9. PIMP ON FOODSTAMPS - Fall 2015 You would think I would remember the exact moment I figured out the pimp followed her to the new house and was still there. But it sent me into a rage. And it turns out I don't remember things that well when I am in a rage. At this point I was trapped not for the sex, but because any time I didn't see her for a week, I began to worry about her. Sometimes I refused to see her. I would lie awake in bed on Friday night, and then go look on backpage Miami and her ad would be there. And I would worry she would get shot or arrested, or something bad would happen. And I would text her “I miss you sexy Kylie” or whatever the name on the ad was, just to get some answer, and know she was okay. And she would drive back to Orlando and fuck me for money. So I was trapped in this sick cycle by worry for her well being, with no idea how to get out of it. And he was still there. But at least his little household was not so idyllic and peachy either. He couldn't get too comfy, because his entire life depended on me, and I was having crazy unprotected sex with his girl twice a week. Though he didn't know about the unprotected part. She insisted I would have to wear a rubber if we ever did a threesome, so nobody would find out. But of course we never did, because I am not into that type of thing. Then finally I found my opening. She was crying about being beaten, and she let on that he had an eight-year-old kid whom he beat also. And she was worried about the kid. It had been his kid all along. All the times she talked about her little brother, and the video games and the school clothes, and the alphabet soup in the refrigerator, it was the pimp's eight-year-old kid. He had a kid. She really was afraid she would be shot if she left. But it was the kid, that was keeping her in the relationship. There is some psychology that drives women to steal babies from maternity wards. She and her boyfiiend had planned a family together. After the miscarriage and her boyfriend left her, she was determined to have that household she planned. So she latched onto a guy with a kid she could take care of. And she fucked me desperately to spend all her money on them, to keep the kid from having to go back to his mother. The key to breaking the cycle was the kid. Sitting in the last room, at the back of the first floor of the Greenland Suites on West Colonial, and using my laptop on their wifi, I typed a complaint to the Florida Department of Children and Families. I said there was a young white girl on Amon Drive, who was bringing a child down to Miami, and using him as a cover for drugs and prostitution. The essence of it, so far as their concern for the kid, was true. And I said she was victimizing an older black guy, the kid’s father, by forcing him to play along with this. And I wrote the complaint from the point of view of a black girl who lived up the street from them. The point of doing it this way, is so he would not think the complaint came from me or someone she knew. If he did, he would take her out in the forest and shoot her, for putting him at risk of having his kid taken away. So I told it from the point of view of someone who knew him, complaining about her. They still suspected I was the one who wrote it, but they weren’t sure. And it had another effect. When I said she was the ringleader victimizing the other two, it guaranteed the kid would never be allowed to hang out with the evil white girl again. But before I continue, I want to clarify something. This was a lOO-pound 20-year-old girl with health problems and the mind of a child in la-la land, who had pledged her life to some random guy’s kid. And the guy was a 35-year-old with a gun from out of town with no job. So I never ever ever imagined the DCF would believe she was victimizing him and his kid. I thought they would go over there and see what was obviously going on, and save the mentally ill girl. The only point of saying she was victimizing him, was to make it confusing who wrote the complaint. It would seem like whoever wrote it was a crazy. Specifically, a crazy jealous black girl, with an irrational hatred of white girls. The pimp did claim to be a drug dealer, specifically weed, when Mandi met him. He represented himself as being totally gangster. And when Mandi met new people, she generally did not tell them she was having unprotected sex with gray-haired strangers at the Starlite Motel for money. She told them she was running cocaine up from Miami or something. She may even have told some people she was doing porn. Who knows, anything but what she was actually doing.