New York Stories: Phone Girl in a Whorehouse Part 3

May 12, 2014 — 132 Comments



Debby and I were now unofficially living together.

She often disappeared, sometimes for days at a time. At first I used to question her. But she always shut me down, and I soon realized I would have to accept this.

No doubt she was off nodding with her junked up punk friends.

She was deep into the hardcore heroin lifestyle. I was a drug dilettante at best. If I did indulge with her, I usually snorted it.

I hated that bruised inner arm look that junkies sported; always having to wear long sleeves, even in the summer.

Of course, years later, I would stop caring about those bruises – unless they signified a collapsed vein and a hunt for a new needle target on my body.


I really loved working on 51st street. This group of women became my little dysfunctional posse. It only took me a week before it hit me like Ike did Tina –

these women were THE poster children for “Daddy Issues.” They had enough absentee father issues to fill several Lifetime Movies of the Week.

They were strong, independent, tough talking but underneath, fragile. They either looked to men to validate them – or mistrusted and rejected men altogether.

Sounded familiar…


There were some repugnant aspects to the job.

We did receive our share of degenerates calling.  After all, we were advertising in Screw Magazine, the preeminent and spectacularly tasteless hard-core porn newspaper.

I learned to hang up on the heavy breathers, who were obviously calling so they could masturbate while I described “a leggy blonde with D cup breasts.”

And every few weeks, I received at least one heartbreaking phone call from a wife, denouncing me as a slut and a whore.

After calmly explaining that I was just a receptionist, I would suggest that this was an issue best discussed with her husband.

I tried to be as consoling as possible.

What woman wants to find out that not only is her husband unfaithful, but a whoremonger?

I reassured them that it had NOTHING to do with them and everything to do with the fact that men are dogs. And had I known he was married, I NEVER would have booked the appointment. (This part was a lie; most of the clients were married. But these women were usually crying.)



And then there were the customers who wanted to book a session with ME. Chiefly, because I WASN’T available.

He’d chat with all these sexed up women, who were pouting or giving him seductive eyes.

I’d ask, “Okay, so and so. Who would you like to see?”

He’d look right past Kathy, her D cup breasts spilling over a leopard bra that her tangerine baby doll dress barely covered, her long gorgeous legs clad in thigh high stockings that ended in leopard fuck-me pumps.

And look at me, In black jeans, baggy black Ramones tee shirt, Converse Hi Tops.

“You,” and point at me.

“I’m not available.”

“I only want to see YOU.”

Did I forget to mention the geeky glasses I wore?

What a perverse thing the male psyche is.


One busy Thursday, Kathy, Nicki and Gail were all on the schedule. Those were my favorite days, when all my girlfriends were working. The shift flew by, with us making wisecracks and acting silly in between the steady flow of customers.

A client who’d been there before came in to see Kathy. He was a big, beefy looking Irish guy and he brought 2 friends who I thought looked familiar. They had a drink in the reception area, and all three disappeared into bedrooms with a girl.

After a few minutes, Kathy came out.

“He doesn’t have enough money. He wants to go to an ATM machine and come back.”

“Tell him to put it on a credit card.”

“He doesn’t want it showing up on his card. He’s married.”

Most of them were. It’s not like the statement listed “51st Whorehouse.” It was a dummy entertainment corporation. Still, he wasn’t the first married customer to be skittish about using his credit card.

But no one had ever come in and left to go get more money.

I immediately became VERY nervous.

“Was he naked when you discussed this?”

“Yes! Of course!”


Although I gave rates on the phone, money was never discussed or changed hands until a client was “completely comfortable.”

Theoretically, undercover police officers are not allowed to be naked. It’s much easier to construct a case for entrapment if the police office is nude.

But now he was going to get dressed and leave and come back?

I heard him in the hallway. Now his two friends were out of their rooms, as well.

Did all three of them come inadequately fixed for cash?

Something was VERY WRONG.

My first thought was, I’ve GOT to hide the session log. I was shoving it in my bag when the three of them came stomping in the reception area.



Could this be a practical joke? Please let this be a fucked up prank.

One of them flashed his badge at me and said,

“There was an offer of prostitution made here. You’re under arrest!”

I answered him,

“I didn’t make anybody any offer of prostitution.”

He answered angrily, “What do you think is going on in all those rooms?”

I answered, “Those are consenting adults.”


He became enraged and yelled in my face, “You’re under arrest! Now face the wall and SHUT UP!”

