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Call (T)-Girl: Bible (T)humper

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This is the second "Call (T)-Girl" Story. It is thematically similar to the first one, but you absolutely do not have to read the first one to enjoy this. None of the characters are the same and it is not a continuation of the earlier story. This one is a little more intense than the last one. Thanks! YKN

*****

I sat down on the hotel room bed and crossed my legs. Then I uncrossed them and crossed them again the other way. Then I went back to the original crossing.

I kicked off my sandals and looked down at my size 6 feet. I wiggled my toes and then slipped my feet back into my sandals.

Then I straightened out my skirt. It was pleated and I did my best to keep each pleat spaced evenly across my lap. I checked to make sure that the grey skirt spread out onto the bed spread the same distance on my left side and right side. It was a little too far to the left, so I pulled it right. I had over-adjusted, and I moved it a little bit back to the left.

I looked at my yellow cardigan that I had draped over my shoulders. I shuffled the sleeves up my elbow, saw that it looked a little hokey and smooth them back down. I wondered whether I should button the sweater but decided against it. I looked at the white blouse underneath my sweater. It was tucked into my skirt and buttoned up all the way to my throat. I unbuttoned the top button, trying to look casual. I wondered if she would see my cleavage as my breasts were quite large and I buttoned it back up.

I looked across the room at the mirror. My lipstick looked a little smeared and I quickly straightened it with my thumb. I adjusted my wire glass frames on my nose, adjusting them in front of my large, brown eyes.

My hair was cut in a somewhat long and messy pageboy style that Linda said accentuated my high cheek bones. I saw that my hair was sort of wild and I tucked some of it behind my ear. It pushed my ear out extremely wide, and I felt like Dumbo. I pulled the hair back out and shook my head once, letting my hair fall naturally.

The whole while my heart was pounding furiously in my chest. In fact, it was moving so quickly that it didn't feel like pounding. It felt more like...fluttering. Like there was a humming bird trapped in my rib cage. My breathing was extremely shallow and I saw some spots of flashing light from lack of oxygen. I really wished that I could have a cigarette, something to calm my nerves. But I didn't smoke anymore.

I was unbearably tense. Tense like I had perhaps never been before in my life. Or, at least not for a very long time. I needed something. I quickly scooted down the bed (and messed up all of the careful straightening I'd done with my clothes and hair) and opened up the drawer on the night stand. The Gideon's Bible was sitting there, flipped on its back and staring at me. Linda always said that she felt extremely calm when she was reading her Bible verses. I knew that my own personal Bible was sitting in my purse, but I didn't want to get it out yet. The Gideon's Bible would be fine for now. I snatched it out of the desk and started to flip through the pages, desperately trying to find something that would provide me with serenity.

Just by chance, I flipped open to Matthew 25:35-36, my absolute favorite verse. I felt my heart slow considerably and I decided it was a sign. I started to read it aloud, "For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me." I let out a deep breath, and I felt a tranquility I hadn't felt all day.

I thought back to the first time I'd heard that passage five years earlier. Coincidentally, that first reading had set in motion a chain of events that led directly to me sitting on that hotel room bed, nervous to the point of exhaustion, and waiting for a woman named Eve.

I first heard those beautiful words while I was snorting coke off the back of toilet in an L.A. club. I couldn't remember much about the night (or really the month) before that moment. I hadn't slept more than an hour a night in a week. I was already high, but I was doing more because I was falling asleep but afraid to do it. And then those words had cut through the confusion and the exhaustion that seemed to be bone deep, and touched me somehow. My fatigue had faded away and it was like I was...reborn.

It was like waking up from a long dream. It was almost impossible to remember how I had gotten to that place in my life. It felt like I had been hurtling toward that moment since birth. I guess it started because my parents were extremely wealthy, extremely detached, and willing to give me anything I asked without question or concern so long as I didn't bother them. I never really understood what it meant to not get everything I wanted, the instant that I wanted it (except for affection. But I don't know that I ever really wanted that from them anyway).

