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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author. In the last 20 years we have seen X-rated movies go from a theater in the worst part of town to our own VCRs and on the menu of expensive hotels as in-room entertainment. As the first Native American porn star, I show you how this line of work is seen in the eyes of my religion and culture and I share some of the healing ceremonies I have experienced.

I have done many exciting things in my life. Most people find it difficult to understand why someone might do something they themselves would never do. That is one of the reasons for this book. There are many opinions on all sides of these topics and it is rare that a female performer is able to give her uncensored opinion about her experiences with them. After well over a decade working in these fields I have seen some pretty amazing things, some frightening, some awe-inspiring, and some tragic. I hope to expose many misconceptions and explain why so many people do the strange sexual things they do.

Since all actions are merely reactions, I hope that as you read about my life, you will see why I acted as I did and why others who experience similar situations might behave in the ways they do. One never makes decisions without being influenced by things that have happened in the past, whether it is a conscious overview, or one that occurs spontaneously. Cycles continue, and unless we are aware of the cycles that led to our current position, we are bound to unknowingly repeat them. If you truly want to understand it, you must first commit to having an open mind and secondly, you must try to understand how we are all products of our past and just what that really means.

It is proven scientific facts that newborn babies who are given all the food, warmth and physical care they need die without love and affection. The medical term for such a death is Failure to Thrive. The human need, not desire, but absolute need for survival, to be held, talked lovingly to, smiled at and treasured, last long past infancy. Is it any wonder our elders who have been abandoned in nursing homes, not the ones who are remembered and visited, but the forgotten ones, die so soon?

This book is about humanity, what society has done to our humanness and the on-going ramifications of separating the mental, physical and emotional aspects of a human being. We are living in a pain and death denying society. No one wants to admit fear, pain and sorrow.

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We are told to get over it and to get on with our lives , as though sadness and grieving are not a part of life. A buried emotion eats away at the inside. It festers until one day it explodes. How many times has a small splinter turned into an ugly infection, stomach pain to an ulcer, discomfort to cancer?

A broken bone never properly set and left alone to heal itself, is never the same, never completely healed back to its former self. Life is not a fair game. The good and honest are stricken with tragedies, the innocent children are sometimes born into a world of famine or abuse, thieves and murderers sometimes go free. How then, do you protect yourself from the shit that just happens? The elders say that after death, a soul goes back to the Great Round. Years are spent reviewing ones lives and the lessons learned and all that is still to be learned on the road to enlightenment.


The soul, knowing what is needed next on its path, chooses a womb to jump into. The elders say this happens in the fourth month of pregnancy. At birth, the Angel of Forgetfulness touches us under the nose and above the upper lip and we forget all about our past lives and time spent in the Great Round. Adversity is a character builder. Those who are never challenged do not know their strength. Therefore, the more progress a soul wishes to make, the more challenging the environment it chooses.

This gives power back to the person whose life is in question. The soul has chosen these opportunities for growth. It is of course, up to the individual whether a challenge will actually promote growth and enlightenment or crush ones spirit.

All children are born pure, not carrying the mistakes of their past lives or their ancestors. The mistakes of the other dances lives have already been learned and atoned for in the Great Round. Anyone who has ever held a newborn and felt with their heart knows the Universal Truth that all babies are born innocent and pure. We are highly impressionable; the world we are presented with is the only world we know. My mother, Mary, and my father, Randy, met in high school. They tried to do the right thing. When two teenagers become parents, everyone suffers. My mother and father were still children themselves.

My mother stayed home with her parents and my father went into the military to make ends meet and to help pay for the medical bills associated with giving birth. After his basic training, he was stationed in Cape Cod and my mother went to join him while I stayed home with my maternal grandmother to give them some time to get settled in. My mother felt a responsibility to be there for her mother, to help her through such a rough time. She divorced my father and went back home. He was devastated; he really had wanted it to all work out.

My mother went back to school to get a GED and my grandmother took care of me.

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With all the pressures of her school, work, raising a daughter and the ostracization she felt from her peers, she needed a break. Her release came in the form of a race track. Living right next to the Indy , it was a natural progression for her to develop a love of racing and subsequently, the men who drove the cars. She traveled all across the country to attend as many races as her work and school would allow, while I stayed home with my grandmother, whom I called Mother. Life with my grandmother had its ups and downs, but for the most part, it was a great way to grow up.

I started dance and gymnastics classes when I was four. My grandmother had abusiness with her sister, Atchie. They made draperies for an interior decorator in their homes. Both of them had their workroom in the basement, which became the major living area in the house for Atchie.

One birthday, when I was so excited about my dancing classes, Atchie and my grandmother made 6 different costumes for me to dance in. She and her husband George had put up lights for me to perform under and whenever we went out there, which was three or four times a week for their work. I would always sing and dance to records they played.

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During their break, they would sit and watch me. I was quite the ham. It was my great-aunt Atchie and uncle George who paid for my voice lessons and much of my dancing lessons, and this was a way of showing them what their money was going for and if it was doing any good. They were all connoisseurs of the arts and had good constructive criticism that helped me improve. Every year, Atchie, Grandma and I would go to Michigan to visit Interlochen, the arts school for young people.

They would put on shows and symphonies throughout the week or two we stayed there in a cabin on Lake Michigan. That is where I first developed an interest in the theater while watching a rehearsal of Annie Get Your Gun.

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When I was nine years old and in the third grade, my real mother decided to marry a man she had been dating for several months. He worked in the building next to where she did and they met when he came over to borrow the copying machine. His name was Don and he was a short, heavy-set, red-haired man. Although I had always dreamed of having a mother and a father like everyone else I knew, I had quite a hard time adjusting to this new family. I was not used to looking to my real mother for all my needs.

The Secret Lives of Hyapatia Lee by Hyapatia Lee - Read Online

It was hard to leave the woman I came to know as Mother and separate myself from her so suddenly and completely. We moved in the middle of a school year and the differences between the inner-city education I was getting and the lily-white, rich, suburban school system I was transferred to, were astonishing. Don and I did not hit it off right away either. There were serious problems when he forbade me to see my grandmother more than once a month and to call her no more than once a week. I hated him for cutting me off from her so abruptly.

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What right did he have to dictate when I could make a local call to the woman who had raised me so far? He was a tyrant, a power hungry Hitler. He was the arrogant, pushy, sometimes out-and-out rude, type. He was too good to stand in a line, always cheating toward the front, even if it meant paying someone off.

He was always right and his word was absolute and final. He enforced his rule with his fists. My weak, small-framed mother had no confidence in herself at all and even though she thought his manner was becoming more and more abusive, she could not protest. After all, she only had a GED. Don was a rich architect. The money he made allowed her not only to live without want of anything, but also to quit her job. Living with this strange man was quite a shock to me. Cherokees are Matriarchal.