Lynette

Lynette is tall and rail thin, in her mid-twenties, from the Lewiston area. I met her on Backpage when her pimp of the month shot a series of very classy photos for ads and posted them. She has a huge head of dark hair. She is tall, thin, and nearly, but not quite flat-chested and appears athletic. Her breasts growing over her narrow rib cage seemed not to be able to fit across evenly, so one grew a little lower than the other—making room for both. All my memories of Lynette feature her breasts, so easy to reach down and hold, one squeezed in each hand, or my hands stroking her almost cylindrical rib cage, holding her ponytail while we 69’ed and her throat, stuffed with me, hummed short catchy melodies of assent. Lynette seems to get pleasure from our encounters, and her company is always great. She told me once I was her only “regular” and her favorite client, even though we were only together maybe four times. I was very attracted to this gorgeous Eastern European raven of a girl.

I could easily pass for her (tall and comparatively well-dressed) grandfather. Maybe her lawyer. My behavior was unlikely to be mistaken for avuncular.

Lynette is young, and with her, I was consciously starting an experiment with younger women, breaking a rule I’d held politically for years, not to abandon women my age for younger women, trading them in every three to five years for a newer model. I was seriously attracted to women my age, but never thought they were anything but unattainable. The older ones were smarter and much less likely to put up with bullshit, even though I was strongly physically attracted. Older chicks dig that. I even joked about how as I got older I had found myself delightedly attracted to women in an ever-widening range of ages and sizes and temperments. At eighteen, I thought 18-year-old chicks were sexy as hell. At 20, I still found the 18 y/o’s sexy, but now I hungered for those hot 20-year-olds too. For every year older I got, a geometrically increasing number of desirable and age-appropriate possible partners yawned before me.

Seriously though, back in the always present now, sixty-year-old crack ho’s (even the ones still in their forties!) were almost always used up and discarded way before I met them, and while perfectly sexy and adequate providers, they tended to be quite bitter and dishonest, and hence mistrustful. Imagine that! A stoned junkie crack ho who opportunistically rips off and lives off friends, family, acquaintances, anyone she can, for a decade or more, finds herself mistrusting everyone around her. I learned, partly in the company of this elegant companion Lynette, that the young providers were more likely to be upbeat and fun, to enjoy themselves and help me to enjoy myself as well, and I never felt I had to watch them every minute. For the same prices, who would choose any different? And maybe they were all headed the same way–the young hos just hadn’t accrued as much bitterness and debt. Regardless, in general the young ones were more relaxed, easier company.

I’d love to feel that one visible tooth Stepmom grinned with, scraping electrically against my erection… I wanted to feel the Zen-sation of her one tooth chomping

When I’m with her, Lynette seems marvelously young and upbeat. She’s also a stoned junkie crack ho. When we met, she’d shown me photos of her two kids, daughter and son, both under five at the time. The kids’ Dad is in jail I believe, or he was. Lyn was headed to rehab soon after we first met, once told me the next time I saw her she’d be “fat and sober.” I even went up to Lewiston once to “see her off,” meaning she got me off with her mouth for a hundred bucks (she only asked for sixty, but I often set my own prices) and a couple puffs of cocaine; a couple for me and a couple for Lynette, and a couple more for Lynette’s snaggle-toothed crack-ho ex-stepmother, who let Lyn use her spare room (and inflatable mattress) to entertain me, whom I would gladly have paid to suck me off herself, but I never had the opportunity to do so since her ex-step daughter had already stepped up and taken care of my libidinal needs for the moment. Her son was there too, which could have proven quite awkward indeed. God knows, hooking up with Ma would doubtless mean breaking some unknown taboo I hadn’t already broken. Truthfully, I’d love to feel that one visible tooth Stepmom grinned with, scraping electrically against my erection, firing off orgasmic fireworks the entire length, which she’d have already sucked tightly and deeply, into her accommodating mouth. I wanted to feel the Zen-sation of her one tooth chomping. Mmmm. Sorry, just a fantasy. Didn’t happen. I guess it could happen. It’s astonishing how bad an influence fifty bucks and a bag of crack cocaine can be.

sixty-year-old crack ho’s (even the ones still in their forties!) were almost always used up and discarded way before I met them

Lynette never went to rehab. First her admission date got moved two weeks into the future, and then apparently the option just disappeared. Lynette called me late the night she was supposed to go, completely drunk and incoherent, and likely skagged-out, hysterical, to let me know she had been parked with her friends at the supermarket down the street from my house, but she was too drunk to talk, and didn’t want to be ditched at my house. Good God, I didn’t want that either. We didn’t connect. I saw her one more time after that, when she walked in violated fishnets and untied sneakers across the empty club parking lot at 9:30 on a Sunday morning to meet me and bring me upstairs while holding the skirt of her black party dress rolled up in one hand, looking for all the world like a whore who just woke up in the backseat of a car in the back of the lot. I could easily pass for her (tall and comparatively well-dressed) grandfather. Maybe her lawyer. My behavior was unlikely to be mistaken for avuncular. I adore that girl, and I hope she has moved on. She advertised on Backpage for at least a year, but then seems to have disappeared. I hope she’s well.