Aristippus - Angie's Story

When I walked into the house, Ivy was there. And immediately noticing my despondent look, asked, "Angie, hey what's up?"

Plopping down on the couch and gazing straight ahead, I said, "Drew raped me."

Ivy immediately joined me on the couch, and wrapping her arm around my shoulder, said, "What? Drew, our Drew? Raped you?" I nodded yes. "You mean he fucked you? Where?"

"He didn't just fuck me - he raped me," I said, fighting back tears. "In his office, he took me back to the office. Forced me up onto his desk, and fucking raped me."

Ivy unwrapped her arm from my shoulder, and leaning back to seriously look at me, said, "Angie, do we need to go to the hospital? Do you need to be checked out?" Wiping a tear from my cheek, I shook my head no. "The cops. Angie, should we call the cops?"

"No - no," I said, sitting up straight. "I'm okay; I don't want to call the cops. And if we go to the ER, they'll call the cops."

Ivy jumped up from the couch and grabbing her phone, said, "Tell me everything. Absolutely everything - exactly the way it happened, in the exact order that it happened. I'm going to record it so that if and when you change your mind, we'll have a dated recording of it." She then clicked her phone on to record, and said, "This is Ivy Holcomb, friend and roommate of Angie Lander. Today is September 19, at 3:50 PM. Angie, go ahead and tell me what happened."

Twenty-three minutes later, Ivy clicked off her phone. Then sitting back down next to me, said, "Okay Sweetie, I'm sending a copy of this to your phone. That way, we have two copies of it. Don't erase it; you never know when you may need it." She then wrapped her arm around my shoulder, "Are you still sure you don't want to go to the hospital? Is there any chance you might get pregnant?"

"No, no hospital - no doctor," I said. "And I don't think I'll get pregnant. My period is only a day or two away; I can feel it. I just want to take a shower." Ivy slowly removed her arm for the last time. And I slowly stood and walked to the bathroom. Stripping off what had been one of my favorite outfits, left it piled on the floor, before stepping into the steaming shower. Fifteen minutes later, stepping out onto the tile bathroom floor, I toweled off, wrapped the towel around myself, and moved to my bedroom.

Now standing in the bedroom Ivy and I shared, I dropped the towel to the floor, slipped into my favorite nightshirt, and snuggled into the safety and security of my covers. I heard the crew come in sometime just before sunset. I didn't look at the clock, but it was probably around seven-thirty. I dozed back asleep, but I could hear them all talking, and I'm sure Ivy was telling them everything. She may have even played the recording. Then sometime around ten o'clock, Ivy slipped into our room. A sliver of light awoke me as she opened the door, and the sound of heavy metal rock increased and then decreased as she closed the door from the inside.

I didn't roll over, but she must have undressed and slipped into her favorite nightshirt. Several moments later, I felt her gently lift my covers and slip in bed behind me. She cuddled up to me in a spooning position, and as two kittens in a basket, we both drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Ivy and I were up before any of the others, and as we left the house in search of our morning coffee, Ivy asked, "Are you going back to work for Drew?"

"Hell no!" I said. "He's lucky I didn't call the cops. I never want to see that asshole again." I had not told Ivy about the eighty dollars, and it wasn't in the recording. I wanted and needed the money. And I was afraid that if I did go to the cops, one way or another, I'd lose it. So, I just kept my mouth shut about it.

"I don't blame you. I'm never going back there again either," Ivy said as we walked toward the business district. "What about a job?" she asked as we rounded the last corner.

"I'm sure there is someplace right around here where we could both find jobs," I replied. And after getting a double shot Cappuccino at Joe's, we sat outside and brainstormed. There were dozens of eateries up and down Van Nuys Boulevard. And they were always looking for help. As we walked up the street, we spotted a Help Wanted sign in the window of The Yellow Submarine. It was a hippy sandwich shop and meld perfectly with our personalities.

We both got jobs and were scheduled to start work the next day. Happy as clams in our new lives together, we walked back to the house, hand-in-hand. I had completely forgotten all about Drew, and when I did think of him, I was pleased that I had not gone to the police. For if I had, there would have been questions and court appearances. And I'm sure he would have brought up the eighty bucks and claimed that I charged him to have sex with me. And the fact that I never mentioned it in the recording would have come up. So better just to forget about that asshole.

