-hundred of my thousand-dollar winnings. Being up eight hundred dollars, I cut my losses and made my way one of the MGM’s bars to have a drink.

Upon sitting, a video blackjack game tempted me. After sliding a hundred-dollar bill into its blinking slot, a bartender asked if I wanted anything to drink. Minutes later, after accidentally making a let it ride bet, I was down another hundred dollars before my Crown on the rocks came. After my second double Crown on the rocks and winning half my money back on video Blackjack, I scanned the bar area. By this time, it was packed with scantily clad women and sweaty males in cheap sport coats. Most of the men were working their lines but they could’ve been flirting with prostitutes for all I knew. Bearing witness to the loveless society forming around me, I dwelled on my failures with women as my empty stomach buzz kicked in. Realizing I needed to be as free-wheeling and removed from caring as much as these guys were only disgusted me. Unable to stomach watching people try to be anyone but themselves only to impress someone they were unlikely to ever see again, I fled the bar. As the smooth whiskey hit me further, I marched outside to flag down a taxi. A minute later, I slid into the back of a cab and was greeted by a burly thickly bearded driver of Middle Eastern descent.

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“How’s your night, Eh?” He asked.

“Night is goin’ well, my man!” I replied happily, morphing into what the Whiskey dictated. “But it can get better if you know what I’m sayin’!”

“Know what you’re sayin, Eh? I know what you’re sayin’.” He acknowledged, pulling into traffic. “You need hooker!”

“Oh! No! Too much disease out there, ya know!” I declared. “Just get me the best strip bar.”

‘Are you sure? No hooker?” He asked incredulously. “Very hot women…I know these. No?”

“I’m good!” Shaking my head and patting him on the shoulder—wondering if I looked that hard up to him. “But thanks!”

“You are sure?” He inquired again, pulling out several business cards then handing them to me. “You like big boom booms, eh?”

“Hey! Who doesn’t like big boom booms?” Slurring my words while perusing through the business cards I couldn’t see in the dark then handing them back to him. “I’m fine. No hookers for me—just a good strip joint.”

“I find you good strip joint. Just down the street.” He assured, taking back the cards then stuffing them into his jacket. “Here’s a discount card, eh? Fifteen dollars off cover charge.”

“Thanks.” I said, seizing the card from him like a starving refugee. “Appreciate that!”

“You’ll like these girls. Hot. Will even give you jerky jerky for the right price, eh.”

“Hey! Who couldn’t use a jerky jerky?” I replied, feeling zero pain.

When we arrived at our destination, The Velvet Panther, he dropped me off at the entrance. I then tipped him a gracious amount that in my sobriety I’d be too embarrassed to defend. I then grabbed my wrist and brought it to my face, noticing it was ten p.m. After paying the twenty-dollar cover, even with the discount card, I walked inside the hazy dim lit club. The place was enormous, with at least four bars located in each corner of the room. The place may have been dark and smoky but the women were easy to see, all of them a sight to behold. A few pranced by me in bikinis or lingerie, each either smiling or touching my chest as they did. Walking further through the purple and pink haze, I tried to find a place to sit—finding it hard to believe that even with no line outside, the place was already packed.

Most people will say something is wrong with both a woman who strips and a man who pays them, but there was honesty in here. The world had turned on us. After what I’ve experienced in my life with women, I appreciated the honesty in the transactional nature of a strip club. There were no games and no emotional letdowns. An unwritten rule existed—women were here to make money and men were here for instant gratification. Our loveless society made the strip club business a necessity. Marriages even seemed to be transactional these days—man provides for the woman and her children in exchange for sex. The woman can even take half of the man’s hard-earned money in the end, something he likely never saw coming. Falling in love was dangerous and threatened lives as much an STD did. The women at this club were attractive in each their own way—a low sense of self couldn’t have been an issue. If you ever asked a stripper why they stripped, not one would deny it wasn’t for the green paper. I connected with them because of my past experiences with love, knowing immediately where I stood with them. They gave me no false hopes, and other than their aliases, they were honest. In essence telling me “I’m with you only because you’re paying me to.” That’s integrity I couldn’t find with supposedly the good decent women out there. More proof of how loveless our world had truly become.

After finding an open chair a few feet from the main stage, a waitress approached me who could’ve stripped if she wanted to. Staying with the same drink I’ve had all night; I ordered another Crown on the rocks. Checking her out as she walked away, I felt a sudden chill of adrenaline run through me, causing my body to shake in anticipation. There were five different stages with several women sharing them with each other. A guy sitting to my right was getting a lap dance from a stripper with a very nice ass. When the stripper caught me sneaking a peek, she grabbed my hand, placing it on her smooth bottom. She left it there for about five seconds, before pushing it away with a smile. I smiled back but noticed the guy giving me a dirty look. Not wanting to cause any trouble, I looked away to focus on other areas. A few minutes later, the waitress returned with my drink, and after paying her, I quickly drank it trying to hold onto the buzz I had. When I put my glass down, I didn’t have time to wipe my lip before an incredible looking brunette with fawn like brown eyes fell into my lap. Wearing a white two-piece bikini that accentuated her light brown skin tone, she kissed me on the cheek then whispered in my ear.

“How’s your night goin’?” she asked.

“It’s goin’ great now!” I played along. “How’s your night goin’?”

“Mmmm…goin really good.” She teased, moving her hands along my chest. “Do you work out?”

“When I can.”

Although it cost me money, it was nice to receive a compliment. After losing out on Lexi, I’d take anything at this point. Her hands then moved from my chest to the back of my neck. When she started to massage me, my eyes closed—her soft hands felt really good.