They stomped through the townhouse, snatching the women from the rooms.

They sat them in the reception area huddled together. Several of them were crying.

I would NOT cry.

I looked at Nicki. Her face was a dispassionate mask.

I set my face the same way.


An officer led me into the kitchen and handcuffed me. They interrogated the two clients who had been in session when the raid started. They were issued tickets and sent on their way.

Now they began to lay siege to the townhouse. They tore through the desk, through the closets where the girls kept their street clothes and belongings, flinging things every which way.

Watching them unnecessarily ransack our place made me more angry than scared.

I got mouthy. Demanded to see a warrant. Challenged them as to what evidence they had.

They ignored me and continued to tear the place apart.


A female officer accompanied the girls into the bedroom, where they were allowed to change into their street clothes. And then, we were led out, handcuffed in pairs.

I was handcuffed to Nicki. Thank God. She said “Well, if I have to be handcuffed to someone, I’m glad it’s YOU.”

I was relieved Debby wasn’t working that day. She’d never survive a day in jail, with her heroin habit.


The back of a police car is quite odd looking. There are no handles on the doors or any window mechanisms. There’s a grill separating you from the front seat.

It’s basically a cage on wheels.

We were driven to the local precinct, where they fingerprinted us, and took all our belongings. We had to remove our belts.

We were allowed our one phone call. I dialed my boyfriend’s number and got his answering machine.

Of course.


I was put into a postage stamp sized cell. I tried to stay calm, despite the close quarters. One officer had told us we’d be processed, arraigned, and probably out the next day. I wondered how I would survive the night in this tiny airless cell.

I needn’t have worried.

After a few hours, we were led outside and put into a van. We looked at one another questioningly.

Finally, I asked,”Where are we going?”

The officer driving said over his shoulder, “Central Booking.”

My head went numb.

Central Booking?

The Tombs.

This was a notorious detention center in downtown Manhattan.

People got KILLED in the Tombs.


Bianca, a petite curvy brunette, started to weep. I comforted her.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll be out by tomorrow.”

The officer sitting up in the front turned slightly, and said to me,

They will. Not you. You were just charged with promoting prostitution.

That’s a felony charge.”


My heart stopped.

Oh, dear God. I’m fucked.


These women were fucking 12 guys a day, and I’m a felon? I’m a goddamned receptionist.


At Central Booking, we were taken into a narrow courtyard, then led through a tiny armored booth, and then along a maze of concrete and poorly lit corridors.

We were led down one flight of stairs, then another, then another, then another. I was beginning to understand why it was called “The Tombs.”


The holding cell was a large room, about twenty feet long, fifteen feet wide. Along one side were metal bars. In one corner was a filthy toilet and sink.

A shiny metal bench ran alongside the rest of the perimeter. The walls were a putrid light green under glaring flourescent light.


It was filled with an assortment of 40 of the scariest looking women I had ever seen.

Some of them didn’t even look like women.

This was not like any female “sexy inmate” porn.

They were filthy, and beat up looking. They stunk like garbage. The other prostitutes were skanky streetwalkers.

There was one fairly clean, almost presentable woman in there.

I later found out she had been arrested trying to sell her baby for drugs.


After the corrections officer slammed the door shut, we stood huddled together while the Tomb’s finest looked us up and down.

The hard-bitten wise-cracking tone I’d adopted with the policeman disappeared, and was replaced by


I thought I was such a hot shot, playing fast and loose with the law.

But now- I imagined myself beaten. Stabbed.

Just last week there had been an article in the paper about a woman whose face was completely shattered against the very bench I was now looking at. By another inmate of the Tombs.

The Tombs is a place with signs posted to visitors that say:

And any other weapon capable of causing injury and/or
otherwise endangering the safety of the institution


Who was going to help me now?

Debby was probably off high, somewhere.

My boyfriend hadn’t answered the phone.

My family knew nothing of this job, and there was NO WAY I would ever each out to them.

I. Was. Dead.


Next week: The Conclusion! Phone Girl in a Whorehouse, Part 4.

Click here for Part 1 and Part 2.


Have you ever gotten yourself into bad trouble? Or been arrested? 
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

132 responses to New York Stories: Phone Girl in a Whorehouse Part 3


    Damn, you, hardass. Look at the shit you done got yourself into at last, Samara. Freaking Tombs for answering the phone and pointing horny guys into the right room. No, I can’t say I can compare to this sort of trouble. Even you were scared! I can’t wait to read part four to see who came down and bailed you out, and how the law came to its senses and saw that you weren’t the wicked madame.

