Blackmailer/1999

In the spring of 1999, I took a class on Reformation history the professor teaching the class was Dr. Peter Klassen. He was an extremely brilliant man, and had authored several books on the Reformation. He was the father of one of my brother’s high school friends. When I met Peter, he was already 68 years old, not particularly handsome or tall, but very charming, he reminded me of the late actor David Niven.

I was very determined to earn my bachelor’s degree in History after so many postponements. Because I was a Christian the Reformation period was very interesting to me. Almost immediately I was drawn to him. What does this say about my own character? I knew he was married. I started seeing him in his office. I remarked to Peter the very first day I saw his office,

“What a beautiful office you have.” And it was, he had very exotic pieces from the Orient and Africa, after all he was the Director of Foreign Exchange students besides being a professor of Reformation History.

“Your son Bryan and my older brother Ray were classmates in High School. I’m Ray’s little sister, Matty.”

“Yes, I remember Ray.” He smiled to be polite. “Oh. How do you like my class?”

“So far I like it very much.”

Klassen didn’t remind me of my father, although he was certainly old enough to have been mine. I respected him almost immediately his level of knowledge was immense. I was attracted to intelligent men. I had already had affairs with two history professors, when I was a young woman, now at 34, and the mother of a Kindergartener I should have known better. Maybe it was vanity on my part, to prove that I was still attractive, I was still slim, and youthful looking. But it was more, there was still a void, I still wanted to be married. But I knew he was married, before anything even happened between us.

As the weeks continued, Peter and I became friendlier. I would visit him in his office, and we would go over the characters of the Reformation period. It isn’t that I really needed his help. I had been taking history classes for some time. But he was extremely charming, I could not believe that an extremely intelligent man would want to sit and talk to me. It fed the broken woman inside still seeking validation. Christ had healed her, but every time He did, I was like the dumb sheep straying away from the flock again, looking for something that I was not getting. I used to call him Peter and he dressed impeccably, he wore spectacles, and had a charming smile and laugh. His hands were too big for a man of his height. I mentioned this to him, when he put his hand into mine, and it was kismet. If I wasn’t really to blame for the others, I was more to blame for this. I had no excuse, no defense except that I was a very lonely woman. We were laughing one afternoon in his office, and he took me into his arms and kissed me. I should have pushed him away immediately. Instead I gave myself to the kiss. I let myself be swept away into his charm. Peter told me I was very beautiful and that I reminded him of the Italian actress Gina Lollobrigida. Every time I saw him he told me I was very beautiful. He used to say that I was a flower that bloomed in the desert. Peter was unlike any other man I had known he had a sophisticated charm.

Wasn’t this what I wanted after all? To begin another affair with a man that was unattainable? It seemed to be my shtick after all. It was my habit to get involved with professors, and with people I should not be involved with.

Only two years ago, my job specialist and I began to have a personal relationship. Pete and I would talk on the phone daily for hours. We exchanged many letters. Pete Pappas reminded me of a petite Danny Kaye.

There was something wrong with me, I was terribly messed up. I have all of these layers of sin it’s the same sin, even. It is like gluing something over and over and then expecting it to be better. I already had layers of damage that happened to me over the years. Jesus wanted to heal me. He wanted it more for me than I wanted it for myself, because He is a Good, Good God.

This is why Jeremiah wrote, “The heart is desperately wicked, who, who can know it?” (Jeremiah17:9)

Still here I was in Dr. Klassen’s embrace, kissing his very married face. I will admit something to you; I wanted to be married to a college professor. But I would be humbled. You cannot take what doesn’t belong to you, and think you can steal it merely because you are younger and more attractive than someone else. Of course I was more attractive than his wife I was in my 30’s, she was already in her 60’s. After the kiss, I asked him about Mrs. Klassen. He said, she would not be happy about this, but that he had certain liberties, and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. There was the other thing, the smug professor, thinking he can have whatever he wants. He shouldn’t have touched me, he shouldn’t have seen so much of me, but I reasoned that a professor wanted to assert his sexual prowess over his female students, they were like rock stars, and they had and wanted groupies.

