Uncle Bubba’s Courtesan Winter Relief Program
A mistress home alone on Christmas Day is a terrible thing!
It is the hazard of their lifestyle choice that few young women consider. It begins in the time when they have all the freedom of an adult, but their hormones are flowing like that of a teenager. They get involved with a wealthy, married man. Perhaps she is a student intern for the famous US Senator, Beauregard T. Cornpone. Discrete association with him in hidden places or that favorite little restaurant and inn near Winchester, VA is rewarded by being placed in glamorous events that college boys can’t provide. Glamorous, exciting weeks turn into glamorous, exciting months and maybe two or three glamorous years . . . but then the years of being alone on her birthday, if it falls on a weekend, or definitely Thanksgiving and Christmas, takes its toll.
Sooner or later, the not-so-young woman sees her first gray hair and then realizes that she has given up her life, her right to bear children, for a man who will always consider her the R & R , which is due him because of his achievements and wealth. She thinks back, time to time about all the young men, who she pretended to date in order to cover up an affair. At least in her mind, it is too late to do anything about her trap. She is past 40 now and her married man has already having dalliances with young women the same age that she was when making the foolish assumption that he would leave his wife and children for her.
This trap happens over and over again in environments that intelligent, attractive young women are attracted to. My dear friend, Deena Flowers, was a therapist at the US Department of State during the 1980s. One of the Department of State’s most respected administrators came to her after attempting suicide. Twenty years earlier, at age 19, she had been a summer intern with a young congressman from a wealthy family. After their initial fling, he persuaded her to change colleges so she could remain in Washington. He paid the tuition. She told her family that she had been awarded a scholarship. The endless strings of lies began. He paid for post-graduate degree from New York City’s most prestigious university, when he became Ambassador to the United Nations. She returned to an important position in the Department of State when he returned to Washington. As always, he paid for a luxury townhouse in a discrete neighborhood of Alexandria, VA. When he became Vice President, she saw much less of him, but with his enormous, seemingly occult power, he would arrange for her to be assigned to be in situations, where they could be alone together and only the Secret Service would know.
Then . . . he decided to run for President. The day before he was to make that announcement some men-in-black came to her office and told her to join them for dinner. She was told that if she expected to stay alive, she would never contact him again or hear from him again. She was ordered to resign her prestigious career job with the State Department and leave the country as soon as her townhouse sold. She was given a large sum of money to make the transition. Nevertheless, at age 41 she had been dumped into the Sea of Anonymity without even a thank you.
Deena did the best she could to help the mental health of the woman under circumstances, but there were scars that would never heal. Soon the townhouse in Alexandria sold and her patient was informed that an apartment and monthly allowance in Paris had been arranged. Her ex-lover was elected President. She continued to be silent and keep her part of the deal. However, she disappeared from her apartment late one night just before the Presidential inauguration. The security video cameras in the apartment building had been mysteriously disconnected so no one saw the circumstances of her departure from the apartment without her pocketbook or car keys. She was never seen again and the French Securite’ made no effort to find her . . . or her body. Deena died a few years later of cancer.
Young women, it is not a matter of age difference. My grandmother’s mother was 28 and my great-grandfather was 78 when they married. They had a happy, loving marriage for the next 24 years. However, a man who cheats on his wife and then is unwilling to make a public commitment to the “other women” is no better that the slave owner at a plantation. There is only one way the story is going to end. The “other woman” will have a portion of her life stolen from her and most likely get very, very hurt. Think before you leap! Christmas is a good time to remind yourself of that warning.
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