When I told her that I was celibate, she looked to the heavens and said, “Thanks, God”. I looked to the ground, the general direction of hell and thought to myself, if I rode that honey trap there would be 5,000 volts between my legs and my nuts would be roasted almonds.She was a “UN Woman” true and pure. I got the sense that she was raised by parents who did just that, raise girls into womanhood versed in tradecraft. She claims to have grown up in a family with a dozen members that included nine sisters. Although that could not be confirmed, I have met three of her sisters who I found to be very pleasant women.
She was blonde with brown eyes and a pleasant soothing voice. The first time I saw her, she came by the Cup and had coffee two tables away with a friend. The second time I saw her, she walked past me two or three times and said nothing. The third time I saw her, I was at a church gathering. Eventually, we bumped into each other around town and I took the opportunity to introduce myself. When we started hanging out together, it was at the height of my homelessness. She offered to drive me to the laundromat to wash my clothes. From there the friendship developed and expressions of kindness became the norm. She started bringing me snacks of fruits, cheeses and mineral water, giving me a taste of the good life and a welcome break from the usual faire of canned goods and old bread.
Two things occurred that quickly confirmed my suspicions. She would not have her picture taken and she wouldn’t tell me where she lived. That told me that she had other victims so I had to be extremely careful. It was an interesting battle of wits - a woman who was hell bent on having her target wrapped around her fingers and feeding off her hands. On the other side of the skirmish line was a man who made a serious vow of celibacy. When I told her that I was celibate, she looked to the heavens and said, “Thanks, God”. I looked to the ground, the general direction of hell and thought to myself, if I rode that honey trap there would be 5,000 volts between my legs and my nuts would be roasted almonds.
The conversations early on were actually funny that I had to figure out a way to engage her without laughing. The first time she expressed her interest in me, she brought me 3 large strawberries dipped in chocolate. And sometime during the conversation she threw in her line - “I don’t know why it is I feel so comfortable with you”. She looked into my eye and then she shyly looked away. So, I would look for ways to escalate just to see what she would do. In one of the conversations I asked her - “Shouldn’t you at least know why I want you? She gave me the goo-goo eyes and wouldn’t answer. But knowing she was calculating, I was curious whether the gaze was a 1000 yard stare from a veteran of wars who’ve seen unspeakable things.
By this time, I was already aware of what the FBI was trying to do and wanted to have a little bit of fun with it. They do such a poor job, it was so glaringly obvious. I’m generally unkempt and could not even purchase a lady coffee on most days. At some point I’ve lost the dental appliance that covers a front tooth I lost early in my life. I have a partially prepped front tooth that was supposed to get a crown just before I became homeless. It looks like a single vampire’s fang in the middle of my mouth. I haven’t been able to afford the balance of the work. Every time I open my mouth, I look belligerent. And she’s interested in me? That strikes me as ridiculous.
I was sure that her past targets were affluent and influential men who, for the most part, exercised much better hygiene than I did. So on one of our walks, I showed her my appreciation and did something most any important men of power would never consider doing, I gave her a foot massage. We were walking for a little while and came upon this bench in front of a Ralph’s Supermarket. She leaned on to the the huge water dispenser looking haggard allowing me to her to place her foot on my lap. Suddenly, her slippers came off. And for a number of minutes, it became my vocation - to put a smile on her face through her tired and weary feet. I knew she enjoyed it because the next time we were at the El Pollo Loco Restaurant, her feet mysteriously wondered between my legs looking for more heartfelt expressions of my gratitude. I think that was a fair expectation. She was paying for the chicken. Unfortunately, I had to disappoint her because I was eating with my hands.
My experiences with her showed me the range of emotions that her craft requires of her. You really can’t call yourself a “UN Woman” unless you can can inflict some sort of devastating psychological pain on a man. I knew it was coming and I didn’t have to wait for a long time. One of the most significant setbacks that occured to me during this whole adventure was the loss of my storage space the second time. One day she approached me asking if I could assist her with moving a piece of furniture to her storage space. She didn’t even have to ask. I was eager to help her out.
She told me that the storage was somewhat full and needed to be rearranged. So, off we went to where the FBI PsyOps Team calculated it would create consternation if not some form of depression on my part. Walking through the Aliso Viejo Storage Facility, a place that now rests as one of my personal Waterloos, where the last pieces of personal belonging that reminded me, in fact connected me to a more accomplished life, as a Mortgage Banker, were lost. Walking through the facility gave me a somber feeling, a feeling one might get when visiting a historical site, where a long and costly battle occurred and where much had been lost. It wasn’t a welcoming feeling.
It was almost predictable. Her storage space was in the same building, on the same floor and the same corridor. In fact, it was a couple of doors from my old storage space. When we opened the door, it was packed full with personal effects that nothing could have possibly been wedged in to add to its content. She didn’t even attempt to move anything. She just stood there looking at me, waiting for a reaction, waiting for some expulsion of steam, an emotional release, of anger, of dejection, of utter defeat. She got nothing.
I have been an indigent for several years now and have built up a strong mind. So, that event was actually laughable, but a good try nonetheless. It’s not to say that it didn’t bother me to lose all my things, because it did. It’s just that I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. In my current lifestyle, losing a can opener is a more serious problem than losing all my suits and Nordstrom shirts. So, I sent the FBI PsyOps Team back to the drawing board.
The next phase of her work required a level of emotional closeness and the introduction of male competition. On another posting, I’ll introduce our readers to what was conjured up to be an unfair competition for her affections. The episode is called the “Brown Recluse Spider”. It’s a play on words that entails a network of people all playing a part in a story that ends predictably. It will call for some form of male competition meant to leave me dejected, humiliated and an emotional wreck. Hence, the phrase “Wreck Lose”.
VIEW THE STORAGE FACILITY THAT WAS LOST
LAST UPDATED: September 7, 2011 - 0138PM
