Aristippus - Lucinda's Story

Lucinda's Story - Appendix B

Aristippus course co-director tells her story.

I was not the farmer's daughter, but I certainly was raised in a farming culture. Born and raised in Fresno, California, in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley. Surrounded by snow-capped mountains, the valley is basically a desert. However, irrigation has made an otherwise arid valley the Garden of Eden that it is today, making Fresno the fifth most populous city in California. It is at the heart of California's agricultural region. And if you eat salads, fresh fruits and vegetables, nuts, and in particular, almonds, they very likely came from the San Joaquin Valley.

As the owners of the largest supplier of agricultural irrigation equipment in the southern valley, our family were not actually farmers. Still, we were very much in the business of agriculture. And even though I didn't actually live on a farm, I indeed grew up in the farming culture. And I was definitely raised as a farm girl. Additionally, as the only girl in a family of three boys, I was very much a Tom Boy as well.

Our family's business was founded by my great-grandfather over a hundred years ago and has been passed down through the generations. My grandfather is the current patriarch of the company. However, the daily operations now rest with my dad and his brothers. This generational enterprise gives the entire clan a very nice living. And to be honest, my father takes advantage of it.

My dad saw himself as some sort of professional gambler, and throughout my lifetime, he would sometimes disappear for months at a time, pursuing this interest. He would usually go to Las Vegas with some hair brain scheme to beat the system. Typically, he would start out making a small fortune and then end up losing it over the course of the following weeks and months of drinking, womanizing, and bad bets. Knowing that he always had a good living to return to and that the family would take him back, he always perceived himself to be some sort of a playboy.

The family staged interventions from time to time, and my mother would always take him back. To be honest, I think that I'm the product of one of those interventions, as my brothers are all notably older than me. But after a year or two, my dad would fall back into his old ways and disappear for months. So, growing up, I never really thought of him much as a father figure. He was just the guy that slept with my mom whenever he was in town. I didn't hate him; no one did. For when he was here, he was a great guy. He was just unreliable, and as a kid, you just had to live with it.

Growing up, I relied much more on my brothers and my uncles as role models. Like I said earlier, I was definitely a Tom Boy. I wore jeans and western shirts. I rode horses, played with all the neighborhood boys, and probably after the age of five or six, never wore a dress again until well into high school.

And as my brothers all played baseball, I followed in their footsteps and played little league right alongside the boys. And though I was fully aware of the biological difference between boys and girls, I remained physically very inexperienced. As far as my brothers were concerned, I was just one of the boys, and if any of the other boys started to take an interest in me for anything other than sports, they would quickly settle the issue.

That was at least until my brothers had all graduated high school and left home. As they left home, one by one, I aged out of Little League, and all of the boys my age moved up to high school baseball. And though I could no longer officially play ball, I continued to hang out around the ballpark and sort of became a team mascot. I'd retrieve foul balls, acted as their bat girl, carried gear, and one additional service that I became well known for. I would give the boys neck and shoulder massages as they waited in the dugout.

It was never an official job, and I didn't get paid directly for it. But there were fringe benefits that included free soft drinks, being included in team pizza parties, and being allowed to accompany the team on out-of-town trips. This, of course, meant riding on the bus with twenty or more guys and free meals while on the road. Now, none of these trips were overnight, and I didn't sleep with any of them. These trips were always well chaperoned by the high school coaches and parent volunteers.

By my junior year of high school, I officially became the team Trainer. This official designation gave me actual high school credits as well as other team privileges. Now, I did not have access to the boy's locker room or showers. But did have full access to the team's training room. And I was actually given training on sports massage. So, over the next two years, I doubt there was a single boy on the team that I hadn't had my hands on - that is in my official training duties, at least.

All of this seemed pretty normal to me, and I was even considering becoming an athletic trainer at the college level. I'd been accepted at Cal State Fresno, which meant I could still live at home. It would, of course, be free, and as my brothers were all gone, I could keep my mom company in the same house I grew up in. My dad was in Vegas usually six months a year, so my mom needed someone she could count on.

