Aristippus Angies Story

Angie's Story - Appendix I

Bi-Sexuals have Twice the Chance of Getting a Date on Friday Night

Do you remember

Squiggy

from the TV show

Laverne & Shirley

? Well, I was born more than a decade after the show went off the air, but I saw reruns when I was a young tween. That's what my dad looked like. As I remember him, he looked like

Squiggy

. Except that the TV

Squiggy

was funny and wouldn't hurt a fly. The Squiggy I knew, at least as a kid, was mean and violent.

I was born in Portland, and to use the vernacular, we were white trash. We lived in a trailer, we never had enough to eat, and neither of my parents could keep a job for more than a few months. Of course, when you're five years old, it just seemed normal. I didn't know any different. The other kids in the trailer park didn't have it much better than me. But I do remember, more than once, my dad beating my mom with a belt and sometimes, even with his fists. I would run and hide under my bed, along with the family dog. And just wait until my dad either fell asleep or stormed from the house.

My mom and dad divorced when I was five. They tell me that the police had to come to the trailer and arrest my dad because he wouldn't leave, but I honestly don't remember that. Maybe I was hiding. Or maybe I just blocked it out. Either way, I'm glad I don't remember. What I do remember was that my mom and I immediately moved to Seattle, or at least the Seattle area. And for the next six years of my life, we moved often, usually back and forth between Seattle and Portland and never to a nice place. If it wasn't a broken-down trailer, it was a crappy rundown apartment.

Sometimes we would have money, and my mom would go to the store, and we'd have food for several weeks. Then there would be no money or food, and we'd have to move again. I don't really remember, but I doubt we ever stayed in one place for more than six months. And once I started school, it became very difficult for me to make or keep friends. I never really knew what my mom did for money. I think she usually worked as a maid or a Flagman for highway contractors. But they were all temporary, and for one reason or another, she was back at the unemployment office.

On the rare occasions that we had extra money, I think she probably earned it on her back. She was nice-looking, and the problem wasn't that she couldn't attract men; it was just that she always attracted the wrong kind of men. Men that just wanted a quick fuck, with no commitment or complications. In other words, they were probably all married. Or they just didn't want the baggage that came with my mom - me.

By the time I started middle school, we had moved to Los Angeles. Or, more specifically, the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles. My mom had a sister there, and besides the weather being so much nicer, I think the ulterior motive was to be closer to relatives. In the northwest, we had no relatives at all. At least none that she could count on. But in San Fernando, at least she had her sister.

I think the other reason we moved south was that Mom could work in the porn industry. The San Fernando Valley is the home of the US adult movie business, and they are always looking for new talent. My mom wouldn't let me watch porn - or dirty movies, as she called them. But I know she did. Sometimes she'd have a boyfriend, or some stranger I'd never seen before, come to the trailer. She'd give me a dollar and tell me to go to the park for an hour. And not to come back early.

So, moving to Southern California seemed like a new chance to be normal. We moved in with Mom's sister, Aunt Rainey and Uncle Frank. Rainey's full name was Rainbow, with no middle name. And my Mom's birth name was Misty Dawn. However, she had always simply gone by Dawn. So, as you can imagine, their parents, my grandparents, were hippies. And pretty whacked-out ones at that. They still live in the Northwest, but Rainey and Mom were utterly estranged from them. In fact, I was about six years old the last time I saw them. I don't know what the issues between my grandparents and their daughters were, but it was enduring.

Rainey was sweet and loved having us. But Frank was a crusty old shithead. He worked as a diesel mechanic at the LA Metro Transportation maintenance facility. He had a long commute each way to work and back every day, and though Frank must have been a good mechanic, he hated his job, he hated the people he worked with, and he always came home in a bad mood. And to make it worse, they lived in a tiny, two-bedroom California bungalow. When we first moved in, Mom and I took the guest bedroom. Frank and Rainey didn't have any kids, which was probably a good thing, as Frank would have been an asshole of a father.