I was your classic spoiled rich kid. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and the attitude to match. As a small child, my room overflowed with all kinds of exquisite toys and expensive gadgets. I had a nanny who lived in the house and cared for me. I learned early on from my parents that she was beneath respect and I treated her like a servant from the time I was old enough to talk.

As I grew older, I only became more enamored with material things and superficiality. I had jewels and clothing like renaissance royalty when I was in middle school. I had an expensive German car before I turned 16. My parents gave me a limitless credit card while I was in high school and didn't say a word unless the monthly balance went into five digits. I had the kind of absolute freedom to indulge that most people will never experience in their lives and believe desperately that they want. My wish was the world's command.

I can honestly say that I did not handle it well. I was a particularly nasty person with little regard for anyone but myself. But even though, to this day, I had the memories of the person I once was, I can still understand how it happened. If all you know that everything you want is law, then you take everything you want. Worse, you come to expect it. I had enough stuff (clothes, cars, jewelry, everything) to outfit the entire school. All of it needlessly gaudy and showy. I went on expensive vacations and then spent more money while I was there. I mean even if there was something about myself I didn't like (physically at least) I could just say the word and it was change. For example, I convinced my parents to give me massive fake, D cup breasts on my small frame. I lived without limits.

The problem seem to be that no matter how much I got, even when I had everything I could think to take, I never really felt satisfied. In fact, I didn't even really know what it meant to feel satisfied. It wasn't a concept I was familiar with. I was allowed everything. So when I got something, it was just expected and gave me no sense of fulfillment. When I didn't, I became enraged and petulant like a small child. Nothing made me feel good. I could either be neutral or miserable or, usually, someplace in between.

Maybe it is possible for some people to have that level of material overload and still maintain some semblance of happiness. But I completely lacked the capacity to find joy outside of my minute-by-minute desires. I had friends. But really, we only called ourselves friends. It was and endless merry-go-round of back stabbings and plots against one another that were carried out with a ruthlessness of mafia dons. I guess I found pleasure in "beating" them at this game, but it was a particular good-feeling kind of pleasure. If friends offered me nothing, school was worse. I never had any interest in education or bettering myself, and no one really cared if I did well or if I flunked. I was set for life, so what did it matter? Achievement never really did anything for me. That was the same whether it was school or sports or anything else. I didn't get any sort of joy from helping others, which I guess was something that was possible given my financial resources. I never really tried. Finally, I didn't get any sort of fulfillment from family. I had my parents. But they were an ATM, not a source of meaning. They were happy with our arrangement whereby I stayed out of their hair. I was...well, I was good as long as the money kept flowing. Nothing in my life beyond material things and my own desires meant anything to me.

The problem with an endless search for pleasure is that each pleasurable thing eventually grows old. Maybe one day you can be happy buying an expensive skirt and a pair of shoes that matches it perfectly. But that sensation gets old. And eventually you have an entire closet full of shoes and skirts and even the idea of new ones brings you nothing. So then you start buying jewelry. But then the same thing happens. A bracelet turns into several jewelry boxes full of diamonds that you don't have places to attach. So then you switch to something else, cars or gadget or whatever. Each step is more expensive, either financially or spiritually, and each step feels less exciting and the pleasure you get for it lasts less time.

I guess that was how the drugs started. In my late teens, they were just the next thing in a long line of attempts to get some sort of satisfaction for my life. And, at first, they were great. I think it was Oxycontin first really (I didn't even smoke weed before that). It just gave me a boost, like buying a dozen skirts. And then I started doing more and more. I started doing other things. I did a lot of coke in those days. Some ecstasy when I went dancing. Whatever anyone was handing out, I would take. The drugs were a lot better than the other things I'd been hooked on in the past, there was just a limitless variety of substances to give me the illusion of happiness.