When Ivy and I arrived back at the house, the first thing we did was go to our room and push the two beds together, into one double bed. And for some reason, the roommates weren't surprised and probably wondered what took us so long. For the next several nights, we just slept together, snuggled up, spooning. She would kiss my neck and nibble on my ear. But other than gently cupping my breasts, she never actually kissed me on the lips or dropped her hands below my belly. But once my period had passed, Ivy got down to business.

The great thing about the sandwich shop was that it wasn't open at night. It was just a breakfast and lunch place. So, we had our evenings at home. As did the other four roommates. They all quit working for Drew, which didn't surprise me, and found other jobs. Some worked retail, and some got jobs in food service like Ivy and I did. But in the evenings, we were all generally home. Just one big happy family. We'd go out together sometimes or have more like-minded friends over to the house. Listen to heavy metal, maybe do a few light drugs, and then pair off for sex in our own rooms.

And this is where Ivy taught me the joys of girl-on-girl sex. We usually both slept naked, so much for our favorite nightshirts. And she would usually start by kissing me to get me warmed up. Then, she would run her hands up and down my body until I reached warp speed. She could always tell when my breathing would become so fast that I had a hard time kissing her. She would then roll me to my back, spread my legs with her hand, and then slide down my body so that she could bury her face in my thick dark pubes.

I might have been a virgin, but she certainly wasn't. She knew how to get orgasm after orgasm out of me by fingering me with two or more fingers, while she aggressively sucked my clit. We would soak one bed so badly, that some nights we'd have to move to the other to fall asleep. She taught me how to scissor fuck, and how to eat her pussy, until she creamed my face. Sex with Ivy was wild and crazy, and always exhausting.

About eight months after my experience with Drew, two of our housemates, Erik and Raven, moved out. I'm not sure why or where they were going, but secretly, I think we were all pleased. Raven was a militant vegan. And I don't know about you, but sometimes I just like cheese and pepperoni on my pizza. However, financially we needed six people, or three couples, paying rent to afford our current house. So, we quickly found another couple to move in. Luckily there was a girl that Ivy and I worked with at The Yellow Submarine who was looking for a place closer to work. Her name was Lark, and she moved in within four days with her partner Julie.

They weren't quite as goth as Erik and Raven, which was a relief. I was getting a little tired of their angry music, and it was nice to find a couple with a little more peaceful outlook on life. And as they were an all-girl couple, it certainly raised the overall estrogen level in the house. The makeup of the household was now one guy and five chicks. And the one remaining dude, Alex, didn't seem to mind in the least. In fact, I think he liked it. Four of us girls were practicing lesbians, but chicks are chicks, and he was the rooster of the hen house. Even if he couldn't fuck us all.

Now Lark worked at The Yellow Submarine with Ivy and me. But her partner Julie, worked at a massage studio. And I should add, it wasn't therapeutic massages that she was giving. That is unless you consider horny bastards getting their nuts off, as therapeutic. It was sensual or full body massages, as they say. As Julie described it, the customer would pay a $110 entry fee. That would get him in the door and a shower. After the shower, the customer would stretch out face down on a massage table. The girl would give a twenty-minute massage to his back, neck, butt cheeks, and the back of his legs. She would then instruct him to roll over.

According to Julie, at this point, the masseuse would still be clothed, at least in some skimpy outfit. She modeled some of her outfits for us, and oh yes, they were very skimpy. Then she'd ask them if they wanted the remainder of the massage topless or fully nude. This is where the girls made their money. If the customer said, "topless," she would collect from between sixty and one hundred bucks, depending on the guy, and give him a hand job. Which may or may not have included her rubbing her tits on his dick. But if he said, "fully nude," she would collect between one to two hundred dollars, again depending on the guy, and give him a blow job. And she admitted, it wasn't a real blow job; it was more of a hand job with lip service. As she phrased it.

During the modeling session, I couldn't help but ask Lark, "Don't you get jealous of Julie giving guys blowjobs?"

"No," she responded, rather matter-of-factly. "She doesn't fuck them; she frequently doesn't even know their names. It's just a job. No different than me flirting with customers at The Yellow Submarine."