All of that changed the summer after graduation and before I started at Cal State. I was working for my uncles at the irrigation company for the summer. Something I had done since I was about ten years old. It was good money, and I had always liked it. They would send me out in the field with mechanics and field reps to check on equipment, make repairs, run service calls, and perform similar routine work. I was never alone, and I always loved it. It was dirty, hands-on work. But it was honest work and allowed me to learn every aspect of the company's operations. After all, I was a legacy to my great-grandfather's business, and someday a percentage of it would be mine.

All of that suddenly and unexpectedly changed. I had been out with my Uncle Jeff all day. Without the usual helper, the two of us had loaded eight hundred feet of aluminum irrigation pipe onto a gooseneck trailer, and we were heading back to town. As we were driving back to the yard, my uncle complained several times about a sore shoulder and how he could really use a massage. I was pretty sore myself from helping him load all that pipe, which would typically be a four-man job, and just simply agreed with him. When we were almost back to the yard, I finally realized that he meant for me to give him a massage.

I was hot and tired, and it never crossed my mind that he meant anything more than just a neck and shoulder massage. But once we were in his office, his intentions quickly became much clearer.

"Oh, Lucinda, that feels so good," he sighed as I vigorously massaged his neck and shoulders while he sat slumped forward in his office chair. "You really have the most amazing touch."

"Thank you, Uncle Jeff," I said as I pressed harder and harder. "I've had lessons in being an Athletic Trainer at school, and I think I'm going to major in kinesiology at Cal State."

"That's what I've heard," he said between audible oohs and aahs. Then after several more minutes of me massaging his shoulders, he said, "You're a natural; why don't you work on my back?" And before I could say anything, he got up from his chair and moved to the couch.

Still in a fog of innocents, I said, "Okay." But as he removed his sweat-stained shirt and laid down on his office couch, I noticed for the first time that he had closed his office door when we first came in. Starting to wonder where this was going, I said, "Uncle Jeff, I need to get home soon. Mom is alone at the house, and she's expecting me home for dinner." I should have just stopped right there, but I made one more serious miscalculation. After I had already started massaging his back, I said, "I'm really tired, and I desperately need a shower."

He turned his head toward me and said, "There's a shower right there. You can take a shower here."

I was now officially freaked. I was already eighteen. In fact, I'd been eighteen for almost nine months (I repeated kindergarten). I'd lost my virginity early in my senior year, and by this time, I'd had sex with several boys. But none of them were my brothers, my cousins, and certainly not my uncle. I tried to stand up and leave, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back toward him. He then flipped over and crammed my hand down the front of his pants. I hadn't realized that he had already unbuckled his belt and taken down his zipper. He had a boner like a horny teenager, and though I couldn't see it, I could certainly feel it.

"Uncle Jeff," I screamed. I don't know if there was anyone else in the office, but if there were, they would have likely heard me. That was enough to get him to release my hand. But he was still hoping for more.

"Lucinda," he said calmly. "I know you give those jocks full body massages, so surely you can do the same for your old uncle." At this point, he had pushed his pants further down and was wiggling his stiff Johnson at me.

"No, I don't," I said forcefully. "I give massages at school - to school athletes - in the training room. It's not a private room, anybody in the area can see what I'm doing, and it's all perfectly muscle massages."

He was absolutely unrepentant as he continued to wave his dick at me and said, "Well, this muscle needs a massage."

I ran from the room, got in my car, and raced home. Looking back at it, considering what I know now, and having experienced what I have experienced over the last twenty years, I should not have been so freaked out. But I was only eighteen years old at the time, and I guess I was just a little more innocent than I thought. Besides, he was my fucking uncle. My dad's older brother. I had known him all my life, and he had never made any sort of advance on me like that before. I think that's what shocked me.

I never told my mom; I never told my dad - I never told anyone until now. I also never went back to work at the irrigation company. I stayed home for several weeks, trying to figure out what to do. Eventually, I drove over to Cal State Fresno to see what my options were regarding enrolling at another Cal State campus. Luckily, they were very good. I learned that once you're accepted into the Cal State system, generally you can transfer to any other Cal State school. Now, this didn't get me into The University of California, so I could not transfer to UCLA or Berkley. But most of the twenty-three schools of the California State University system were available to me.