    Good to see you writing. xxoo


      Yeah, I done got myself into some REAL trouble, right Mark?

      Hell, yes I was scared! That is one scary place.

      Never been arrested?
      Not even for smoking a joint in Port Authority Bus Station? (oh, that was me!)


    Dannnngg but you know how to cliffhanger a piece 😀


      I was going to end it with Part 3.

      But there was too much left. Yikes. I wasn’t going to leave out the fun part where I ALMOST GOT KILLED IN THE TOMBS!!!



        Well, quite, darling! We need to know all about that! Ow!


        Well, obviously I lived.

        Otherwise I wouldn’t be here to tip over in supermarket parking lots and make a fool of myself!


        I sort of assumed that you did – you’re far too much fun to be ghost-written 😉


    Damn you Samara! I was just sitting down to write, which I haven’t done in TWO weeks, and I see this in my email. I tried to not click on it and read. Ha. Now I’m all wrapped up in your world and just want to pour a big glass of wine and read the few remaining blog posts of yours that I haven’t read yet…. If I don’t write for another week it’s all your fault.


      Gretchen! There you are!

      I haven’t written a whole lot either. So you didn’t miss much.

      Maybe just…a Lou Reed post? That YOU would totally like!

      I wish we were drinking wine together. I’ll bet you’re fun to get tipsy with.


        Girlie, I’ll drink wine with you ANY TIME! And maybe then I’ll share with you the time I almost got arrested. Not nearly as crazy as this and definitely not worthy of a four-part series… but probably the closest call I’ve ever had. All I can say is a SWAT team was involved. I wish I could blog about it but I had to be stupid and put my real name all over my blog and stuff…

        Now I will put off writing even longer to go read the Lou Reed post. 🙂


        Oooh, Gretchen almpst got arrested and there was a SWAT team involved! It’s always the quiet ones (are you quiet? I have no idea)

        I’m involved with a new blog. It was left by Rara to a group of us to curate. It’s for stories you can’t tell on your own blog.

        You can always create a different account and blog anonymously there. It’s going to be amazing.


        Not quiet, more like low-key. I’m that girl that would shock people when they found out I smoked. I think I have that innocent look maybe?

        I heard about Rara… I can’t even believe that’s real! How do things like that happen??? I don’t “know” her, but I’ve followed her blog since I’ve been on WP… it’s just so incredibly messed up.

        Definitely keep me in the loop on the blog you’re working on. I’ve been itching to write some stuff…


        Things like that happen because it’s an unjust world. But we are all working hard to get her everything she needs. I just put some more money in her commissary account.

        She was my first friend on WP. To be honest, I’m a little lost without her.

        I’ve contacted the others, and we’re putting a meeting together. It’s called “The Stories That Must Not Die.” Rara already posted in it, before she went to jail.

        It’s her legacy to us. It will be amazing.


    Fuck. Keen. Brilliant! Not only can you walk the talk, you can rock the storytelling as well! Loved it S.


    Aaaaand you should post part four now.

    I’m the type of guy where I’ll get into trouble if I do something wrong. I was the underage college kid who was caught with a fake ID, after dropping his wallet on a bus during the day. The university police blatantly looked through my wallet and found it. Urinating next to a dumpster, hidden from anyone except for a curious passing cop, got me in handcuffs for disorderly conduct despite my full cooperation.

    Oh well…


      Yay, Chris MALONE is here!

      Christopher, do you know that today, you can get a sex offender charge for urinating in public?

      Can you IMAGINE? The rest of your life ruined, because you couldn’t hold in your pee.

      Stupid cop. HE was disorderly. Or perhaps he wanted a closer look…


        I’m always here. I’m just quiet. 🙂

        Just for urinating in public? Good thing I’ve increased my urination endurance. My life would be ruined. I’d be pissed.

        I wasn’t that sauced, and when he — he was probably my age or a year older — pulled up my record and said, “You have a clean record.”

        No. Shit. He probably did the same thing and maybe even more than once.

        If he wanted a closer look, so be it. He’d be breaking Bro-code protocol, and he’d be left with jealousy to boot.


        That’s uh, good to know about the jealousy.

        Yes, pulling out your wee wee in public to urinate can result in a sex offender charge.

