Considering how few people I know, and furthermore my introverted living patterns over the last twelve years, I find it amazing that at this very moment I know at least two male medical doctors and two male lawyers who are married to secreted lesbians and they, the lawyers and doctors don't even suspect, nor do they grasp what is happening. Now I know very few people. So what is going on; how many of them are out there?
The hidden lesbians ( power fuckers ) deny and disguise their lesbianism to achieve what is to them a far more meaningful and important purpose ; that of conveying to family and friends alike that they are 'normal' women. This is accomplished by acquiring all of the trappings, chattels, and other elements deemed by society, and of course--Madison Ave.--to be necessary as if almost to validate their belief that they are normal : lots of money, a beautiful family with children, elegant possessions, a model history, and a MAN.
Lesli Ann Szabo came into my life when I was very wild. It was a very hot summer night in August of 1980. My friend Harry, and I, were at Tigers Coconut Grove --a coffee bar on Augusta St. in the Kensington market area of Toronto and it was sometime after 2 A.M. and still very hot outside. We were having a fruit juice on the front patio and we got into a conversation with another customer, a female.
When we left the cafe sometime after 4 A.M. she had already told us that she was a high priced call-girl costing $ 375.00 to rent for an hour. Fascinated, as I was at that age by the bizarre, Lesli was ultimately invited to dinner . Evelyn was more than seven months pregnant and showing in a big way. After the barbecued ribs, Lesli announced what a wonderful meal it had been, and without any change in pace whatsoever she added, "Am I being served for dessert?"
Do you have any idea what sort of question that is to an uncomfortable and very pregnant woman ( even if she might ordinarily consider the idea were she not so rotund )? When Lesli left, Evelyn stated her case rather forcefully in her own unique style.
"Don't you ever again invite that fucking bitch cunt into our home again;----Do you hear me?!"
Well, I'm sometimes thick headed and I don't listen. Over lunch at Simpsons Arcadian Court, Lesli talked about her life and her friends. Heather McDonald was the one who Lesli admired most because Heather seemed to land the best fish---rich guys. Bryna Friedman ( the ballerina ) was a close second, because of the money that Bryna made but Lesli didn't care for Bryna's unique and only method of dealing with all customers--Bryna only did blow jobs. Candace Kepka was the prettiest but since she kind of sometimes had a black pimp, Candace was a little lower down the totem pole. Then there was Catherine, with whom Lesli had been having an affair for ten or eleven years; strange as it may seem, Catherine was about to get married to a man! Can you believe that this is where it all started?
Our daughter, Sarah, was born on Nov. 17, 1980. I was to pick up the new baby Sarah and Evelyn on Sat. Nov. 22, at Mount Sinai Hospital. The evening before, a group of revelers in our circle of friends, and I, went partying with a supply of Quaaludes to a downtown trendy bar-- The Parsons Nose on Parliament Street : Lesli, Richard--who ultimately gave Lesli the perfect nickname, Valerie, Les, John, Marisa, Gita, Suzanne (with her two boy toys) amongst others, were with us. My in-laws were at home anxiously awaiting their daughter and their new granddaughter.
Lesli is into cocaine. We were in the bar all evening drinking soda water and doing just the opposite; dropping lots of Quaaludes and naturally going absolutely wild. That was the only occasion during which Lesli, as experienced and worldly as she was, clearly felt disconcerted in discovering how crazy our crowd could really be. Suzanne was openly suggesting to anyone within earshot that she was about to take me downstairs to the men's room to suck my cock. Richard, who is gay, had picked up / or been picked up by the most ravishingly innocent and sweet young twenty year old who I had ever seen--what a young woman. The story can be summarized by my explaining that I'm not sure whether I won or lost the bet, ( to this day I can't remember what the bet was about ) but our waitress, had to pull her pants down for all to see, and I had to bite one cheek of her ass in the centre, (the meatiest spot)---right at our table!
Shortly thereafter, I made my next mistake of the evening. On arriving home ( after our late night frolicking in Les' whirlpool ) at about 4:30 / 4:45 A.M. , I opened the living room couch and Lesli plopped down and passed out. I barely made it upstairs to bed and 30 seconds later my mother-in-law, Molly, stormed out of the guest bedroom and went completely ballistic. The shit flew for weeks, not to mention that four hours later our daughter had to leave the hospital wrapped in a borrowed hospital blanket because I had forgotten to bring her clothes. We have two children--I did that twice.
I don't learn easily. At Christmas Lesli sent a gingerbread house, the first of many. Next summer Lesli was marrying Mike Steiner ( Mike is purportedly one of the heirs to the Greenwin Developments fortune who she met through Richard ) in our backyard. Then she wanted to have an affair with Valerie, an ex flame of mine. Then she hooked up with Steven Armstrong, an Irish aerospace engineer. Then she wanted Kelly Jarmaine but Heather got him first and Heather was in his blood--not Lesli ; a fact Lesli was prone to lament often. One more gingerbread house and one more year; the saga continues.
