I swear this is true.

Posted By: Kris (205.188.197.34)
Date: Sunday, 29 August 1999, at 12:48 a.m.

It was five or six years ago. I used to frequent BBW chat rooms on AOL (I was young and stupid, so sue me !) One of the most popular women in the regular room I sleazed around in lived about three hours from me. She had no picture online at the time, but described herself as a divorced mother of two, self-employed, and living with her boyfriend. They rented out a separate residence on their property to another man.

This lady started talking one day about hosting monthly parties at her home. Over a period of time, she described a four bedroom house, situated on a well-stocked lake with a fishing boat, the four or five cars that she had, the whole nine yards. It seemed like the place to be, if you had aspirations of being one of the elite.

Finally, after months of hearing about her parties, I finagled an invite. It was to be pot luck, and let me tell you I pulled out all the stops. I signed up for and made half a dozen different appetizer recipes, bought new clothes, borrowed a sleeping bag (the invitation was for the entire weekend), and even took off half a day from work on Friday so I could get there in time for the opening night's BBQ. Shoot, I even borrowed my mother's Lincoln so that I would appear to fit in with this swank crowd.

I had pretty good directions, and once I got to the town I had little trouble finding the main streets. But the final street eluded me. I had to stop and ask a couple of times, and finally found out that it was a well-hidden dirt road between two car dealerships. They were luxury showrooms, so I dismissed my initially nagging concern.

Traveling down the dirt road, it was becoming painfully obvious. This was not quite the lush estate we had been led to believe. I drove past about 100 feet of overgrown hedge, to a break in the growth with a mailbox. The driveway.

Turning in, I was absolutely dumbstruck. This was by far the biggest DUMP I had ever seen. To get to the house, which looked like it was leaning about 15 degrees to the right, you had to drive around the *lake*. This was a stagnant pond, manmade, about five feet deep. There was some kind of vegetation growing in it, and everywhere you could see the mouths of choking fish, gasping for air on the surface. It was so green with filth and algae that it was almost black. And the boat? Half of it was underwater.

To the right was the garage. There were five cars, alright. Some with flat tires. Some were rusted. None were newer than 20 years. Most were dripping oil into plastic puckets. Three were up on blocks. The garage was a lean-to with missing slats. There was a half-naked man leaning into one of the cars, displaying his butt crack to no one in particular. He heard me drive up, turned to make eye contact, winked (shudder), and then put his pinky fingers in his mouth and whistled kind of a Soo-eeee pig whistle, screaming: *One of the wimmen is here.* Another wink (another shudder), and he went back to work.

On the spot I knew I would not be staying in this place overnight. But I couldn't be rude, so I locked the car, leaving the ice chest and the luggage in the trunk.

To get to the front door, I had to pass by the patio furniture. It was made from cable spools, those round wooden things? There was a huge one for a table, three or four small ones for chairs, and a few plastic milk cases piled up as well. There was a large terra cotta pot holding sand and about 250 cigarette butts in the middle of the table. All over the surface of the table were written or carved men's names and dates.

I went inside, through the kitchen. I could NOT believe what I saw. It was beyond filthy. It was a hazard. There were no screens on any of the windows in the house, and they were all open because there was no air conditioning. (It was in the 90's at that time, not all that bad really.) At first I thought our hostess had hung black crepe paper streamers in a half dozen places around the kitchen, but as I walked in I realized that these were indeed strips of fly paper, completely coated with flies. One can only imagine the numbers of flies hatched in that swamp outside on nearly a daily basis.
I do not think the stove had ever been cleaned, and there was a refrigerator, but no door on it. It was completely empty.

Dodging the fly strips, I entered the living room. It was imense - 20x30 at least - with no furniture at all. Just gold carpet and a lot of very large black or brown stains, some more than three feet across. I didn't want to think it, but I had to assume they were at the very least blood stains from the mass murder at the last BBQ. Okay, i am joking..but it was scary.

