Aristippus - Jenny's Story

As Ian entered me, Seth moved to the edge of the bed so that he could watch. Now fully engaged, Ian placed his arms behind my legs so that he could hold my knees to my chest. And once Ian had me in the position he wanted, he started slowly. But as soon as he felt me getting involuntarily wetter and wetter, he increased the speed and forcefulness of his stroke.

I don't know how long he lasted. But it seemed like an eternity, though it was probably only a few minutes. And as he reached his conclusion, he buried himself as deeply in me as possible. However, as unpleasant as this experience had been, it in no way prepared me for what was next. The moment Ian pulled out of me, Seth jumped to his knees, and leaning across my legs, immediately grabbed Ian's naked butt cheeks with one hand and cradled his ball sack with the other. Then without even hesitating, he sucked Ian's soaking wet dick into his mouth.

I had kissed and licked Seth's penis during our lovemaking sessions. But I had never actually given him a real blow job. And of course, I'd never seen anyone else doing it either. But I recognized it instantly as Seth's head was going back and forth and back and forth. Ian had fucked me to completion only seconds earlier, and Seth, the man of my dreams, was sucking him dry. Dry from my juices, as well as any residual fluids he could extract out of Ian's dick.

For a moment or two, I was frozen in shock. But as I saw Seth's cheeks concave in as he fiercely sucked his roommate, I'd had enough. I quickly scooted out from underneath them. And as I prepared to leap from the bed, even in the dim light, it was clear Seth had a raging boner, every bit as hard as that first night he had taken me to bed.

Grabbing a pair of my shorts lying on the floor and a T-shirt off a nearby chair, I ran from the bedroom. Finding my purse and a pair of flip-flops in the living room, I flung the front door open and raced down three flights of stairs into the LA night. It was hard to run in flip-flops, but I made it back to my dorm in record time. Standing at the door to my dorm room, I realized that I was crying. It wasn't that I had been raped; I didn't think of it that way. But I did feel that I had been sexually assaulted, and that who I thought was my forever sole mate, had just punched me in the gut.

Turning the key and opening my dorm room door, I found the lights were off, which didn't surprise me. But as I instinctively flipped on the lights, I immediately heard my roommate's voice, "Oh - hey, Jenny. Is that you?"

"Yes," I said, instantly flicking the light back off. I assumed she was sleeping and would prefer the room dark. But as I shuffled across the room to my desk, I heard the unmistakable squeaking of her bed. And as I turned on my desk lamp, I realized she wasn't alone under her covers. "Oh, Becca," I gasped. "I'm sorry," and I turned the light to the wall. I would have turned it off completely, but the room would have been pitch dark, as she had apparently closed the blinds.

"Oh - it's okay," I heard her say.

"No - no," I said, pretending to shield my eyes. But to be honest, despite still being upset over Seth, I couldn't help but be curious about who she had in bed with her. As Becca slipped from the bed, I realized that she was completely nude as she hastily grabbed a pair of shorts and a T-shirt - just as I had done minutes earlier at Seth's. Then as my eyes drifted back to her bed, I further realized that her companion was a girl. I now truly hid my eyes as I turned to the wall and covered my face with both hands.

"I'm so sorry," Becca pleaded as I could hear the other girl jump from the bed and franticly search for her own clothes. "I thought you were staying at Seth's. I'm so sorry."

"No, no - no," I said, my face still hidden from view. "It's perfectly okay; I'm sorry I interrupted - you."

I heard the two girls scurry from the room and the door close seconds later. I turned and looked at Becca's bed. It was quite a mess, and it was pretty evident that there had been a party going on in there. I turned on the room lights again and surveyed the clothes strewn all over the floor. And I almost started to cry. I caught myself before the first tear hit my cheek, but clearly, I was confused. I locked the door, turned the overhead light back off, and stripped myself of the shorts and T-shirt I'd worn running from Seth's. Flipping on the shower, I immediately began scrubbing myself from head to toe. I wanted to get every trace of Seth and Ian off my body. But how do I get Ian's semen out of my hole? As I stood there, with the warm water raining down on me, I finally broke down and cried.