Next summer Lesli was supposedly doing some sort of minor S & M routine, (for money) with a federal M.P., still chasing Steven Armstrong, and starting her journey out of hooking. After a very meager attempt at starting a psychotherapy practice, based on the teachings and healing methods of Alfred Adler, Lesli drifted into accounting.
By now, Catherine, her ex? lover was married to Robert. Catherine's and Roberts sexual unions consisted of only one act; Robert would wear Catherines underwear, ( I never asked if it was soiled or not ) and he would masturbate. I'm not sure if Catherine assisted in any way, but Lesli seemed to know all the answers. I knew better than to ask more silly questions. I didn't want to be totally bewildered--after all, I was confused enough. Another Christmas; yet another gingerbread house.
Orsella D'Allesandro was wearing only a skimpy bra and panties when she answered Lesli's front door. I had been asked to bring a stud to service Orsella's voracious sexual appetite. Some two days previous, over coffee, Lesli (footnote 1) had explained that Orsella wanted to turn tricks, but that Orsella didn't have a chance. You see--Orsella was in love with almost all male penises and so could not be trusted to " trick " the customer, nor could she be trusted to pay back referrals to other girls or even for that matter to turn away bad or potentially dangerous business, which in the hooking business is just plain looking for trouble. Some months later Orsella called me asking for a loan so that she could fly a black stud to Toronto from somewhere in the southern United States, because she 'felt' his penis was large enough (length and breadth) to completely satisfy her. The last time I saw Orsella she was living with Crash Morgan. Crash (footnote 2), I'm confident, has a large penis.
I met Joe Williams ( Zugan--she liked heroin ), I met Karen Landry (Lesli's cousin), who Lesli later disparaged, by telling me that Karen had given a venereal disease to Kelly, and I met Arlene Subbiah amongst others. They were a wild and confused group of characters, but Arlene was especially weird. Arlene touted herself as heterosexual, yet her dates always ended at Leslis' apartment so that Arlene could satisfy herself by performing oral sex on Lesli. I met Leslis' sugar daddy, Jack Griffin, who took care or her while she obtained an undergraduate degree at the University of Guelph---Jack called her "Biffy", and I even met his circle of friends at several Christmas parties at his 'gentleman's farm'.
As most power fuckers do, Lesli has a good nose. She befriends you more if your T-4 is more. She stayed very, very close to Les; as close as she could possibly stay without scaring him away. Finally, her hard work paid off. Through Les she met Jason Fayne. She probably felt that this was her last chance for a big take-down play in the circle of friends she had invaded through that chance meeting with Harry and I.
Jason was going down big. Indeed, it was a whirlwind romance and courtship, imbued as they mostly are with glamour and pretentious behavior. Just when we (our circle) were convinced that her master plan would come off without a hitch, Lesli made two fatal errors. In a real estate deal, she tried to blackmail Les, using Jason as the lever with which to apply pressure, and at the very same time she compounded the problem by shitting on Jason's old girlfriend when the old girlfriend was obviously in some severe physical distress recovering from surgery. Even a supposedly unfeeling individual such as Jason was apparently deeply offended by Leslis' outrageous behavior, and he quickly broke the engagement and dumped the Swab--Richards nickname for Lesli.
The Swab's recent history, from July 29/93 to the present, is a matter of public record in both the Supreme Court of Ontario, and the media, (viz : The Toronto Star) as she is presently suing Chedoke-McMaster Hospital in Hamilton, for 2.6 million dollars because she suffered pain during the birth of her twins, in July of 1992. If this seems to be beyond craziness, don't allow it to offend your sensibilities all that much. Lesli Szabo is, of course, now married to a Jewish doctor!
And by the time you read this, the hospital will likely have paid her a goodly sum, just to shut her up!
Footnotes:
1
It was around this time that I suffered some severe financial setbacks for which I was totally responsible. I knew it and I was depressed. Of course, Lesli pounced ! I had very gently rebuffed her silly sexual advances on about five or six occasions---she was clearly a power fucker striving desperately to be a sympathy/exchange fucker. I accepted an invitation for tea and muffins and instead I got beautifully augmented breasts and a hospital clean and sterilized vagina for a twenty minute one time sex encounter which was disgusting. I high-tailed it home and apologized to my wife immediately, so that the Swab wouldn't have a weapon to use against me. Nevertheless, Harry and Les still make fun of me to-day.
2
I was saddened to hear that Crash Morgan passed away this year (1995). I'm sure Orsella had nothing to do with his demise. Crash will be remembered as a fine guitar player, who made a valuable contribution to the Toronto music scene.
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