“What’s your name, honey?”

“Landyn.” I slurred. “What’s yours?”

“Delicious.” She moaned into my ear.

“Oh, I bet you are.” I flirted.

“Would you like to spend some time with me?” She whispered into my ear. “I’m so turned on right now.”

Hating to break the mood, I smiled before killing it.

“It’s my first time here. I’m not sure how this works.”

“Mmmm…well, baby we can stay here and I can give you a lap dance for twenty-five dollars or we can go into the lap dance booths.”

“How much are those?”

“Those are forty dollars each and last for just one song…” she explained, kissing me on the neck. “But we can also go in the hundred-dollar room for three songs.”

“Those are my options?”

“No, Honey. There’s a two hundred dollar for a half hour where we can do more.” She explained. “Then there’s the four-hundred-dollar room where anything goes for an hour.”

“Anything goes?”

“Anything…” She moaned again, moving her tongue around her shiny red lips. “Goes.”

With her seductive green eyes peering into mine, the four-hundred-dollar room called out to me. Delicious looked everything her name suggested, her breasts begging to be both seen and touched. The “anything goes” room with her aroused me just thinking about it, but being in the middle of my first real strip club experience made me cautious. I went to a strip club back when I turned eighteen but it was a hands-off place and thought all strip clubs had the same policy. Left with several options to choose from, I faced a tough decision. After what just happened with the guy next to me, the twenty-five-dollar option was eliminated immediately. The hundred-dollar room seemed cool, but what if they played three short songs? There also seemed to be a lack of privacy since it appeared to be closely monitored by their crew. The “anything goes’ room seemed to be the most enticing and exciting.

“I’ll try the two-hundred-dollar room.” I told her.

“You’re gonna love it.” She declared, standing up from my lap then grabbing my hand.

She navigated us, with my hand in hers, through the hazy club. Seconds later, we were at the two-hundred-dollar den’s entry, greeted by a muscular bald black security guard. After giving him her name, he turned to pull up a red velvet rope then motioned us to come through. Once inside, she took my hand again, leading me past several full booths, each obscured its own curtain. Walking into the private area, I sat in a cool black leather chair while she turned to pull across the curtain for privacy. The thumping of the bass bouncing off the walls of the room muffled some of the erotic sounds coming from the rooms on both sides of us. After closing the curtain, Delicious turned around to face me, becoming even more so by allowing her bra to fall to the floor. Bringing her breasts to a longing tongue, she began licking each nipple. They were a perfect pair I badly wanted to touch, but even in my drunken state, my conscience ruled over me. Abruptly, and much to my surprise, she leaned into me and placed my hands where I wanted them to be.

“You can touch me.” She whispered, pulling herself away to remove her white bikini bottoms.

Noticing no tan lines, there was nothing left to slow down my arousal as she sat down on my lap to face me. She then started to grind and moan uncontrived enough for me to trust in her pleasure. After five minutes of deep grinding and heightened moaning, she breathlessly began to speak just about the time I was about to burst.

“You won’t be needing this, baby.” She stated erotically, tugging off my belt and throwing it to the floor.

When her fingers found the buttons on my button fly jeans, they began to dislodge one by one. She then reached in with a cool soft hand to grab and gently pull on my mind. At this point, even if I wanted to stop her, I still wouldn’t be able to—and what business did I have stopping her anyway? Delicious was a true professional, knowing the end game of our encounter more than I did. As her steady hand and pleasurable moans turned me on even more, I never wanted this to end, but I also knew it would, sooner rather than later. Losing track of time, but knowing its end neared, she breathed again into my ear.

“Touch me, baby.” She said, bring my hand down to her wet vagina. “I want us to finish together.”

“Excuse me.” I barely replied, nearing my climax point.

“I want you to cum with me.” She breathed into my ear.

At this point, I really had no choice in the matter anymore. Even if I objected, I would’ve obliged. She gave me her all, and seemed into it as much, if not more than I was…or it’s at least what I wanted to believe. With two minutes left on the clock, far from a phot finish, she crossed the finish line four times, a goal I was unable to reach. In the end, I had no complaints—it was the best two hundred dollars I had spent in a long time. When our time expired, I couldn’t help but feel sad, even enamored with her. My libido was unwilling to accept it was over between us as she put her bikini back on.

“What time do you get off?” I asked.

“In another two hours. Why?”

“Would you like to get a bite to eat when you get off? Maybe do some gambling?” I asked. “It’d be nice to hang out with someone while I’m here. I’ll pay you.”

“I’d love to do that.”

“Great! I’ll hang out and just come find me when you’re off.” I smiled. “I’ll be out there somewhere.”

“I’ll do that!” She exclaimed, clapping with a smile then giving me a long tight hug.

I thanked her again then tipped her a hundred dollars for the dance, so technically it was a three-hundred-dollar room. Feeling satisfied with Delicious, I went back out among the general population, finding an open seat away from the stage. At The Velvet Panther, there was no such thing as ‘one and done’. A strange thing happened during my two-hour layover—I found myself back in the two-hundred-dollar room three more times with three different dancers. Each one that crashed into my lap seemed to be more attractive than the last—I didn’t have the power to say no. When Delicious found me at the end of her shift, I confessed to spending our dinner and gambling money to further my libido. Gracious but seemingly disappointed, she walked away, saying goodbye to me forever. I guess we had the two-hundred-dollar room to remember each other by, but I knew only one of us would remember it. I truly hoped to spend some time with her, but I spent all my winnings in a span of only three hours.