        I’m glad you’re not quiet tonight. I’m quiet a lot, too. I think I need to comment more so people know I’m there.


    Whoa, wicked stuff! I would have had a damn heart attack! So yeah, never been arrested, but did have a warrant out for my arrest because of my dickhead ex. But never got arrested then either. That’s scary stuff girl! Can’t wait for the next installment.


      Your Ex got a warrant out for your arrest?

      Giiirrrll, I thought I had the worst possible Ex. You might have me beat.

      Although, I’m not sure that’s a contest either of us wants to win. Who’s Ex was the biggest dickhead.

      Thanks for reading. Hopefully, the next one is the last…


        oh for sure the next one is the last!

        yeah my ex was a douche, but the detective told me that he wasn’t going to serve the warrant, and that I was
        to call him if my ex ever came near me again…lol…that kind of backfired on the dumb ass.


        Are all ex’s douches?

        Is that a requirement?

        Dickhead, douche- you’re on fire tonight! Do you blog about him?

        I’ve never really written about mine. Maybe eventually.


        yeah I blogged about him stalking me for 5 years and me ending up in Canada because of it. Mine was a narc….so ….there’s my last nick for him LOL


        Woah, strange.

        I’m having some stalker-ish problems with the Ex as well. But I damn well am NOT moving to Canada.

        Narcs suck. Sorry to any police officers who may be reading this.


    Damn. I just ate like 19 pieces of dark chocolate while I was reading this. Didn’t even know that was possible.


    Jolly good wheeze what what. Seriously good edge of my seat stuff.

    Only been arrested once. Murder suspect. It wasn’t me I never did it guv honest


      NO WAY!!

      Is this TRUE?

      With Rara in jail, I would honestly believe anyone did anything anymore.

      “Guv” I love that. And when Lizzi types “innit”


        Unfortunately yes its true. Straight up. Bit of a funny / sad story. Few years ago. Young girl murdered. Body dumped close to where I lived. Road blocks. Big hunt. My then house mate was stopped. Police told him they had spoken to every male in the area. “Every male but one” said my pal. 20 minutes later blue lighted heavy squad take me away “for a wee natta” of a day or so. Strangely enough its referred to in (drum roll) a blog, think its called ‘Almost Loves’


        Wow. Why would your house mate be so stupid? Or was it on purpose?

        What’s a “wee natta”? Translate, please.

        And that would be your blog we’re talking about, yes?


        Hope the Manchurian accent doesn’t get in the way haha


        “Hey Johnny – get over it. Some of us have done some serious murders”

        Did he really say that???


        John Cooper Clarke consistently leaves me struggling for breath with aching sides from laughing. I recommend his ‘poem’ called TWAT, especially when you’re angry with someone. Listen to him giving it up and you’ll understand.


        “A wee natta” is a dry way of saying we’re going to make you sing like a canary about anything we choose. Otherwise known as Interrogation.

        Yes, me blog

        My mate was getting some pay back (revenge) for something I’d done a few weeks earlier. He’d a rather refined sense of humour. He did apologise later, saying he’d no idea they would take what he said seriously. Yeah right!


        Oh, that was a joke? Really?

        I don’t find anything to do with the police funny. Nothing.

        “A wee natta.” It’s like a British gangster thing. I like it.

        Wait- are there British gangsters?


        What I’d done previously was quite bad. But it was an accident.

        There’s no such thing as an off duty bobby. Thats for sure.

        “Gangster in th UK” din’t they do a gig at the Elephant and Castle in 1979?

        No gangster dudes in good ol’ Blighty. Maybe a ruffian or two


    What a perverse thing the male psyche is.

    Oh, I don’t know. I’d like to think it’s not as different from the female psyche as it’s reported to be. Men do look for challenges, but they also look for attitude, demeanor, presence. I’d also say maybe he looked to you because your non-verbal cues didn’t say “maneater”.

    Granted, I am a guy. You’d think I’d maybe be clued in to these things, right? ‘Course, I can’t speak for all guys. Some really are vomit-eating dogs.

    The back of a police car is strange looking. There are no handles on the doors or window mechanisms. There’s a grill separating you from the front seat.

    I know this setting. It involves long stories I’ll have to tell another time.


      I think he just wanted what was NOT on the menu. I used to dress as dorky as possible for just that reason.

      Hmmm, experience in a police car, huh? Not fun stuff. Maybe you’ll have to blog about it.


