Starved for sex

Before I go on, if you read this, I ask that you not judge me. I am coming clean with a highly embarrassing portion of my past, one which I am definitely not proud of.

I admit it. As of tonight, I am 37 days shy of my 38th birthday, and I am still a virgin. I have never had a truly serious relationship, save for the drama that was Renetta Rogers (read the first post of this blog). I haven’t even come close to a one-night stand. I probably should have gone down to the French Quarter a few times to see if I could end it, but I don’t drink, and I a not a fan of crowds.

When I first moved to Kansas in September 2005 following Hurricane Katrina, I began to take desperate attempts to try and lose my virginity. I joined the raunchy adult singles websites where you show naked pictures and sometimes chat on instant messenger totally naked. That phase went in and out, and I paid through the roof to join from time to time–not consecutively–because I felt depressingly lonely and hopeless. I also joined

I was back on the sites in late 2006 and early 2007, and this time, I took an even darker turn.

I began looking for escorts online. I knew there would be absolutely nothing in western Kansas, so I searched in Kansas City and the nearby towns. There was one from Overland Park who was really nice whom I talked on the phone with a couple of times, and there was another one from Lawrence with whom I exchanged e-mails. I really thought the one from Lawrence was sweet and sexy, so I made plans to meet with her on a Tuesday in January when I didn’t have any basketball game to cover.

She asked me to wire her money for our encounter, and I did, $400. She was really  nice in her e-mail after I sent the money, but when I called her the night before to confirm the time and location, she was cold and distant. I thought nothing of it.

The next day I had a ton of work to do. The Mid-Continent League basketball tournament had to be extended to the night before due to a snowstorm the previous Saturday, which meant I could not do any work Monday night. By time I finally got everything done–not very well, either–I was running late. I didn’t leave my office until after 3:30 p.m., and she expected me there at 7. I hurriedly drove east on I-70, but by time I got off the Kansas Turnpike and checked in at the Springhill Suites on the riverfront, I was running way behind.

I called her once I got to Lawrence, and she was again very cold, very angry that I was late. She told me where her house was, but once I got there and called her, she was off another tangent. She started screaming at me and told me she was scared I was going to rape her.

The rape comment sent me off the very deep end. It was bad enough to pay that money, drive all that way and then get stood up, but it was a trillion times worse to be told someone thought you would commit a crime which would send you to prison for a very, very long time. I walked through the Orleans Parish Prison as part of a field trip during my senior year of high school, and that was enough for me to know I never, ever, ever wanted to go back to prison. And I certainly could never, ever live with myself for doing something like that.

When I got back to my hotel room, I went off the really deep end of the pool. I posted suicidal messages on Facebook, which was brand new to me. I only began using Facebook five days prior and I really had not connected with that many people; most of them were athletes I covered for the newspapers I write for. Many of the girls I had friended were really scared, and rightfully so. It got so bad that someone called the Russell police department, and my grandfather answered when they knocked. My parents were living their last week in New Orleans before moving permanently to Russell, since my dad was going to retire from Air Products and Chemicals following 41-plus years of service that week. I called my dad as I was driving back to the hotel and cried and cried and cried.

The next morning, I got a call from the Russell police early in the morning, but I did not answer. I drove straight to Hays, where I was late to an appointment. When I walked into the office that afternoon, Jack and Kathy Krier were unhappy. They wondered why I scared so many people.

I had to give up Facebook from October 2009 through February 2010, so I lost a lot of my friends from my original account. The only people who were friends with me at the time of the incident and are friends with me now are Kali Roberts from Hill City and Rebekah Burgess (now Rebekah Miller) from Smith Center. Rebekah was really nice during the days after the incident, and she kept checking to make sure I was okay. She was a senior at Smith Center that year, and now she’s teaching in southern Nebraska, while her husband, Patrick, teaches science at Smith Center. A beautiful lady with a more beautiful soul.

I’ve had to be very careful as to what I post on Facebook, but anyone who was there the day of August 28, or who read my blog that day, knows I’ve had my issues. It’s not easy keeping it under wraps.

About David

I am a sportswriter for a group of weekly newspapers in small towns across northern Kansas. I grew up in New Orleans, went to college at LSU and wandered in the wilderness until Hurricane Katrina finally put me on the path to my current job.

Posted on September 6, 2014, in Personal and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. David, what’s done is done. Move forward. Can you see what really matters — sharing your talents with those of us who can’t compare with the knowledge you hold? I know other things are important too, but in the long run, what is the constant?
    Don’t know if that gives you another angle to consider, but I’m in your corner.

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