Heavy Petter

He texts me on my drive and says, "Meet me for tea at The Ritz Carlton". So I go there and have to pay $35 just to park.. I'm not a fan of paying for parking at all. Im less of a fan of the aggressive ticketing and booting of people's vehicles that is so obnoxiously obsessive in San Francisco. Im glad I wore my best naked gown which covers where it counts in vintage ivory silk with gold painted roses, and features a train. I know this is an impressive gown. People are staring and hushedly commenting "How is that staying up on her?" The secret is flesh colored fine tulle, invisible against the skin, but holds like fabric. I spy him on the second dining tier, covering his walrus body with a newspaper. He peeps over his paper, and quickly covers himself again, as if he "isn't interested". He's actually nervous. "Good morning!" I beam at him, and do a twirl which shows that this dress also offers a peep of butt cleavage. His squinty face remains untouched by surprise. "Ok, ok, good show, now down to business. I have another investor ready with a $50,000 check. I want to get $250,000 before we launch so we can do it properly." I'm skeptical, "You have two checks now?". He sighs and raises one eyebrow at me. "I'm very well connected". Still feeling suspicious, "How did you get the checks so quickly?" I ask. "I didn't even sleep last night! I have already met with two old friends who believe in my belief in you with such trust that they gave me these checks on the spot! While you were getting your 'beauty rest' I have been working for you! Now I have a contract being made up and as your producer, we are going to be splitting profits 50/50. You can't do this without me. I have all the connections, I've already produced two successful lines in France, I know how to market, I know how to sell." I really didn't care, I just wanted it done, after my first failed attempt of doing it on my own with ethically sourced fabrics and local production house, and heading the patterns and having the samples made, and no one buying anything... I had given up that dream, and if he wanted to make it happen now, he can just do it and il take what I can get. It was true, I couldn't do it on my own. I had lost big time, everything I'd ever saved believing that I could. It cost too much, and even at cost, everyone thought the dresses were too expensive at $150 to $250 each. So I signed the contract and asked him what I could do to help this come along faster. He said we would have to meet two to four times a week to discuss specifics, and he would handle the rest. Fier the next month, I drove back and forth to his apartment where we would get in his ultra special "one of a kind custom BMW", that I really thought was not a comfy car, and I would drive us from restaurant to restaurant. Every single place we went, he wanted me to wait for him to enter, then he would tell the waitstaff or owner, who he imagined were his friends, but were really just people being good to their high paying customer, "watch this.. Here comes my Suzette". At which point I would dramatically enter, and he would hold out his hand and twirl me in whatever gown I was wearing. We even did this in delis, and for his dry cleaner. Slowly, I realized I was just carting him around so he could run errands. I found out here couldn't drive because he haff no driver's license. I didn't think that was suspicious then because twice in my young adult life my license was revoked. He wanted to tell me stories from his illustrious past like this one, "I met the most beautiful woman in the world dancing at a night club I owned in the early 80s. She was unhappily married to a billionaire, and we had a passionate lovers affair that made it impossible for me to ever truly love again." He ate very slowly, often getting a bite of food ready on his fork, then using the food laden fork as a conductor's baton to lead his symphonic story. It would sit there swinging around for minutes before landing in his mouth. For this reason, lunch often took hours, which annoyed me because I was still poor and he soaked up so much of my time I was able to work half as much, and was spending a fortune on gas and bridge tolls. "Hmm, well what happened to her?" I asked reluctantly. He would be irritated if I didn't ask. He looked down very seriously, "she was stolen from me... One day we went on a secret trip to Hawaii and I begged her to leave her husband so we could be free together. She had a hard time leaving his money, even though I had enough to care for her. We were making love on a private beach we had sailed to when a helicopter approached. It was her husband. He got out and they fought and he hit her and I begged her to stay with me, and then he carried her into the helicopter and they flew away. I never heard from her again". I ate all the plates of Chinese food so that by the time he was done talking there was no more food to continue his lingering eating process, and we could go. Except, he looked at me, told me I was getting fat shovelling it in like that, and ordered another round of everything... I figured I would die there by the time he was done. He then told me about his many girlfriends. He said he was a man who liked obedient girls. His best girlfriend, who recently haff to move away, was so sweet that she would bring him the