The affection in his office didn’t end there. It was assumed that I would go to Peter’s office, and so to speak, “make out with him.” I was getting absolutely nothing out of this. I was just growing deeply attached to him. Being that I was the type of woman that got attached to the man I was with.

Here was the other complication, Brouwer was still on campus, he was the professor I had had an affair with in 1990. I told him I liked Peter. He wasn’t too happy with it. He had to put his two dirty cents in.

“Peter, he’s a coward.” “Once, I was giving a proposal, Peter said he would back my proposal, then said it was ludicrous at the meeting in front of the other professors, he left me twisting in the wind.”

“What do you mean twisting in the wind?” My interest was piqued.

“That bastard said he would back my proposal, and he reneged.”

“Maybe he just changed his mind.”

“He’s not a good guy” was all Brouwer said.

Neither were you I thought in my head. But I merely smiled. I wasn’t going to listen to Brouwer. Brouwer remained my friend, but he was nothing like Peter.

I was doing my own school work, it wasn’t quid pro quo. Almost immediately it began to happen all over again, the nightmare that I kept re-playing in my life. When he was through playing with my body like a doll’s, he would tell me to go, and ask me to go out the back door.

“Can’t I stay a little longer?” I’d ask like a child.

“No, I have a meeting, but I’ll see you next time.” He said straightening out his tie, and making certain there wasn’t any lipstick on his face.

So, I closed the back door behind me. I don’t know why there were tears on my cheeks. I would have to go to the bathroom to check my make-up. I had another class, but I was willing to forego that class, Soviet History if he would have been willing to stay longer with me. It seemed that I didn’t take school very seriously. I was getting good grades, but I always sabotaged the progress I had made. If I felt too distraught, I would go to the bathroom and do more than fix my make-up. The cutting didn’t go away it was always in the shadows waiting to tear away at my façade. I had a mask, pretending that I was alright, and that I wasn’t clawing at love desperately trying to attain it. At that point clawing at love was more important than earning my degree it must have been, this is what I did, throw myself at men that didn’t really want me, but were too stupid and weak to turn me down. But, I was the one who always ended up getting hurt. I was my own worst enemy.

In the evenings I used to write on my sister Mia’s WebTV. It was lame, but it was what we had. Peter and I used to write to each other every day there. I called him “Sweet Pea.” We’d speak on the phone every day. He gave me his direct number, to bypass his secretary. I’m almost certain she knew what we were doing. On the phone, Peter would sing to me. He was the only man who ever sang to me before. He used to sing to me, “You are my Sunshine.” It made me feel very special, loved, and cared for. I know that sounds really, really stupid, but there was a broken child inside of me I could hear her crying at night. She wasn’t always nice, she wanted what she wanted.

Dr. Klassen like Brouwer would go to Europe. However his job would take him overseas during the school year, he would bring me back little trinkets from the places he went, nothing dramatic, nothing expensive, just little tokens, the child inside me was delighted, the woman inside me was disgusted. We never made love. I won’t go into detail, he took me into the conference room, and I allowed him to do things to me I am not proud of. He committed adultery, and I helped him to commit adultery. I was a fornicator. But, loneliness is assuaged by affection. At least the devil kept pumping that message into me so many times that I began to believe his twisted words. I heard things like “I deserved to be happy.” Did I deserve to be happy, at someone else’s expense?

Peter threw me off of his lap almost immediately when the secretary came in. I found myself crumbled like a dead spider on the floor beside him. It was quite absurd it would have been funny if it wasn't happening to me. When I left his office the same familiar tears stained my face. Then I heard a voice speak to my heart. “I didn’t create you for this.” I recognized the Holy Spirit. HE reached out to me. I was touched everywhere, dirty, and yet Jesus spoke to me. The Lord wiped the stains from my dirty little face.