After six more hours passed and being demoted from the two-hundred-dollar room to twenty-five-dollar sofa dances, my night neared its uneventful end. Before leaving the club at five in the morning, seven hours after my arrival, a dancer stopped me on my way out—to inform me that I was here when her first shift ended. After making it clear how hard up I was,

she inspired me to make a thousand-dollar cash advance on my credit card. Since I left the money, I brought to Vegas in the hotel room, keeping this party going was my only objective.

When I had the cash in hand, I tracked her down for another two-hundred-dollar room tryst. She tried to push the “anything goes” room, but saving two hundred dollars to release all that built up for seven hours was my priority. A half hour later, however, I found myself in another taxi cab, at a quarter to six in the morning. Nursing a bit of a headache and unable to finish what I started, this cab ride was a silent one compared to my earlier one full of hope—a microcosm of my love life for thirty-seven years. As the cab buckled as it turned off the Vegas strip, a thought entered my mind—a way to turn this around I never imagined of ever trying. I then flashbacked to a conversation with Mitch over a year ago at Sonomas.

“Dude…” He said with wild eyes. “Ya gotta get a massage.”

“It’s funny you mention that. I could really use one.” Replying, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m always tense and my back…”

“I wanna smack you!” He said raising his hand in the air. “Not a real massage…a massage massage. You know…they give you a happy endin’ when its done.”

“A happy ending?”

“Yeah, a happy endin’…when they massage your Penis Colossus at the end.” He elaborated. “Or, in your case, your Penis Minimus.”

“How does that happen?” Shaking my head in disbelief. “That sounds too awkward to me.”

“Not awkward at all, dude.” He stated, shaking his head. “At the end of the massage, all ya do is tell em’ you want a happy endin’ and they give it to ya.”

“You just ask them for it?” I laughed imagining the scene. “Oh, by the way, can I get a happy ending?”

“Yeah, man!” He confirmed, wide eyed. “Or better yet just point down there. They probably don’t speak English too good if at all.”

“That’s fucked up, man.”

“What is?”

“These women are poor and don’t want to do that kind of stuff.” I replied. “I couldn’t take advantage of them like that.”

“Oh come on, you’re helping them out! They gotta eat, right? How are they gonna send money back to their parents?”

“Then somebody like yourself can help them then. I’ll never step foot inside one of those places.” I stated, taking a drink of my beer.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a loser.”

“And I am?”

“Hey, you said that, not me.” I smiled.

Nearly a year after that conversation took place, at approximately six fifteen a.m. in Las Vegas, Nevada, this self-proclaimed “non-loser” laid face down on a white towel covered massage table. Officially choking on my own words, a small towel covered my buttocks as the smell of incense filled a room the size of a walk-in closet. Stricken by the sound of oriental instrumental version of “My Heart Will Go On”, my reluctant and excited heart raced not knowing what to expect. The Asian masseuse who escorted me inside was older judging by the wrinkles on her elbows, but sexy with a petite frame and a pretty face. When she walked into the room after paying sixty dollars for an hour massage, my body began to shake with anticipation.

“First time?” She asked as her fingers moved across my back.

“Yes.” I confessed, instantly aroused by the softness of her touch.

“You not here before?”

“I’ve never been here before.” I confirmed, shaking my head in case she didn’t understand.

She then lifted the towel off my butt and laid it gently back down so that it covered more of my back.

“You have nice body.” She whispered, touching my arms. “Nice muscles. Strong.”

“Thank you.” I replied, not knowing how else to respond.

After making several more remarks about my body, it seemed this massage held much promise. How it would all come about? I had no clue. Mitch said the happy ending usually came at the end of the massage after they ask you to turn over. He then tells them what he wants by grabbing their breasts or whatever else he can get his hands on which didn’t surprise me he’d basically commit rape before taking his socks off. Lying there in silent contemplation of what my approach will be, I had no idee how this all would shake out when she asked me to turn over. It felt, though, a happy ending was definitely in my near future. When she finished massaging my calves, which also felt really good, she ran her hands upwards to massage my buttocks. As she did, her finger oddly brushed against my glory hole. Whenever it did, I jumped, while killing my arousal. After thirty seconds of “butt play”, she whispered in my ear.

“I be right back with hot towel.”

“Alright.”

She then left the room, returning a minute later, waving a steaming hot towel above my head. Applying it to my back, she wiped me down from neck to heel, as my strong soldier fell limp. When she finished, she leaned into my left ear again.

“Please turn over” She said, reaching below the table for a pillow she placed down for my head.

After these magical words were spoken, words I waited fifty minutes to hear, I turned over with great anticipation—covering my member with the same towel used to cover my buttocks. A pitched tent began to erect itself as her hands found my chest. She then moved behind the table and began to massage my head. As she massaged my scalp, I pictured myself leaving the parlor looking capable of joining a pride of lions. After a five minute scalp massage, the clock seemed to be winding down, leaving me to worry about coming through at the last second. Michael Jordan could do great things holding a basketball with just seconds on the clock. The entire night had only proven Landyn Lastman was prone to coming up short even with a ton of time left on the clock. When she suddenly broke the silence, a sigh of relief broke upon me knowing I had at least five minutes left.

“All done.” She said. “I get you cup of water.”

“Uh…thanks.” I replied both in disbelief and disappointed as she exited the room.

With my pitched tent now deflated, I reluctantly removed myself from the table and begrudgingly began to put on my clothes—pondering what I did wrong. She got me all worked up…for a cup of water? I was all ready to make it pour in here and all I ended up with was a contained water sample? Adding insult to injury, when she returned to the room with my parting prize, she spoke one single word in English with perfect clarity and precision.

