Thread: "My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar" - Adam Baker's Banned Book

Adam Baker was married to Nu Skin co-founder Sandie Tillotson. In his book, which launched in October, 2011, which follows below in its entirety, he describes a lot of things that we know are either true or could very well be. To stop the truth from spreading it was removed by Nu Skin and Sandie's lawyers about as fast as it appeared...

Ripoff Report

Right. So much for Ripoff Report's slogan "Don't let them get away with it.® Let the truth be known!" and "first amendment right to freedom of speech" policy. As the writer below notes, Nu Skin's lawyers got to Ripoff Reports - the book is gone.

Voice of Reality - SUBMITTED: Sunday, May 06, 2012

The book, "Formerly Filthy Rich", which was removed from this original post by Nu Skin's ruthless lawyers, is still floating around out there in cyberspace. It's only a matter of time until it finds its way onto a site where it cannot be 'bought off'. These sites do exist, mind you.

Big Money Can't Buy The Truth

I see Nu Skin and their lawyers finally got to MLMFU also - (he joined this forum Aug 2012). He had the book up on his site - "Formerly Filthy Rich" - Mlmfu.com. Now the book is gone - just like Diederik van Nederveen's "Trophy Husband #2". All traces of it have been scrubbed from the net.

But as Voice of Reality said above, copies of the book are still floating around out there in cyberspace. I know - I have a copy! And you know what else? I'm going to put the whole thing up on this forum - All 29 chapters - the whole kit and caboodle. The whole shebang. All the salacious details - if the mods and owners of this forum don't mind.

I'm pretty certain realscam is one of those sites Voice of Reality spoke of that cannot be 'bought off'. I'd put it up on my own blog, but I know WordPress would shut it down pretty fast, so that would be a waste of time. So lets see if Nu Skins lawyers can coerce GoDaddy or the owners of this forum to take down "My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar" once they get wind of the fact that the book is back up on the internet!

As a reader asks, if the information in the book wasn't true, or at least most of it, why else would Sandie Tillotson and her lawyers go through such extremes to keep a lid on it and not sue for libel instead?

A very good question!

Background information about Adam Baker and his book from MLMFU's blog.

Book Burning

This is a blog about my dear friend and his struggle to get the truth out about what happened before, during, and after his marriage to the tyrant Sandie Tillotson. Sandie Tillotson molested his son and is using her billionaire status to extinguish all traces of Adam, his family, and his TRUE STORY! Stand up for First Amendment Rights and READ THIS BLOG!!

Book Burning in America & More Stories Not in the Book

Monday, November 7, 2011

This is the Adam Baker story. The story not told in his book. This is the Adam Baker story told by one of his very close friends, who has been there with him through it all.

You see, I have known Adam since we've been little, and I've seen everything he has done, experienced, flown, married, and crashed. Adam Baker is a guy that even alpha males can get a "guy crush" on - not because he's the best looking guy, but because he's a guy with BALLS. Because he is the guy who is not afraid to say what he thinks and be who he is. Even most of us self-proclaimed "alpha-males" are still living our lives for someone else - trying to be, buy, impress, whatever you call it.

I read his book, cover to cover. I begged him not to publish it, because I knew Sandie would come after him with her "assassins" and her other on-the-payroll "thugs" and "merchants of deception." Sandie was, and continues to be, a merciless and nefarious woman who knows no God other than the "God of money." No, that creepy woman with the facelift in the youtube videos that talks about being a great mother to her kids and this wonderful Grandmother? Hogwash. I've seen it. The woman detests kids, her own, and especially "other" people's kids.

Not only is the "loving mother" persona a sham, so is her entire past. Sandie hails directly from Nazi's who escaped the Nuremberg trials, and the Neaman's still pass around old family photo albums at family parties, proud of their "SS" heritage. The cold and soulless blood that ran through her forefathers veins certainly did not escape Sandie, no, she is very much a thriving, calculating individual with enough venom in her pinky finger to incapacitate the entire island of Manhattan.

Every decision in Sandie's life is a calculation of risk to reward. Each person in Sandie's life is there, not because they like her as a person, but because of what they hope to gain by being present in her ubiquitous "court." I've been at parties and seen people actually start shaking when they meet Sandie, as if they've just met Jesus or the President of the United states. What kind of an idiot would behold someone and put them on a pedestal simply because they have made a lot of money? Sadly, that is what we as Americans judge each other on and place most value, the accumulation of material things, not the actual true nature and deeds of the individual person.

This money, and the power it bestows on people, only seems to further enhance the true nature of who they are. If you were evil and soulless without money, once you get it, you will become even MORE evil and soulless. Such is the case with Sandie. I've seen Sandie wield her power on several occasions over everyone in her presence. The "carrot and the switch" is her method of operation, and if one does not do as one is told, they are severely punished, and cut off from her royal presence and her golden coffers.

On several occasions, I heard her mention the unfortunate "Ron" Gratzinger. She spoke of Ron like a boss speaks of an employee that they had to "fire" several years back, with disdain and a hint of smugness. The "Ron" story was brought up often as an attempt to scare everyone and "warn" them, in not so many words, that this fate could be theirs, too, if they didn't all mind their p's and q's. As I look back, she enjoyed telling this story because she wanted to let everyone know how powerful she was - that with nothing but a "phone call" and not even a "shred of evidence", she held enough power to get a man locked in prison for months.