“Yes, I was stupid again, Lord, and it hurts so much.” I thought I could be sophisticated, but I wasn’t. I just wanted him to love me. But he didn’t and he wasn’t ever going to. I was always the whore, I couldn’t quite make the cut of being an actual mistress. Maybe he even had an actual mistress, how was I to even know? My momma was a mistress, she wasn’t treated like this. I always reasoned it could work for me, but nothing ever did. What was I doing wrong? The devil told me to hang in there, that he’d come around. I ditched my classes that afternoon and sat in the bathroom I had cried all afternoon. I took a handful of anti-depressants. I wobbled out of the bathroom. One of the secretaries from the History department saw me and helped me into the office.

“What’s wrong honey?” Her voice was sympathetic.

“I can’t take it anymore.” My eyes were black from smeared make-up.

“Can’t take what anymore?” She had her arm around me.

“I can’t take him anymore.”

The secretary took me into their conference room. The room was spinning, or I was spinning, I wanted to exit the world so it wouldn’t spin anymore. But the words, the words spilled from me like vomit.

“I can’t do stuff with him anymore. I love him. I can’t do things with him in his office.” I sobbed.

“Whose office?”

“Peter’s.” I wanted to tell but couldn’t.

“Peter’s?” “A professor? The lady with the blonde hair asked me.

“Yes, he just kicks me out of his office after we’re together.” I described some of the things we did together. She looked disgusted that a professor in her department would behave this way.

“Honey, I can’t help you unless you tell me his last name.” It was the Dean she had been called by the Secretary. By this time there were about half a dozen other ladies waiting to hear my story.

But I didn’t want to get Peter into trouble he had a trip coming up to the Orient. I didn’t want to be like the women who were scorned. But I was a woman who was scorned. He had played with me all afternoon.

The kind secretary gave me some water to drink in a little white cup from the water cooler. She rubbed my back.

“He calls me every day. I thought he cared about me. But he doesn’t. And I can’t study. I just want to cut myself all the time.” I was out of my mind with tears. Tears will do that to you, your soul can drown from grieving.

The Dean, who was a blonde older lady tried to coax a name out of me. I could tell she was not happy about this. I don’t think she blamed me.

“You know he had no right to do this to you” “Even if you were naked in his office, he had no right to put his hands on you.” She said in a tone fueled with anger.

“Peter………..” I repeated his first name again. If his name left my lips, I couldn’t see him anymore. Whatever crumbs I had would certainly be swept away out of my reach. I needed those crumbs. I didn’t want to get even I just wanted the pain to stop. “Klassen…..”

I didn’t know how I was going to warn him about what I had done. I called Peter up the following morning. Peter’s voice greeted me kindly as usual.

“You’re not going to like what I did.” I began.

“What did you do?” His voice grew with concern.

“I told the Dean about you.” I said with an anxious voice.

“What did you tell her?” He should have been angry but he didn’t sound that way.

“About us.” “I’m sorry.” My voice reverted to a child. I wanted to fix what I had done wrong.

“Why?” He sounded timorous.

“I wanted to stay with you longer, and you brushed me away like a piece of lint from your coat.” The inflection of my voice became hurt.

“Honey, I had a meeting.” Peter tried to smooth my ruffled feathers over.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” “I just wanted to tell you what I did.”

Peter was silent for a good long while, until I asked him if he was still there.

“I could get into trouble.” He wanted my pity.

Then I said nothing. I knew what he wanted me to do. I knew what I wanted me to do. I finally broke the silence. “She’s not going to believe me.”

Before my classes the next morning I went to the Dean’s office, and recanted. “I had taken too much medication, my anti-depressants. I suffer from borderline personality disorder.” “Dr. Klassen has been nothing but kind to me.” I could hear myself tell the lies. They sounded like lies even to me. “I want to withdraw the complaint I put against him.”

Peter and I continued on the phone for months. Although I wasn’t allowed to call him at home, the one time I did he wasn’t happy.

The weekends were so long. The one time I did call his wife picked up the phone, I explained to her that I was a student who needed a reference, and I couldn’t wait until Monday. She sounded nice, “I understand, my husband helps students all of the time.”

