Truth Behind the Fantasy of Porn

by Shelley Lubben

  Demons and alcohol tried to destroy my life once again. I found out three weeks later I was pregnant and I literally went through the roof. The man I had sex with was black. Garrett was going to kill me for sure. I hated myself and wanted to die.

  The night I had sex with the man, I felt so guilty. I knew it was wrong. Prostitution didn’t come easy to me anymore. I felt horrible so I only had sex for about a minute with a condom and then pushed him away because I knew it was wrong. I couldn’t go through with it and yet, here I was pregnant.

  I was a cursed woman. I had to tell Garrett the truth. I stupidly called him on the phone.

  “Garrett, I have some terrible news. Do you promise not to leave me?”

  “Yes, Shelley, I promise.”

  “I had sex with someone else when I was drunk…”

  Garrett didn’t say a word.

  “…and now I’m pregnant.”

  The phone hung up.

  I really screwed it up this time, I thought. I got into the bathtub, turned on the water and sobbed giant tears of regret. I was the most sorry I had ever been in my life. I hated what I had done. I hated my sin against Garrett and against God. How could I have let this happen?

  I desperately begged God, “Please God, please God, let this baby be Garrett’s. Please forgive me and have mercy on me. I promise to obey you. I promise!”

  Garrett came home that weekend and didn’t say a word. I followed him around begging him for forgiveness swearing to God I would do whatever it took to save our marriage. I even promised to stop drinking.

  I also promised him that when the baby was born if it wasn’t his I would give it up for adoption. He agreed to stand by me no matter what. But I saw the pain in his eyes. I crushed his big beautiful heart.

  Garrett finally finished his schooling and received orders to go to Fort Lewis, Washington. Thank God, I thought. I had to get out of Texas and away from that bar!

  We drove all the way across country in a little black Datsun truck I bartered from one of my bar customers. Poor Tiffany had to sit behind my seat for two thousand miles. Good thing a cop didn’t pull us over.

  After a sober drive along the Oregon Coast, I heard a Voice say within, “Trust me, Shelley.”

  I had no choice but to trust God. I had no one else to lean on. Garrett was gone all the time and barely talked to me when he was home. My parents weren’t around and didn’t care. My mother in law couldn’t stand me. I had no friends to talk to. It was just me and God and the little baby growing inside of me.

  “Baby, I am sorry your mommy is so stupid. I really love you.” I looked down in tears at my little bump. My heart broke at the thought of having to give my baby up. Every day I got down on my knees and begged God to have mercy and please let the baby be Garrett’s.

  “Please God, have mercy on me. You saved me all those times during the sex industry. Save me one more time, please.” I wept and wept. I was deeply sorry for my sins.

  I was an emotional wreck. I began to experience regular flashbacks and nightmares of my horrible past. Images of foul men penetrating me in every orifice haunted me every night. I woke up screaming and punching my pillow. During the day I lived through constant mood swings. One minute I was angry and throwing things and the next I was on the floor sobbing in tears. Garrett thought it was pregnancy hormones. But I knew it was more than that. I was battling real demons and I needed real help.

  I knew I needed to go to church. Desperate for any help I could get, I pulled out the Yellow Pages and chose the first church I landed my finger on.

  “Champion’s Centre,” sounded good enough to me.

  Sunday came and we pulled up to a glamorous big church in our ugly beat up Datsun. I was so embarrassed. Everybody looked happy and shiny; moms and dads with happy little children running around. It made me cringe. I hated the family I grew up in.

  As soon as I walked in I experienced massive culture shock. The music was earsplitting and people were jumping up and down waving their hands in the air.

  Why the hell were these people so happy, I wondered.

  “ALL THINGS ARE PO-SS-I-BLE,” sang and danced a thunderous choir of purple robed people.

  Struck by the bright lights and powerful music around me, I fell into a chair in the crowd and lowered my head. Paranoid, I thought someone might know me. I looked over at Garrett and his face was lit up like a kid at a carnival. He was used to the light and the music. I was used to death and darkness. I just sat there and stared.

