My freshman year at the University of Missouri passed pretty uneventfully.
I kept a low profile, studied hard and made good grades. I played the part of the shy country girl on campus while I got acclimated to a whole new world.
I honestly hate to say this, but if I had been thrown into that situation cold, without the weeks I spent working as my uncle's whore that summer, I'm not sure I would have survived.
I was so naive and in need of guidance at that point in my life, that I probably would have fallen into the clutches of someone (anyone), and I doubt that it would have been very pleasant.
But after a couple of months of negotiating the pitfalls of life as a whore, under my uncle's tutelage, I had developed some street smarts, and some much-needed self-confidence. I know, that's a pretty brutal way to obtain those kinds of life skills, and I wish now that I had chosen another way.
Nevertheless, that's the way I did it, there's no going back and doing it over, and it did force me to learn how to swim with the sharks pretty quickly.
I took the basic general studies courses that first year, because I really didn't know what I wanted to do. I knew I had an aptitude for math, though, and by the end of my second semester, I had about decided that computer sciences were where the future was.
I also discovered that I had a little bit of artistic ability. I wasn't much with my hands, but on the computer, I found that I could be quite creative.
Along the way, I solidified my new identity as Lyn Gibson. That was tough in spots, and weird, too. I had to learn how to sign my name all over again, and I often found myself not responding when someone spoke to me.
However, I established my official address as a post office box in Columbia, and after that nothing that could tie me to Lyn Gibson ever came to the store, nor did anything that could tie me to Sophie Trotter ever come to the box.
The one dicey part was showing Uncle Bill my grades, and at first he did insist on seeing them. Fortunately, I was able to obscure the name on the grade reports when I showed them to him, then I never left them lying around where he could see them.
It really is amazing that I pulled it off, but Uncle Bill was so self-absorbed, so wrapped up in his own little world that he never really caught on. Plus, I think he figured I wasn't that clever - or devious - to think up something like that. I don't think it even occurred to him to suspect anything like that.
After all, I was his docile little pet, his fuck toy, his sex machine, his dependent little niece who would do anything he told me to do.
I quickly settled into a routine, and we started bringing in a hefty bit of cash. Bill set up an account in a Jefferson City bank where my earnings and his matching funds would go to pay for my tuition, books, fees, etc. And he paid fairly close attention to that account. He didn't want me tapping into it for just anything.
I thought that was pretty funny. We'd never had much money, and I had learned at an early age how to be frugal with what I had. I wasn't about to become a spendthrift just because I now had more money available than I'd ever had before.
Still, I insisted on getting a healthy allowance so I could buy clothes, gas and food while I was off at school.
Let me say very clearly that I earned every penny I made. If you've never fucked for a living, you may not understand how quickly you can become jaded. Most nights when I worked, I averaged about a dozen men, who wanted everything from a handjob to anal.
Once the parade started, I'd reach a point where I might climax, but more often than not, I had to fake it. I mean, it just got so monotonous.
But there were plenty of nights when something would happen that lit a spark. Sometimes it was an extra-big or extra-good cock, a few times it was another woman, and then there were the party nights.
Every so often, we'd entertain more customers than I could handle doing them one at a time. If it was starting to get late, and we still had a large crowd who wanted some of me, Uncle Bill would declare a party night, and for $60, everyone who wanted to could pile into the apartment for a full-blown orgy.
The first time it happened was on New Year's Eve my freshman year, and it was OK until I got drunk and puked all over the place. That sort of put a damper on things.
But the next time it happened was probably the best party we ever had up there, and I remember it well.
It was the Saturday before Memorial Day in 1989, and spring fever was in the air. I was out of school for the summer, and had been busy for several weeks making up for time that I'd lost when I didn't work during finals.
I believe I was at the peak of my sexual prowess at that point. I'd been at it for a year, and I had become very skilled - and very popular. I had developed a real nasty streak - nasty as in wanton - and I was giving my customers more than their money's worth.
This was the period I talked about earlier when I said I came to love the taste of cum. Truth is, during this period in my life I was a real cum junkie. I got to where I liked being sloppy with it; the more cum, the better.
I think the Cardinals were on TV that afternoon, because we had a large crowd gathering pretty early at the bar. Uncle Bill fired up his big smoker grill and cooked up a bunch of roasts, ribs and pork shoulders, and the bar just seemed to be buzzing all day.
By 5 o'clock, I had been kissed, felt up and teased by just about everyone there, and I had been teasing in turn all afternoon. We were just having a hell of a time. Finally, we just closed the store and started to get down to business.
I was feeling really wicked, so after the store was locked up, I went upstairs and put on one of my outfits. I had on a garter belt, stockings, a pair of my thong panties, one of my teeny-weeny skirts, a thin blouse, my high heels and I got myself made up pretty good.
The large crowd that had gathered in the bar whooped and whistled when I made my entrance, and I quickly got up on the bar, while someone played the jukebox. I did a really seductive dance that quickly turned into a strip show. Off came my blouse, and I played with my tits a little bit. Down went my skirt, and I stood on that bar and did the hippy shake clad only in stockings, panties and heels.
I played with my panties for bit, pulling them tight up my crotch and so forth. Everyone was chanting for me to take them off, but I laughed and said loudly that if anyone wanted to see any more of me, they'd have to come upstairs, leaving unsaid the inference that they had to pay for the privilege. And with that, I jumped off the bar and slipped out the back, before they could react.
I was really horny, and I had a gut feeling the night was going to be spectacular. And, boy, was it ever!
The first guy to come up was a young guy, a guy I vaguely recalled from school as being a year behind me. I don't recall his name, but he was fairly quiet, and I think he was there on a dare from his friends. He didn't have a lot of money on him, so he said he'd settle for a handjob.
