I've received a few reader questions about my life as a teenager living with a drug dealer. I don't know why - there aren't that many people who have read these stories - but it seems to have inspired some interest. I've had more than one person write me a note asking me about Dennis and our private lives beyond the parties - and I guess that's as good of a place to jump in as any other, so here goes. When you lived with someone like Dennis, you always had lots of people around. He had a group around him pretty much 24/7 made up of bodyguards, business associates, hangers on, etc. (I guess they use the word "posse" now days, and that word seems to fit.) The group was always mostly men, and the few girls where usually of the "disposable" variety. (Guys would use them once and throw them away.) The few of us that were long-term girlfriends were pretty tight, but we didn't see each other much. There was little privacy. Whether we were partying, fucking or fighting, there were at least two other people in the house and usually just on the other side of the bedroom door. Whatever you were doing or saying, you knew they could hear enough to know what was going on. It took some getting used to just to know they were there, and there was no end to the smirks when I left the bedroom after a hot night or quick hook-up. You had to get used to the idea of there being multiple people in the next room when you were taking a shower or even going to the bathroom. Arguments and even fights between posse members were constant. They lived here too - at least sometimes - and didn't hesitate to do whatever struck them as fun or necessary. You never knew when you were to go into the basement or spare room to find some drug deal, high-stakes card game, or occasionally a sex act in progress. I walked in more than a few couples and also more than once on a girl who was obviously hard at work servicing three or more of the guys. (The term "coke whore" isn't just slang - there really are girls who will do just about anything for a couple of lines.) I practically had to keep my clothes under lock and key. I remember coming home from work once to find a total skank wearing my favorite blouse and little else, and more than once I found all my underwear missing from the clothes hamper. (I also once fished a pair out of the laundry bin that had been "used" by one our male visitors for some sort of self-pleasure. Those went straight into the trashcan.) There was also always a great deal of paranoia about living with him. We had fish tanks in pretty much every room for instance, because if you needed to you could throw a shitload of powder in one and it would dissolve immediately. We had deadlocks and bars on the windows in a town where most people didn't lock their doors. There were small bells on fishing line hanging from the tree over the driveway. (People couldn't see them until they hit them - and they made just enough noise that we could heare them. We had codes for phone calls, thick curtains, and had checking accounts in multiple surrounding towns. After living there for more than a year, I also finally learned that there some pretty ingenious hiding places like big holes bored into the fireplace and foundation where weapons were stored and also a complete room built off the basement that could be entered from the back of a closet. There were motion sensors all over the property. It wasn't Fort Knox, and we would never stop the cops if they wanted to get in badly, but no one was going to "stumble in" and surprise us. When the technology go there, we had hidden cameras installed in every room in the house so that Dennis could watch for people stealing things or perhaps re-adjusting a wire they had taped to their body. (That was the explanation anyway - though in reality he mostly just used it to grab tape of guys molesting their fucked up girlfriends.) Once you got past things like this though, there were a lot of good things about living with Dennis. He always had the best tv's, stereos, etc. (No computer though - he didn't trust them.) Dennis loved to play any kind of game - from video games or chess to sophisticated card games like Contact Bridge and Pinochle. Since we were all completely wired on coke anyway we had amazing all night poker games where hundreds of dollars, firearms, and occasionally much more would be won and lost over the course of an evening. Dennis always paid for dinner, breakfast, or whatever and that included the bar bill and also bills for bowling, miniature golf or anything else Dennis decided to do at the spur of a moment, no matter how many people were with us. He drove a big comfortable car and we would cruise for hours or even days - many was the time we would just start driving and end up staying overnight somewhere in a rented hotel room. We also had the best drugs - which Dennis did in moderation and which the rest of us did based on his whims. Sometimes I would come home to find a half joint in the ashtray and sometimes a ¼ ounce of coke or crank on the glass coffee table. Sometimes we wouldn't have anything for days - but then he would come home with some Ecstasy or mushrooms or something that would have us all flying high for days at a time. With Dennis, you never knew what was next and you just had to put up with it. It rarely sucked though - on the worst day it was more interesting and exciting than anything I had ever experienced. For the first few months I knew Dennis, I was mostly his kid sister and just one of the gang. He had "rescued me" the way that a man rescues a puppy found in the street, and he had taken me home and fed me and given me a place to sleep. I had a job, slept in the spare room, and paid most of my rent by cooking meals, cleaning the house and doing the errands like keeping up the fish tanks and paying his bills while he was out of town. We flirted a bit, but he was not shy about bringing home women and disappearing into the bedroom, and I have to admit I ended up in my bedroom with a few men while he