Mother’s Day is almost a week away, and I’m already beginning to pamper myself. Waaaaay too many of this girl’s girlfriends wait for others to give them flowers and spa gift cards. Well, this girl don’t! I went to the spa this weekend and nearly got a happy ending from a (hottie) guy masseuse who was way too liberal with his thumb. I had to tell him that I was married to a cop*, and if he proceeded to touch me like that, I would have him brought up on ag-assault charges. He laughed, I didn’t. It creeped me out and I told my friend who owns the place, who is a guy, who has crushed on me for a while now, that his masseur was touching me in way that only one’s lover should. Really!

Then I told one of the girls that was getting a mani-pedi while I got rubbed-down, and she went and got a rub-down while I got my nails polished. She let the hottie do what he does best and tipped well accordingly. What a whacky morning that was. We told our friends that we met for lunch and we were split on the topic. Half of them wanted the guy’s card (and most of them were in some type of LTR), and the other half thought it creepy… skin crawling creepy, not Freddy from Nightmare on Elm St. creepy. (By the way, I saw Nightmare on Elm St. One-word review: S-C-A-R-Y!)

Anyway, I thought I’d ask you. What do you think? It was only sixty years ago when…

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…a woman could go to a doctor and get one polished-out for her. Doctors, for decades, did that for us. Vibrators weren’t sold to us gals at home, we had to go and let a doctor do us; some didn’t use vibrators to get the job done. They rhythmically let their fingers do the walking, if you know what I mean… And remember, most docs made house calls! Now that is creepy!

Ok, what would you do? No, not if your masseuse suddenly thumbed you. But, what if you had a friend who, over a casual lunch one day, told you that she had a guy (or girl) masseuse that would rub one out for you like you couldn’t imagine; it was so relaxing afterward that you would make weekly appointments, like she did. What would you do? Would you call and try it once? Well, would you? Let us know here. Or, do it anonymously and I will post it for you here. Send your comments and questions in to me at help@letletthelp.com. All names are changed to protect people’s identity and all submissions are considered for publication.

Now onto the D Files: We are getting a bit closer to the marrow of the issue in this one. The secret about Bea’s past, which was never in question in the first place, is coming out. She now has to face the music. Or does she? She can run again! Read on to see if she holds her ground or runs for the hills and we never get to learn the truth.

The D Files

Confessions of a Male (Ex) Stripper

Part Three: Starting the New Year off with a Bang

By Letty Livingston

Let’s catch you up on what’s been going on in town. On a night soon after Christmas, Lisa, Angelica, Nikki and Freddie were out for drinks. Bea showed up late, as usual, and they saw a super hot guy across the room. Bea ran from the table looking like she had just seen a ghost. Freddie brought the hottie over to the table and the girls found out that his name is Tyler and that he is Bea’s ex-husband. None of us knew that Bea had an ex-husband, let alone one that looked like a Ford model.

Angelica got his number and gave it to me. Everyone was relying on me to get to the bottom of what was going on. I called Tyler and we made an appointment—(I almost said “date”)—to have lunch. He and I sat down at Rum Bar the very next day.

He told me how he and Bea met when they were in their teens. He was her first love(r), and they got married when she turned eighteen. He confessed to doing steroids and lots of drugs and drinking. Tyler also told me he was a stripper and that he slept with many of the women who came to see his show. He said he left Bea for a few weeks to be with a woman who looked like Julia Roberts, and that Bea was “consoled” by her oddball millionaire boss.

Tyler told me that this millionaire left his wife and kids to be with Bea and then got Bea pregnant. When Bea wound-up carrying his child, he went back to his wife. Bea went to Tyler to see if he’d take her back. He didn’t. He left her alone, carrying some rich guy’s baby. They got divorced, and twenty years later, Tyler was back in town to find out what happened to Bea and her baby.

Holy Smokes! None of us had ever heard that Bea had a baby. She never mentioned it, not once. She is a brat most of the time and she uses men as her personal bank account. But we never imagined that it was because she was dumped pregnant and penniless by not one man, but two, when she was just a teenager.

I almost didn’t know what to do with all of this information. Tyler asked me to help him reconnect with Bea. I explained to him that Bea was not the sweet innocent girl that he described, and that I really needed some face-time with Bea before I could promise him anything.

So, here we are; it is a day before New Year’s Eve and I am waiting for Bea to meet me at DiBruno Brothers on Chestnut Street, here in Rittenhouse. I already have a steaming cup of spiced hot cocoa. My palms are sweating, and it isn’t from the warm cup in my hands. I am a bit afraid of what is about to transpire. I don’t know what Bea is capable of—you know, kill the messenger and all.