Who is this poor guy Ron Gratzinger, anyway? Well, like many of the "blacklisted" ones in Sandie's life, he was an ex-lover who, at some point in the relationship, no longer served her or was needed. Sandie had met another man, and quickly replaced "Ron" with another fellow as the "flavor of the month". Poor Ron, by the time she got home from her trip where she'd met this new Adonis, his stuff was already packed and on the front porch of her massive home. As a consolation prize, she offered to keep him "on the payroll" helping out with some landscaping and mowing around the house. The poor guy stuck around for longer than one would expect a guy with any self-worth would, but, being a pilot, he knew he could make some money with that trade.

He convinced Sandie to let him fly an aircraft over to the Cayman Islands and start a charter business. She agreed, happy to have him "out of her hair" so to speak. Besides, she would profit too from such a venture. Leases were signed, agreements were in place - and off he went, to start his new business.

Like Sandie does with all those in her "kingdom", she can't stand to actually see a person not "need" her or be "successful" without her controlling it every step of the way. Hushed whispers of the people who were around say that Ron started making a decent living with the charter business, to which Sandie quickly decided, she MUST put an end to it. Ron disagreed, and demanded that she abide by the lease they had in place.

Sandie was furious. Around the first of December, she called the authorities in the Caymans and reported the plane "stolen". By this point, she already had one of her "thugs" on the way to pick up the plane. Within hours the plane was back in the United States, and when poor Ron showed up to the airport that morning to commence his charter - to his surprise, he was "quietly" escorted into custody and charged with theft.

As Sandie gleefully recounts the story, Ron spent the entire month of December in custody in a federal prison. He did not get to see his children or any of his family at Christmas, which delighted Sandie to no end. She was all to happy to swoop in to pay a visit to his kids and bestow hundreds of dollars in Christmas gifts to Ron's kids, all the while insisting she had "nothing" to do with his incarceration, and feigning concern for his plight, all while keeping a straight face!

Mysteriously, after the first of the year, the charges were dropped against "Ron" and Sandie issued him the stern warning, that she was NOT to be screwed with, or questioned, or talked about, EVER. If he ever recounted the story to anyone else, or came back against her or her money in any way, she would drum up the charges again and he'd be back in prison quicker than she could snap her fingers.

The RON story always stuck with me, in the pit of my stomach, like eating a bad meal at a greasy diner that just never seems to digest.

It bothered me to no end that someone could be that EVIL. And it bothered me even more that my best friend, Adam, had fallen prey to her little game. Who wouldn't? The guy was human. We all would fall for the bait.

Fast forward a few years later...it is 2011. Sandie has stolen nearly eleven of the best years of his life. 7 in a relationship with her...four more trying to get away from her.

What is a guy to do? Not only did she do disgusting and horrifying things to his son, but she left Adam after the divorce with LESS than he had coming INTO the marriage. How can a guy who owns a landscaping company come out of a marriage to a "Billionaire" with LESS than he came in with? The guy gave up everything for Sandie, made her millions all by himself, and was chased out of Utah by her "thugs" and lawless and corrupt attorneys so that he could no longer make a "fool" of her by being seen in public with his "new wife" ...after all....Utah is a very small place.

When he tries to tell his story, again, his rights are simply "quashed" by her powerful and influential friends and the lovely sham of a company "NuSkin" that she founded. Please read the following article that has gone viral:

http://www.examiner.com/conservative...ale-of-nu-skin

In the coming posts, I will attempt to get the original posts from Adam's "wordpress" blog back into circulation by reposting them in MY blog. Stay tuned.

(NOTE: I see that didn't work out - the last post on his blog was November 7, 2011 before it was pulled.)

Adam Baker's Banned Book: "Formerly Filthy Rich: My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar"

FORMERLY FILTHY RICH


My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar

By Adam Baker

This book is dedicated to the girl of my dreams, without whom I would have never had the courage to write this book.

—Adam

"I didn’t set out to write a story about my life. I didn’t think I had that much to say, or a story compelling enough that anyone would want to read. What I found, in the painful process of writing, was that this was a story that needed to be told. A story that would change lives. And a story that would put the truth out there for everyone to see.

All of the events, places, and characters portrayed in the book are written to the best of my memory. I’ve spared no one, so if you’re in here, I’m not sorry, you were just in the right place at the right time."

DIRTY DALTON

Chapter One

“Ladies –– for your pleasure….please welcome…..Diiiirrrrty DALTON!!!”

The crowd of 600 women broke out into elated screams filled with arousing excitement. Behind the curtain I could hear them chanting my name. I slipped out slowly and cracked my 20-foot leather bullwhip into the center of the stage with a wicked snap that elevated the cheers immediately. My blood pumping, my nerves dancing, I was ready to perform. I’d worked out my pre-dance jitters –– pushups, crunches and a short prayer, just enough to get the veins pumping and muscles bulging and God watching. The music kicked off its beat, it was my intro to the tune of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted, Dead or Alive.” I slowly took the stage –– head down, black Stetson pitch brim hat covering most of my face, black duster covering my half-naked darkly tanned body. I sauntered out, working the leather bullwhip around the stage, slowly gyrating my body. With each crack of the whip my duster would open a little, teasing the ladies with my ripped abs and low cut jeans. The crowd was begging for me to take it all out. Women were screaming, “Dalton, show it to me! Dalton, I want to **** you!” It was like every other Tuesday night. The smell of stale cigarette smoke, humid sweat, and sweet-smelling cheap perfume filled the club. Hundreds of drunk middle- aged women wishing they were 20 again, screaming my name, clamoring for my attention, fighting over the first row seats, flashing their tits, and throwing notes up on stage with their phone numbers and individual propositions. I noticed my friend Shannon Engemann in the front row. She was a striking 40-something year old woman known in our social circles as the professional “fiancée” who loved money and the idea of marriage, but loved married men even more, especially her sister’s husband, Larry King. Sitting on Shannon’s lap was an attractive, mysterious blonde who was fixated on me. She appeared to be in her mid to-late forties, which piqued my interest –– ever since that neighbor lady offered me lemonade when I was 14, I was hooked on older women.

