My Abraham Lincoln Lover

The skies opened up as rain pour down on the streets of Pompano Beach, Florida. Bad weather never stopped me from going out to look for a man to occupy my time.

After being a mistress for 24 years, I was unattached again.

All dolled up, I drove to a restaurant in Boca Raton, Florida, known for the food, music and especially the men. The bar had a reputation of being a pick-up establishment. Just what I was looking for.

I sauntered in wearing tight tan slacks that displayed the crack of my firm ass and a silk V neck blouse showing cleavage and a hint of nipples. I was surprised to find it relatively empty on a Sunday night. I sat at the curved bar shaped in the letter S and ordered a Vodka Martini. I sipped my drink slowly when the most unbecoming man, fully bearded with long thick black hair and very thin high cheek bones, came over to ask me to dance. For God’s sake, I thought, the man looked like Abraham Lincoln!

“Wanna dance,” he asked

“Sure,” I answered.

It was only a dance, not a promise of anything else to follow, so why not. As we walked towards the dance floor, he reached for my hand and escorted me. He placed me in his arms and danced like a hillbilly. I was laughing inside by his display of movement but mimicked his style in an effort to make him feel comfortable. I looked closely at his face thinking he might be nice looking if he cleaned up. He wasn’t dirty. It was the full beard, thin facial features and high cheekbones that made him look like he belongs on a five dollar bill.

Out of the blue he announced, “I’m a Vietnam veteran.”

He would not elaborate about his deployment but told me he was an amateur photographer and wanted to take pictures of me.

“Boy, have I heard that line before!”

“I’m also working on developing a motor for a bicycle that you can either peddle or turn the motor on when you’re tired.” He proudly told me of all the little gadgets he was toying with and seemed to know a little bit about everything.

I knew he wasn’t for me but I gave him my phone number, not knowing why but thought “why not,” he seemed like a kind soul, a kindred spirit, someone who wants to believe in their childhood dreams.

As adults we wish to bring whimsy into the darkness to light up the mood. In the presence of a kindred spirit you feel inspired. He had a positive energy field around him that connected to mine.

I always stand on the skinny branches of life.

Several days later, he called. “If you’re free on Saturday, I would love to take you dancing.”

“I’m available but not free,” I joked. He didn’t respond so I assumed he didn’t get the pun. “That sounds like fun. What time?”

“How about 9:00?”

In disappointment, I surmised it wouldn’t be a dinner date at that late hour, but I accepted all the same. My hunger for dinner was second to my passion for sex.

Saturday was a beautiful balmy night. He picked me up in a ratty old motorcycle, dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt. At least he didn’t show up sporting a pack of cigarettes tucked in the folds. I kept him waiting while I changed to the appropriate attire for riding on the bike, which was a first for me.

I was given a helmet to wear. We cruised on I-95 towards a sawdust bar in Davie, Florida. He was fun to be with but we made a sightly pair. Him looking like Abraham Lincoln and I just off the runway modeling.

“I want to let you know, before we go forward with a dating relationship that I have very little money. I live in a warehouse unit,” he announced upon our return home.

After 24 years with a rich man, why do I attract men who have no money?

On our next date, I drove to the warehouse unit he leased. He led me inside. The derelict condition of the place was depressing. It had no toilet facilities that I could see and I wondered how he could live like that. Being a Vietnam veteran, one can get used to anything.

“How do you shower?” I asked.

“I added a shower head to a hose and attached it to the wall,” showing me the contraption. I didn’t ask him where the location of the toilet but thought how clever he was.

When we left to return to my place, he asked, “Can you drive me to a neighborhood close to your apartment? I have a package I want to pick up.”

“Sure, I said, not knowing what kind of package it was , nor it’s contents.

“Stay in the car and keep the doors locked. I’ll be a moment.”

This was all too mysterious. What could it be? I mused. A few minutes later he returned and I drove back to my place. Once inside the door, he took out a marijuana pipe filled with the weed and opened the package. Inside was a small piece of sugar. It was crack!

“This is a treat for the both of us. You will love it.”

I took a puff of the pipe and immediately felt the effect.

“Run a hot bath please and do you have any alcohol to drink.

I made 2 bloody Mary’s. I watched him get into the tub and noticed his penis and testicles. I had never seen such a long penis covered with foreskin. Standing, it reached down his leg. “How am I ever going to get that all the way in me?”

“There’s no room in the tub for me.”

“Come and sit in-between my legs.”

I delicately stepped into the tub, placing my ass on his cock. The warm water relaxed me while he played with my nipples for a lengthy time.

I raised my hips to let him know I wanted him to play with my clit. In a high state, feeling wonderfully horny from the crack, I was frustrated that his hand could not reach my delicate spot.

Completely wet, he toweled me vigorously and then himself. We kissed passionately walking into the bedroom. His kisses created moisture between my legs. I was begging for more. He immediately went down to comply with my wishes and sucked me so well, I had multiple orgasms. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensations my body produced. A half hour later his movements stopped.

“Kyle, are you asleep?”

No answer.

“Kyle are you okay?”

I shook him and he jumped up like a ninja warrior. I was frightened.

“Don’t ever wake me like that again, he shrieked. I was back in Vietnam on patrol. I thought you were the enemy.

“I’m sorry.”

“I would never hurt you honey. Come lay in my arms.”

Kyle stayed in my life for six months. He shaved his beard and cut his hair. I bought him a sports jacket that he wore with jeans. He was quite handsome without all that hair hiding his fine features. He was a lovely kind man who wanted to be part of my life. I wouldn’t let him.

I’d become a bit of a snob, being a mistress to a wealthy man for 24 years.

Years of abundance with George would not let me see myself with someone who might have been good for me. I had to let him go and he understood. He thanked me for caring.

I often wonder where he is now and how he’s doing. Had the work he was doing on constructing a motor for bicycles come to fruition?

He might even be wealthy today?