  The music stopped and some young guy walked onstage praising the Lord.

  “Success begins on Sunday!” the pastor exploded. Then he opened a book and said he was teaching on the nine tests that prove some kind of potential or something like that. None of it made sense to me. I was about to get up when he stopped and pointed his finger directly at me.

  “Do you know there’s a Champion inside of you?”

  The truth hit my face like a half-ton truck.

  Kicking and screaming inside of my soul, the talented Champion little girl in me was dying to get out. She had been locked up in a hell cell for over seventeen years and she wanted out!

  Overwhelmed by the powerful words of the Pastor, I burst into violent tears and seventeen years of pent up pain exploded out of me. I began to mourn for my shattered life right in front of everyone. A blob of a million traumatized pieces, I wailed over the injustices done against me since I was a child. I cried out in pain at the utter wickedness of my parents’ betrayal. I sobbed over the self-hatred against my own soul. I utterly hated myself.

  The entire service became my funeral and evil lie after lie was exposed. It was the truth encounter of a lifetime and it was only the beginning.

  The eulogy of the dead, my unexpected funeral ended with me wiping my tears and the concluding pastor’s words:

  “Resist the devil and he will flee from you.”

  I knew right then what I had to do.

  I went straight home, got down on my knees and prayed.

  “Jesus, please forgive me for all of my sins, which are many. Please have mercy and help me get through this pregnancy. Please let this baby be Garrett’s. Please, Lord. I know I deserve to be thrown out on the street or worse but Lord, I desperately need you.”

  As I was praying, someone entered my front room. I recognized the Presence right away. It was Jesus. The same Jesus I knew as a little girl and the same Jesus that was with me on the porn set. He never left my side for a moment. I repented for every sin I ever committed and utterly thanked Him that I wasn’t burning in hell.

  Someone else entered the room. A dark intimidating presence, I recognized the familiar evil force. But the Lord wasn’t moved. Strong and beautiful, He stretched out His hand and dared me to do the impossible.

  Bible in my hand, baby in my tummy and newborn faith, I reached up to Jesus and together, we declared war on Satan.

  Admit One

  act V

  Meet Shelley #2

  XVIII

  Admit One

  This is Only a Test

  Chapter Eighteen

  Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.

  - James 1:12

  Front and center, I was in that church every Wednesday and Sunday. Garrett was slaving away for the military while I was learning how to pass tests to prove my personal potential. Three months pregnant with a baby and hope for the future, I began my days with prayer and a flip through the Bible. At night I worked at the Acapulco Mexican restaurant as a food server. From La Huera Loca to a humble Mexican waitress, I joyfully welcomed customers at the door,

  “Bienvenidos a Acapulco restaurante.”

  When I spoke Spanish, my Mexican boss asked me where I learned it.

  “I’m from California,” I half smiled back.

  Sundays were my favorite day of the week. I loved to shove my way into church to get the best seat. It wa
s all about me at that point.

  “The goal for every achiever is to pass the test,” the pastor preached. As he went down the list of nine tests to prove one’s personal potential, I failed them all.

  “Are you easily offended?” he asked.

  “No!”

  “What about the motivation test, why do you do what you do?” the pastor asked the congregation.

  Because I want something, duh.

  “Do you have patience? Can you pass the test of time? Do you think long term?”

  I wish he’d hurry up, I’m hungry. My pregnant tummy rumbled.

  “Do you have respect for the authority God has placed in your life?”

  Nobody tells me what to do, I thought with a smirk.

  “How do others view you? Can you pass the credibility test?”

  Gulp. I hated to think of how others viewed me. I’m pretty sure past sugar daddies could comment about that one. Years of using and abusing men entered my mind.