        Yeah, I thought I had a blog post about it, but I don’t think I do. One was my last trip inpatient– it’s as painful a memory for Cimmy and Princess as much as it is for me. Another time was just getting a lift from a trooper when I ran out of gas.


    Holy cow. Edge of my seat. (And of course I’ve never been arrested. Who would ever think little ol’ me was capable of anything naughty? Snicker, snicker.)


      Okay. There’s something about that “snicker snicker” that makes me think you are QUITE capable of something naughty.

      Do you know I actually put off writing this part of the story because I didn’t want to think about this?

      I’m on a roll now…


        That better mean you’re writing it soon. (I won’t push you on the full-length memoir… yet.)


        Everyone seems to think I can write a book about this, but it’s already been done!

        Although I could put ALL my New York stories together and write a book…



    When I saw this was up, I was like “Thank you, god!” I have been waiting and waiting. Only for more waiting for Chapter 4. You are a frustrating lady. In a good way, but still. I can only take so much!


      I’m sorry! I just commented to Jen that I put off writing this part because I didn’t want to think about all the details! I’m a coward, I admit it!

      I promise. Next part will be next week, and it’s definitely the end.

      I can only take so much! hahahaha


        I was feeling some anxiety reading this. I hope you turn out okay and don’t get murdered and are now blogging from beyond the grave. What? It could happen…



        I commented to Lizzi that obviously I survived, because here I am, but I never thought about zombie blogging…


        That’s why I am handy to keep around. I’m always thinking…

    yeseventhistoowillpass May 13, 2014 at 12:31 am

    Murder charges in this state? No… The guy slipped on a knife…. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it…


      Master P, you scare me sometimes!

      I read your post about your son working in PetCo and loving the fish tanks.

      I always around. Sometimes, I’m just quiet.
      Your grasshopper

        yeseventhistoowillpass May 13, 2014 at 10:37 am

        Why do I scare you my child? My son works at the store now in Union Square some place in New York. He is young and thinks he knows it all.. Ahh youth.. Be good to yourself young grasshopper…


    Girl, I just met you & here you are instantly grabbing my interest. That’s an admirable trait. Now I have to backtrack & read your parts 1 & 2.
    I’m glad I clicked your follow button.


    Did three days in a Mexican jail. Nothing like this.


    Not bad trouble… no. And my two close calls weren’t even all that close. I once shot a neighbor with a air rifle – the bb lodged behind her ear and she required surgery to remove it. I was young enough to stay out of trouble, but old enough to have known better. And then I have the misdemeanor on my record: Hit and run – failure to locate. Damage done to the other car: zero. Did I actually hit it? Yes. Did I then leave without leaving a note? Yes. So, the charge was fine… but, for zero damage I sure have paid for that decision in restitution, court fees, and outrageous insurance costs ever since. Insurance companies don’t differentiate between Hit and Run: Failure to Locate, and Felony Hit and Run where there is property and personal damage.
    Those were the two times I got to talk to the nice police officers that responded, and then for the H&R I got to go through the whole court process too. Good times. But, there were probably other times where I was even closer to big trouble but was lucky enough not to get caught.


      The air rifle story I know. That was an amazing post you wrote.

      The victimless hit and run? More legal absurdities. We’re a little too familiar with those these days, now aren’t we?

      I’ve always felt that people who never got into trouble were not better behaved. Just smart enough not to get caught.


        Yes. I should have been smarter. If I’d left immediately after striking the car, nobody would have had time to write down my license plate – but I actually stopped and looked for damage, and then waited a few minutes to see if the owner would come out of the store, looked for damage again … it was a hot day and my car doesn’t have a/c … and then shrugged and left. Plenty of time for people to write down my plate #. Lesson learned, right? Don’t give people the opportunity.


        You’re just too honorable in a dishonorable world. You’re still young, you’ll catch on.

        I car without AC is a nightmare in traffic, isn’t it? Yikes!


        Yes, a nightmare. But, luckily it doesn’t ever get that hot here. It’s truly bad only two or three weeks out of the year. The rest of the time all I need is to open a window and I’m fine.
        Silly, I already know that I’m too honorable in a dishonorable world. I’ve known that for a long time… but, I refuse to change. Partially because it’s just who I am. And partially because being honorable is the right thing to do, despite what everyone else is doing… or, rather, because of what everyone else is doing.


