The Manipulative Man Part I

By Victoria Foster

While working as an exotic dancer in the small town of Brooklyn, IL; Lynn meets a handsome young stud by the name of Louis. In no time at all, she is swept off her feet by his charm and charisma. In a matter of months they are married and her children, from a previous relationship,Sausha and Carl, are ecstatic about their new dad. What seems to be the perfect family turns into the nightmare from hell! Not only does he manipulate her, but he turns her children against her as well. This story will not only move you emotionally, but will uplift you spiritually. Get ready for the most compelling, motivating, and encouraging story that you have ever encountered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456718046

Victoria Foster

Poet, writer, college student, author, and mother of two, VICTORIA FOSTER was born and raised in Alton, Illinois and later moved to St. Louis, Missouri. In addition to her first book The Manipulative Man Part 1, she has also spoken at several women's support groups such as Women to Women,and Women of Purpose. She has mentored over several hundred children and women who were victims of sexual abuse. Victoria is currently majoring in Psychology at Lindenwood University with hopes of one day opening a non profit organization for sexually abused children and women. Her greatest goal is to inspire many lives with her courageous battle over coming pedophilia in her own home.

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© 2011 Victoria Foster. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 1/13/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-1805-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-1804-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011900312

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the people who impacted my life significantly and are no longer with me in the flesh: Thomas Valenti, my dear friend; Steven Foster, my brother; Bessie Foster and Alberta Jonson, my grandmothers. Rest in peace.

To my mother Viola Foster, you have been more than a solace, parent, and a friend; I don't know where I would be without your support. To my son Sulaiman, I love you dearly for who you are, my love for you is unconditional. To my best friend Shaunda, thank you for being there. To my dear friend Kent, thanks for everything. To Sylvester, I love you. To all my siblings, I love you guys for loving me when I didn't love myself or didn't show you love. Last but certainly not least, to the man above. Thank you Lord, for you didn't give up on me when I gave up on you and myself. You kept me safe and sane through this horrendous time amen!

In loving memories of Steven Foster Sr. Loving father, son, brother, uncle & friend. Will be forever missed. June 19, 1966-June 25, 2009. Rest in peace I love you brother.

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It was December 1999, a couple of weeks before Christmas, but the weather was nice—about fifty degrees with no snow. I was working in a gentlemen’s bar as an exotic dancer on the east side of Brooklyn, Illinois. Brooklyn is a small town with a population of six hundred people, and that includes the people that are deceased! It’s a town with plenty of poverty and crime. Many of the houses there are rundown shacks or trailer homes in poor condition, and there are a lot of drug dealers and drug users. For that reason, I only went to Brooklyn when it was time to work. I was twenty-nine then and really outgoing. I weighed 119 pounds with barely any body fat. I stood about five feet, two inches and had caramel skin and amazing abs. My body was so lean that customers would pay me simply to pose. My hair was dark brown and shoulder length, and my eyes were brown. I remember that on that day I was wearing a two-piece, black lingerie outfit and six-inch stilettos. My favorite song was playing—Purple Rain by Prince.

I was a unique pole dancer. I started out easy that day, swinging from poles and doing tricks with my legs. I attracted guys all the time, different types—white, black, Hispanic, old, young, big, and small. Even women would come to see me perform. My personality was outstanding. I could hold a conversation with anyone who was willing to pay me some attention and give me money. When it came to talking men out of their money, I was the queen. This job was particularly easy since I had a nice body and good looks and could carry on intelligent conversation.

The vast majority of the dancers I worked with were really thick with weight and had tattoos and body piercings almost everywhere—nipples, eyelids, lips, and even on their vaginas. Don’t get me wrong. There were other pretty women there, and some were small as well. However, I was the only one who didn’t at least have a tattoo or a piercing. I stood out from the crowd. There weren’t any Caucasian women working in this bar. For some reason, they didn’t come there for employment. If they wanted to dance, they would go around the corner to one of the upscale bars. The majority of our clientele consisted of young black men and women. The men wore ball caps and saggy jeans. They had gold teeth and big necklaces, and most of them carried the urban culture style. Some white men would come, but very rarely would they stay long. The women customers were dressed in trendy Baby Phat jeans and mink coats. They carried Chanel handbags wore fluorescent shirts and high-heeled shoes.

The club was always pretty dark, and the tables and stages were small. It wasn’t a big club at all, and the music was nothing but rap and hip-hop, unless somebody requested otherwise. I wasn’t in any real relationship at the time, although I had a sugar daddy then. I still remember the day I met him. There were three stages, and I was on center stage—stage one. He kept staring at me and only me, so I went over to him between sets and asked, See anything you like?

He was like, Uh huh.

That’s all he said at first. He seemed so shy. I was trying to size him up. He looked like he was about thirty-five years old. It was hard for me to know what to make of him, so I asked, Buy me a drink?

Next thing I knew, he’d ordered me a cosmopolitan without even asking what I wanted, and when they brought it out, he said, A lady’s drink, and smiled at me. What’s your name? he asked.

Climax, I