Becca never returned that night, and as I lay there, staring into the darkness of my room, I ran the events of the last several hours over and over through my brain. I was not a prude; I kept telling myself. I was raised in a perfectly normal family. My parents clearly loved each other, and I'm sure they had a perfectly normal marital sex life. I was the youngest of three kids, but I'm sure my older brother and sister also lived perfectly normal lives with perfectly normal relationships. So why did I find Seth and Ian's behavior so revolting? And Becca. She wasn't gay. So why was she in bed with another girl? I just didn't understand.

The next day, when Becca returned to our dorm room, she apologized over and over. But I assured her I wasn't offended in any way. And it's true, I wasn't offended. I just didn't know she swung both ways. I guess you could say I was startled.

During the Spring Break, after first making sure Seth wasn't there, I returned to the apartment and retrieved all of my stuff. Most of my clothes, books, computer, almost everything I owned was there. Seth must have been expecting me to come to pick it up, as the apartment was all cleaned up, and my stuff was neatly collected together for me. He had called me seven times since I ran crying back to the dorm. But I never answered a single call or even listened to the voice mails. So, he knew it was over and why.

After spring break, everyone returned to classes, and I returned to mine. But my heart and soul were just not there. For the rest of the semester, Seth and I were civil to each other, but I made sure we were never dance partners, and he never pushed the issue. In fact, he was the perfect gentleman. And I think in his own quiet way, he tried to apologize.

When the semester was over, and I returned to San Jose, I told my parents I was through. Through with school, that was. My grades were only mediocre, and though my mom understood, I don't think my dad did. My brother had already graduated college, and my sister was about to. She only had one year left. So, I guess I let my dad down. But my mom was more understanding, and she realized that I would never be a star ballerina. An ensemble dancer was about the best I could ever hope for, and we both knew that was a lot of work for something you would never be able to make a living from.

I got a job at Banana Republic in our local Westfield Mall. They only allowed sales associates (as we were called) to work thirty hours per week, so there was no way I could ever make a living with such a job. I wanted to move away from home, but for the summer at least, I stayed there in my old childhood room. When September came around, I got another part-time job teaching little girls ballet at my old dance school. Well, at least all those years of training were good for something.

Working two jobs, I was able to rent an apartment. And though I was out on my own, I still didn't really feel like a full adult. And I was anxious to find a permanent career.

During my breaks from working at Banana Republic, I'd speed-walk the mall for exercise. And in doing so, I met another girl doing the same thing. Standing on your feet all day, without actually moving about, was harder than I thought, and I guess she felt the same. She worked at a hair salon in the mall that relied on Walk-In business and served both men and women.

Her name was Gwen, and she had been cutting hair for a little more than five years. We realized that we were both employed in the mall and were doing the same thing around the same time every day. And it wasn't long before we introduced ourselves and made it a point to walk together on a daily basis.

I was curious about the hair-cutting business, and she was eager to tell me all about it and invited me to come in and get a haircut. I wear my hair long, to the center of my back. But I did need a trim and took her up on her offer. She was terrific and much cheaper than where my mother had always taken me. And I totally loved that she finished my haircut with a neck and shoulder massage. The massage felt wonderful, and after she was finished, I asked if she did that for all of her customers.

"Yes," she said as she walked me to the door. "At least to the ones I like. Besides, it's good for tips."

"Oh...," I said, realizing that I hadn't tipped her, and I instantly felt remorseful, but I was new to the world of paying my own way, and to be honest, it never crossed my mind.

"Oh, that's fine," Gwen said, cutting me off. "You're a friend. Friends don't tip each other. Besides, your hair was so easy and a pleasure to do."

The next day as we walked the mall together, I tried to apologize again, but again she cut me off. However, I had been thinking about how much money she earned cutting hair and how much of that was tips. "Do you normally make a lot in tips?" I shyly asked.

"Yes," she said. Usually, that's about half my income. We only get 40% of what the shop charges for each cut. Plus, we have to buy our uniforms and all of our supplies and equipment. They don't provide anything but the space to work and the chair. So, if the tips are good - and they generally are. I can double my money."

"Does giving a little massage at the end help?" I asked.