  The pastor interrupted my thoughts. “You will be blessed in the city and blessed in the country. The fruit of your womb will be blessed…”

  Okay, that one was for me, I thought. I looked down at my stuffed womb and made a tiny deal with God.

  “I promise to obey you. Just please make this baby be Garrett’s.”

  The service ended and it was time to go home and eat. I was starving!

  I grabbed my eight-year old daughter Tiffany from Sunday School and headed home for some Italian cuisine: macaroni and cheese. Yeah, it was gross but I couldn’t afford “special” foods anymore and I didn’t know how to cook. Tiffany liked it anyway.

  Wet and rainy Washington weeks went by and it was time for my first pregnancy exam. I hadn’t been to a doctor in years, except for the occasional overdose. That didn’t really count though. This time it was special. I hoped they would let me hear the baby’s heartbeat.

  “Shelley Lubben,” the name still sounded funny. A lifeless lady handed me a bunch of papers and told me to fill them out. Overwhelmed by the amount of questions they asked, I gasped out loud. The experienced military Mom sitting next to me chuckled and welcomed me to the Army life of “overkill of the paper trail”.

  Whatever that meant, I thought.

  I slowly read over each question one by one.

  No heart disease. No kidney disease. No blood disease. No HIV.

  I hoped.

  No liver disease, gulp.

  I hoped again.

  I felt so stressed out from my past. I just wanted to forget it and the stupid questions were nothing but a horrible reminder. The evil voices chimed in, You’ll never get over your past, whore.

  “Get out of here in Jesus name!” I commanded the devil under my breath. I stacked the papers back under the clip and dumped them off at the front desk. I couldn’t answer all the questions. Maybe they wouldn’t notice.

  Almost an hour later they called my name.

  Finally, I thought. This place was slower than my grandmother.

  I took a pee test, entered the military exam room and laid there with my chunky legs stuck up in stirrups. I felt so humiliated, which was pretty weird for someone who “did it all” on camera. I tried to think of something else. The door opened and a lady in a white lab coat with no makeup walked in.

  “Hello, I’m doctor so-and-so and I’ll be giving you a physical exam as well as asking you a few questions. I notice you didn’t fill out some of your paperwork. I’ll need to know some of the answers today.”

  “Okay,” I moaned.

  After a wide-eyed exam and a mildly painful check up, the doctor told me she thought I was about four months pregnant. Yep, just what I thought.

  Great, I really do need a miracle, I thought.

  Then she brought up questions about my past. I tried to hide my shame by looking away. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about my past. But the doctor said it was important for the health of my baby. Sure, pull the mother strings, lady.

  “Have you had any sexually transmitted diseases?”

  Breathe, I thought.

  Full of unprecedented shame I answered a low, “yes.”

  She clicked on her pen and began to write.

  “Which ones?” She stared into my face with a blank military look.

  “Herpes.”

  “Did you have them vaginally or just orally?”

  “Both.”

  She continued to scribble.

  Wait, why was she still writing? I worried.

  After a couple of minutes she asked me if I was interested in being in a military study for pregnant women with Herpes. I started to breathe again and figured what the heck, what did I have to lose?

  The businesswoman in me perked up. “What do I get?” I asked.

  “We don’t pay you but you will be given ultrasounds and special attention if you participate in the study.”

  The attention whore in me sat up and smiled.

  “Okay, I’ll be part of your study.”

  “We’ll need to take some blood today and we’ll also test you for HIV,” the doctor pronounced.

  Gulp. There was that three-letter catchword from hell. As if I didn’t hear enough of it in the porn industry. HIV was the F-bomb of porn.

  The exam ended and I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. The stress made me hungry so I stopped off at the local hamburger place and got the 1 buck burger special. I was on a new cheap see-food diet. Everything I saw for a buck I ate.

  I was getting fatter. Garrett came home after weeks of being in the field and saw my flabby fat folds. I think I traumatized him. I felt so embarrassed. Between Herpes tests, staying sober and having an anonymous baby, it was just too much for a newly reformed ex porn star mom to stomach. So I ate.