All of this started really accelerating around the time I started going to clubs. I had no intention of going to college and my parents didn't push it. After I'd graduated from high school (a year late at 19) all structure had disappeared from my life. With the ability to get into bars at 21, I found a new structure. Wake up hungover in mid-afternoon. Eat, shower. Get ready to start drinking and using again.

I don't want to give the impression that it was fleabag motels, dirty mattresses, and turning tricks. That wasn't the nature of my drug habit. For me it was a constant party. My friends and I would get rowdy at clubs, we'd dance for hours at a time, we'd stay out until the sun came up. We drank, did every drug imaginable, and had sex with each other. The kind of fun that lots of people dream about. Old fashioned rock n' roll lifestyle. When people saw us out they would think that we were having the times of our lives. And we told each other, and ourselves, that we were.

But I guess I always knew I was lying to myself. Just like all of the other things I'd done to fill in the gaps of my life, the constant partying was an illusion of happiness. And it had diminishing returns. I had to dance longer, snort more, and have sex with more people just to get the same level of excitement I gotten the day before with less. And to a greater extent than the clothes or the jewelry, this was starting to take a real toll on me.

So that was how I found myself in the bathroom of a club at 1:45 a.m. in L.A., cutting a line with my limitless credit card at 23-years old, feeling more exhausted than a 90-year-old woman, willing myself to feel something positive about the night. I was drunk and high and my mouth tasted like sperm because I'd performed fellatio on a stranger on the ride over. My eyes hurt to open and my heart was rattling in my chest.

But despite feeling terrible, I had no idea that this night would be different than the night before or that the next day would be any different. It was just another day in an endless stretch of decadence and unhappiness. But in that hour of darkness disguised as blinding light, a voice called out to me, a led me toward a more righteous path.

Matthew 25:35-36 called out behind the bathroom door. I had, of course, heard Bible verses before. It is impossible to grow up in America, even if you are a decadent materialist, to have no conception of Christianity. But something about the words in that moment sounded different. Sounded more real.

I left my coke on the toilet and opened the stall door. A small, middle-aged woman was standing in the middle of the bathroom. She was modestly dressed, a bit mousy. Some of the other women in the bathroom were ignoring her, a few were actually laughing. But I found myself drawn to her like a moth to the flame.

This was Linda. She was a preacher's wife and a messenger of the Lord. She told me that she came to places like this, to find fallen women. And to restore them to the Lord. I don't know, I think that at any other time and from any other messenger, I would have laughed and walked away. But there was something about the calm, motherly look in Linda's eyes that drew me to her. And the message she bore. The way the Word left her mouth and instantly found its way to my heart...I don't know. It gave me a feeling like I'd never felt before. It was...peace.

Linda took me home that night from the club. I was the only person who left with her. I was still with her and her husband and her three children five years later, trying to re-dedicate my wasted life to the Lord. I know that sounds sort of...abrupt. To just have one life for such a long time and then to just...stop it. I attribute the decision to two things: 1) of course, is the power of God. 2) a part of my heart had never completely hardened to the world. I had always known that I was desperately unhappy with my life of limitless everything. But I needed someone or something to show me that there was a way out. That someone was Linda and that something was Faith.

The day after I left, once I sobered up entirely, I couldn't believe the decision I'd made. I mean, I'd gone home with a lot of weird people in my day. But never a religious nut! But when I'd come downstairs from Linda's guest room, groggy and still wearing skimpy club clothing, Linda and her family were sitting down to breakfast. They invited me to sit with them. I saw the way a family, a real family, interacted with one another in the morning. They were a little awkward, I was a stranger. But I could just feel something real there. Something I'd never felt before. An authentic...goodness. Happiness. Satisfaction with life. For the first time in my life I didn't want something. I really, truly needed it. I decided to stay.