As the song came to an end, I ripped off my duster and tossed it aside. The song “I Want to be a Cowboy” faded in. I tore off my gun belt, then my chaps, and continued working the stage. Slowly pulsating and pumping my pelvis into the rail, teasing the women in the first few rows, playfully making eye contact with the girls I’d talked to before the show, working the tips. The women were getting lathered up, screaming for me to “pull it out”, to take it all off. “Release the Pressure” boomed out of the speakers, and the crowd was in a frenzy. They knew what was coming. I firmly grabbed the front of my jeans and flexed my legs, tearing them off in one smooth fierce motion. I immediately dropped into the splits and began pumping the floor, slowly at first and then faster and faster. I jumped up and did two back handsprings, grabbed the side rail and went up into a handstand. Every muscle in my body was bulging, and the $20’s and $50’s started littering the stage. The women wanted more, they were shrieking and squealing. I grabbed the sides of my chartreuse t-back and with a slow, undulating motion tore them down. The crowd howled with a mix of excitement and frustration when they realized it was another tease. I made my way back down to the floor, and the black and white striped t-back was so thin it left nothing to the imagination. The sound of hundreds of turned on women was always arousing, which made for even better tips. For the finale, I gave the crowd an imaginary view of my sexual talents. I propped my body up on a few stairs, and slowly pumped my hard, throbbing body into the floor, working it faster and faster with the beat of the music, finally throwing my head back in ecstasy, my whole body shaking from the intensity of the simulated orgasm. The women were losing it, throwing money up on stage and screaming my name, demanding another dance. As the lights dimmed, I gathered up my money and stuffed it all into my cowboy boots. The curtains were pulled shut and the club turned back into a regular dance club. The bouncers opened the front doors and hundreds of men streamed in. It was easy pickings. I got dressed and made my way back into the crowd. Shannon beckoned me over to her table. “Adam…I want you to meet my friend Sandie.”

LEMONADE WITH
THE LAWN BOY

Chapter Two

It was hot that Friday afternoon when she rolled up in a white Mercedes SL convertible –– a sleek, humming, 12 cylinder with a crisp white leather interior that smelled strongly of money. She emerged, wearing head to toe white. I’d never seen anything like it. Skin-tight white jeans, fitted white sweater, white sandals, and oversized white sunglasses. She even had a white rhinestone belt around her waist. Sandie Tillotson looked like a female Liberace. “Mmmm…” she purred, looking down her nose over her sunglasses. “This looks even better than a Coke commercial.” I could feel her eyes roaming over every inch of my darkly tanned, sweaty body. She was cold, calculating, almost reptilian –– like a boa constrictor looking to devour its next meal.

All of a sudden I was 14 years old again, only this time I knew what that look meant. This wasn’t the first time I’d been chased by an older woman, and I liked being pursued. My body was ripped and sweaty from swinging a pick, and I knew I looked hot. “Why don’t you drive my car?” she insisted, as she winked and tossed me the keys. I had never been in a car worth $150,000, and I was surprised at how nonchalantly she offered her expensive possession up, especially since I was covered in dirt from digging sprinkler trenches.

“I made reservations at the Market Street Broiler” she said, the most expensive restaurant in the area. I started sweating nervously as we pulled up, knowing I only had $50 in my pocket. We sat outside on the patio, and it wasn’t long before I felt like I was being interrogated by the CIA. She wanted to know everything about me. I knew I’d passed her qualifying round when I realized we had similar hobbies –– scuba diving, horses, travelling, motorcycles, sex.

This was the first time I’d gotten a good look at her. I was distracted as she playfully fingered the neckline of her sweater, drawing my eyes down to her rock-hard fake breasts. Her nails were long and hot pink, the skin on her hands was thin and spotty, much more aged than her face. I noticed her hair, bleached blonde with dark roots, teased, coiffed, and sprayed. Long, wispy bangs hid most of her heavily made up face –– dark black eyebrows, blue glassy wide-set eyes, and a square jaw. I thought, this woman was probably really hot 30 years ago.

Predictably, she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. I ordered the house salad and water. “How about you don’t go back to work today? I want to show you something.”

I barely had enough money for the lobster and a tip, and was glad to get out of there. She handed me back the keys. “We’re headed up the canyon to Park City. You drive.”

“So where are you from? Tell me about your childhood” she insisted as the Mercedes whirred up Parley’s canyon at 90 miles per hour. I began nervously chatting, spending the entire forty minute drive divulging the secrets of my unusual upbringing, how I started out life as a professional figure skater at age 6 and travelled the world with my parents and six sisters skating for Ice Follies. I admitted I hadn’t gotten much of a formal education –– school was something my wildly religious and selfishly opportunistic parents neither encouraged nor promoted. Sandie said my lack of education didn’t matter. In fact, it seemed to make me more attractive to her.