When Peter came to the phone he told me. “Don’t call me at home anymore.”

“Please, talk to me.” I begged.

But he was adamant. Then he hung up on me. I was not to call him at home.

It continued like that I wanted to vindicate myself and free myself from this type of abuse. So, I went to the Investigator of Student Affairs on campus. Even though I told Peter that I withdrew my complaint, I couldn’t withdraw it. I began to split, my loyalties to myself and to him. Just like when I was a child with my parents. When momma was going back to night school, and would leave us with daddy at night.

“Tell me if your father gets on the phone.” She looked at me straight in the eyes. I nodded that I would.

Daddy would tell me, “If you tell her that I am on the phone, she’ll leave me and our family will break up.”

I’d watch daddy on the phone in a mirthful attitude with someone. I had to protect daddy. Just as I had to protect Peter it was my job. I continued to see him. I desperately wanted his affection, but at what cost? Behind his back, I was talking to the School Investigator, Carlos.

One afternoon I called Carlos in tears, I had just beaten myself in the head with my fists in the bathroom at the Denny’s restaurant. My head was red from self inflicted punches and I gave myself a terrible headache. Carlos came in 15 minutes, as I sat on the curb of the parking lot. He offered to buy me lunch and we spoke in the restaurant.

“I need you to give me the name of the professor? “He doesn’t care about you, has he even taken you out to lunch?” That wasn’t entirely true, we had breakfast once.

I could not even convince myself that what we had was anything but a repeat of everything I had gone through before. Men who thought they were too good for me. Men who thought I was only trash under their feet. But I wasn’t going to let this one get away. If he had to pay for the sins of the others, then he would be the one. I wasn’t in my 20’s anymore, I wasn’t that naïve little waif they had convinced meant something to them. I thanked Carlos for having lunch with me, and for dropping me off at home. I still kept the file open with the Special Investigative Services. Then I began to call Peter up and demand to see him at inopportune times.

“I’m going on a trip to my sister’s.” “I need some money for my trip.”

“How much?” He’d asked.

“$200.00.” I said matter of factly.

“I can’t meet you now.” Peter almost pleaded.

“I’ll be at Wal-Mart. Meet me there with the money.” It sounded that surreptitious. “I’ll see you there in a half an hour.”

“I have a meeting in 15 minutes.” He wanted me to be understanding. But I was beyond understanding.

“I don’t care. Be there.” Then I hung up. That sure felt good.

I wasn’t at all worried that he wouldn’t show up. I knew he would. I stood by the women’s apparel watching everyone as they came in. There was Peter wearing dark sunglasses I wanted to laugh out loud. He saw me, and took urgent steps to meet me. Then he handed me an envelope. I took it and quickly glanced at the money. He turned around and quickly walked out the door.

I began to tell Peter that I needed money for school. He told me he would help me to locate a scholarship on line. A few days later he handed me an envelope with $2,000. He said he cleared it with Mrs. Klassen. According to Peter he helped students with their education. He would give me an additional $1,200.00. Before I asked for any more money, I heard the word “Blackmailer.”

“But I’m not.” Instead of repent, I hid in the Garden like Adam and Eve.

“Asking for money to conceal a matter”, echoed through my heart.

But he deserved this. I chimed in like a child.

“I didn’t create you for blackmail.” The gentle voice spoke to my soul. I knew who it was, and He was exactly right.

After that I didn’t ask Peter for any more money and thanked him for the money he had already parted with. I still wrote to him on WEBTV. But my messages were more about God and less about myself.

However, the love didn’t go away. Instead of hurt him, I wanted to help him. What came to my heart was to call his Pastor and tell him what was going on, instead of continuing with the investigation.

After praying for a few days, I called up the Pastor of his Church to tell him that I needed to meet with him at McDonald’s. “I have something to tell you about one of your parishioners, it is urgent.”

The Mennonite Minister not quite sure what to make of my phone call met with me the next day at a nearby McDonald’s. I recognized him immediately, I’m not sure he recognized me. But I stood up and he walked over to me. I had letters in my hand of the investigation against Peter.