After studying my options, I decided that Bakersfield and Stanislaus were too close to home. I wanted to get further away from my uncle. But that left six schools in the Southern California area, which held an attraction for me. The Los Angeles area was big enough for me to get lost in, if I wanted to. But still close enough to home, if and when I needed. Narrowing it down was the hard part. Each of the schools had their own advantages, but none were perfect. So, after talking to a counselor and giving it another day of thought. I decided on Cal Poly Pomona. It was centrally located, halfway between downtown Los Angeles and San Bernardino. And it offered the broadest range of programs, and most importantly, it had a large athletic department, and they offered degrees in kinesiology.

Two weeks later, I left home and moved to Pomona. My mom was confused as to why I wanted to leave home two months before school started and why I didn't want to work for the irrigation company for the summer. But she didn't press the issue and gave me enough money for two months of living expenses before school started. Finding a place to stay in Pomona proved to be much more of a challenge than deciding on what school to go to.

After a week of looking and living in a motel, I ended up moving in with a friend of my brother. He had a crappy apartment in Covina, and though it was a dump, and he already had two roommates, it was cheap and a place to live. Now considering the trauma of having my uncle wave his tallywacker at me, you'd think I would be a little more selective about my living arrangements. But I didn't have much choice, and besides, these people were basically all my age, and I'd calmed down by then anyway.

My brother's friend was named Stan, and his two roommates included his girlfriend Shelly, and some guy named Nick. It was a two-bedroom apartment with just one bathroom. Stan and Shelly had one of the bedrooms, and Nick was living in the other. But for whatever reason, he moved out into the living room and let me have the smaller bedroom to myself. Maybe he was just being the gentleman, or perhaps it was because he wasn't actually paying rent, and I was. I guess I'll never know, but I accepted the offer.

The weird thing was that after the first week, I realized that Nick often did not spend the night on the couch. They were discreet about it. But I think all three of them slept in the same bed. I hinted around several times that I suspected they were all sleeping together. And I further indicated that I didn't care one way or the other. But they always played coy and acted like they didn't know what I was talking about. After about a month, I figured, what the hell. I heard the squeaking of bedsprings just after we had all gone to bed. I didn't turn on any lights, but I snuck into the living room to see if Nick was asleep on the couch. He wasn't, though the couch was still warm where he'd been lying. I tiptoed to their bedroom door and listened. I couldn't hear any voices, but there was plenty of heavy breathing and the rocking of the bed.

I debated for several minutes on whether to throw open the door and flick the lights on or not. Ultimately, I decided against it. I was basically Stan's guest in his apartment, and if they wanted to keep their little ménage à trois a secret, what business of it was mine? I tiptoed back to bed and snuggled down under the covers. I could still hear them, and to be honest, I wished I could join them. I hadn't had sex in over three months, and to be honest, I could use some. I thought about ways to get myself invited, but I couldn't think of any. And as I was getting hornier and hornier, I just laid there in the dark and rubbed one out - well, to be honest, maybe more than one.

As July came to an end, my birthday was rapidly approaching. I was sitting on the couch watching TV with my roommates when my cell phone rang. "Hi Mom," I said, picking up the phone. My roommates couldn't hear my mom's voice, but they could hear mine.

"No," I said. "It's a four hour drive. Why don't you come here?" ... "You can stay in a hotel." ... "Is Dad home?" ... "Well, I just can't. I'm busy getting ready for school." ... "I love you too Mom, and thanks. I'll see you soon, I promise."

There were a few moments of silence before Shelly asked, "Was that your mom?"

"Yeah," I said, returning my attention to the TV.

"Did she want you to come home?" Shelly questioned, when I offered no further explanation.

"Yeah, Saturday is my birthday, and she's having a hard time trying to understand why I won't come home to celebrate it."