“Tip?”

Not realizing tips were standard protocol for doing nothing extra for a massage I already paid for, it would’ve been a crime not to tip her anything all because I felt unfulfilled—for all the wrong reasons. After handing her a twenty-dollar bill and receiving a courtesy door opening upon exiting, I left my first massage parlor experience mirroring my past relationships—feeling rejected. There was no joy in Massageville, for the mighty Landyn Lastman had struck out. Distraught by my lack of closing the deal, I officially hit rock bottom reaching out to Mitch at seven in the morning. I had to know if this ever happened to him. I knew he was probably returning home from work at the strip club he DJ’d at.

“What did I do wrong?” I asked.

“What did you do wrong? It’s more like what did you do right?” He scolded. “If I could reach into the phone, I’d smack ya.”

“Well, then tell me.” I responded fatigued. “I’ve come this far…I’m all worked up over here now.”

“Dude, the first thing you have to do at a massage parlor is assess the situation.” He explained. “You have a clean-cut look—enough to be mistake for a cop. If these ‘ho bags’ get caught, they get sent back home to their miserable lives. You have to establish from the get-go you’re not a cop.”

“How do I do that? Just tell them “I’m not a cop”?”

“Man, I wish I could smack you right now. No!” He yelled. “When they walk inside the room, you engage em’ in some small talk…to make em’ feel comfortable and shit. Then you casually let them know you’ve been here before. That’s the only way they’ll know you’re on the up and up.”

“I can’t believe I’m doin’ this.” I broke. “Alright.”

“Hey man, you’re single. You’re not married. Half the creeps that go to these places are married. You’re just a man with needs.”

“Nice to know I’m only half a creep.” I replied, thoroughly feeling defeated. “Thanks for the advice.”

“It’ll work. Trust me.”

“Alright. Later.”

Feeling like the greatest sleazeball on the planet but determined to get this right, I jumped in another cab. The driver knew of a massage parlor just a few minutes away. Afraid to be seen with my lion head roaring, after being dropped off, I ran inside like a vampire escaping the day. From behind the desk emerged an attractive Asian girl from the desk, both youthful and sexy, to greet me. Immediately turned on as she led me to our room, there was nothing stopping me from believing this would be my final destination.

“Please take off your clothes.” She instructed.

I nodded with a smile and after she exited, began removing my clothing. Contemplating not to put the white towel on top of my buttocks to remove any doubt why I showed up here at eight on a Saturday morning, I decided against the move. Lying down on the white sheeted table, I couldn’t help but get aroused fantasizing about the elusive happy ending. Each tick of the clock increased my anxiousness bringing me that much closer to pure pleasure. It shocked me how great my libido truly was. Sure, I pleasured myself from time to time, sometimes twice a day, but I never craved it like this before. A whole new world opened up to me in Vegas, and although it came at a cost, so did being in love. This didn’t feel like an addiction, just a need to have someone else, other than my usual self, gratify me. I had spent over a thousand dollars already and wasn’t going to call it quits on this investment. I needed to see a return.

When the door opened, I heard the sound of feet slapping against sandals getting louder. I then imagined what she looked like naked and how she felt. Following her inside the room was enough to turn me on. Securing my head squarely within the breathing hole on the bed, it was time to make her feel comfortable as great anticipation filled me.

“I haven’t been here in a month.” I exclaimed. “You girls always give good massages. I could use a really good massage this morning.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Baby.” Replied a voice with a masculine tenor as the room suddenly turned dim. “I’m gonna give you a really good one.”

When its hands, the size of a baseball mitt, touched my back, my tongue froze inside my mouth. Petrified in every sense of the word, I was torn—should I remain still or turn over? Whatever this was, one thing was certain—this was not the girl who greeted me at the front desk. As I grappled with false advertising, turning around to face this thing scared me just as much as its hands on my back did. I then felt hair brush along the side of my face.

“Do you like it medium?” It whispered. “Or hard, Baby?”

Like a parachutist who had no choice but to jump out of an airplane at forty thousand feet, I replied “Medium”. As its large hands massaged my back, I did the only thing I could after losing sixty dollars—pretend it was the girl at the front desk. I couldn’t deny the massage felt good, turning my initial fear into the hope a beautiful Asian with the voice of Barry White was my masseuse. Remembering this would like cost me an extra twenty dollars when it wants a tip afterwards made me try to enjoy it anymore. After being so hell bent for a happy ending, I likely deserved this scenario. Suddenly a fear rushed over me…what if I had a heart attack on the table and died before the massage was over? I could already picture the scene, my mother crying over me lying on a massage table with the small towel pitched upward. Yep, that would be my luck. Then there would be Mitch telling her “what a way to go.”. My father probably would refuse to pay for a funeral and find other ways to dispose of me, like digging a hole in the desert.

After what seemed like two hours had passed yet only forty minutes into the massage it was now time to turn over. I thought about sliding off the table to the ground first, but its mitts were on firmly my back to discourage me. Left to prayers, I turned over and looked up into the very dark room. The figure who stood above me was hard to describe, but it appeared big enough and had short enough hair to be taken for a man. When I considered the deep voice, it was a chance I could no longer take. What I made out in the dark wasn’t anything I wanted to receive a happy ending from. I then shifted my face in the direction of a clock Stevie Wonder would’ve had an easier time seeing.

“Would you look at the time?” I announced. “My God, I didn’t realize what time it was. I’m late for a company breakfast. I gotta go.”

“Do you want me to take care of this for you, Baby?” It inquired, touching me in a spot of most resistance at the moment.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary.” I answered, springing from the table. “That massage was great. Here’s twenty dollars. Thank you.”