I honestly didn't know what Mom was doing for work. By then, I was in middle school, so I wasn't home during the day. But it appeared that Mom spent most of her day at home, doing little or nothing. Then she'd be gone all day, maybe two, and suddenly have money. I'm pretty sure she was working as a porn actress. She dressed sluttier, she wore makeup for the first time that I could remember, and she was always getting

private calls

.

I'm sure she was working for some porno filmmaker. And I'm sure Rainey and Frank knew, because one evening at dinner, Frank just blew up. I don't remember what the argument was over, as I ran from the room to hide in my bedroom. It was one of his regular rants and raves. But it was just too reminiscent of the fights my mom and dad used to have. Now, Frank never hit or assaulted my mom, but that was the last night we lived with them. I do remember Rainey trying to keep me. I guess I had become the daughter she never had. But Mom wouldn't have it. The next day, while I was in school, Mom moved us into another crappy apartment about two miles away.

The good thing was that I was allowed to keep going to the same school. In fact, I don't think we ever told the admissions office that we had even moved. And I was making friends, so I really didn't want to change schools. So, I was happy about that. I just kept my head down and tried to blend into the background as much as possible.

Mom, on the other hand, was getting weirder and weirder. She would never tell me what she was doing for money, but it was pretty obvious. The only good thing was that she never brought anyone around the apartment. The bad news was that she started staying out later and later at night. I was in seventh and eighth grade, and I frequently could go a full day or more and not see her. I was just a kid, and she was more of a roommate than a mother. I had to make my own dinner, get up in the morning, make my breakfast and get myself to school. I had a bus pass, but still, it just felt weird.

That came to an end right before the end of my eighth-grade year. Mom had not come home for several days, and as I was leaving school, Rainey met me at the bus stop. "Angie, Angie," she called from her car. "Over here, I'll take you home."

I usually rode the Metro bus home, but I certainly appreciated the free ride, as it would save me a twenty-minute bus ride. However, once in her car, Rainey said, "Angie, you're coming home with me. Your mom got arrested, and she's in jail."

I was surprised - but not shocked. Nothing she did shocked me anymore. And I guess that I was only surprised that she hadn't been arrested earlier. "What about Uncle Frank?" I asked. Looking back, I realize I should have asked about my mom first but getting away from her was actually a relief.

"Don't worry about Frank," Rainey said. "He's looking forward to you moving back in with us."

I knew that was a lie. But I figured Rainey must have told him I was moving in, and he'd just have to get used to it. And that's how it was. Frank was still a shithead. He was an angry man, and it was just prudent of me to keep a low profile and avoid him as much as possible. Not unlike what I did during my three years of middle school.

Rainey and I returned to the apartment the following weekend and cleaned out all my stuff. My clothes, books, personal belonging, and any other evidence that I'd ever lived there. And I found out what Mom had been arrested for. Drugs and assaulting a cop. There was a raid on a party that she was attending, and she was caught with drugs in her possession. Then to make matters worse, she hit one of the cops with something heavy and actually hurt him. And apparently, it was more than just a scratch. So, she was in deep shit.

For Mom's one phone call, she called Rainey and asked her to pick me up at school. But before coming to get me, Rainey went over to the jail and told Mom that she'd help as long as it was agreed that I'd live with them until I turned eighteen. In other words, Mom agreed to give Rainey non-judicial custody until I graduated high school. And for whatever reason, my mom agreed. I guess she had no choice, but I have to tell you, I had mixed emotions. I was happy to get away from my dysfunctional mother. But it hurt that she gave me up so easily. And though I loved Rainey, I didn't like Frank. I hadn't done anything wrong, yet it felt like I had just received a four-year prison sentence of living in his household.

As my high school years progressed, I slowly drifted to the Goth side. It wasn't intentional. And it wasn't a rejection of Rainey and Frank or my Mom, who was basically out of my life. It was more of finding a group I could relate to, and those weirdos just checked that box. I wasn't an athlete, or a valley girl, or bookworm, or any other recognizable clique. So, I drifted to the nonconformity of the Goths.

I didn't always wear black lipstick or nail polish, and I didn't always wear pure black. But I did cut my hair short on one side and allowed it to grow longer on the other. I had three small loop earrings in one ear and none in the other ear. And I'll admit, I did usually wear either dark or black, long dresses, almost like prairie dresses. I don't know why; they just felt comfortable, and I never had to worry about some geek or jock asshole trying to look up my skirt.