I see her walk in. She spots me, and motions with a gloved hand that she is going to get a beverage. I smile and hold up my cup so she doesn’t think I want anything—not that she’d get me anything. I sip my whipped cream and give myself a frothy mustache. Just then, Bea arrives. “I always took you for a spitter.” I licked the foam clean and told her that swallowing is my little way of saying thanks. She laughed and sat down.

She had a curious look on her face. She knew something was up. I didn’t want to pussyfoot around the issue, so I just went for it.

“Tyler is in town and I had lunch with him. He told me everything.” I said it in one breath, like I was confessing to a crime.

“Everything?” Bea asked.

“Everything.” I said with consolation in my voice.

Bea’s shoulders began to shake and her eyes welled up. And then it came: Heavy sobs from deep inside of her. They surfaced in waves. I brought her close to me and hugged her. “It’s going to be okay Bea.” I told her. She cried for a while.

The barista came over and asked if everything was all right. Bea twisted her head around and before she could spit her venom, I told him that we were okay and that he should not worry. I hugged Bea for another moment or so.

“Let’s get out of here.” Bea said, as she dried her eyes.

We both got up and donned our wool coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. We picked up our cardboard cups and headed out to Rittenhouse Park. The park is only a couple of blocks away and pedestrian traffic was thin. There were still piles of ill-colored snow packed against the sides of buildings and slushy, undulating puddles at every corner. But we managed to navigate our way into the park without falling down on any black ice patches.

The park was practically empty and the statues and trees still held onto the snow that had fallen over the past few days. “Does everyone know?” was the first thing that Bea uttered since we had walked out of DiBruno.

“Just me.” I told her. The condensate froze from my words and its steam dissipated slowly. It was that cold out here. “How about a snow angel?” I asked, as we walked past a patch of virginal snow.

“I have to get back to the office.” Bea said. But she stopped in front of the field that had no footprints on it.

“It’ll take a minute.” I said and took a step toward the snow-covered lawn.

Bea followed. We didn’t speak. I took a few steps onto the fresh snow. Bea followed in my footprints. I plopped down on the right side and Bea fell on the left. We both waved our arms and legs, pushing the snow from underneath us. Our hands just about touched and when we thought that our imprints were thoroughly swept, we got up; still not a word had passed between us.

I stepped behind Bea and began to brush the snow off her back. She did the same for me when I finished. She whipped out her iPhone and took a picture of our snow angels. “I’ll send it to you.” Bea said. And we made our way toward the exit.

“He took Sam. Sam—short for Samantha. He took her and moved away, far away. His wife accepted the child and I haven’t heard from her, ever. I don’t know if she even knows I exist.” Bea’s eyes were dry. She walked and talked as if she were in a trance. “When I saw Tyler the other night, all of those pent-up emotions flooded back to me. I had buried them so deep inside of me, I never thought I would have to face them again.”

“He wants to see you.” I told her.

“I’ll sit down with him.” She quipped back. “I’m not mad at him. . .anymore. Sure, I can sit down with Tyler and talk about things.”

“What about Sam?” I asked carefully.

“We need to find her.” Bea stopped walking and stared straight into my eyes. “I want to tell everyone the truth and then I want to find Sam.”

“Done.” I said. “Let’s meet tonight, tell the gang all about what happened, and then we can map out a plan to find Sam.”

“Good! I am going to do it. That will be my New Year’s resolution. I am going to find my daughter!”

And that was that. Bea walked uptown, and I jumped in a cab and called the girls. We were going to meet at my house and have a talk. They wanted to know what all the secrecy was about. I told them they’d have to wait until tonight to find out. But, I promised them it was HUGE news!!!

So, that’s it. Next week I will let you know how the meeting went. I invited Tyler. I didn’t tell Bea, but the other girls know. It is going to be an explosive meeting and you have ringside seats for it all. We are going to find out about Sam, the father, and see how the Tyler and Bea face-off goes. So, be sure to come back for the next installation of The D Files.

I will be answering my readers’ dating and relationship questions, so send them, along with your comments to me at help@letlettyhelp.com. All submitted material is considered for publication and all names are kept in the strictest of confidence. Come back next week for another installment of The D Files and you can read more of my work at:

http://www.fixmylove.com/blog/entry/this-blog-will-affect-the–b-rest-of-your-life–150/

©MMX~Letty Livingston ~ The D Files are intended as inspiring and engaging sources for advice and not alternatives for therapeutic intervention, should it be needed. All names have been changed to protect the identity of the people mentioned herein.

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