Adrienne

I met Adrienne on Backpage, when she posted very late, which is almost always an indicator of partying. I saw her ad while I was staying at the Extended Stay Motel in Scarborough, during a time I was trying my best to maximize my exposure to providers. I called and requested an outcall and argued back and forth about whether she should come to me or I should go to her place in SoPo. I finally told her I didn’t want to drive through South Portland in the middle of the night, with my barely legal car, carrying a ball of cocaine. That basically persuaded her, though I still ended up driving to pick her up. I was very thoughtful and melted a big hit into the chore of my stem to give her when I picked her up in her driveway, but first I had to wait for her (her pocketbook stashed safely in my front seat to guarantee her return) while she took the cash I’d brought her into the house. This was a strange and awkward move I’d never experienced. Adrienne was apparently on a short leash. She puffed her hit as I drove us back to the motel, frowning as she hit it and tried to assess whether she got anything, then blew out a huge white cloud of success. Our night together began to gently explode.

Back at the motel room, Adrienne turned out to be a pretty, annoyingly skinny, young Mom, in her early 30s, with long, thick dark hair with highlights. She referred to herself as Italian and might be called high-strung. Resting bitch face. Her face was thin, but she had adorable round waif’s eyes, a big open smile, and lips as pretty as any I’ve ever seen. Her body was a study in eating disorder. Her shoulders and elbows and hips were bony and off-putting. She more-or-less stripped naked for me, and then put pieces of clothing back on, self-consciously adjusting her look to my interest and her comfort level.

I never really stopped feeding this girl the pipe, and we puffed and talked and rubbed shoulders and drank sodas out of my mini-fridge. I had showered a couple of hours before, just before I called her the first time. She sat beside me on the bed and regaled me with the absolute worst blowjob I’d ever experienced, proffering her lovely lips for no more than 45 seconds (and that’s generous). She made some rolling kissing motions near the side of the shaft, took in the whole length once, and then she sucked just the head specifically, thinking for some unknown reason that was stimulating. I stayed disastrously soft.

This BJ eclipsed in failure even the notably bad one from Audrey about a year before, and it turns out (“my girl”) Audrey is friends with Adrienne and in fact Adrienne had been to my house once or twice (so had her husband!) before I ever met her, once to drop Audrey off, though Adrienne and Chris—the husband—had never come closer than the driveway. The universe of crack hos which seemed to me to be growing at a geometric rate, was in fact betraying itself to be a small, incestuous community, in danger of collapsing into itself like a black hole. But I digress.

Adrienne recounted to me a short while later, attempting to reinforce her provider bona fides, that she’d always done young guys, who got hard immediately if their cock was in any proximity to her mouth, and they never lasted more than a minute. She just was not accustomed to being with a connoisseur like myself, who liked to take his time. I knew immediately this was complete bullshit she was making up on the fly, but it kept us talking. I got us both dressed and brought her back to her house at about 6:30 am, both of us high as fuck, and I was feeling a bit annoyed about paying a hundo for that atrocious BJ, sharing at least a hundred more worth of up, and this chick was beginning to act prickly and bitchy, as if she’d been wronged somehow. I dropped her off at her house and drove back to Scarborough, blinking my sensitive eyes in the unaccustomed bright daylight rising into this gratuitous new morning.

Back in my room, I was beginning to fade when my text went off. Adrienne wanted to buy some more up, with the cash I had given her. I only had a hundred-bag left, told her to bring fifty (exactly, I couldn’t make change), and I’d split my last bag with her. Can she bring a friend? Yes, I guess so. “Male or female?” I asked. Male. Can I come get them? No, out of the question. An hour later they arrived. He gave me fifty bucks, and we basically smoked up the bag. I believe they came in a cab. The observant among my readers will note, we were now out of cocaine. I hated selling cocaine, only did it for bitchez, and it always meant there was less to enjoy.

The guy didn’t talk and felt like a wet towel on my party, so I made noises about going out and they decided they’d like me to drive them back to Adrienne’s house, and I, reluctantly, did so. Home for her was about a four-mile drive through the suburbs where I was barely familiar, having only just driven there for the first time eight hours before, and then in the pitch dark, but two round-trips since then. It looked different every time I drove there. Now it was daytime, with lots of morning drive traffic, and looked completely different than 2 hours earlier, when it was dark and there was no traffic. All the way back Adrienne (the witch) peered at her phone and managed to miss every turn. I kind of reamed her out for being tuned out and not appreciative of the favor I was doing her with this ride in the first place while she geeked on her phone, and then, half a minute later we missed the last turn to their house. I lost my temper, geeked out of control, and they volunteered to get out right there. I didn’t let them out and instead slowly, patiently, and safely turned the car around then fumed and muttered and parked in their driveway to drop them off. By then I couldn’t stand either of them. We did eventually make up, which allowed me to hang out with the two of them (they were a couple, despite protestations to the contrary when Adrienne first introduced me to her “guy friend”) several more times. Every interaction I had with them would eventually, over a day or two or three, turn out worse than the last. Adrienne owes me, and so does her man Chris.