Indigne D' Amour

Andrew Oakes. Why I wrote. Indigne d’amour. I’m not a writer. I’d never given much thought about the seemingly impossible odds of getting a book published. Apparently, there are authors that would give their soul to the Devil for the opportunity that was literally thrust at me, with, not taking no, as an answer. My life in turmoil, I didn’t want to confuse it further. I used every reason why I couldn’t and didn’t want to write my story. Unfortunately—or so it seemed at that time—a persistent, smooth talking American publisher, Brad Sinclair, convinced me to—Get the truth out there! I insisted that I knew nothing about writing—Sinclair shrugged a dismissive, no problem. Tell it in your own words, ghostwriters would write the story, he assured me. Pressured by Sinclair—the flights of sexual fantasy my story inflamed on the net, and the embarrassment it caused my family and friends. I decided that Sinclair, was probably right. Perhaps, the truth needed to be told—Big mistake! My story on-line, it doesn’t end there. My past became fair-game—Kiss and Tell—Yeah! I needed this story published like I needed a boil on my ass—but I’d signed the contract. Writing this unusual story, I never did come to terms with how the bizarre consequences of those two nights changed my life so completely. How, every unforeseen incident, every random decision, played right into the hands of…fate! Yeah, it’s a cliché, but alone, destined to share a survival shelter with a beautiful, unpredictable, crazy, fun-loving woman—I can only describe it as fate. The Press got hold of the story—they had a field day. Social media fully exploited my two nights, alone with a notorious celebrity—Kylla Si Vengo—How could it be anything less than a wild sexual encounter—It went viral. Overnight, I became a reluctant, uncooperative celebrity, refusing to comment about embarrassing, personal headlines: Every man’s wildest sex fantasy. Did Andrew Oaks measure up to—The Donkey. Kylla Si Vengo’s, fiancé. Dodging persistent reporters wanting an exclusive became a daily routine, while I kept a low profile. convinced that it would soon be yesterday’s news. My resolve to wait it out, showed signs of succeeding, until ex-girlfriends posted kiss and tell, online, eager to have their moment of fame. Expecting a fireman’s hose and helmet: Not enough to put my fire out. Promised a cucumber: received a gherkin. Most stories were from women I had never met. Inevitably those hard done by women (pun intended) Honestly admitting they expected and wanted more, it opened up that age-old controversial topic. Dose size matter.