“Are you sure, Baby?” It replied, making a sudden grab for my crotch.

“I’m good, thanks.” I said, averting danger by moving away just in time then walking around the table to make a dash for my clothes.

“I’ll get you a cup of water then.” It obliged, with a deep tone of disappointment.

“Water would be good.” I responded, trying to cover myself with a towel the size of a wash cloth. “Thank you.”

When the darkened figure left the room, I raced to put my clothes back on as if the sound of the door closing was a gun shot. When the transgender masseuse reappeared with a cup of water, I shot it down like a tequila shot—no lime required. Handing her, I guess that’s what it was in light, my empty cup I exited the room. And making sure to ignore the sexy young greeter’s goodbyes on my way out. After leaving the second massage parlor with greater disappointment than the first, I vowed to never step inside another one again. Handily defeated in my war on love, it seemed all was lost while flagging down a cab down to my hotel room. The torrid nine a.m. Vegas sun piercing unsuspecting eyes I could barely keep open. Dropping another twenty bucks for the ride to the MGM Grand, a young Hispanic kid handed me a thin pamphlet upon exiting the cab. Too tired to shoo the kid away, it found my hand before saying no. My eyes, searching for a trash can to toss it into, caught a glimpse that stopped me in my tracks—the tan curvy brunette in lingerie on its cover jolting me back to life. Quickly glossing through pages inundated with advertisements for prostitutes in the area, my will to fight caught a second wind. Grabbing my phone to call on of the listed numbers, I shook my head.

“What the hell am I doin’.” I muttered to myself, putting my phone back in my pocket.

Tucking the pamphlet under my arm, I resigned myself to manually relieving myself then catching some sleep while heading back to my room. Almost passing out from exhaustion in the elevator, upon reaching my room I threw the pamphlet on the night stand and crashed on the bed face first—too wasted to masturbate.

When my eyes opened, the clock read six thirty-seven p.m.—a nice nine hours of shut eye. Needing five minutes to realize where I was, the cover of the pamphlet, lying on the night stand like a long-lost friend, reminded me. With a sober and sound mind, I stood up to toss it in the trash but stopped myself. Was I ready to wave the white flag? To settle for being the kind of man no woman wanted to be with? This war was about making myself completely numb to love, but as long as I treated it with great reverence, what woman would understand me? My sexual experiences have been mostly with one girl who discarded me without a care. Why? Because she had become numb to love—sex was just an act to her. To me, it epitomized love. To win this war on love, sex had to mean nothing but an act to me too. Having sex carried to much significance to me when it carried little significance to members of our loveless society. They would always be in control of the relationship if I didn’t put myself on par with them. Although I had been thoroughly annihilated in a war, I unwittingly waged on myself, there still existed a chance to strike a crucial target.

After perusing the pamphlet once again, I came across Diamond, the exotic woman on the front cover and grabbed my phone. When the phone began to ring on the other end, I hung up. How far have I fallen? Did I really want to have sex with a prostitute? How did I become the human Titanic? Sinking myself to the deepest depths? What about all the emotions I’ve poured into women for nothing? Being discarded just for loving someone or showing interest in them? What did I have to live for, anyway? Holding the phone in my hand at this moment seemed to be the most power I’ve ever held in my life. Sitting alone in a Vegas hotel room, my life reached a crossroads, and after three rings, my metamorphosis seemed complete.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Asked a sweet female voice on the other end.

“Hi…Ummm…I dunno. Is this Diamond?”

“No, it isn’t.” She confirmed. “Are you lookin’ to spend some time with Diamond tonight, Honey?”

“If she’s available…if she could come to my room.”

“She would love to come by and see you tonight. She’s out at the moment but will be available in three hours, Sweetie.”

“That’s perfect. Uh…do you know what she charges?”

“There’s a three hundred dollar minimum for showing up at your door. We’ll have to charge your credit card over the phone. Then you guys negotiate the rest of her fee based on what you want to do and how much time you want to spend with her.”

“So around six hundred dollars?”

“I can’t say, Sweetie. That’s up to Diamond.”

Checking my wallet, I counted eight one-hundred-dollar bills before reluctantly giving her my credit card number and my location.

“Okay, Honey. Diamond will be there to see you in a few hours. Enjoy your time!”

After thanking her then hanging up the phone, I gazed at Diamond’s picture while questioning my sanity. The last thing on my mind was bringing condoms with me, but after striking out at the massage parlor, I could only hope Diamond had one to spare. Being alone for so long put me more in touch with myself in the literal sense, but all the while suppressing my libido. It was only a matter of time before my subconscious would be awakened. Blaming Delicious for this seemed to be the easy thing to do, but my rational inhibited mind was the true culprit.

Reaching inside my suitcase, a bottle of Crown Royal emerged in my hand. Hoping to save a few bucks, I threw a few ice cubes from the room’s mini bar into a heavy glass tumbler. As the whiskey poured my only though was there was no way I could do this sober. Two hours and four glasses later, my buzz was on full swing. While pouring my fifth drink a bit unsteady, the room’s landline began to ring. Steeped in anticipation of possibly seeing Diamond at the height of my buzz, I mad dashed it to the phone, knocking it off the night stand in the process.

Picking up the phone off the ground as a voice wondered if anyone was there, I threw the base on the bed, and brought the receiver to my ear, the cord wrapped around my neck.

“Hello? Sorry about that.” I garbled.

“Is this Landyn?”

“It is. Is this Diamond?”

“No, Honey. I spoke to you earlier. It’s Camille from LV Escorts.” She clarified. “How are you?”

