Could you help me get the word out to old dudes like you that teenaged hotties like me don't need or even want you to try to act, talk, or accessorize like our generation?
Take me for example. I like boys around my age, or a little older, to be cute, and "cool", and up with all the latest style, slang, and so on. But why would I want that from a forty year old man? If I'm interested in guys that age -- and I am -- it's totally because they don't feel the need to try hard to fit in and keep up with the "cool kids." They got it together and are so above worrying about peer pressure and about what's "in." Well, that and because they really know how to fuck a girl good.
Maybe you can share my situation to show some of these dudes what not to do, and what to do.
I'm in ninth grade. In our town, instead of being the lowest grade at the high school, ninth grade is the highest grade in the middle school. So this year, me and my friends are the big deal on campus if you know what I mean.
Anyway, an example of an older guy trying to be cool to us teenagers is Barry, the band teacher. I mean really, it starts right there -- of course we call him Mr. Germaine in front of other teachers and our parents, but he always encourages us Bandies (that's the kids really into band, who hang out in the band room sometimes after school or during the lunch hour) to call him by his first name. He's always texting me, and trying to have conversations with me and others like the ones us kids have with each other. He dresses way younger than his real age (which is somewhere in his thirties), has piercings, and so on. Like just today, during my one-on-one clarinet lesson, in one of the little practice rooms back behind the main band room, he was like showing me where he wants to put his next tattoo on his arm and was asking me my opinion of which design he should get. I know, right? What is impressive about a grown man asking the opinion about something like that from a fourteen year old girl?
I found it so dweeby of him that I almost didn't let him finger me. Almost.
Now, let me give you a different example, so you can see how it should be done. Mr. Grogan is one of the ninth grade math teachers. I know his first name is Robert, but I have no idea if he goes by Robert, Rob, Bob, or what, because every student knows better, without his ever even having to say so, that there's no way we can call him anything but Mr. Grogan. He doesn't have piercings, he doesn't have any tattoos, he doesn't know the first thing about the latest music or memes, and he certainly doesn't send me or any other student texts.
Instead, he simply fixes his eye on me during class, gives me a slight nod, and my pussy starts slobbering. That's because that little nod of his tells me that the other two math teachers won't be around in the math department office after school -- Mr. Jacobs because, like most other days, he'll be coaching football, and Mrs. MacArthur because, probably, that it's a Friday and she and her husband like to take off immediately for their lake house.
And the reason this information makes me so wet is that it means that about thirty minutes after the final bell, when all the other kids are long gone, I'll be lying on my back on the sofa in the math department faculty office, getting my pussy long-stroked by Mr. Grogan's very grown up cock.
Mr. Grogan doesn't ask my opinion about tattoos, pop music, or his personal fashion choices. Heck, he doesn't even ask me if I want it in my mouth, my cunt, or my asshole. He makes all those decisions and that's that.
So that's the message I hope you'll spread, Stepdaddy. We teenie-twats do want teenaged boys to fawn over us, try to guess what will make us like them, and just all around submit to our manipulation. It's fun, and let's face it, sooner or later we'll probably marry someone in our age group.
But when it comes to the MEN in our lives, we don't want a friend, or a cool buddy, or a hip peer. Basically we want men to be in charge and to teach us, not try to be one of us.
Dear Eager Pubis,
Thank you for your letter. I know exactly what you mean. I've observed so many would-be hebephiles getting this wrong.
I for one leave youthful fads to their rightful generation. Perhaps I sound like a fogey, but in my day, at least our styles weren't permanently disfiguring, like excessive tattoos or earlobe stretching. My Members Only jacket was as goofy as any fad ever has been, but at least it has long been in the dustbin of history for a couple of decades, and I'm not stuck with it. But some of these body mods? Please.
It is funny, this behavior you dislike. Why do the men who attempt to be "teen cool" think that those girls interested in older men would be attracted to this? Do they imagine that these biddable babies admire the teen boys sniffing around them so much that they want access to more of the same, albeit of grayer hair and perhaps stouter build? Absurd.
Now my dear, I am certain you understand that the opposite also obtains. Connoisseurs such as myself certainly do not want you pretty little things trying to act like any generation older than your own, either. If girls your age want belly button rings, or to shave your baby cunts totally clean, or to follow the lead of trampy celebrities and wear short skirts with no undies, I say "be yourself" -- that is,, be true to your adolescent need to do whatever is currently the cool thing to do.
I should admit that I have recently made one exception to these rules in my own life. I come from a generation of men who do not customarily shave themselves below the neck. In short, we are not metrosexuals. Nevertheless, when my fifteen year old stepdaughter proved to me that she could finally properly tea bag both of my testicles together indefinitely, without gagging or suffocating, I conceded to her request and began to shave my scrotum. Apparently she finds it difficult to ball wash my entire sac for the lengthy sessions I require when a stray pubic hair detaches and finds its way into a maddening, tickling enlodgement at the back of her throat. But you will note, this isn't a concession to a cultural fad on my part, but rather a thoughtful consideration for a properly dutiful young girl.