I didn't quite get it, but if they're comfortable with it, why should I care? Besides, Julie was a lot nicer than Raven anyway. Raven could be a bitch if things didn't go just her way. And both Lark and Julie were far more laid back. Another thing I liked, both Lark and Julie worked days. The sub shop closed at three every day, and Julie was usually home by six. So, the four of us would go out together for dinner, no vegan bullshit, and then at least one night a week, we'd move on to a gay bar.

I had never been to a gay bar before, and I liked it. The only issue was that I still wasn't twenty-one, so I had to pay a hundred dollars for a fake ID. But it worked, so overall, a good investment. What I also liked about the gay bars was that I could dance with other girls, listen to a broad range of music, and visit with other like-minded women of various ages. And mostly, when we got home, Ivy would be so horny that she'd fuck my brains out. Now that was something I really did love.

I don't exactly remember when this happened, but around eighteen months later, Ivy was tired of the sandwich shop and, as she said, wanted to make easier money. So, she started working at the same massage parlor where Julie worked. I wasn't too crazy about it. I didn't like her flapping her tits for guys to gawk at. And I certainly didn't like her giving strangers hand jobs and possibly more. I guess I was jealous or something. It wasn't a feeling I could nail down; I was just uncomfortable with it. However, Lark was certainly okay with Julie doing the same thing, so I just needed to lighten up.

And just about the time I was getting comfortable with the whole massage parlor thing, Ivy comes home with a pierced tongue. "What the fuck happened to you," I said when she walked in with her face swollen and barely able to talk.

"I had my tongue pierced," she babbled.

I could tell it hurt, but I had no idea she was even thinking of doing something crazy like that. "What did you do that for?" I gasped.

"For you," she said. "I did it for you." You could tell it was painful for her to talk. But she still forced a big smile, as her eyes began to fill with tears.

I'll be honest, I didn't believe her. I felt that she did it because she was giving blow jobs at the massage parlor. But I didn't say anything. The damn thing took about four to six weeks to heal. And during most of that time, she could barely talk, she couldn't work, she used the nastiest mouthwash six times a day, and we couldn't have sex. Oh, I could eat her pussy; she was fine with that. But she was afraid to return the favor or even kiss me. So, it wasn't much fun.

However, when we finally did get back to our old love life, oh my God, did it ever feel good. I didn't think it would make that much difference, but it did. Even though it wasn't on the tip of her tongue, it was close enough. And with a bit of practice, she really learned how to use it. She could even switch out different piercings for different effects. And she could bring me to mind-blowing orgasms. So, I guess it was for me, after all. And even though I still had my doubts about her giving blow jobs at the massage parlor, I eventually got over it.

And, I have to say, I liked it so well, that about six months later, I had my tongue pierced as well. It hurt like a son of a bitch. And the mouthwash was about the nastiest thing I'd ever had in my mouth. But I looked at it as our wedding rings. We didn't consider ourselves to be married. But other than Ivy jacking guys off five days a week, we were a committed couple, and these piercings were a symbol of our devotion to each other.

Then, to further show our commitment to each other, we went and got tattoos. I know I said I never wanted a tattoo, because of my dysfunctional mother. But I was twenty-two now, and memories of my mom were fading. So, Ivy got a tattoo of a red heart, with Angie under it in a floral banner. And I got the Blue Bird of Happiness perched on a sprig of ivy. Mine was at my waistline, offset to my righthand side. And Ivy's was on her shoulder, just above her left boob. I should mention that both Ivy and I were clean-shaven by then. I shaved for the first two years that Ivy and I were living together, but eventually, I went to the full Brazilian wax, like Ivy did. It was cleaner and just made having sex simpler. We both liked it.

Maybe a year after our tattoos, I was looking for a Tylenol in the medicine cabinet. When I couldn't find any, I grabbed Ivy's purse to see if she had some. She didn't, but what I found hit me like a punch in the gut. Birth control pills. And the little monthly dispenser was half empty. Now Ivy and I have sex, but if my high school biology is still correct, there is no way I can get her pregnant. So, what the fuck? Why is she taking birth control pills? I looked at the label, and yes, they were hers.

Holding the evidence in my hand, I stomped into the living room and demanded, "What in the hell are these?"

Ivy had a beer in her hand and almost choked on it. Then trying to give herself more time to think of a good answer, said, "What were you doing in my purse?"

"Looking for Tylenol."