newspaper every morning. She would service him every night, however he asked, then she would curl up at the foot of the bed. She wore a leather and diamond collar and he renamed her "Ruby". "Are you talking about a girlfriend or your pet?" I was confused.. it sounded like he was talking about a dog.. "She was both, I am a master, and my girlfriends are pets." I didn't look surprised, "Oh, of course, silly me, continue!" I was actually very surprised and grossed out. Here went on to describe the harness she wore, how he made her walk on all fours only, how sweetly pathetic and dependent she was.. he remembered his pitiful puppy girl fondly. I recognized him as an insecure, mentally and physically (and rightfully so), man who cold only be aroused by forcing women to pretend to be less than him, in fact a dog, so that he could feign a sense of being needed. Of course, like many men on this role, he didn't seem to connect that he had to pay to play, because the reality is, no one actually loved or wanted him. So it went on like this for a while with me always pushing for more news about how the fashion line was coming along, and he would show me another check, one was $100,000! One night as I was dropping him off at home, he said he had a special gift for me (he said this every night to get me to come up to his apartment with him, and he made sure everyone saw us). The gifts were things like "ancient rare priceless herbal tea" from Morocco in his authentic pewter silver tea set, Ultra Fine Ink Dip Pen sets from his days when he built his empire on selling fine pens, and a set of opera binoculars in a case. This time, the gift was him reciting a French song called, "Suzette" to me as a poem. He had me sit beside him on the couch. He played the song and spoke the verses in spitty French while the singer croned on. I held my breath as long as I could, afraid of gagging on the stench of his breath. Occasionally I'd turn my head as if I heard something and take a short gasp in. Finally the song ended, then he said, "wait there!" Got up, started it again, then sat even closer sho he was touching me, put his hand on my thigh and wiggled his eyebrow as he whispered, "now, in English". I almost asphyxiated, but obviously lived. My face was wet with his spit, it even hit my eyes and lips. He even came to my town and met my parents, who I had told all about this fashion designer who was going to produce my line. They were grateful to him, shook his hand, and showered him with incredulous thanks. Finally he had produced enough checks to make up a quarter million dollars, which is what he said we needed to do it right. I was so excited, "Let's go cash them and do this!!!" I yelped, delighted that all my putting up with him was going to bring about my dreams. We were at his apartment and he brought sub par croissants which he insisted were better than the ones from my town's bakery which was fucking not even close to true. Im pretty sure he had costco croissants.. Anyways, he brings out a stack of paper, and im signing, signing, signing paperwork, and then he says, "and before I make you the wealthiest female fashion designer, there is one more contract, which is between you and I only. I'll let you look it over". My heart flew out my throat and my stomach and ther palms of my hands turned to black hole aching pits. It was a sex slave contract. I was too wear a collar and harness which he would control. I would not speak with any other males. I would refer to him as master. I would always be obedient. I would not beg. Disobedience was to be met with flogging. I would travel the world with him, always available to him at his convenience. My expenses would be paid in full by him, except for my horses which he would sell. I was too have no responsibilities, as I was only his pet and nothing more. He would speak for me in public. And i stopped reading. I was shaking with sadness and fury. This was all an elaborate trick for me to be his sex dog. He looked down at me and explained, "I have had many good girls as pets. I can tell that you will be the best yet". He patted my head, and I thought of jumping up and showing him how a disobedient bitch can bite a throat out.. I absolutely would have killed him if it weren't so unfortunately illegal. I stood up shakily, said, "No, thank you.." as I walked au he said, "this is a big mistake, I will have to tear up these checks if you leave now. You will continue to struggle and never get out on top without my help". I left, so shocked that I didn't even cry. My brain was overwhelmed and I just went to go brush my horses and write sad songs. Money spent, hopes crushed and so embarrassed that i would have to make up some reason to my family and friends why the $250,000 in investor checks never came about. I now suspect that they were fake checks. All the times I would listen to him "chatting up investors" and he would have me take notes on money figures and investor profit percentages, it was all a lie. All that time stolen from me. I never tried a fashion line again. Instead, I temporarily closed down my etsy, stopped making Dainty Rascal posts, stopped sewing, and became a stripper. Of course I couldn't just be a normal club stripper.. oh no.. I stripped for parties of biker gangs throughout the bay, starting with the Hells Angel's of Oakland.