We pulled into the exclusive Deer Valley ski resort and began winding up the road past the huge estate homes, all the way to the top of the mountain. We stopped at a set of large iron gates, and she gave me the code to enter the estate’s grounds. Her home was the very last one, at the very top of the hill. I knew she was trying to impress me with her money, and I kept my cool. Even though I’d never set foot in a $20 million dollar home, I surely would not let Sandie know it.

The grand tour of the home lasted over 40 minutes. She proudly described each finish and the exotic locales that each material originated from.

The slate was from Brazil, reclaimed wood from an old sugar beet mill, marble from Italy. I feigned a slight interest and could not help thinking the whole time, how much money is this lady worth?

“Would you like a glass of lemonade?” she offered with a wink. I accepted and pulled myself up onto the granite island as she poured the glass. All of a sudden, she was between my legs, pressing her body into mine. She grabbed me around the neck and pulled me toward her, kissing me forcefully. I kissed her back. “Whoa, baby, that took my breath away” she said, smiling.

I hesitated for a moment, not knowing whether I should continue or pull back. I decided on the latter. “I’ve got to get back to my kids –– they should be getting home from school soon” I said nervously. The kiss left me feeling awkward, yet excited. I had a feeling the secret to keeping a woman like Sandie interested was to leaving her wanting more.

CAUGHT BY A COUGAR

Chapter Three

I should have known I was in trouble the first time we slept together. A week after our first date she took me back up to her home in Deer Valley, only this time she talked me into going for a sultry soak in the hot tub. She disappeared into her bedroom, and I casually hopped into the hot tub in my boxers, and sat there waiting for what seemed like ages. All of a sudden, the double French doors opened and there she stood, stark naked. I wasn’t sure if she was expecting a reaction, applause, or just pure shock, but she got at least two of those from me. I immediately zeroed in on her boobs. Definitely fake, not too bad, but could use an update.

I fancied myself as an expert on tits –– it was my full time hobby. It started when I was a young boy in the ice show. I would hide in the girl’s dressing room and watch all 30 girls during the costume changes. What could be better than 60 bouncing boobs at eye-level, packed into a tight backstage area? Finally, one of the girls complained to my parents and I was scolded and publicly reprimanded by my mother. I was embarrassed and ashamed, and my fun was definitely over. I guess that was the beginning of my fetish.

I scanned down to the rest of her body –– there was skin dangling everywhere. Loose folds of skin all over her stomach, hanging below what I thought was a small, tight waistline, at least it looked that way in clothing. Her crotch was shaved, which surprised me. Usually the older women liked to hold on to their bush, but obviously Sandie was a purveyor of Playboy and knew what the younger women were doing. As she bent down to get in the hot tub, I caught a glimpse of her backside. It was shocking. Her ass reminded me of the ass on an elephant, the way their butt cheeks just cave in, with absolutely no muscularity or definition, just skin. I instantly went soft. I thought, there is no way I could ever be with this woman. I could never look at that, day after day. I immediately began eliminating all of my favorite sex positions.

Her confidence was entirely off-putting. It seemed she’d done this act before. She slithered up to me like she had the body of Bo Derek in “10” and I was just lucky to behold such a vision. I was still deciding whether to get out of the water and go throw up in the bathroom, or to take one for the team, and see just how good my imagination was. I took one for the team.

She playfully tugged at the top of my boxers “Why do you need these on? I can already see what you have under there, so there’s really no point.” I laughed out loud, partly because I’d never been with such an aggressive woman before. It kind of excited me.


“Well, why don’t you take them off if you don’t like them?” I responded. Without hesitation, she yanked my boxers down.

“Oh my god. I think I’m in love” she said, as she started vigorously licking and sucking.

She never came up for air. It was, without a doubt, the most professional, by the book porn star blowjob I’d ever had. No interruptions, no coughing, stopping, or insecurity. “Uh, wow ––that was incredible.” I said. It was the best compliment I could muster. I thought she’d probably spent many years perfecting that art.

She pressed her breasts up against my chest and put her arms around my neck, with one swift movement mounted me. I didn’t even know I was in at first, she was so loose it was like being inside a paper sack. I thought, you could literally fit a two-liter bottle in there!

The sex went on for an hour. It was excruciating –– I couldn’t get near enough stimulation to orgasm, but I just kept at it. She continued to bounce on me like the Energizer Bunny. She grabbed me hard and dug her long, pointy fingernails into my back. I found myself wondering if she was going to leave a scar, when all of a sudden, she arched back and slapped me. “Harder, harder!” she screamed. “Keep going…faster…!” she yelled. Whoa. I had never had a woman so dominant and demanding that she would slap me for no reason. I felt like I was being reprimanded. It was different, that’s for sure. I bent her over the side of the hot tub firmly grasping the sides of her wide hips. I closed my eyes and thought of two young, hot, huge-breasted women kissing and touching each other. It wouldn’t be the last time I had to conjure up that fantasy.

SETTING THE GILDED TRAP

Chapter Four

I was almost asleep when I felt the covers on the bed move, and suddenly I felt a huge pair of tits pressed up against my bare back. It was Denise. I was instantly rock hard –– even though we were divorced, she still came over a couple times a week for noncommittal hot sex –– she couldn’t give that part of me up. I couldn’t give up my feelings for her. Denise was crazier than a shithouse rat and she often joked that Philippine women were known for killing their husbands. With the temperament of a pit bull, I never questioned her capability to get it done. Our relationship was tumultuous, passionate, and destructive. I turned over and she mounted me, her waist-long thick black hair cascading down around her silicone tits, the tits I’d bought her.