    I just wanted you to know that I am here and reading. I’ve been lurking a bit lately. This story is riveting. I cant wait to hear the end.


      Lurking is FINE. I lurk all the time, just so I can read as many blogs as possible.

      I’m feeling conflicted about that. I should comment more. Or at least hit “like.” But I’m conflicted about hitting like, as well.



        I so get that. But then I feel bad for not liking. Like my ‘like’ is going to make a huge difference. But then again, I know it does for me sometimes. And then I make everything way too complicated. As usual.


        Blogging is SO complicated.

        Either I have time to write, post, answer comments-
        Or I’m reading other blogs.

        My time management sucks.


        Mine too! I’m glad to hear it isn’t just me.


    Girl, I’ve been in Jail TWICE!! The first time it was a holding cell, the second time it was Brooklyn Central Booking. Arrested, fingerprinted, ugly mug shot…the whole shit. I wrote about it in a short post called “jail.” Not only was I arrested, the prosecution wanted 50K in bail. The judge set it at 10K. The girls in my cell thought I was a murderer. Why else would a well dressed skinny white girl be in Brooklyn Central Booking. AND…I was in the NY Rags for days. The reporters wouldn’t leave me alone. All stemming from the scandal I can’t write about. Can’t wait to read parts 1 & 2 and looking forward to part 4!! Excellent details. I think I’ve tried to erase that experience from my memory!!



      I HELD OFF writing this part for weeks, because I didn’t want to dredge up these memories.

      But a dear friend is in jail now, and I had to write this.

      Yeah, us skinny nice white girls, we don’t actually fit in these places, do we?

      I’m interested in reading your story. Yeah, they kept me in for days. Motherfuckers.

      However, my mug shot was ADORABLE. I made sure of that shit.


        I want a mug shot do-over!! They should offer those.


        And give a sistah a chance to fix her face! A little lipstick isn’t going to shank anybody!
        The lighting sucks..


        I went through the ringer before I even got to the mug shot portion of my experience. My attorney made me give her all if my stuff. I went in with the clothes on my back! If I had known it would be all over the internet & newspapers, I would have asked to fix my hair & face a little. I still want a do over!!!


        The Internet and the newspapers?????

        You sure know how to stir up a little intrigue!! Inquiring minds want to know..


        I want to write about it so badly, but I can’t. Civil suit still pending. Let’s just say I was in the papers for dats and my photo still pops up from time to time. What pisses me off is that it’s all bullshit. Ugh. My biggest wish is for the internet to somehow erase all of it’s contents so my daughter never stumbles upon that shit.


    You really are one of the most powerful writers I know.


      NO. WAY.

      Damn. That’s cause you feel me. Cause something tells me, jail or not, you’ve been in your share of tight jams.

      Love you, friend.


        I used to specialize in tight jams… but I am sort of stuck keeping this blog family friendly so my future grandchildren can read about me some day… so I can’t tell the juicy stories… but I love that you can…


        Well, darlin’ – if you want to, there will be a place to post the stories you can’t tell on YOUR blog.

        Rara left a group of us a blog to manage. It’ll be publicized soon. It’s for the stories that don’t fit on your own blog. Or anywhere.

        I love me some juicy stories…


        That sounds a little less than secure, but I will bear it in mind… thanks.


    I like that you thought to hide the book. I mean, I don’t support duplicity but if you’re in a situation, you have to be smart.

    anxiously awaiting part 4


      Okay, the fact that you, and only you, honed in on that VERY IMPORTANT DETAIL tells me that oh my god
      because you have a – shrewd mind.

      Yes. That’s what we’ll call it.


    Oh man, I read this too early in the day and didn’t have my wine with me. Dios Mio!! What terror you must have been feeling.

    I haven’t had the privilege of being arrested – yet… but there is still plenty of time. 🙂


      NO WINE?

      Yes, one must have wine for a story like this. Or perhaps, a Xanax?

      You’d better not get arrested! Behave! Who’s going to bail you out of jail – your grown children??

      Thank you for tweeting this. You’re so supportive. And I really appreciate that!


    Holy shite! This is a great story (writing wise). You weave quite a yarn, my friend. I’m assuming everything turned out okay for the time being, considering what I know about you now. Hope I’m right!!


      Well, my little gargleblaster, I’m not DEAD, so I survived…

      Turned out okay? I suppose so. Depends on what you mean by okay.