"Oh, hell yes," Gwen exclaimed. "Especially with the men. Most women tip, but it's usually just a couple of bucks. But if you flirt with the men and give them a nice neck and shoulder massage, you can get five to ten times that."

That piqued my interest, and the next time we walked, I said, "I think I'm interested in learning to cut hair. Can we meet for a drink or something after work?"

"Sure," she said. "I get off at six; how about Two Jacks for a quick one?"

"Perfect," I replied. Unfortunately, I usually got off at four, but I asked my manager if I could work an extra two hours, and to my surprise, he agreed. I think he kind of liked me, in ways more than just being a fellow team member. But that is a whole 'nother story.

Two Jacks was a local bar and nightclub popular with millennials. And though I still wasn't of legal drinking age, my sister had left me her driver's license when she went off to college in Colorado. And the family likeness was enough for me to use in a darkened club. Besides, if I was tested on date of birth, address, etc., I'd be able to easily pass.

Once we were settled in, me with a generic white wine and Gwen with a Captain Morgan and Coke, I quickly started quizzing her. "So, how do you like cutting hair?"

"Oh, it's fine," Gwen responded. "I've been doing it for six years now, it's decent money, and it beats sitting in an office or standing behind a register at Ralph's."

"Okay," I started out slowly. "How does the money work? I mean, how do you get paid?"

"Well, it's a 60/40 split with the store. I mean, they keep 60%, and you get 40%. Plus, you have to buy your uniform, and all your equipment, and of course, all of your own supplies." She paused to take a drink of Morgan 'n Coke. "But like I said earlier, in the mall. The tips more than make up for it. The tips added to credit cards, you have to pay taxes on - but most tips are in cash, that's all tax-free."

"So, do you make just about as much on tips as you do on commissions?" I asked, as I sipped my wine.

"No, but it's like having a second job and not having to spend any time at it."

Now that caught my attention. I was working thirty hours a week at Banana Republic and then another twenty hours per week at the ballet studio teaching little girls. So that was fifty hours a week, just so I could pay my rent, my other bills, and maybe have something left over for myself.

"So, tell me about the massages," I asked.

"Oh, there is nothing to it. The women seem to like it, but it doesn't seem to affect the tip one way or the other. But for the men, especially if it's a deep relaxing massage, your tip will go way up."

I was sold. I asked Gwen all about Barber School, licensing requirements, and how to get a job. It took a little longer than I expected and cost a little more. But compared to UCLA, and especially the private school my sister attended in Colorado, it was cheap. Now I just had to convince my dad.

This also took a little longer than I expected, but I wore him down. Eventually, he agreed to pay my rent, as well as my car expenses, so that I could go to barber college full-time. Plus, I got him to spring for the full tuition. To the dismay of my manager, I resigned from my job at Banana Republic, but I kept my part-time job at the ballet studio. First, I needed the money to eat, but also because I still loved the art of ballet, and I had grown fond of teaching the kids. I was one once, and I remember how much I loved it when I was their age. Plus, it kept me in practice and in very good shape.

Nine months later, I passed the California Board of Barbering and Cosmetology exam, and I was on my way. I worked at the mall beside Gwen for the first year after receiving my license. And it was good. I learned a lot, I enjoyed everyone that I worked with, and I loved most of the customers. But I didn't always get along with management, and in particular, the owners of the salon. They turned out to be greedy bastards, and after a year of making them money, I decided it was time to go out on my own.

Again, I had to rely a little on my dad, but I think he saw the potential, and I think he finally realized that this really was the best place for me. I know it wasn't the college education they had dreamed of for their daughter. And it was certainly less than what my siblings had aspired to. But he could see that I was truly happy with what I was doing. And I'd started cutting his hair, so he understood that I was actually good at it and enjoyed it.

I found a space in a Personal Care Suite in Santa Clara, in the heart of the high-tech district. The suites were all related to personal grooming, such as barbers, cosmetologists, colorists, manicurists, pedicurists, and even a small day spa. The stalls weren't very big, and you had to decorate them yourself. But the rent was fair, the utilities were included, and you were your own boss. That was the part I liked the best.