The next morning, I woke up alone, my sheets still smelled like her. I slid open the drawer of the bed stand and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Since I’d met Sandie, she started printing me a weekly calendar to keep me organized and at her disposal. It detailed everything down to the hour ––what we were doing, when, where, and what I should be wearing. She governed me as if I were one of her assistants but what the hell, I was just living in the moment and for the moment I was enjoying myself. Today the calendar read:

"Thursday night– dinner at La Caille, 7:00 sharp. Wear a suit."

It had only been two weeks since I’d met Sandie at the club, and my life had changed in every way. Things were happening a lot more quickly than I was comfortable with, but it was all new and exciting –– the money had changed everything. This week I was living in a cramped basement apartment with my 5 kids –– next week we were moving into the brand new home Sandie purchased for us. We were eating at the finest restaurants; she was treating me to shopping sprees with new clothes, shoes, watches, and stuff for the kids. I was even driving her Mercedes, Ferraris, and BMWs. This all came with a price of course. For the time being, the benefits of being Sandie’s “pool boy” outweighed the downside –– my pornographic duties.

Along with the “perks” came a new set of rules. Sandie insisted I quit dancing; she wanted me all for herself. Mostly, my part-time profession as “Dirty Dalton” embarrassed her. Given her status, she insisted she could never introduce me as her “stripper boyfriend” to her stuffy “elitist” friends. Part of me was happy to give it up. I was tired of that lifestyle –– the atmosphere, the hours, week after week of dance, strip, perform. The adrenaline rush was fading with each performance, and I’d discovered a new adrenaline rush –– the rush of ultimate freedom. It was far more exhilarating than working like a dog just to get by. I found myself willing to do anything to please Sandie. After all, a whole new life was opening up to me, and I enjoyed the slow and warm envelopment into her world.

I pulled up to La Caille at 7:00 sharp, just as the instructions read, and tossed the keys to my beat up Ford F-150 to the valet. “Don’t scratch it” I said. He stared back at me blankly, not sure if it was a joke.

La Caille was the most exclusive restaurant in the area, built to mimic an old French Château, and was every bit as fake and ostentatious as its clientele. Walking through La Caille in the $500 Nordstrom suit Sandie had recently purchased for the occasion, I felt like the silk purse made out of a sows ear, and hoped that no one would recognize me from my recent career as a dancer. I spotted Sandie sitting at a far table dressed in a long, loose flowery pink dress with a crocheted shawl over it. I’d imagined she’d be wearing a sexy little cocktail dress. Instead she looked like my grandmother on Easter Sunday.

Strangely, I think that’s what I was falling for –– her overbearing matronly presence, her capableness, and how she took care of everything, allowing me to simply sit back and enjoy the ride. When I was with her, I was a little boy again. Yet I was strangely sexually attracted to her. I liked being taken care of.

Her friends, Patricia and Rob, were visiting from New York. The conversation centered on Sandie and her business, the billion-dollar network marketing corporation, NuSkin. I didn’t know much about the company, other than I knew it was a pyramid scheme where you go around and try to get all your friends and family to sign up under you –– but it obviously made money. Lots of money. On one of our dates Sandie had actually bragged about how in the beginning she’d taken all the sign-up money (all paid in cash) and flew it over to the Cayman’s in a private jet so she wouldn’t have to pay any taxes on it. She said she had millions stashed away in those offshore accounts, just in case the company every crumbled. I was in awe at how successful and confident Sandie was. She was the smartest woman I’d ever met.

During appetizers, Sandie went on and on about how business was booming at NuSkin, and she was funneling all of her extra money into real estate deals all over the valley, lending hard money at a huge rate of return. She joked under her breath about how profitable the company was this quarter, despite, the “huge failure rate of the average distributor.”

“So where is your next trip going to be for the charity effort?” Patricia asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

“Ugh. We have to go to Malawi” Sandie said. “I am not looking forward to it one bit. I hate Africa –– everyone there smells horrible and all the filthy little children dying of AIDS want to touch you when you hand out candy and books. It is sooo disgusting.”

Patricia laughed out loud and remarked “Oh, I know what you mean. I wouldn’t want to do it. You are a saint, Sandie, that’s for sure.”

Rob piped up. “So where is your next actual vacation going to be?" Like most wealthy people, the conversation turned to a one-upmanship of exotic travel plans and their next grandiose purchase.

I was out of place, but acted interested and engaged all the same.

“What are you doing with this old bitch? I was just in your bed last night ******* you!” I turned around and Denise was standing behind my chair, screaming at the top of her lungs. The whole restaurant stopped –– forks dropped, conversations came to a halt. Every head turned, and all eyes were on us. I immediately thought –– oh ****, how did she find me here? Did she find that paper in my drawer?

I quickly grabbed her by the arm and said under my breath “Denise, walk out front with me.”

She continued yelling insults and obscenities as we walked out to the valet area. Even though I was in shock, I couldn’t help but notice she looked hotter than I’d ever seen her before. My attempts at calming her were failing; I had to get out of this situation. I lowered my voice. “Denise, it’s not what you think. I would never…”

Suddenly, Sandie approached us. I stopped talking.

“I am here to collect Adam” she said, matter of factly. She reminded me of an old sixth grade teacher reprimanding a couple of kids.