“I’m fuckin’ great!” I exclaimed, my inhibitions two sheets to the wind. “Just waitin’ for my Diamond, Lady! Is she on her way?”

“I just called to let you know Diamond’s not available. Her car broke down and she’s unable to make it.”

“I got a great set of tools. I can fix it.” I replied, morphing into Jeff Spicoli. “Just tell me where she’s at and I’ll come find her. Give her a jump or whatever.”

“She’s in Utah, Honey.

“Utah? Really?”

“That’s right, Honey. She didn’t tell us she was out of town.”

“Well, I’m not drivin’ out to Utah.” I said. “Are you sure she isn’t washing her hair?”

“Oh, no! She’s really in Utah.”

“Well, they both make sense to me.” I said, slurring through my response.

“We’re very sorry. We do have another girl here who can be at your room in fifteen minutes.” She offered. “She looks just like Diamond.”

“Really? Just like her?”

“She does!”

“You know what…it’s fine.” I replied, realizing this wasn’t meant to be. “I’ll pass, but thank you.”

“Are you sure, Honey? She looks just like her.”

“Yeah…I’m sure. I appreciate the call. Maybe next time.” I confirmed. “Can you refund my credit charge please?”

“I sure will. I’m really sorry, Honey. You have a good night.”

“No worries. Goodnight, Toots.”

As I hung up the phone, my heart was too set on Diamond to settle for a replacement. I couldn’t say I wasn’t relieved—I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. A higher power interfered with my undertaking to paradise, a mission I was not clearly the General or Commander of. With my fifth drink of the evening in my grasp, my balcony called out to me. Sliding then walking past the glass barrier, an enthralling city and its lights full of life magnified my insignificance. It was all within my grasp, like love, yet it remained beyond, disconnecting me like never before. Looking down onto the street below with all its frenetic energy, jumping into it could end this insignificance forever. There was nothing about this loneliness that felt changeable, especially after thirty-seven years. What remained on the horizon for me? More heartbreak? More disappointment? It would only be a matter of time before my career discarded me too. Leaning over the balustrade, I peered even further down, contemplating deeper the meaning of my existence. After pulling myself back, I leaned forward again, my heels off the ground. This time, I spilled my drink on me, and pulled myself back. When I walked back inside the room to dry off, I accepted the alcohol would soon make me drowsy and I’d pass out on my bed. By the time I woke up, this night would be over along with my insatiable desire to fulfill my libido. Stumbling away from the torturous view of a vibrant city, I took off my whiskey scented shirt and refilled my glass. After taking a hearty drink, the sound of the unhung phone beeping called to me. After placing the receiver back on its base, I sat down next to the phone on my bed and took another drink. Shaking my head, I then lifted the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“She looks just like Diamond?”

“Just like her.”

“Alright. Bring her in.”

“You won’t be disappointed!” Camille claimed. “We’ll lower the door fee to two hundred dollars for the inconvenience. I’ll refund your card for a hundred dollars.”

“Nice! Thank you!” I gleefully replied.

“You’re most welcome, Honey! Enjoy your time with Candy!”

“Oh, I will!” I exclaimed.

Diamond or no Diamond, I couldn’t go out like that. Life was an experience that needed to be lived—nearly hurling myself over a balustrade at the MGM proved how deeply important that was to me. It also spoke to why most Vegas hotels didn’t have balconies—because of people like me.

A sixth Crown on the rocks splashed against my lips and down my throat to combat the nervousness, but did very little to temper my anticipation. If Candy looked anything remotely close to Diamond, this may be a very short time spent together. In the middle of my drink, a loud knock on the door announced her arrival. Upon reaching the door, I peered out the peephole to see if Candy met the hype, but was unable to get a good glimpse of her—a scarf made of bright colored feathers hid her face from view. After swinging the door open and to absolutely zero surprise, based upon how my trip worked out so far, this girl looked nothing like Diamond. Diamond was sexy thin, Candy was curvy. Diamond had a round fit face; Candy had slight turkey neck. Diamond had shapely perky breasts; Candy’s drooped somewhere within the feathers. The truth of the matter was, at this point, Candy was a ten.

“Hi, I’m Candy from LV Escorts.” She said, extending her hand to me upon entering my room. “You called the agency for some company tonight.”

“Hey Candy, I’m Donovan. Nice to meet you” I replied, teetering while kissing her hand. “I did. Please come in and make yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink?”

“No thank you.”

Candy pulled a small suitcase with wheels behind her as she walked inside. When she sat down, and brought her suitcase on wheels to a halt, I imagined what kind of toys she had inside her bag of tricks. When she crossed her leg while facing me, she had my full attention.

“So, how does this work?” I asked. “First timer here.”

“First timer?”

“First time. I meant.” I recovered. “This is my first time using an escort service.”

“What is it that you want?”

I sized Candy up for a few seconds before making my alcohol induced decision. She looked like a Pacific Islander. Her complexion was light brown with dark brown eyes and long straight dark hair. Her curves made me want to run my hands along them and see her naked. I even started to notice some similarities to Diamond, or maybe it was the alcohol that suggested she did. Why she wore the purple, pink and blue feathers I didn’t quite understand, but I wanted to see if they were part of something she did. I knew I wanted to spend time with her, but couldn’t decide on what I wanted to do.

“What are my options?” I asked.

“Besides sex, which I’m not having with you.” She decisively stated. “Anything that you want to.”

