Anne

I found Anne on Backpage. Interestingly, she first caught my attention when she and Ronnie (with whom she had been best friends since childhood) advertised two-girl encounters. By the time I had determined I’d like to see this girl, she was working on her own out of Sanford. One evening I texted her and arranged a meeting.

Anne is amazingly cute and down-to-earth. She’s probably 5’3” or less and weighs maybe 120, probably less. Anne is also impossibly young– twenty-three when I met her, almost 40 years younger than me. She could be a camp counselor, maybe from band camp. Everything about her delighted me. She has two daughters, but they don’t live with her. Her body is slim, pretty, and perfect, with only the slightest hint of stretch marks. Tanned in a natural, unforced way from spending a lot of time outdoors. She loves to laugh, has a wonderful, warm sense of humor, and a bubbly enthusiasm. Her only possible downside is her voice, which can get surprisingly shrill, nasal, and screechy when she starts talking fast, or gets annoyed, which she often does because she lives an impossibly stressful life.

For this first meeting, she rarely raised her voice. I had brought cocaine, so we smoked some to start. She was  relaxed, entertaining, and silly as she removed her clothing and started helping me take off mine, not forgetting for a moment why I was there. Her naked torso, with perfectly proportioned tits, made the breath catch in my throat. I expressed with growling murmurs and inquisitive fingertips my interest in the rest of her body, and she finished undressing and curled up next to me on the sofa, to assist my unbelting, unbuttoning, unzipping myself.

She had already grasped and now held me in her hand, as I asked if it was OK to give her oral pleasure, and she said she’d recently changed her birth control method and had been spotting ever since and didn’t know if it had stopped. We were by now splayed, mostly naked on the couch. She let go of my cock, took my hand and brought it to her mouth, sucked the length of my index finger into her pursed lips to wet it, and with tugs and gestures invited me to slide my now slippery finger up into her pretty (mostly) shaved slippery lambchop to find out for myself. I was charmed beyond belief by this simple gesture because I’d never been invited to examine the merchandise in such a relaxed, unembarrassed way.

My finger burrowed all the way in, then slid out with some small evidence of spotty bleeding, so we both shrugged, I wiped my finger on a proffered tissue and proceeded to get closer to this smiling angel. I touched her everywhere (except, well you know I didn’t go back into her slippery little sex), held her sweet perky breasts tightly in each hand, then laid back on the sofa while my little naked cherub knelt on the floor in front of me and gave me an enthusiastic and deeply fulfilling blowjob.  She liked it when I laid her down and climbed over to feign intercourse with her mouth. She hummed and moaned her assent, and her eyes twinkled when I looked down at her mouth full of me. When I slowed above her, she stretched her neck up to take more of me into her mouth. She slid her lips and tongue up and down, hicccupping her encouragement, and even made a little choking sound when she took me too deeply into her throat. Never for a second did my precious Annie let go her lovely suction and churning rhythm, which allowed me to climax deeply and very satisfyingly. [And dry, bone dry, that happy, silly side-effect of my cancer treatment.] “You sure you came?” she asked, out of breath, with a coquettish grin.

Sadly, Anne, my pretty-pretty Annie, with the fingernails on a chalkboard voice, turned out to be a stoned junkie crack ho like so many others. One of the last times we spoke, more than a year after I first met her, I sat in my car, window down in front of an ATM in Biddeford, trying to figure out how much cash I needed to withdraw, while arguing with her on the phone when she called from York County Jail (where she’d been sent after being picked up on a warrant for non-payment of a fine). We argued and I called her a cunt and hung up. [I fucking hung up on my sweet Annie’s “only” phone call from jail!] Instantly remorseful, I called back the jail phone number moments later, and got through to the clerk, but there was nothing I could do that didn’t require me to pay off her $240 fine and another couple hundred in fees and penalties and I was fucking furious because that’s what Anne insisted I should do. The worst part is I think I had already paid off that fine, or I had paid her to pay it off. That obviously didn’t happen, and it still makes me furious. Tech tip: You can hit callback and get rung right back through to the clerk at the York County Jail. Who knew?

Oh, pretty Anne, icky Anne, grimy Anne. I still love her. I hope she finds the help she needs. Her kids are amazing, smart, talented, close to her, and they will surely have a good life together if Anne can stay away from heroin and whoring and being homeless. She’s young and strong and holds few illusions about life, yet she manages to stay upbeat. I believe her life will be a good one. I know for a fact, she’s still working on it. We are in touch.