Denise clenched her jaw, took one step back, wound her arm behind her, and threw the most unbelievably strong punch, hitting me square in the jaw. I hadn’t been hit that hard since I quit playing hockey. I was in shock.

“You will never sleep with me again, you will never ever see me again you sorry son of a bitch.” Denise spun around and stomped off to her car. The little voice in my head screamed for me to leave, to get away from both of these women. Sheepishly, I returned to the table with Sandie. I could feel all of the eyes in the restaurant on me, and my jaw was throbbing.

As I lay in bed that night, alone, I knew in my heart that the Denise chapter in my life was over –– it had to be over. I had to do what was best for my kids, our future, and my broken heart. It was hard for me to put Denise behind me for good, I was still rather attached to her. In the end, I made the decision to move forward in a real relationship with Sandie.

HAND SANITIZER
IN SINGAPORE

Chapter Five

I’d been officially invited to accompany Sandie to a Nu Skin convention in Singapore. We flew first class on Singapore airlines. During the flight, the young, attractive flight attendants giggled and whispered as they served me warm cookies and cleaned my hands with a steaming, orange scented towel. When Sandie excused herself to use the restroom, the bolder of the two sheepishly asked in broken English if Sandie was my mother. I laughed out loud, somewhat caught off guard, but decided to neither confirm, nor deny. I’d heard from several people that we looked strange to the outside world, with so many visibly obvious years between us. To most, the relationship seemed questionable, and it was often assumed that we were a mother-son twosome.

Singapore was the most crowded and most strikingly clean city I’d ever seen –– no garbage, no bums, and no alleys with cardboard boxes. The local news was buzzing about some American that had been convicted of spraying graffiti on a building. He had been sentenced to a public caning. No wonder this city is so clean, I thought.

The limo pulled up to a towering glass hotel. Sandie quickly jumped out and headed directly to her room, leaving me with four steamer trunks full of her stuff, two suitcases, and my well-traveled duffel bag.

It became painfully obvious why she was so insistent on bringing me along. I was officially a doting servant. After tipping the driver, the bellhop, and checking in at the front desk, I eventually made my way up to her suite.

She opened the door wearing a white fluffy bathrobe, smiled, and winked at me, beckoning me to come in. This was obviously her way of blowing off the fact she left me all alone to lug her **** up here by myself. She grabbed my belt buckle and pulled me toward her, caressing me under my jeans. “Come on, let’s get this out. I need to come” she demanded, pushing me toward the bed. I took off my cowboy boots and socks as she slowly undid her bathrobe. I looked up, expecting to see skin, but instead I saw the most bizarre grandma panty girdle I’d ever seen, complete with a pair of suntan transparent nylons to boot! This thing went from below her ass to her bra –– it looked like a nuclear swimsuit or a satin-boned white superhero costume –”super granny”, I thought. I was having a hard time getting an erection. I’d seen similar stiff dingy girdles hung on the clothesline at my grandma’s house. I couldn’t stop thinking about the flight attendant’s comments.

An hour later the hotel room was abuzz with professional makeup artists, stylists, a manicurist, and several assistants. They’d been hired to transform Sandie into her “stage” persona, as she called it. This process started several hours before the big NuSkin event. I quickly figured out that my role was to run and get her food, a drink, and sit there like everyone else and tell her how great she looked. I learned a lot about how much women can magically transform their appearance by watching the preparation. This was the first time I noticed that Sandie’s hair was really thinning. Slowly, her hair was ratted and teased and sprayed to subtly and completely cover all the bald spots. Several makeup artists began working on her face. This was the first time I’d seen her without makeup and I’d never realized how many wrinkles and age spots she had under all that spackle. Her skin looked like a mottled banana peel with all of the dark spots and uneven pigmentation. She also had no eyebrows. New, fake, imposing and powerful looking eyebrows were being drawn on with a dark pencil.

Her evening dress, shoes, and sparkling accessories emerged from the depths of the steamer trunk. She stepped into the dress. “Honey, can you help me zip this up?” she quietly demanded from the bedroom. I came in and had her turn around. I was no rookie at this gig; I’d done this for my sisters in the ice show growing up. I was surprised that she was trying to squeeze into something far smaller than her frumpy figure could accommodate

“Breathe all your air out, and hold it” I said. I tugged at the zipper. Nothing. Her back was as wide as an East-German swimmer’s.

“Do it one more time. Breathe out ALL your air” I said, coaching her, laughing on the inside at the absurdity of wasting money on a $10,000 gown that was 3 sizes too small. I struggled with the zipper for a few minutes. The dress was a size 4 for god’s sakes! Finally after several attempts, and several forceful exhalations, the zipper did its job and she was stuffed into the dress, like a sausage. The seams were under a great deal of pressure, and I hoped she didn’t have to sit long or we’d have a definite blowout after dinner. I helped her with her stole and she hurriedly snatched her evening bag with a sleek black-gloved hand.

“How do I look?” she asked, posing with both hands on her hips, looking coyly back over her shoulder. She reminded me of a dishwater blonde Cruella de Ville.

“You look like a million bucks baby. Let’s go get the limo, we’re running late.”

“I HATE these filthy Asians” Sandie said with disgust as we rolled to a stop in front of the convention center. From the back window of the limo, I could see a crowd of thousands of well- dressed Asian people; all gathered around the entrance chanting what sounded like “Sandie, Sandie, Sandie.” They were waiting for her to pull up, waiting to catch a glimpse of the elusive blonde American mega-billionaire businesswoman.