“That/s fine. Thanks for letting me know.” I replied, realizing not even hookers wanted to have sex with me. “What would you be open to? What do people usually get/”

“How about this.” She spoke. “I’ll put on a show and dance for you, then we’ll go from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“My hourly rate is a hundred dollars and you tip me based on what we decide to do and how much you like it. The more tips I get, the more I please you. How’s that work for you?”

“Sounds fair.”

“Can I use your restroom to get ready for my show?”

“Please.”

“I’ll be out in five minutes.” She confirmed, standing up then walking away with her suitcase in tow.

“Ok! I got five on it!” I teased in an attempt to loosen myself up, but the look on her face gave me the impression I was an acquired taste even for hookers.

While Candy got ready, I considered our current state of affairs, finding it hard not to be introspective as my life collided with hers—the guilt my mother instilled in me. My hope for a love that lasted a lifetime now resided in a lonely MGM Grand hotel room, manifested through Candy, a prostitute. There also existed a sorrow for her, a woman who believed her only outlet to financial independence lied in selling her body and here I was promoting it. At the same time, though, it was hard not to feel for the broken lost male and I couldn’t deny it was one hell of a service they provided to men like me. As long as protection was used and married people didn’t partake in it, I didn’t see it as being the worst thing in a loveless world. Afterall, we lived in a capitalistic country. If a business could use machinery to produce income, why was it wrong for someone to use their body if there was a willing consumer? The government used God, like it usually did, to justify its morality, but it was only concerned with hidden revenue they couldn’t tax. Politicians were more concerned with lining their pockets than remaining one nation under God—always wanting a piece from the ones who make the sacrifices and take on the risks of earning. They wore a nice mask, always concerned with the well-being of society to justify them stealing from it. It was my biggest concern with politicians, their blatant disregard for the truth. The truth was simply this; Candy and me were both consenting adults able to make our own decisions, whether bad or good. Government had no right to make money off our pain. Especially when there were people who marry for money, a form of legal prostitution in and of itself.

After justifying my reasons for calling Candy to my room, I wanted to remain respectful of her terms and conditions. When she emerged from the bathroom, she was dressed in pink lingerie with white open toed heels, adorning her vintage multi-colored feathered scarf dangling from her neck. Sitting on the edge of my bed, she seductively swayed her tan curvy hips and walked to me, stopping in my outreached arms. Her straight jet black hair laid nicely along her clavicle, laying upon her voluptuous breasts. Rising up from the edge of the bed, towering five inches above her, she brought her arms around my neck, her hands massaging the back of my head.

“Do you have any music?” She whispered into my ear.

“I guess you would need music to dance to, huh?” I smiled, realizing my error. “This was such a spur of the moment thing for me, I didn’t bring any.”

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“I do. Why?”

“Where is it? Can I have it for a second?”

“Sure, let me grab it.”

I reluctantly pulled myself from her embrace then walked over to the night stand to grab my phone. Confused as to why she wanted my cell, I handed it to her.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks. I was thinking maybe there’s a ring tone on here I can dance to.”

“Oh…really?” I laughed.

“Here…how’s this? Winter Chimes?” She suggested, as digitized music played from my phone, supposedly Winter Chimes. “This can work.”

“It can?” I replied, incredulously.

“Oh yeaaah…it can.” She confirmed then moving her body against mine to the sound.

To Winter Chimes, which sounded more like a synthesized church organ than only aroused an inclination to fall asleep, Candy grinded on my lap. Deciding to make the best of things, I put my fingers and rustled her feather stole. Feeling ruffled, she tossed the scarf to the floor, as pink, purple and blue feathers flew in different directions. Grabbing my hands, she placed them on her breasts, letting me know my boundaries. Her body may have been a bit out of shape, but her skin was smooth to the touch, her nipples perking up when I gently touched them. I then imagined a person shaking their head with two hands over their eyes bearing witness to this pathetic demise of mine. Candy then started to unbutton my shirt, and when that flew off, she started to unbutton my jeans. Other than the hope of my cell phone’s battery dying, that was all I really wanted at this point. After we both stripped each other’s clothes off, she asked me what I wanted to do next. After fantasizing about her wet dark skin against mine, I asked if she would take a shower with me, and she ecstatically agreed. Once in the shower, I lathered her body in soap and completely bathed her. Feeling her soft wet skin aroused me more than the two-hundred-dollar rooms did at the Velvet Panther.

After we lathered and bathed each other, her wet tan body turning me on like I’ve never been before, we wrapped a large towel over us. After we dried every single part of our naked bodies, picking her up in my arms, I walked out of the bathroom and threw her on the bed. As she bounced, I slid myself next to her, moving my hands all over her clean naked body. We then began to touch each other in the places that brought us the most pleasure. A few minutes later, she opened her eyes into mine.

“Let’s have sex.” She broke.

“I thought you didn’t do that?”

“I trust you.” She moaned, as my finger stumbled a pleasurable spot.

“I don’t have a condom.” I confessed.

“I do.” She said, making a move off the bed.

“Hey Candy, listen.” I replied, grabbing her hand to prevent her from leaving.

“Jenna.”

“Jenna?”

“Yes, my real name is Jenna.”

“What happened to Candy?”

“I don’t usually give my name to clients.” She revealed, while rubbing her hands on my chest. “Safety reasons.”

“I understand. Hey, look.”

“I want you sooo bad.” She ignored, moving her lips into mine.

“Jenna, please don’t take this the wrong way.” I replied, reluctantly removing my lips from her. “I’m very attracted to you, but I was just lookin’ for some company tonight. That’s all.”

“I won’t have to tip me.” She breathed, bringing her hand to her vagina. “I’m sooo turned on.”