      And I appreciate the high praise coming from a yarn-spinner such as yourself!
      And the use of the word “shite.” *bossnod*


    Oh, Samara! This is horrible. Terror is right. I know you ended up in one piece and out of there. But how and when? I hope you didn’t have to spend another minute there!! What happens next? Way to leave me hanging. I’m wondering where your boss was when this went down? Hmm…where was she? She, right? Thanks for sharing this. I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy.


      Yes. My boss.

      Well, I’m out- otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here typing my wee fingers off, right?

      But it was every bit as disgusting and scary as it sounds.

      And it took me – a month? To post this part. I didn’t want to relive jail. But my dear friend Rara is there right now. If she can survive the reality, I can survive the memory.


        Oh my God, that’s awful! Poor Rara. I’ve been wondering how she is doing. Well, I can see why you would not want to relive this. So scary!!!


    Please, is this a fiction? Soft, clean and inpirational. I love the way the paragraphs allowed me to breath, and feel wanting to know what happened next. Wonderful!


    WHAAAAT? Are you telling me that the female lock up in reality is nothing like the one portrayed in porn? Damn, another dream bites the dust. Really enjoying you story.


    Holy helllllllllllllllllll.


      Holy hell is right, Batman!

      I’m so happy you came to visit my blog, and what a story you came in on!

      I just hope I don’t get shanked in Part 4…


        Girl… I obsessively read all your posts when I discovered your blog a week or so ago. Loves it.

        Some things are just so good, there are no words, thus “holy hell”

        🙂 Looking forward to the shank, haha


        Yay!! Thank you for being so supportive!

        Maybe…not about the shanking???


    Holy hell, your story is fascinating and terrifying. I am so glad you survived and are out. I was arrested for a DUI once and cried the entire time. And that was in suburban Kansas – no one else was even in the holding cell.


      Toto, we were DEFINITELY not in Kansas anymore!

      I’m sorry. I had to say that!

      Thank you for being glad I’m out and survived.

      And mostly for coming to visit and play on my blog! I love meeting new people!


    GIRL. That is some scary-ass shiz! Seriously. I’m such a chicken-shit, I would’ve been crying in the fetal position the second I saw a cop. I CANNOT WAIT for part 4.

    Many moons ago I did something that, had I been caught, I would’ve most certainly been convicted for. I don’t talk about it often, but when I do I’m drunk. (hahaha I used the Dos XX formula there). I was a nervous WRECK afterwards. Every door knock was the police (I assumed), and I’m very very lucky it never was. I was mixed up with some bad people….and I was not making very good decisions. GAWD. That was over twenty years ago. Can’t believe I was ever that girl.


      Bethie, I can’t believe I was ever THIS girl.
      It’s like it happened to someone else.

      It did. I’m not her anymore. I’m not me, either.
      I’m somewhere…in between.


    Sweet frikkin mercy. Ok need the conclusion to come soon. Am so happy that I got yr blog from Hastywords.


    And I thought I walked the razor’s edge at work…


    Wow. You are an incredible writer – I really enjoyed reading this piece. 🙂 Haven’t been arrested but have been in some tight spots with various dodgy officials in various dodgy countries, but that’s all.


    Holy cow. This post is like a Law & Order episode come to life in the worst possible way. I can’t wait to read part 4!


    Ok. Where the hell is part 4? You have a) a fascinating life or b) a wonderful gift for spinning a yarn. In any event, you raced right up to become one of my favorites!


      hahahahha! Good question! Where IS part 4?

      I ran out of steam with this story. I must finish it, even though I don’t like to think about what happens is Part 4.

      Thank you for being a new visitor to my blog. I love making new friends!


    Love this. I’ve been sitting here for two hours. I’d love to read Part 4. Glad that you are here to tell the story. 🙂


      I’m glad I am, too.

      Wow. I’m excited that the “cool kids” from Facebook are on my blog!! Thanks for reading!

      I’ll be honest- I never wrote Part 4, and I don’t think I’m going to. There are certain things best left in the past.. .


    I really love your writing, all your articles are so interesting and engaging, I love hearing about your experiences and your blog makes me feel such a range of emotions. Your one of my blogging idols and were the first blog I started reading, I know you said you weren’t going to but I’d love you to do part four, but if you don’t I know you’ll keep me engaged whatever you write.


      I’m sorry it took me so long to respond to this comment! It was in my dashboard awaiting moderation and I didn’t see it
      Thank you for saying such wonderful things about my blog. xo

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