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I always did modeling on the side even while holding my day job, but eventually you know, you can’t do porn and teach elementary school kids at the same time.
So I quit my job when he convinced me to.
I mean, he wasn’t the cutest guy. But he was all I knew. I hadn’t dated very much till then and I had no idea what to expect from a man in a lot of ways. I wasn’t that experienced in sex like I am now.
But he wasn't the…nicest of men either, hun. He was mean at times.
By mean, I mean he had a temper.
There were plenty of times I applied makeup to cover up something that he did.
Plenty of times that I made excuses for a blemish or a bruise.
He always apologized afterwards, but I couldn't get out. Because any mention of me leaving that relationship would just drive him to get even more upset.
A part of me was scared, for sure. While he never hit me that hard or punched me or threw me down the stairs or anything, the anger and violence was there in his eyes. Plenty of times he punched a hole in the wall or broke something. He once ripped a pair of my panties in anger when I didn’t want to have sex. I don’t want to talk about how I maced him in the eyes immediately afterwards.
Macing him was actually at that stage where I was fighting back. But for over two years I took it.
But who knows, I probably would have stayed in that relationship fighting back longer if I had to, if I hadn't found out he was basically living a double life.
I only found out one day because I found two cell phones in his pocket. I had no idea he had two phones and when I asked him he was evasive.
Something about the whole situation put my mind on edge and two days later, I followed him when he left the house on what he told me was a business trip.
I tailed him all the way from the Hollywood Hills where I was living with him to Malibu. He stopped at a house. He had the keys to the place and spent the entire day and night there. I know, because I watched him from my car.
As I sat there, I researched the address on my phone. And I found out so much about Robert McIntyre that I had never known before.
Turns out he was married. Wife and one kid.
He apparently also had another job at KPMG as an accountant. He was representing me and sending me to do porn to fund what I don't know, but whatever it was, my fees were paying for a double life for him.
I hadn’t put up with a man that had a 5-inch cock for this. I didn't put up with a man with violent tendencies that occasionally slapped me when he got angry for this. Fuck, I didn't put up with a man that pimped me out at porn sets for this.
I could have been a real model. I could have done so much.
I rang the doorbell that night and she answered. I can’t even remember her name but I remember her eyes widened when she saw me.
“You have to leave!” she whispered to me.
“Are you his wife?” I asked. She nodded to me and closed the door.
“You don’t want to confront him, babe,” she told me. “You need to go now!”
But I couldn't just go. I couldn’t just leave her there if she was afraid.
But she shook her head.
“I’ve been married to him since high school,” she told me. “And I know who you are. I know all of his women. He doesn't care to hide them anymore from me. He thinks he has me beaten down.”
If you want to think that I’m sort of slut or sub-human then you’re welcome to hun, but this woman was living with a true sub-human. His wife told me he had half a dozen girls working in porn at any given time. He’d use them until their shelf life expired. Then he’d move on.
“You need to leave and pretend you never came here!” his wife told me.
She went on to tell me that I wasn’t the first person to have discovered her house. There had been one other, a year ago. She had come knocking and had stormed the house during the day.
Robert had slapped her around a couple times, and then dragged her to his car.