was at home as well. When that changed, and practically overnight we started sharing a bedroom, there was still a certain kind of casualness about it all. Even after I moved all my stuff into his bedroom and we would sleep together every night, I would occasionally come home and find girl doing the walk of shame on the way out the door, and for some reason it didn't bug me all that much. It might have been different if it had had happened a lot or if I saw them going in, but I never did. It might have been different if I thought they meant anything to him - but they didn't. (I did finally get a fairly innocuous STD from him at one point - and I gave him hell for that since my doctor found it. After that point I don't remember him ever doing it again.) So I guess you could say that Dennis had his own moral compass. He lived by his own rules. Early on, I categorized Dennis's behavior. He had three basic modes/ There was what I referred to as "my Dennis," there was "Devil Dennis" and there was "Business Dennis." You might see all three personalities over the course of a single conversation, but you could always tell which one you were talking too. "Business Dennis" was the scary one. Business Dennis was not afraid of the cops - and hinted once or twice that he had a few payroll. (I think he was bullshitting, but you never know.) Business Dennis set up the network that made a lot of money all over the state, crushed competition, and made sure that people weren't stealing from him. Business Dennis was a bit sadistic - never violent without reason - but you did not cross him. I never saw Dennis ever do anything first hand, but his people told me stories. I'm not sure there is a statute of limitations on some of the laws broken. The less said the better. I luckily did not see much of Business Dennis. He mostly did that kind of thing away from home. When I was with him while he was doing business it wasn't unusual to see guns and disturbing behavior. It started out fairly mild, but as he grew his business it went from a handgun in his sock to multiple guys carrying sawed off shotguns and high powered rifles in caravans of cars. Business Dennis also protected me. Some of the people he associated with were fairly scary, and a few were pretty rude or downright intimidating and even abusive - but a word from Dennis and they backed off. I was his property and everyone knew it. I had to be careful of what I said to Dennis after a while because I learned that words can hurt. I complained once about a young member of his "team" who had been a little too fresh with me once when Dennis wasn't home and he was assigned to protect me. The reaction was swift and it wasn't just the guy who got punished. They kidnapped his girlfriend too. I never saw him again, and when I saw her years later she ran from me like she had seen the devil. "My Dennis" was sweet. He actually did by me flowers and lingerie and treated me like a woman to be romanced and seduced. Dennis didn't buy jewelry, but he actually bought me the first set of matching lingerie I ever owned, and he would sometimes come home with a pair of tickets to a big event going on in St. Louis or Chicago and a nice dress and matching shoes, or perhaps just a stuffed animal when I was sick. He was every girls dream date. My Dennis helped do laundry, took me out to nice dinners and even attended weddings with me as my date. He went shopping with me to buy new drapes and in every way acted as my husband of the moment. He was a great lover, a good friend, and as generous as could be.I could have stayed with this Dennis forever. "Devil Dennis" was fun and out of control. This was the Dennis that would crash a catholic school party full of the "good kids' and instantly turn it into a drunken brawl. He never was directly responsible for the debauchery or destruction other than fueling the party with drugs and alcohol (or by bribing someone to do something totally obscene - another of his favorite things to do.) When Dennis showed up to a party people got fucked up, furniture got broken and girls woke up the next day in strange beds and with experiences they didn't even tell their best friends about. More than a few teens in Charles City lost their virginity or began their careers as drug addicts at a Dennis fueled party and more than a few parents came home after a night away to find their homes trashed beyond belief. Devil Dennis was also a pervert of the funnest kind. He was the first one who ever tied me down to the bed as part of sex, he taught me about poppers, and once even brought home a cheerleader outfit and asked me to wear it to bed - which turned out to be a very rewarding experience. (It was a real local high school cheerleaders outfit too - junior varsity and I knew the girl who had her name written on the waistband of the dress.) Devil Dennis would instigate threesomes and foursomes and all other manner of debauchery and make sure that the women were treated respectfully or as complete whores and usually both at the same time. Devil Dennis would push you to do things with others and take polaroids you'd find under a magnet on the refrigerator door during a big party. Devil Dennis would ask me to dance and make a show of slowly masturbating while I took my clothes off. (I used to really love that - it made me feel special.) Devil Dennis was the only man who ever blew cocaine up my ass with a straw. (Wow - was that a rush.) He once asked me if I'd like to be set up with a man he knew who had a 13 inch penis, and it was my decision whether he got to watch. (I didn't.) I loved Devil Dennis too, though in a different way. He could and did cause trouble and encouraged everyone around him to engage in behavior that was downright self-destructive. No rule was left unbroken and no kink unexplored. Devil Dennis could give lessons to Las Vegas about adult fun. Ultimately, My Dennis drew me in, Business Dennis kept me safe from others, and Devil Dennis encouraged me to destroy myself. But that's another story.