  And I read the Bible. And I watched Christian television. And I listened to the Pastor’s tapes after he preached. I really tried to obey God in everything I did, but it was much harder than I realized. Passing the Champion tests on a military base full of men and alcohol was going to kill me, I thought!

  Especially when I heard, “When my grandma was ninety-two, she did PT better than you,” beautiful male voices sang in cadence as I stared at their perfect physiques while I munched on a bag of Fritos.

  Delicious, I thought. Of course, I meant the chips!

  Sobriety was painful to say the least.

  I really need a break, God, I thought.

  It was Sunday again and I greedily grabbed a seat close to the front. With a pen and Bible in my hand, I scribbled hurried notes on my bulletin as I tried to keep up with the Pastor.

  “…my people are destroyed for lack of knowledge.”

  No wonder my life sucked, I thought. No one ever really took the time to teach me anything. The Pastor continued the lesson. “People blame their lack of success on problems that they face. If they could only realize those problems are their opportunities to prove themselves.”

  Wow, I thought. A giant light went off inside of me. I never viewed my problems as opportunities. Then another light went off.

  Wait, I thought. If I had a bunch of big problems that would mean I actually had a lot of huge opportunities.

  Dang, I thought. This guy’s good.

  Service ended and I drove home thinking about ways I could face my problems as opportunities to prove myself. I remembered the Pastor’s words, “Practice God’s principles on purpose” and that I didn’t have to be perfect. That was a relief! I also thought about that knowledge thing he said, “My people perish for lack of knowledge.”

  I didn’t want to perish anymore. I was done with being a loser in life. So I woke up Monday morning and drove to the nearest public library. When I walked through the doors I felt a huge breath of air come into my soul. The curious little girl in me was alive and she was excited to learn!

  I eagerly grabbed books about everything. From cooking to pregnancy to types of plants in Washington State, I wanted to learn about everything around me. The smell of the books soothed my irritated
mind. But when I got to the breastfeeding section I stopped. It was too painful to “hope” for such a special joy when I wasn’t sure I was going to keep my baby. I plopped down in the aisle and lowered my awful head. I deeply yearned to keep my baby. Tears filled my eyes.

  “Shelley, trust me. Get the book,” a gentle Voice said.

  I cried. It was so hard to trust God. I had been through so much pain and trauma from my past. It was so hard to trust. I didn’t trust anyone. But I knew I had to trust God.

  “Okay,” I answered. I got the book.

  Then it happened. I started cooking! Garrett was traumatized again. He came home to a full meal with garlic bread and everything. Yeah, I made spaghetti. I’m a WOP, remember? Italian cooking came natural to me. I remembered when my Italian grandmother taught me how to make Veal Scaloppini as a child. She gave me some of my best memories as a child. I wanted to be just like her. So, I made spaghetti and meatballs and my hungry husband and daughter Tiffany gobbled it down. My first meal was more like the Last Supper: Holy and heartily enjoyed!

  Not long after that first cooked meal, the phone rang.

  “Shelley, we need you to come into the medical clinic and see the doctor,” a voice on the other end of the phone told me.

  “Why, is the baby okay?” She sounded serious so it really concerned me.

  “Please come down to the clinic and the doctor will speak with you.”

  I showed up at the clinic with big worried eyes but an even bigger trust in God. I told Him I really wasn’t up for any bad news. I sat down and waited.

  “Hurry up and wait,” a military mom mumbled to me.

  I waited and I waited and I waited. Finally, they called my name, “Shelley Lubben.”

  I rushed to the bathroom to take the perpetual pee test and hurried to the exam room. The doctor came in immediately and unemotionally said, “Mrs. Lubben, we regret to inform you that you cannot be in our study for Herpes. You don’t have Herpes.”

  I shook my head. “That’s impossible. I was diagnosed with Herpes and was on Zovirax,” I retorted.