I won't lie and say it was an easy transition. I didn't really have any conception of what I was getting myself into. I knew that I wasn't happy. But, at the time, I didn't know the source of my unhappiness. It was difficult coming to terms with self-denial. Sometimes I wanted things (whether as relatively benign as new shoes or as sinful as drugs) and I found that I didn't understand why I could not have those things. Linda and Pastor Andrew (her husband) tried to explain it to me. Self-control, denial, and celibacy came to me all at once, but it was incredibly hard to deal with at first.

There were many times that I wanted to quit. That I wanted to go back to my actual parents and get my old life back. It was so much easier to live that life. And sometimes, the benefits of righteous living were not as apparent as they could have been. But Linda and Pastor Andrew were always there. When I was down they would pick me back up. When I was childish, they would put me in my place. When I was sinful, they would remind me of the Word. And while some days were bad, I began to find that, on average, a life of self-denial and piety was a happier life than a life of decadence and gluttony.

Over time, their steady guidance began to change the way I thought about the world. And them. Linda and Pastor Andrew became my parents. The first real parent's I'd ever had. And like my new parents, I adopted a simpler kind of life. I filled my days with things, going back to school at the local community college and working at the church in my free time. I found intense satisfaction in bettering myself and helping others.

I began to grow outside of myself, to see things in the world that I valued that were not solely about me. I made friends with Linda and Pastor Andrew's children. I made friends with other people at church. I got involved in fellowship at school. I began to see myself as part of a community.

Through it all, my actual parents didn't care much one way or the other. They'd been happy when I was a sinful floozy as long as I didn't bother them. If I wanted to be a religious nut, they were fine with that too. So long as I didn't bother them. They still sent me money. It was a regular trust fund thing. I used some of the money for things I needed (school, medicines, and the like) but most of it I gave to the church. It had given so much to me.

As I grew older, my responsibilities in the church began to grow as well. At first, Linda and Pastor Andrew would give me small tasks on Sundays like getting the collection plate. Later, I began to organize Sunday School events and day trips. Eventually, I began to be seen as an important part of the church community.

That was why I was in the hotel room at that moment. Just as Linda had come into the bathroom of the Club all those years ago and pulled me out of sin and into righteousness, so now I had to go and find lost souls. That was our primary purpose in the New Light Congregation. We went out and found those who no one else wanted and we made them part of our community. It was our greatest calling and it was why we were known in the seediest areas of the city.

Linda had trained me for months on the ways to spread the word of God to the lost people of the city. She had gone through her own experiences in spreading the word and explained to me strategies and methods. She had given me all of the knowledge that she had, on top of my own experience in transformation, so that I could go and return people to the Lord's fold.

Today, she had sent me out into the world to put those lessons into action. I have purchased a hotel room and then called an escort service. I had "ordered" a special girl. And I was going to save her. I cannot explain to you how important it was to me to save someone else. I thought back on my life...and I didn't feel anything good about it. I knew I had changed, become a better person. But I still didn't feel fulfilled. I was missing something. But if I could save someone else, if I could bring them the word, I would finally be convinced that I had saved myself.

And so in that moment, while I sat on that bed, reading Matthew 25:35-36 and preparing to speak the Truth to a fallen woman, I felt as though everything in my life over the previous five years had, in that moment, almost come completely full circle. Just as I had been sinful and decadent but found peace with these words, I would offer the same to someone else. And it would give me a kind of strange, inexplicable peace that Linda explained. Whatever plan God had for me, certainly all of these signs were pointing to Divine Intervention.

A sharp rap on the door shook me out of my thoughts. My heart began to hammer again and I dropped the Bible into the drawer. I swallowed twice, trying to get myself under control. I had never done this before and while I was definitely trained, I knew that it would be difficult. I didn't want the woman to run out before I had a chance to speak, but I didn't want to come on too strongly either. I needed to do this right, to prove to Linda and Pastor Andrew that I deserved their trust. And to prove to God that I had learned the lessons from my past.

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