Ivy swallowed hard before stuttering, "I have to be on birth control in case some guy at the massage parlor rapes me. Besides, it helps control my periods. You know that."

I was speechless. Both of those answers were Bullshit, and besides, I could always ask Julie. Now Julie might defend her co-worker. But more likely, she wouldn't want to get involved, and just wouldn't say anything. However, this was between Ivy and me. So, it wasn't fair to drag Julie into it. I pulled back my arm, like I was going to throw the pill case at her, but I stopped. We had never physically hit one another, and I didn't want to start now. I just walked back into the bedroom and stuffed her pills back into her purse.

I went to bed early that night. An hour later, when Ivy joined me, I could tell she had her nightshirt on, as did I. She put her hand on my shoulder, and softly said, "Angie, I'm sorry. I should have told you. There should never be secrets between us."

I had calmed down, but I was still hurt. "Ivy, there shouldn't be secrets?" I repeated, staring at the wall and not turning to look at her. "The secret isn't that you're taking birth control. The secret is why."

"Angie," Ivy said very slowly. "I do have sex with a few of my customers. A very few. And I always make them wear a condom. And they always do." She paused to see if I was going to respond, and when I didn't, she continued. "I always insist on a condom; I don't want to take any chances. I didn't tell you because I didn't think you would understand." She paused again, but the lump in my throat was so big that I couldn't say a word. "Angie, I am so sorry. I should have trusted you. I lied to you by not telling you, and I am so sorry."

We were already in the spooning position, with Ivy at my back. I wanted to forgive her, but I just wasn't sure how. After a minute or two, without rolling over, I scooted back toward her, and recognizing my offer of forgiveness, she snuggled up tightly and wrapped her arms around me. I soon fell asleep, enveloped tightly in Ivy's arms.

We didn't have sex for the rest of that week, but we did still sleep together, cuddled up like usual. However, when the weekend rolled around, Lark and Julie suggested that the four of us go out and hit a couple of gay bars, and we did. We needed the break. I had probably too much to drink, but Ivy encouraged me to dance with whoever I wanted, and I did. I even made out with some Dyke chick in the hallway to the restroom, and it was pretty damn hot. When Ivy and I got home, we fucked each other silly, and at least for the time being, the hurt was gone.

It was several months later, and I was working my usual shift at The Yellow Submarine, when my phone rang. I had it on silence, but I could feel it vibrating in my hip pocket. I don't usually get that many calls, so I just assumed it was Ivy. I was between customers, so I just yanked it from my pocket and answered it, "Yes," I said, not looking at the caller ID.

"Angie," a weak female voice said.

"Yes," I repeated.

"Angie, it's your Mom."

I was frozen, not in fear, but in disbelief. "Mom?" I said cautiously.

"Angie, it's your mother. Listen Sweetie, I need help. I wouldn't have called if I didn't really need your help."

"How did you get my phone number?" was all I could think of to say.

"Frank gave it to me, Sweetheart. But Listen, I'm in jail, I'm really in trouble. And I need a thousand dollars. I have no one else to call. I know I haven't been the best Mom, but Baby, I need it, and you're the only one that can help me. Please."

There was so much to unpack there. Frank giving her my number made sense. She probably called Rainey first, and Rainey told her to fuck-off. Then Mom probably kept calling back until she got Frank, and wanting nothing to do with her, he gave her my number. Rainey had given me this phone after I started living with them, so there was no other way she would have found this number.

"I don't have a thousand dollars, Mom," I said curtly. "And Mom, I'm at work. I don't have time to talk to you right now."

"Angie, Angie, don't hang up. Call my lawyer, please call my lawyer, and work something out," she begged, and I could hear the fear in her voice. "I'll die in here, Angie, if I don't get out. Please."

She rattled off the number, and I quickly jotted it down. "Okay Mom, okay. I'll call your lawyer." And I hung up.

Once I got home that afternoon, I called her lawyer. Jeez, what a sleaze. He told me that she was in again for prostitution, larceny, and drug possession. In fact, she was so high when they arrested her that they thought she had OD'ed, and they took her to the hospital first before booking her in jail. He went on to say that he could get her out, but it would be a thousand dollars upfront - cash. He didn't take credit cards or checks. I told him I'd see what I could do and hung up. What a shyster.