Sandie was an idol to these people, and getting the chance to see her in real life and shake her hand was a hallowed and supremely memorable opportunity for many of them.

“Holy ****, babe –– you’re like a movie star to these people!” I said. I was in shock at the number of people crowded around our limo, all for Sandie. The size of the crowd also explained another fine reason why she always went for big men –– she needed a man who could also double as a bodyguard.

We emerged from the limousine and the crowd started to close in. “Keep them ******* AWAY from me” she whispered as I pulled her from the limo. She pasted on her biggest smile, stood up straight, and started waving at everyone. “Hi! Thanks for coming! Hello! Hi!” she repeated, smiling and nodding, begrudgingly shaking hands with the few who were able to position themselves right in her path. I tried like hell to form a shield around her with my body and suit jacket, but she was still getting mauled by the frenzied crowd.

The convention center was modern and massive. Backstage, the other NuSkin founders, Nedra Roney and Blake Roney, and a few of their top executives pored over the program and touched up their makeup, waiting for the coordinator to give them the cue that the show had begun. The electrified crowd kicked its heels up when the energetic new-age music blared from the loudspeakers out front. The wealth and greed-driven show of false promises and dreams had begun.

Nedra looked older than Sandie, but seemed much friendlier and came up to me, introducing herself.

“Hi, I’m Nedra, Sandie’s evil twin!” she said, winking. She smelled of liquor and spoke loudly as if she had swallowed one cocktail too many.

“Adam Baker, nice to meet you” I replied, smiling back at her.

She stepped closer to me and said huskily, under her breath “You must be the flavor of the month!” I felt her fingers running up the lapel of my suit and down my arm, feeling my chest and arms. I flexed as it came quite naturally to be poked and prodded being so recently removed from my “Dirty Dalton” days. I banked her remark in my small yet rapidly growing vault that housed the life and memories that was my relationship with Sandie Tillotson. I noted that I was but an echo of many strong-armed men that came before me. As most men do, my ego spoke to me secretly, and I wondered how I measured up, and to how many others that measuring might be compared to.

“I look forward to getting to know you Nedra. See you soon” I said to her, as professionally as I could. I stirred over her comment. As I turned, I spotted Sandie looking directly at me. I could tell by the look on her face she’d witnessed that whole incident.

“I can’t believe that you would flirt with that nasty hammered old bag Nedra! Do you know how embarrassing that is for me, to have my man flirting with Nedra?? Are you kidding me?” Sandie whispered angrily in my ear, pushing me as she stormed off.

That went well, I thought. ****. I doggedly chased after her but she disappeared into a private bathroom, locking the door. I waited outside. I figured she needed her space.

Several minutes later, the door swung open. “You are in the front row, seat F. Try to look like you give a ****, ok?” she said as she opened the door, whisking past me. She turned on her heel, narrowing her eyes. “And you better **** me a LONG time tonight for that bullshit you just pulled.”

I watched her fluffy blonde hair as she walked down the hall to the stage. Note to self: “ This woman is fiercely jealous and a raging nympho, not to be taken lightly.”

I sat in the front row, and the lights were unbearably hot for a man of my size and overactive metabolism.

Sandie insisted I wear a $5,000 Armani tux to “look the part”, and I was sweating like a wicked whore in church. The program seemed endless and I was anxious to get the hell out of there. The whole presentation was in Mandarin to top it off, so I couldn’t understand a damned word. All I could tell was that a lot of people were getting awards. One by one they went from the audience and onto the stage to shake hands with Sandie, Blake, and Nedra. The crowd would applaud and hoot and holler with each name that was called.

Finally there was an intermission –– an announcement was made, the people on stage disappeared, and members of the audience got up out of their chairs and started milling around. Sandie waved me backstage.

“I need my purse. Reach in and get me my hand sanitizer!” she demanded as I walked through the door. I fumbled through her small black clutch until I found her Purell. “Open it for me and squirt a bunch on my hands. These people are so ******* GROSS!” she said with disgust as she frantically scrubbed and smeared gobs of the sanitizer into her hands and all over her arms up to her elbows.

“More…MORE!” she said. I kept squirting. “Their hands are SO slimy; these Asian people are so disgusting. They all reek of garlic.” Sandie had a peculiar aversion to garlic-and I never discovered why.

“You look good up there baby” I said, trying to reassure her and at the same time calm her nerves. She was clearly frazzled, her makeup was starting to melt under the hot lights and the delicately covered balding patches in her hair were slowly beginning to reveal themselves once again. An announcement came over the loudspeaker.

“Showtime only two more hours of this hell baby and then I get to sit on that huge cock of yours,” she whispered in my ear, her associates near enough to hear. And they did. Sandie recovered and put on her game face in an instant. I was taken aback as well, yet another deposit for my memory bank.

The next day was a memorable one. My performance the night before must have gotten me back in her good graces, because Sandie decided that we’d go shopping for me today at the finest shopping malls Singapore had to offer. I suddenly felt like I was in the guy version of “Pretty Woman.” I had only seen luxury brands and high-end stores in magazines and on TV before. Just taking in everything was an adventure by itself, and my eyes were wider than a 5-year-old’s on Christmas morning. I was looking at unbelievably expensive watches, trying on fancier clothing and shoes than I could ever imagine in my wildest dreams. I never knew such expensive clothing existed –– it was all a far cry from my baggy cowboy jeans and worn-out boots. I settled on a couple of watches, a Corum and a Cartier. The total bill came to over $15,000 and Sandie whipped out her black credit card.

