The truth is I’ve been stalling about my OS interview because I didn’t want my real identity to come out. But I think the jig is up as Sal, the owner of Club LapItUp would say, not that I hang around with him much. We’re just close friends.

Anyway, I figured you’d find out one way or another that I'm really not "Lea Lane" since the above ad came out in some of the more illustrious local tabloids. So I’m going to cough up the facts like a fur ball. Laurel not Lauren was on to something a while back when she thought I lived in a basement. Close but no cigar as Monica Lewinsky, my idol, might say.

I’m really Leah Layne, Miss Erotic World, a tiny, tasteful dancer who bares it all, as you can see by the ad above. And I live with my cockapoo, Willy,  in a two-bedroom condo adorned with crystal chandeliers, granite (ok, faux) counters and wall-to-wall carpeting, provided by my dear sugarpie, Elmer P.

That’s right. Enough with the “alone” shit. Elmer has been my boyfriend for the last two years. I don’t see him that much since he’s been in the nursing home, but he still insists I go shopping and buy pretty, sparkly things. And I just love him to death.

It’s liberating that I don’t have to write like “Lea Lane” for once. Fuck that. I can say shit now like the normal 24-year old (ok, 34-year old)  interpretative dancer--beauty queen that I am. No more sweet Miss Sixtyish Cougar Granny Widow. I was getting tired of holding back my “real voice” as she would say. This is the real me, genital warts and all.

Speaking of which, I’m healthy as a horse (by the way, I have a crush on Sheldon, he must be hung pretty good or he wouldn’t be whinnying like that in his avatar). I’ve had elective surgery, of course, as Elmer insisted, but the only time I go to the doctor is to check the herpes, and that’s under control. And the other STDs are, too. I’m not fucking anyway. Well, not that much. I mean, never, seeing as Elmer is incapacitated. Ahem.

And ok, so I haven’t traveled much, let alone the fucking polar caps. I thought it would be fun to make it up, read the web and write about it. I have been to Atlantic City a couple of times for the Miss Open-Wide competition. I didn’t place but I shared some affection with the MC and he took me out for a steak dinner so it wasn’t a total loss. Not that anything else happened. I remain true to Elmer, of course. BJs and steak are just a tradition, right?

The “Lea Lane” avatar is my aunt who now lives with her seventh husband in Paraguay, trekking through the jungle for Morphos butterflies, which she mounts and sells to tourists. She doesn’t have a computer and is estranged from the family for inheriting all of my grandfather’s money and giving it away, so she will never know about this. I knew her when I was a child and she was still coherent. I write as I think she would have, poor well-meaning dear.

I guess I may have some hidden ability to do that shit although I realize now that most of you don’t make diddly squat writing, and I bring home a couple of C-notes a night dancing. Three if I dance horizontally. And that’s after I split it with Sal.

So there you have it. Me. I don’t think I’m going to mention this again. And those who didn’t see this please don’t tell the others that I’m not “Lea Lane.”  I’m having fun with it and will keep doing it till I get that starring role in that flick about a dominatrix and her chimp that Sal’s been telling me about. Anyway, writing these posts keeps me out of trouble during the day, and they’re an excuse not to visit Elmer. It’s so depressing to see someone you love talking to a wall, and I know he doesn’t want me upset.

And oh, I do like reading other writers (I won’t name names but some of you have big balls, and I like that, very much.) Yes, some hot guys and gals here I’d do in a second. If I weren’t so committed to Elmer, of course.

And some inevitable day, when my lips deflate and my thighs turn to cottage cheese and my titties droop, although come to think of it I doubt that since Elmer paid top dollar for them, maybe I’ll try writing under my own name, which I have to tell you isn’t Leah Layne. It’s Joan Walsh, but I don’t use it out of respect to our Salon madame here, who already has renown.  My mom calls me Joanie, but most people know me as Leah, except here, where you know me as “Lea.”

Speaking of Joan, I’ve met some of her acquaintances at the club. Dick Armey dropped by a couple of times. Likes to bend an elbow, that one. Not much Hardball going on there, if you get my drift.

Speaking of which, I can always give a little “extra” to somebody who can give me a “leg up” in getting something published although I don’t think Kerry would be interested. Anyone else out there?