Oh Lord, Help Me Keep My Panties on - By Lynda Burton Page 0,1

$10,000.

He stuck to his budget for the most part and only splurged on special occasions. He did everything he could not to deviate from his goal. He was frugal in every sense of the word! I, on the other hand, had already purchased my first house and was working on the many renovations it needed. But suddenly I was forced to move back into the family house after the untimely death of my mom. I grew up in a spacious 4 bedroom ranch, with two fireplaces, on a quiet culdesac and that’s where I was moving back to with my dog, Hobbs. I don’t know how John and I started seeing each other, but I was glad as hell when it ended. Don’t get me wrong! John was a likeable guy. He was well educated, handsome, a good cook, and family-orientated. In fact, John was a handsome, 6'3" brown-skinned, thirty-six-year-old, 240 pounds of yummy delight. He had the kind of body a girl would turn around and lick her lips at, while she was with her man!

But the only thing was, he had issues! For instance, he would have temper tantrums. He couldn’t make a decision without sitting down and discussing it with his parents first. What a drag, whatever happened to living for the moment? He would sometimes call his parents from my house and ask them to wash and iron his clothes or to make his bed because he was going out with me and his friends. Weird shit like that! When he got the things he wanted, things were great. But when you didn’t agree with him, said “no,” had another idea, or came up with a different suggestion, he became angry. He would rage hotter than a smoking gun barrel, sometimes even throwing objects around. I remember one Friday, John and I played hooky from work and planned to spend the day together before going to a concert at Madison Square Garden. Well, it was about 10:00 AM when I received a frantic call from my office. One of my co-workers had gotten sick and was rushed to the hospital. My boss desperately needed this presentation finished and asked me if I could finish it from home and e-mail it to him. He assured me that it would only take a couple of hours, and he would compensate me by giving me another day off.

When I hung up the phone, I explained the situation to John. I apologized for not spending the whole day with him as promised, but I assured him that I would still be able to hang out before we went to the concert. His eyes became small as he glared at me. Then he started flailing his hands in the air, stomping, and cursing at me. “Why in the hell did you answer the phone? Why are they calling you? Isn’t there anyone else they could have called?” Then he grabbed his clothes, dressed, then and stormed out of the front door.

He jumped into his car, started it up then left a good fifteen feet of tire tracks down the block along with a trail of smoke. I was speechless. John knew that I was the senator’s personal secretary. What was I supposed to do, leave my boss hanging? I don’t think so; this was my bread and butter. I pulled out my laptop sat down with a cup of coffee and got to work. I finished up around 1:00 PM and still had plenty of time to hang out with for John since the concert wasn’t until 8:00 PM. So I called John and let him know I was finished and that we had the rest of the afternoon. He was so upset; he told me that he was already in the city and to take the train into Penn Station and he would meet me at the concert. I asked, “Why did you go to the city so early?” He replied, “Because I was upset because you had to work.” Duh?

Another problem I had with John was our sex life. Aside from being shortchanged, he was in the beginning stages of erectile dysfunction. He was so crazed about his up and then down condition, he would surf the web for all kinds of gimmicks to correct the problem. He purchased stay-hard creams and lotions, in addition to some kind of harness to stretch his penis. His medicine cabinet was full of all sorts of pills, health food products, and antidotes