And I'll further admit, there might have been one more reason. To piss off Frank. I didn't want to go full goth or emo, just enough to bug him. I wasn't actually afraid of him. But I also didn't want to start a big fight. I just wanted to gently punch his button, not set him off. And besides, I wasn't really into the whole Goth-rock music thing. I was just comfortable with its emphasis on individualism, tolerance of sexual diversity, a dislike of social conservatism and a strong tendency towards cynicism. That's actually what I like the best, the cynicism. If you looked it up in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Frank. Always suspicious of everyone else. Convinced that everyone was out to get him, and they'd somehow get him if he didn't get them first.

I turned eighteen six weeks before high school graduation. I was ready to move out that morning, but Rainey talked me into staying until the end of the school year. I didn't do it for me; I did it for Rainey. She had been the mom I always wished that I'd had. How she turned out so much better than my own mother, I have no idea. But even more puzzling was how and why she stayed married to a shithead like Frank.

One day later, I was living with a group of my goth friends. Some were friends from high school, and some were a year or two older. But we all got along, and that's all that mattered. There were six of us in this old, dilapidated three-bedroom house in Van Nuys. Before I moved in, there were two couples and a single girl. I moved into the same room as the single girl, Ivy. She was two years older than me. But we hit it off just fine, and it was nice to have someone to talk to at night besides Rainey.

As for the two couples, I use that term loosely. I wouldn't say either one of them were in committed relationships. They slept in the same bed as a matter of convenience. In other words, a warm body to fuck in case they couldn't get a better deal for the evening. And though Ivy and I slept in separate beds, she implied more than once that she wouldn't mind sharing the sheets with me, if I was interested.

At eighteen, I was still a virgin. I know that sounds weird. And it was. But in high school, I never dated. I mean, not with a single guy. I just hung out with my friends. We were always in a group. And though I know many of them had sex with each other. I just never did. I think a lot of it was a reaction to my mom. Mom was a slut, and I just didn't want to emulate her behavior in any way. She disgusted me, and I was in fear of falling into her footsteps.

I didn't smoke, because she did. I never got a tattoo, because she had numerous tats. I didn't do drugs, well, at least no serious ones. I admit I'd done a little ecstasy at parties before - but never enough to get laid. And I'd eaten a few edibles, but never enough to get stoned. And I certainly didn't smoke a joint every day, like Mom. I wouldn't even hang out with people who did cocaine. So, was I a good girl? Absolutely not; I just had my own personal guard rails to keep me from becoming my mother.

The group supported themselves by selling magazine subscriptions door to door. We worked for this guy named Drew. He would pick us up in his crappy old van and take us back to his even crappier office for the pep talk of the day. His office, if you could call it that, was in one of those old temporary construction shacks you see at job sites. It was unpainted aluminum, sitting on cinder blocks, with filthy windows and worse inside.

We'd all sit around on furniture that Goodwill wouldn't take and listen to the sales strategy of the day. Then we'd all pile back into his van, and he'd drop us off in the neighborhoods he'd selected as our target for the day. We would then walk the streets, knocking on doors, and give our sales pitch. Which usually centered on; we were college students trying to earn scholarships from the publishers. And we were told to stress that we were the first in our families to ever go to college and that the scholarship meant

making it

or being forced to

drop out

. It was pure bullshit, but you wouldn't believe the number of people that fell for it.

We were also told to dress as worthy, but underprivileged college hopefuls. One day, when Ivy wasn't with us for some reason, Drew dropped off everyone in the van but me. We always worked in teams, and as I was alone, I thought maybe he'd give me an easy street. Instead, he drove me back to his office. Once inside, he said, "I'm not sure that's appropriate attire for an aspiring college student."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "I've worn this before, and you never said anything." I was wearing denim hotpants and a white crop top. The top was loose-fitting, and it didn't take a lot of imagination to realize that I wasn't wearing a bra.

