Operation Cock Block tries to protect women's hearts and pocketbooks from this crooked Casanova

Bill and Dana had been dating for nearly two years when Ann started calling. Bill, six feet tall and 38, with thick brown hair and a rakish smile, told Dana that Ann was just a friend, someone who needed a shoulder to lean on because she was having problems with her boyfriend, a real scumbag.

Plus, he told Dana, there was another, very important reason she didn't have to worry about him cheating with Ann: Ann, Bill said, had told him she had herpes.

A picture from Bill's Match.com profile.

Bill and Allison on Valentine's Day 2008.

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• Jamie White
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"I was like, 'Ooo-kay,'" Dana says now. "I let that one go."

But that story would turn out to be one of Bill Sullivan's many lies. A year later, when Dana figured out that Bill had cheated on her with yet another woman, she says she found Ann's number and called her. Yes, Ann admitted, Bill and she had an affair.

"He's truly a con artist," Dana says now. "This is how he lives his life."

Bill, now 43, denies it. While he admits there may be a few scorned women in his past, he says he lives his life on the up-and-up. A lot of what his ex-girlfriends, ex-wives and ex-co-workers say about him is "absolute garbage."

But others who've known or dated Bill over the years also say he's deceitful. Bill, they say, lies about having affairs and about having college degrees. He lies about things as small as his golf-club membership and as big as his bank accounts. In 1998, investigators caught Bill in a real whopper: He'd embezzled close to $1 million from a Denver DVD and laser disc distribution company, draining the startup's coffers so completely that it went out of business at what should have been the peak of its success.

Bill pleaded guilty and was sentenced to ten years in prison, but that was reduced to eight years when he apologized to a Denver District Court judge in the spring of 2000.

He called the embezzlement "a terrible act" and said he didn't realize how far it had gone until he was caught. He said he was sorry, and that a compulsion to impress his wealthy father by living a lavish lifestyle despite his $35,000 salary drove him to steal. He promised to repay the debt, which totaled $1.8 million with punitive damages.

"I am convinced that I would not be a danger again," he wrote in a letter to the court a mere day after pleading guilty to a Class 3 felony.

But Bill was lying again.

Five women who met Bill after he was released from prison — he ended up serving just under two years — say their lives are worse for having dated him. And each one can rattle off a list of other women he has seduced and conned, too. They say he used the same pattern to borrow money from them and use their good credit to finance pricey cars and live the high life, eventually sending one of them into bankruptcy.

In the meantime, Bill has managed to dodge his former employer's attempts to collect the money he stole, and now claims he will never pay off the debt.

"He's the master of screwing people," one ex-girlfriend says.

But Bill's screwing may soon come to an end — at least if a group of his exes has its way. The women were introduced by a mutual friend who has never met Bill but has listened to horror stories about him for years. For two months now, the group has been attempting to warn his new girlfriends against him before they get in too deep.

Their strategy works like this: One woman who is still friends with Bill — they've nicknamed her "the mole" — pumps him for information about who he's dating. Then the mutual friend finds the women on Facebook and contacts them. She tells them to stay away from Bill and offers old articles from the Rocky Mountain News, including one titled "Accountant Sentenced to 10 Years in Fraud Case."

The name of their game: Operation Cock Block.

In mid-1994, Bill was hired at Lumivision Corporation, a then-six-year-old Denver company that distributed laser discs, the precursors to DVDs.

The company was the brainchild of Jamie White, a native Coloradan with a love of theater who started it in 1988. Lumivision specialized in buying the rights to "special-interest, esoteric, art house-type films" and then paying firms like Pioneer or Sony to make those films into laser discs. The discs would be shipped to Lumivision, which would then sell them to retailers like Tower Records.

Bill, then in his late twenties, came on as the growing company's second bookkeeper, and he seemed like an amiable guy. He was hired through a recruiting agency, and his resumé listed a degree in accounting. White says "he had the right background, as far as I could tell." (The University of Denver, however, where Bill says he earned his bachelor's degree, says it has no record of an alumnus named William P. Sullivan.)

Tim Miller, who worked at Lumivision from 1990 until it went under in 1998, says Bill was friendly and seemed competent at his job. He also appeared to have a lot of money. While Lumivision's other employees wore shorts and sweatshirts to work, Bill always dressed sharply in pressed jeans, collared shirts and Rolexes. His money seemed to come from his family. Miller says Bill told him he was related to Paul Revere and that his family received a cut of the profits from Revere cookware. Miller says he had no reason not to believe him. He certainly looked and acted the part. Soon after Bill began working at Lumivision, he traded his 1991 Honda Accord for a Mercedes.