I was sitting on the far end of the couch. Opposite Stan and Shelly, who were sitting on the other end, curled up together. Stan had his arms wrapped around Shelly, and she had one hand on his upper leg, while the other hand was interlocked with one of Stans. And up until that moment, Shelly had her legs folded up underneath her. Suddenly, she stretched out her legs and dropped her feet on my lap. "How old are you going to be?" she asked.

"Nineteen," I said nonchalantly.

"Wow," Nick said, jumping into the conversation. He had been curled up in the easy chair perpendicular to Stan. "You're practically legal."

"For everything but drinking," I said, with my eyes still glued to the TV.

Now Stan joined the conversation. "Well, I know a way around that. Let's celebrate. We'll take you out. Do you like steaks?"

Like I've said, I'm a farm girl, and of course, I like steak. I love steak. But I wasn't working, and I had to save my money. And I wasn't really sure if they meant that they'd be paying. "Uh yes, I love steak. But I can't afford to go out,"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Stan assured me. "It's your birthday. It's our treat. I know this great little steak place over in El Monte. I'm friends with the manager, and you won't have to worry about being carded."

When Stan first suggested it, I wasn't all that excited about it. But as Saturday rolled around, and they'd been wishing me Happy Birthday ever since breakfast, I was getting in the mood. That afternoon, I took a shower and actually put on a dress. I don't think any of them had ever seen me in a dress before. And though I trusted Stan on buying me a drink without me being carded, I put my hair up and tried to look as old as possible. And checking myself in the mirror, I think I passed. The only issue I had was that my three roommates didn't exactly go to the same effort. As we headed out to Stan's car, they were wearing the same old jeans and rock band t-shirts that they seem to always wear. So, I wasn't sure how nice a place this would actually be.

It was only about a fifteen minute drive to El Monte, and as we pulled up, the place looked alright. It certainly wasn't fancy. It was more of a mom-and-pop sort of place - a local dive. But once inside, it smelled wonderful, and I was instantly taken back to similar local restaurants in Fresno. I suddenly felt very much at home, and I wasn't even the least bit nervous when the waitress came to take our drink order.

Nick ordered a large draft beer, and Stan and Shelly both ordered a Jack 'N Coke. But as I was dressed up and feeling a little special, I just ordered a red wine. Shortly after the waitress left to get our drinks, the manager did come over to greet Stan, and the two of them yakked it up for almost five minutes, like old drinking buddies that hadn't seen each other in twenty years. Stan never introduced us, and I'm sort of glad he didn't. Because, if he had, my birthday might have come up. And which birthday is it? And I could see nothing good coming from that discussion. Better to let sleeping birthdays lie.

The menu was fairly simple, mostly salads, steaks, and potatoes. But it was all good home-style food, and we were all stuffed by the time we left. It should also be noted that we had all had too much to drink. I think Nick and I both had three drinks each, but I'm pretty sure Stan and Shelly had four, or more. We were all having a good time, so who's counting? The only issue I had, was Stan's driving. If we'd been stopped, it would have definitely been a problem.

Once safely back in the apartment, Stan asked, "Anybody need anything to drink?"

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed. "I think we have all had enough."

Shelly was probably drunk, but with her arm over Stan's shoulder, she said, "I know what I need. I need some of that just barely legal Lucinda." And with that, she withdrew her arm from around Stan, and headed my way.

"Do you want the couch or the bed?" Stan said, slightly slurring his speech.

"Take her to bed," Nick chimed in. "I'd like to wish her a Happy Birthday after Shelly."

To be honest, I was shocked. I'd been praying for this a week ago, but now that it was about to happen, I was speechless.

Shelly was rapidly approaching me, and as she placed her hands on my arm, Stan said, "I know you can hear us. Aren't you curious?"

Before I could say anything, Shelly wrapped me in her arms and placed a huge wet kiss squarely on my lips. As her hands ran down my back, she took my butt cheeks in her hand and began a slow deep massage. First one cheek, and then the other. All the while, exploring the back of my throat with her tongue. I had never kissed a girl in my life, much less made out with one. But it felt good, and maybe it was the wine, but I was actually getting turned on.