At that moment, out hostess peaked out from behind a wall. I should say that I had no real preconceived notions about what she would look like. I knew she was short, blonde, and busty. She was all that. I didn't know one woman could apply that much mascara and still see where she was going. Her hair was black for about six inches, and they it was that deep yellow gold that only nicotine-stained fingers can match. It was ratted and teased probably five inches high. She was in her underwear, holding a beer and a cigarette in one hand, and a hairbrush in the other. When she ran to give me a hug, I almost fainted.

She led me into her office/computer room/bedroom. She shared this room with both of her children: a son about 7, and a daughter 13. There was no closet. Their clothes were in green garbage bags in a pile in the corner. Her computer was next to her bed, and was so filthy that you actually could not see the letters on the keys.

The hostess slipped on a robe, did not bother to close it, and took me on a tour of the house. Outside her door was "the dock", which was a 3x3 square of decking that leaned precariously out over the swamp, I mean the lake. Turning right, there was a storage shed, I think, which was about 10x10 feet. This was the separate residence that she rented out. The man living in it was a heroin addict. He had a mattress, and at the time of our tour he was on it and was not aware of our presence.

The rest of the house was about the same. There were a lot of men there, and at the time only one other woman, who was constantly on the phone. None of the men were the sort one would bring home to Mamma. And several of them were paying rather inappropriate attention to the woman's teenaged daughter.

I had seen the worst of it, I thought, until I was shown where the bathroom was. I will not even describe that room. I just can't bring myself to say the words.

Okay, the party was supposed to be starting, and what was actually happening was six people arrived over the next couple of hours, some having driven four hours to get there. They had all been there before.

The hostess brought out chips, and one of the other guests had brought a number of cartons of prepared dip. They lined it all up on the bed, and three of the guests, the women, knelt down on the floor around the bed, put their mouths to the edges of the dip, and using a chip as a shovel, simply scooped dip into their mouths. They stopped only to drink.

Two of the women had brought their children, who were pre-teens. The messages in the chat room had encouraged children, telling the moms and dads to have the kids bring swimwear. Well, there was no pool, of course. There was an irrigation ditch. As the kids traipsed off to swim, the hostess shouted after them "stay in the middle of the ditch, there are leeches around the banks".

I had been there about three hours by then, and knew I had to start making my excuses soon. My manners have their limits. I had decided on the headache excuse, which was met by an offer to lie down. Uh, no thanks. The headache would simply not let up, I told them, until I was home in my own bed.

Well, before I could leave, I started to hear the teenaged daughter screaming and squealing with delight. I then heard loud splashing noises. Apparently it was somewhat of a ritual for the other men in the house to engage in a water fight with the children, specifically the daughter. They dipped buckets into the swamp, and chased the girl into the house, dousing her, and everyone there, with swamp water. Not to be outdone, the girl ran out to the garage and grabbed a bucket of oil from under the cars, ran back in the house, and dumped it over the head of one of the men. Soon the entire house was completely covered in used motor oil.

At that point, I didn't care about not being rude. I was actually fearing for my safety. I made my excuses, and got up to leave. The hostess and one of the men followed me out to the car, and we stopped on the patio, next to the spool table, for a chat before I left. I could hardly breathe, I was so upset. The man saw me glancing at the writing on the table, and he cleared that mystery up real quick. *You looking at ******'s men? Yep, look at this list...(pointing to five men's names under one date)...that's the night she pulled a train. Member that, sugar??* Fortunately I was not so naive that I didn't know what that meant. I looked at her and didn't know what to say. Sensing my curiosity, she explained - *Sometimes my clients find out my home address.* The woman was a phone sex operator. And I suspect a whole lot more.

I swear to God, hand on the Bible, this is completely true. I have not exaggerated one iota. Actually, a few months later I had the chance to talk to someone online, a man in the area who had been to the BBQ the very next month. He had stayed an hour longer than I had, and, like me, showered repeatedly upon returning home.

Please note that I have not named this woman on purpose. She and her husband (she married a year or two after this incident) have one of the largest BBW-specific social sites online. I have no desire to incur their wrath.

Think your friend would be interested in this story???

K!