Leaning against his desk, he said, "You look like a

Valley Girl Princess

, not a poor girl from a blue-collar family trying to work her way to college." Then standing up straight, he reached forward and slipping his hand into my top, said as he cupped one of my breasts, "Humm, C-Cup?"

I jerked back and in total shock, exclaimed, "Drew, what the fuck?"

He just smiled, before adding, "And those

Daisy Dukes

, do you really think that's appropriate?"

They were hemmed shorts, and they didn't show my ass cheeks, so I didn't really consider them

Daisy Dukes

. But that didn't stop him from reaching down and running his fingers along the lower hem.

I slapped his hand away, but my mistake was not running from the office. Instead, I just stood there staring at him in disbelief.

His smile slowly turned sinister, and then grabbing me by my shoulders, spun me around to where I was leaning against his desk. Then placing his hands under my armpits, lifted me to a sitting position on the desk. "You're the lowest performing salesperson I've got," he snarled.

I was scared, but I didn't want him to know that. "You give me the shittiest streets," I retorted.

"You want better streets, then you're going to have to do something for me," he said. "You're going to have to pay some dues." And with that, he slipped his hands under the bottom of my top and pushed it up, exposing my boobs. Both tits were now on full display, and he took no time in popping one into his mouth, while roughly fondling the other. Every fifteen or twenty seconds, he'd move from one breast to the other and then moments later, back.

I'll admit, I was scared. But for whatever reason, I didn't fight back. I had a mix of every emotion possible, fear, terror, anxiety, distress, fright, and even panic. But for whatever reason, I didn't resist. Like a spring lamb going to slaughter, I let him have his way with me. And I should add, up to this point, he had not hurt me, and I didn't think he would, as long as I cooperated.

When he finally tired of sucking my tits, he stepped back far enough to unbuckle my belt, unsnap my shorts, and pull down the zipper. Then, looping his fingers in my pants pockets, he aggressively wrangled my pants from my hips, down my legs, and over my feet. My panties came down with my shorts, so I was now naked from my boobs to my socks. Drew then quickly dropped his own pants, and to my surprise, there was the first rock-hard, fully erect penis I had ever seen in my life. I'd seen the dicks of my male roommates, as the house only had one bathroom, and no one was ever very modest. But I'd never seen one ready to fuck, and certainly not one ready to fuck me.

And fuck me, he did. I didn't tell him I was a virgin, as it wouldn't have made any difference anyway. In fact, he may have enjoyed it even more. He pushed me backward, so that I was now lying flat on his desk. Then pulling my legs toward himself, until my butt cheeks were barely on the desk. Spreading my legs as far as they would go, Drew rammed his bulging cock as far into me as possible. I'll be honest; it hurt. In fact, that was actually the first time he hurt me. I let out a muffled scream and then just whimpered as he drove himself into me, over and over again.

By the time he finished, I was crying. But I don't think he cared. He probably wanted me to cry, as it proved his control over me. Breathless, he stepped back, and as he tried to cram his still hard dick back into his pants, he said, "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

I didn't know what to say or do. I just laid there, on his desk, staring at the ceiling. Once Drew was fully dressed, he said, "Was that as good for you as it was for me? I've wanted to fuck you since the day you first showed up here." He then reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and grabbing a handful of bills, threw them at me. "Not a bad day's work Angie, not a bad day's work."

The money landed on my nude belly, and as I started to sit up, I grabbed it to keep it from falling to the floor. I realized that if I accepted this money, Drew would have just paid me for sex. And that if I didn't throw it back at him, then I had accepted it. This made me a whore, and I was becoming my mother. Something I had fought not to become. But I kept the money. It was eighty bucks; I hope my mom at least got more than that.

"I'm going to check on the crews," Drew said. "Can I drop you off at your place?"

"No," I meekly mumbled. "I'll walk."

Drew shrugged and walked out, closing the door behind him. Sliding off the desk, I slowly got dressed and left the office. I deliberately left the door wide open as a silent protest, but Drew's stuff was such crap that there was no danger of anyone taking anything. I didn't actually walk all the way back to our place; I rode the bus. And as I bounced around Van Nuys in the back of the bus, I mulled over my options regarding how to handle Drew.