"I could get used to this.”

SHE HAD A LOT OF WHIMS

Chapter Six

We boarded the private Gulfstream the next day to head back to the United States. I could tell by the look on Sandie’s face, she was scheming. After a couple of glasses of wine, she started purring in my ear.

“Sell your landscaping business. Travel with me full-time. I have a business partner that will buy your company and all your equipment from you.”

It was both a flattering and scary proposition. My freedom and my other life that I’d taken years to build would be gone.

But it would be replaced by another type of freedom, and another new life, one without financial worries. I thought about my five kids and how I’d be able to have college funds for all of them. Up to this point in my life, I hadn’t saved a penny.

“What would I do for money if I sell my business?” I asked.

“You will never have to worry about money again. But I will pay for you to finish flight school, so you have something to fall back on, just in case.” She’d obviously given this some thought.

Within a week my landscaping business and all of my equipment –– mowers, hedge trimmers, blowers, and my plow truck –– had been sold. Adam’s Yard Maintenance was no longer. No more collection visits, no more waiting for homeowners to get back from work to pay me, no more living lawn to lawn. I was now officially “free.” I could do whatever I wanted with my days.

Sort of.

I’d become Sandie’s pet. Every day was the same. We’d wake up, I would push her through a half-hearted workout in her private gym, dutifully **** her three or four times, and then accompany her to work at the NuSkin headquarters in downtown Provo, Utah. She’d given me my own desk and computer at one end of her elaborately furnished 2,000 square foot office. At her whim, I was there for her taking.

She had a lot of whims, some of which bordered on outright exhibitionism. I’ll never forget one day in her office. She’d been in a meeting all morning with the board, and I’d been surfing the net alone. It was almost lunchtime, and all I could think about was walking up the street to Einstein Bagels to get a sandwich and a much needed break. I heard her voice outside the door.

“Christine, hold my calls and appointments, I’ll be on a conference call for awhile.”

I looked up from my screen to Sandie slowly removing her pastel tweed Chanel suit jacket. Underneath she was wearing a sheer camisole, with no bra. I could clearly see her big brown nipples through the top. She sauntered over to her desk, pretending to check her emails, ignoring me. She shuffled through her rolodex, straightened up some loose paperclips, and went back to the computer.

“I need you to come over here and help me fix this drawer in my desk –– something is stuck back here and I can’t get it open” Sandie said, still clicking away at the keyboard. As I neared the desk to pull the drawer out from her side, she waved me around the back.

"No, you need to get under the desk and pull it from behind.”

I went back around to the front of the huge mahogany desk, and got down on my hands and knees…to my surprise, her white tweed skirt was hiked up to her hips. She was wearing no panties, and playfully fingering herself with four fingers of her perfectly manicured hand. She knew how to push my buttons. I was instantly at full mast, and I took over what she’d began.

“Ohhhh…Adam. Oh god, that feels so good….I am soooo close” she moaned softly. Her pelvis was grinding hard against my hand, bucking her hips and grinding further down.

“Come up here and **** me up against the glass windows” she demanded. I stood up and unzipped my jeans. She slid out of her skirt, and pulled up her camisole over her head, standing there completely nude, except for a strappy pair of black 4-inch Jimmy Choo heels. She walked over to the glass wall of windows that looked out over Utah Lake and Provo’s bustling Center Street, and started rubbing her breasts and pussy against it, leaving trails of condensation from her body heat. Oh ****, I thought. I wonder what you can see from the street? This woman is crazy as hell!

I moved in quickly and took her from behind, forcefully shoving myself into her. I picked her up from her thighs, pressed her tits up against the windows, for all the office workers in the next building to see.

“Do you like that” I whispered, pumping her harder and harder.

“Fuck me harder” she said. I set her down and turned her around, pinning her wrists up against the windows.

“How hard do you want it?” I said intently, staring into her eyes.

“Let me show you” she said, pushing me away. She looked me up and down, slowly. Her eyes narrowed.

“Take off all your clothes. NOW” she demanded. I dutifully dropped my jeans and boxers to my ankles, kicked them off with my shoes, and pulled my t-shirt off.

“Now go back to your desk. You’ve been bad.” She was super aroused by the control, and I always obliged, not sure what she’d do next. I sat down in my chair, the leather cold against my bare skin, and still excited from the lack of release.

She approached my desk.

“Now go back to work.” All of a sudden, she climbed up on my desk, and slowly began rubbing my unopened liter bottle of Evian between her moist thighs. She slowly lowered herself over the water bottle, bouncing up and down, manipulating it as though she were riding me, knowing this drove me crazy.

“You can’t do that anymore, you have got to take care of this” I said. standing up, my erection long and hard. She lowered herself down onto her knees, and took me into her mouth. In no time at all, I was over the edge. She swallowed, smiling at me.

A loud knock on the door stunned me back into reality.

“Sandie?! Sandie? Charley is here for your 1:00.” The door creaked open. My heart stopped for an instant. She was quick.

“I’m on a call! Tell him I’ll be right out!” she said authoritatively.

“Ok!” her assistant called back, closing the door. Sandie looked over at me and started to laugh. “Get dressed my little secretary boy –– your work is done. Go play. I’ll be busy for the rest of the day.”

I couldn’t help thinking…why was she sending me home? And who was Charley?