THE TRUTH_TT&J ----------------------------

THE TRUTH  T T & J                                                                ----------------------------

It all started with a ding on Messenger. Little Miss Know-It-All was trying to sell pussy pics, and I PayPal’d her twenty bucks. The very next day, she showed up at my door, husband waiting out in the driveway. I gave her a little money A pack cigarettes, and a Suboxone, and a couple of joints. I told her that would get her through the day, but she wanted more, so I told her she could come back when the old lady went to town. Not an hour later, she was back, and it took less than five minutes to get her clothes off and in bed while her husband sat out there in the driveway for fifty minutes.

I hated the thought of her starting down that road. I’d seen too many women go from needing help to selling themselves, all just to keep a man’s habit up. And the truth is, once you’re run down and used up, no man wants to stick around—especially if he ever gets clean. That’s not the kind of woman you grow old with. Maybe I’m wrong, but Ihope so for her sake .

WHEN THIS ALL started, she had a real problem with trading herself. You could tell that she was just trying to get what they needed for the day. She was just trying to make her husband happy, that was her biggest worry in the world, that was all she wanted. On two different days, he had told me how he did not care what she done; nothing she done bothered him, is how he said it, not just once, multiple times. it made me so sorry for her. That was when I came up with the idea of helping turn their lives around

That was when I tried to steer her another way. I got her into a clinic, told her if she got clean, maybe her husband would too. I begged her to save money so her husband could work for himself. I really tried to do good with this at the start. But all I ever heard was lies—“I want to get clean,” or “he’s so mean to me.” Over and over. That was the first word out of her mouth every time she came in the door.

Tosh and I had already had sex four or five times before my wife ever got involved, and every one of those times her husband sat out in the driveway. Once, even her father-in-law brought her over and sat out there waiting for an hour and a half. Finally, I told her she had to start leaving him at home because it made us all look bad. Then eventually, my old lady got pulled into it. She had her rules, and she made it clear how things were going to go, but once the vodka started pouring, the rules got looser, and the three of us were day-drinking and having sex for the next year and eight months straight. What started with a little drinking turned into threesomes once a week, then twice a week.

Tosh loved the camera too—if we forgot to turn it on, she’d climb out of bed naked just to switch it on herself. We recorded it one hundred and eight times, each session about two hours long.

I kept trying project after project to help her find a way to earn a living the right way. But she wasn’t interested in working. Six months in, she’d given up pretending. a year old, she was set on prostitution being her only “work.”

That’s when things started going downhill fast, and my old lady wasn’t having it.

I caught her more than once—down at the Hi-Rise, getting busted on video. All it took was a buddy, fifty bucks, and a cell phone. Stumbling out of an elevator,r fixing her clothes, wiping cum off her legs. Twice, they caught her in the parking lot giving head in a car while her husband and his dad sat in another car across the lot. all 3 times they sent me video of tosh head bobbing up and down in the parking lot

A couple of days after I ran her off, she was in Lexington at the hospital with a sick kid, and she Snapchatted video clips from a motel room—bent over a coffee table. The guy fucking her had the camera. She was given the other guy's head. You couldn’t see her face, but that tramp stamp on her back IS one of a kind. If I were a betting man, I’d say it was the guy from the Hi-Rise and his son. Heard they did sick shit. that was who made the trip to the hospital.I heard she had already had a threesome with him and a hooker at the Hi-Rise. I was not sure who sent it it was from a fake account

The worst part was when my old lady caught her—at a doctor’s office, kissing that same old guy from the Hi-Rise. Tosh ended up with herpes from him, all over her face, from the Polk Salad Festival—the one I had paid for. I’ll drop a picture at the bottom of the post that was taken that night. The sad thing is, she had already told me about him before—how he forced himself on her the first time, how she hurt her leg trying to get away, how he pushed her against the door and stuck his fingers inside her. how she had to stop crying before she got back to the car so shawn would not no. , but she kept going back, saying he was “helping her daughter get a deal on a car.”

I stopped her once and turned the video camera on, got her to tell the story again. She stood there in tears, even asked me, “Why do you want to record this?” Tears rolling down her face. I said, “Because, sweetheart, in a little bit, I’m gonna be running you off for trading yourself to him.” She said, “Oh no, I hate him.” She was easy to read.

Then there was the kid in the camper by the water plant. A buddy of mine was outside waiting to buy a pill while Tosh was inside “working one out.” Her husband was, as always, waiting in the car. Tosh called the guy “Bube” in her texts—said maybe he was her stepbrother because her dad dated his mom back in the day. Didn’t matter—the messages always ended with her begging for help and promising to “take care of him.”

We tried to set it up so she didn’t have to sell herself. For the first year, I tried to treat her like a girlfriend, not a hooker. But by the end, she was calling herself “ Shawn's little whore.” to piss me off.

She’s out there now telling people how she just used me, but hell, I stayed mad at her for not straightening up so I could actually give her more. I remember her coming through the door crying because she knew I was disappointed in her. Those last two months, I had her cut down to about what you’d make at a minimum wage job. Some of that wasn’t even cash—TV subscriptions, phone plans, runs to the store for pop, cigarettes, and snacks. I was good to her. I tried to keep money in her pockets. But all she wanted was pill money so her husband would be happy. You’d think he’d be pissed with as many hours as she spent at my house, but his texts were always a “How much money can you get us today?” bout one thing: He even told me to my face, “I don’t care what she does—nothing she does bothers me.” He said that four or five times. At first I felt sorry for her, but by the end, I could see where he was coming from.

But it was worth it. I got a book deal out of it. A publishing company picked it up—it’ll be releasing it in the first part of 2026: { Poly, Pills, and Broken Promises }. I lucked into it. I was gaming one night with some guys, and one of them worked for a publisher. I’d tell them stories about how I talked my old lady into letting me, and he said, “If you can pull it off for a year, I’ll get you a book deal.” And he did.

When I finally got hold of her deleted Facebook messages, it was man after man, just endless.

The angriest I ever got with her—we were day drinking, getting ready for our weekly threesome. She was sitting in my lap, wearing nothing but socks, when she got a Facebook memory notification. It was her 20-year anniversary. Her or her husband hadn’t even remembered it, but she sat there and wrote a long, heartfelt post while I sat there drinking with her and playing with her pussy. When I realized what she was doing, I couldn’t believe it. That was the moment I knew—I had to replace her. I had even offered her fifty bucks, told her I’d take her to the store, get what she needed for the day, and drop her back off at home. She said, “Hell no, he’s mad. I’m staying where I’m at—it’s my day.”

A year and eight months. That’s how long it all lasted. I tried to help her, tried to save her, mostly from herself, tried to keep her from going down the same road I’d seen so many others go down. I begged her. But in the end, Tosh chose to be a whore, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. My old lady was willing to put up with a girlfriend, but not a hooker.

given head

sharing

one hundred and eight threesome

________

takings turns

taking turns given head

eating 😺

taken turns

solo

solo

eating 🐱

the email that started it

in her own words

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i WOULD GIVE 50 DOLLERS TO HEAR HOW SHE TRYS TO LIE OUT OF THE TWO HUNDRED + HOURS OF VIDEO .

JUST A THOUGHT