The stall I rented already had a counter, a sink, and mirrors. All I had to add was a chair, supply racks, side chairs, and art. My parents helped with all of that, and I supplied all of my initial products and supplies. I already owned my own equipment. Of course, starting from scratch was slow. But I charged a little below the going rate, I gave great haircuts, and I always added a little extra service with a good neck and shoulder massage. And soon, I was fully booked, eight hours a day, five days a week. I didn't take customers on weekends, as I worked at the ballet studio on Saturdays, and I needed at least one day a week off. I still didn't have a personal life. But I had hopes, and I needed to be available in case the opportunity arose.

I'd probably had my own place for about six months when one of my regulars, a guy named Caleb, asked while I was massaging his neck, "So, Jenny, what else do you massage?"

He was your basic High Tech wonder. Probably in his mid-thirties, nice looking, and no pocket-liner, but still a little nerdy. And I knew what he meant, but I had to play coy. "What do you mean?" I said innocently.

He chuckled. "What other mussels do you massage?

"Well, I don't have a massage table, if that's what you mean. And besides, there's no room in here."

He smiled and didn't immediately say anything. But as I was finishing with his neck and scalp, he said, "I bet you could arrange something."

I removed the apron from around his neck, and as I gave it a little shake, Caleb stood and facing me, handed me a hundred-dollar bill. He had always been a good tipper, but this was a very nice tip. "Thank you," I said, as I eyed the bill and tried to confirm that he wasn't expecting any change. As he turned to leave, I had to think fast. I quickly grabbed one of my business cards, "Caleb," I said. He stopped and turned back to me as I jotted my number on the back. "Here's my personal cell number; text me."

"Great," he said, as he took the card from my hand.

"I work here Monday through Friday, until 4:30 every day. I'm available evenings, except Wednesday and on Saturdays."

He smiled as he made sure he could read the number, and then carefully placed it in his wallet. "What's going on Wednesday and Saturdays?" he asked with a smile.

"Oh, I teach ballet Wednesday evenings and all day Saturdays," I said, with a cheerful smile and a little pirouette.

With a tip of his imaginary hat, Caleb smiled and said, "Love it; I'll text you."

It wasn't twenty minutes before my phone dinged with a text. 'How about tomorrow at 7 PM.'

I had to think fast. I had already committed myself, but to what? What was I willing to do for this guy? And where was I going to do it, and how much would he be willing to pay? I wasn't a hooker, and I didn't think he was actually expecting sex. He had only mentioned a massage, and I think I was okay with that. But - tomorrow. Tomorrow is only one day away from today.

I didn't immediately text him back, but that night sitting alone in my apartment as I munched on my usual mixed-greens salad, I texted Caleb back. 'Tomorrow is good. My apartment at 7 PM. $200 cash.' I then texted him my address.

In less than three minutes, he texted back, 'Perfect.'

As I read that single word, a flock of butterflies took flight in my stomach. But now I was really committed. I spent the next four hours cleaning my apartment from end to end. Then I dashed out to my local CVS for candles, massage oil, and a 6-pack of condoms. I wasn't actually planning on fucking him, but I figured it's best to be prepared - just in case. I was still on birth control, as I was still hoping for another relationship. But it had been almost three years, and nothing yet. I think I was still hurt over my break-up with Seth. And to be honest, I still wasn't sure how to get over it. Maybe this would help break the ice and get me back into the game.

I was as nervous as a bride on the eve of her wedding all day at work the next day. But back in my apartment that evening, I actually felt pretty good - that is, until there was a knock on my door at seven on the dot. I'd already showered and peed, but if I hadn't, I probably would have peed myself right then and there.

"Caleb," I said with a big smile as I opened the door.

"Jenny," he replied, with even a bigger smile. And he had a bottle of wine in his hand.

I hadn't even considered wine, but wine-not. Caleb followed me into my tiny apartment kitchen, and I got out two stemmed wine glasses, as he handled the uncorking duties. With a cool Pinot Grigio in our hands, we retired to my sofa. "Nice place you have here," Caleb said, as he surveyed my humble abode.

"It's okay," I said. "I'd like to find someplace nicer, but as I'm sure you are aware, rents are stupid expensive in Silicon Valley. You computer guys make so much money, that you drive up all the area rents. And don't even think about buying anything."