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Lewis B. Toklas was lonely. The grow house lifestyle kept him up late, inside, and without many options for finding sexual release in his covert community of cannabis confidants.

His typical mode of operendi was finding a slutty clip online to pleasure himself with, but it just wasn’t the same as the real deal.

“Do one of those ads,” a friend suggested. “You know the kind for hook-ups only.”

“Is that for real?” he asked.

“Sure, people hook-up online all the time now, right?” his worker advised, dumping the D-hum into the toilet in the back bedroom bathroom.

Nats and other debris swirled around the tub and made its way down the drain slowly as Lewis pondered his female options, reaching for the plunger.

Tedious Trim Circle Antics

A group of twenty-something trimmers sat in a circle on folding chairs arranged on a sheet of plastic drop cloth. A large pile of cola stalks lay in the middle of the circle.

“Lewis just posted on that casual sex site on Craig’s List,” a young man with a lap top said from the dining room table.

“How do you know it’s him?” a young woman asked.

“He uses the same lame name, ‘Jimmy Olson,’ from that old TV show, ‘Leave it to Beaver,’” he informed. “I don’t know why he’s posting this shit. Those women are fake, and, besides, no woman would want to have sex with an old guy like that. He’s dreaming.”

“How old is he? Can’t tell by his house – looks like a teenage boy lives there,” trimmer girl said, laughing.

“He’s in his fifties,” a young man said dumping another pile of branches in the middle of the group. “He was my Little League coach. What’s going on?”

“He’s posting for sex on ‘Casual Encounters,’” the young woman said. “I don’t know any women who look for sex. We can get it anywhere – no offense, guys, but that’s the truth.”

This admission was met with laughter, but also a healthy dose of disappointment from many of the guys.

“She’s right,” dudes think all they have to do is post of photo of their dicks and chicks will come running,” another young man added.

“Right?” the young woman smiled. “And I’m sorry, guys, but the erect penis is only beautiful in the eyes of the beholder. The average dick is seven inches long – so don’t brag to me how big your dick is. They are all the same. Just tell me you know what to do with my clitoris.”

Howls of laughter filled the once silent room the mundane work of trimming into the night was enlivened at Lewis’ unassuming expense.

“Let’s play with him,” another young man said. “Send him a response.”

This devious idea was met with more laughter, and just one protest.

“Dude, I’ve been on there before, don’t do it. That’s harsh,” a young man said, dumping a pile of trimmed bud into a netted drying bag hanging from the ceiling.

“A friend of mine posted an ad just to see what she’d get, and more than 50 guys sent her photos of their dicks in just a few hours. They were local guys too, guys she knew or knew of – half of them married guys. Not cool.”

Laughter and jokes about Lewis B. Toklas, aka: “Jimmy Olson” circled the room, as the young man at the table downloaded a few pics from the Web of a random woman across the country and composed a note to the unassuming lonely grower.

Meanwhile, back at the grow house…

Lewis cut up bud, loaded his bong, and waited for responses. Soon a flood of spam filled his inbox.

“Damn, rat bastards,” he said, taking a big rip.

Then he saw it… “Lonely Alone” was sending him a note.

Hello. Saw your ad and I feel the same way. Not a bar scene lady. Send a photo?

Lewis couldn’t believe it. Attached to the note was a photo of a pretty, smiling face and the largest pair of breast he’d ever seen, seemingly attempting to free themselves from her way to snug top. Not that he was complaining.

“Thank you, Jesus!” he exclaimed, and quickly sent off a response.

Faking It

“He sent a photo!” the young man blurted out from across the room.

“Oh my God, I don’t know if I can look at that,” the young girl said. “I’ve worked his room. Not sure if I want that visual stuck in my head!”

The photo could have been from anyone, from any site, but those who knew the eccentric grower spotted tell-tale signs of Lewis’ crash pad right away.

“You’d think he would have wiped the gnats off that table in the background before he shot his dick, right?” a young man said, firing up a fatty and passing it around the circle to more laughter and crass remarks at Lewis’ expense.

“Hey that’s my hoodie on the futon,” one young man added.

The man in charge of the charade was busy composing his response, but before he could Lewis was already sending more fodder for what was fast becoming a night to remember.

“Better bring out that bottle of Tequila, Lewis just sent a video,” he said to the group of trimmers, some with clippers and bud still in hand, now forming a circle around the laptop, peering over his shoulder, watching as Lewis pleasured himself for what he thought was just another “lonely lady.”

“The thing is, we could be anyone. What a fool,” the young woman said, returning to her chair, picking up another branch as the group settled down to the long night of supply and demand ahead of them.

“This story was inspired by a friend’s mistake. The original fake poster received more than 71 messages from men, most married, with “happy to see you” photos in less than two hours.

℞ ℞ ℞ ℞ ℞ ℞ ℞

Editor’s note: Sharon Letts began her love of gardening in Southern California by her mother’s side, watching as she buried fish heads at the base of roses.

At 24, Sharon hung her shingle, “Secret Garden,” planting flower beds for dainty ladies. Gardening led to producing and writing for television with “Secret Garden Productions.”

Today Sharon continues to write about gardening and all that implies, advocating for the bud, and writing for many magazines, including DOPE (Defending Our Patients Everywhere).

She also pens “Road Trip: In Search of Good Medicine,” touring MMJ states, following the Green Rush. (edit)


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