“I wanted to talk to you about Peter.” I started the conversation.

“Peter?” He asked.

“Dr. Klassen.” I replied. Then I handed him the letters. The President’s name was on them, Dr. John Welty. “We’ve been involved.”

His tired face was without expression, shock perhaps. Peter and his wife had positions in the Mennonite Church.

“I’m not going to continue the investigation.” “I thought it would be better if I just told you.” I broke down in front of him, it wasn’t my intention.

Pastor Kroeger wanted me to talk to one of his ministers Dr. Mary Ann Isaakson, who was a female minister. I guess he felt responsible for what happened to me.

One day Peter wrote to me that he told his wife about me, and that she wanted to talk to me. I was to call her. I mustered up my courage, called her, and she sounded very gracious on the phone.

I started with, “I’m very sorry.” She wanted to know if I slept with her husband.

“Did you sleep with my husband?” Even when she asked me this she sounded very kind.

“No.” I said apologetically.

“Tell me the truth. He said he didn’t sleep with you.”

“I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Peter said that you came on to him.”

“That’s not the way it happened at all. He came on to me.”

“Whatever” She said to ease her pain. “I want you to know that we both resigned our positions in the Church.”

“Why, you didn’t do anything.” I asked surprised.

“I had to resign too.” “I want to meet with you.” She declared. She wanted to meet the person who had changed her life.

“Why? It’s not going to take away your pain.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” She said. “I’m not that kind of person.”

“You say that, but you’re hurt.” I think she wanted to know what I looked like.

I had seen her once, when Klassen left early and she picked him up. She was an elderly lady in her late 60’s very plump. But I did believe she was capable of anything. Not because she was a bad person, because she was a woman who had been hurt. Then she began to blame herself for Peter’s infidelity.

“I wonder if I could have done something different. It’s my fault” she said.

“No, it’s not your fault.” “He loves you.” I assured her.

I was sickened by our conversation. She was innocent, it was me. I was the guilty one. It was a punishment that I had to talk to his wife, and explain to her that I didn’t sleep with her husband. She was suffering too. How indecent of him to ask me to talk to his wife on the phone. No one had ever done that to me before.

I called Peter one last time from a pay phone. He told me he wanted to make his marriage work with his wife. A woman dies, every time a man she loves rejects her. The heart begins to delete files. Because there was no longer any use for them. I hung up the phone after Peter said good-bye for the final time. Then I faded, and disintegrated with that last phone call. There were no more hysterics, no sobbing, no noise to my tears at all, they streamed silently as if to die.

The number was no good to me anymore. I had to walk home from the phone booth to pick up my daughter from school. The walk seemed a lot longer than usual the journey I had traveled was twisted. This turned out to be much more complicated, than I could have ever imagined. There was so much wreckage. The world returned to its former self, but I wasn’t the same. Besides a fornicator, I had become a blackmailer.

_____________________________________________________

Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the Kingdom of God? Do not be deceived. Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners will inherit the Kingdom of God.

And such were some of you but you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus and by the Spirit of our God. (1 Corinthians 6:9-11) _____________________________________________________ In this relationship I heard God call me a “Blackmailer”, which was good. I was blackmailing this man, and might have continued until he me hurt or worse. God was pulling me back from the full wrath of my consequences. In His great love for me, He intervened even though I was sinning. I know the voice that called me a blackmailer was God’s and not my own. God was showing me great mercy.

This relationship was self-destructive, I took a lot of pills, was hurting myself. I know it was God who told me to call Dr. Klassen’s minister and talk to him, instead of pursue the complaint I had put against him. It was God who ministered to me through Pastor Isaakson. It was the Lord who gave me the strength to show Mrs. Klassen compassion.

God was still with me, the Holy Spirit was guiding me out of this relationship that had me involved in this adulterous relationship.

It was God who was going to finish the work in me He had started when He saved me. He was not going to leave me there.

It was Almighty God who exposed this corrupt relationship to the light.