Seeing her being turned on, playing with herself next to me, turned me on even more. I wanted her just as badly, but my conscience refused.

“That’s very sweet of you…but I don’t do this sort of thing.” Replying beyond reluctance again. “I just wanted to try somethin’ different. I hope you understand.”

“My God, I didn’t expect to get so turned on by you. Your touch…your hands went right through me.” She replied, breathlessly. “I’m just tryin’ to work my way through school and take care of my daughter. It’s been tough lately.”

“I can’t imagine.” I told her, my hand massaging her shoulder as she sat next to me on the bed. “As pathetic as this sounds, I’ve had sex with only one girl in my life…running into losing streak with women. I was just trying to bust out of it and I didn’t mean to drag you down with me…I feel really bad about that.”

“Even losing streaks come to an end.” She smiled. “Yours will too.”

“How much do I owe you?” I responded, nodding my head but holding the knowledge of how deep this losing streak cut.

“A hundred for the show and you can tip me whatever you feel is right.”

Sprawling across the bed, and into the night stand drawer, I grabbed three one hundred dollar bills then handed it to her.

“Three hundred? That’s way more than the show I gave you.”

“Please, you deserve it. I hope it can help you out in some way—the way you’ve helped me.” I assured. “You’re more than welcome to stay the night if you’d like…as long as you don’t set the alarm to Winter Chimes.”

“You didn’t like Winter Chimes?”

“It has its parts…but so did the video game music to Mrs. Pac-Man.”

“Next time you better bring tunes, then.”

“I know that…now.”

Jenna smiled and brought her lips to my cheek.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’d like to see if I can make it home before my daughter goes to sleep.”

“I can’t compete with that.” I smiled.

“Here.” She said, handing me a multi-colored laminated business card. “If you’re ever back in town and wanna get together again, give me a call.”

“Sure thing.” I replied, knowing with certainty it was the last time we’d see each other.

Jenna got dressed, packed her goodies back inside her suitcase, gave me a warm hug and another peck on the cheek before departing. After closing the door and walking back into my room, I almost slipped on the bright pink, purple and blue feathers littering the carpeted floor—leaving me to wonder what the cleaning crew would say about the sick guest in room seven twenty-two in the morning. Crashing onto the bed, all worked up yet too worked up to do anything about it, I waved the white flag—admitting defeat in a war I waged on myself. Lying high above a city that swirled with electricity below me, ignoring its magnetism to explore other options was now much easier. My foray into lust proving to be one of futility yet unable to comprehend the gratitude I should’ve felt for all that never transpired.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Nearly four months passed since my last visit to Sonomas. I even phoned Mitch to ask if he still hung out there and he did. The pre-war Landyn would hope he wouldn’t be there, but the battle-hardened Landyn was happy he hadn’t missed a beat. On my return to Sonomas, I needed his guidance.

“Dude! I can’t believe me eyes!” Exclaimed Mitch who spotted me standing alone across from the main bar. “Where’s the hot chick at the coffee shop?”

“Yeah…that didn’t work out. She still wasn’t over her ex.”

“She dumped you, huh?”

“Pretty much.” I nodded, taking a swig of my Corona.

“Well, this’ll make you feel better. You’re not gonna believe this one.”

“What’s up?”

“I met this chick last week on the Live Bait dating website.” He told me. “Have you heard of it?”

“No. How much is it?”

“It’s free.”

“No kidding.”

“I never pay for these things.” He proudly announced. “Well…mostly because I can’t afford to.”

“Whataya gonna do?” I smiled.

“Any who, this chick is on there and she messages me so we start talkin’. She sent me a pic and she’s a fuckin’ hottie!” He shouted. “I asked her to meet me here tonight and she’s right over there…the smokin’ brunette standing right by the dance floor. See her?”

“Right there?” I said, pointing in her direction.

“Don’t point at her, dude.” He scolded, slapping my hand away.

“Is it the one with the sunglasses on?”

“Yeah, that’s her!”

“Mitch, why does she have sunglasses on?” I asked.

“What do you mean why?” He responded. “She’s wearin’ sunglasses?”

“If that’s her. Not to mention it’s ten p.m. and it’s dark in here.”

“This isn’t right, man.” He replied, turning his face away from mine.

“What isn’t?”

“The bitch must be blind and didn’t tell me.” He confessed, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “That’s gotta be like false fuckin’ advertisin’ or somethin’.”

“You would hope they would disclose somethin’ like that—especially if you’re gonna meet.” I concurred. “However…”

“However, what?”

“You get what you pay for.”

“Dude, whatever. I gotta go.”

“Where you gonna run to? It’s only ten. You basically just got here.” I said, grabbing his shoulder. “I need your wisdom tonight.”

“Sorry, bro but booty calls.” He replied. “I gotta a three o’ clocker here.”

“A three o’ clocker? Who?”

“I gotta a chance to cross “bangin’ a blind chick” off my bucket list.”

I started to laugh but when he never returned my reaction in kind, it caused me to shake my head.

“You’re not kiddin? You’re serious about this? Really?”

“Gotta run, Land.” He told me, starting to head towards her. “Once in a lifetime shot here. Wood’s already chopped. Time to bring it inside and light a match.”

Mitch reminded me why his wisdom would only serve no real purpose—I could never be so shameless. My eyes followed his steps as he weaseled his way into holding her hand then leading her outside—the blind leading the blind. Trying to watch this spectacle through the large windows, it became too dark for me to see outside. As I circled me head back around, bringing my eyes back inside the bar, they fell upon an old acquaintance. A familiarity that eluded me for a few seconds before realizing this person, now meeting my glance, was Anya.