The Girlfriend Experience
Copyright© 2026 by JeremyDCP
Chapter 1
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Eighteen-year-old Lindsay leaves home against the wishes of her family to pursue a controversial career. **Re-written story**
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Teenagers Consensual Fiction Cheating BDSM
Monday, July 16, 2018
Flagstone, Nevada
The unsettling, yet now-familiar crunch of the SUV shifting gears vibrated beneath her as they exited the highway. With that came panoramic views of the desert, then a cluster of rooftops in the valley below. Thank God. This trip is almost over. From her backseat perch, Lindsay Anastacio clung to the armrest, her gaze lost somewhere between the glass and the desolate wasteland beyond. In her mind, echoes from the past drifted: bustling saloons, gunfights at high noon, and the clink of prospectors’ tools. But this wasn’t the 1880s anymore, and Lindsay wasn’t here to risk everything for a nugget of gold.
No. Her reward was far more lucrative, and potentially just as dangerous.
She reached for her phone, hoping the outskirts of town might finally offer a signal. Zero bars. There’d been no service since leaving Las Vegas two-and-a-half hours ago. What the ... heck? This thing felt useless in her hands.
“Welcome to Flagstone. Nevada’s Richest Strike.” The driver’s words mimicked the rustic hand-painted streetside sign they’d just passed. He flexed his neck, plucking at the three-day-old stubble along his jawline, and offered a one-shouldered shrug. “Not much happening up here in these parts.”
“Mmmhmm.” Pinyon pine and juniper trees blurred past as Lindsay continued to stare out the window.
“You said you’re visiting long-lost family here, right?”
Brows furrowed, her eyes flicked toward the front seat. You sure do like to talk, don’t you? If this Uber driver passed her on the street later tonight, Lindsay wouldn’t recognize his face. But she’d surely recall the back of his thinning gray head, the Bluetooth in his ear, and the black T-shirt sagging over uneven shoulders. And his voice. God, that incessant voice.
She checked her phone again – still zilch – yet kept her eyes on it anyway. “Mmmhmm.”
“I bet they’ll be excited to see you.” The man adjusted the rearview mirror until Lindsay was square in his crosshairs. His gaze lingered a beat too long, flat and intent, and a smile trudged up one side of his face. “Your family, that is.”
“Mmmhmm.”
She told him that at the rideshare pickup point outside Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. A cousin and an aunt, she said, keeping it vague on purpose.
But the truth? No family was waiting for her here. No cousin, no aunt, no long-lost anybody. The only family Lindsay had was back home in Citronelle, California, and as far as they knew, she was settling into a housekeeping gig for a cleaning agency in Las Vegas. Good, clean work for a good, clean girl.
Lindsay adored her father. Really, she loved her entire family. That was what made leaving home so difficult. Pastor Donald Anastacio wasn’t a tyrant. He was just a dad who’d imagined all four of his daughters’ futures a certain way and refused to budge. He’d talked to Lindsay for hours about the dangers of moving to Las Vegas at her age, just three weeks after earning her high school diploma. Not yelling, never yelling. Just ... worried. He wanted her safe, close by. Envisioned her marrying Packard Walsh, giving him a grandbaby by the time she was twenty-one, and sitting in the third pew every Sunday for the rest of her life. Like a prim and proper Christian woman should.
Lindsay’s mother handled the situation differently, which meant she hadn’t handled it at all. She developed a migraine three days ago. Chest pains the next. And yesterday, something with her stomach that she couldn’t quite describe. By the time Lindsay boarded the Greyhound in Palm Springs, Mrs. Anastacio had checked herself into the emergency room. It’s all in her mind, all for show. It always is with her. Her mother loved her and meant well, but to Lindsay, that was the problem. She just wished that love didn’t come with a side of guilt and a medical calamity every time she disappointed her.
Then there were her three sisters, two older and one younger. Jennifer had just graduated from Pepperdine with a degree in Biblical Studies and a smile that belonged on a church brochure. She’d received a full scholarship, maintained a 3.9 GPA, yet somehow still found time to drive two-and-a-half hours home every Sunday to lead prayer sessions for the congregation. Everything, it seemed, came easy to Jennifer. Faith, grades, and most of all, their parents’ approval. Daughter of the Year, every year. Lindsay gave up trying to compete long ago.
Gina didn’t even come to the bus station. She’d done her version of a goodbye on Saturday night, blocking Lindsay in her bedroom and listing all the ways this could go wrong. Gina had always cast herself as the realistic one, the sister who saw things clearly. And what she saw in Lindsay was a girl destined to stumble. Wild, she’d said. Reckless. Headed for a catastrophe. But Gina’s eyes were wet when she finally turned to leave, and she told Lindsay not to come crying and looking for sympathy when things fell apart.
“Because they will. And don’t forget I tried warning you.”
Alison, though? “Ali” would send Lindsay nine thousand texts per day. Bank on it. Memes. TikToks. Random thoughts. Pictures of their dog. A running commentary on whatever drama was happening in the neighborhood.
As if on cue, Lindsay’s phone buzzed repeatedly. Service! Seven texts arrived from her younger sister, and four others from the rest of her family. She didn’t plan on answering any of their probing questions, their continued pleas to return home. I don’t even want to look at them anymore. She was happy, though, her phone had a full bar.
Still, Lindsay’s hand went to her chest, fingers finding the crucifix and turquoise beads beneath her T-shirt. Same rosary since she was six. Same nervous habit at eighteen. A constant reminder of who she used to be and who Mom and Dad still expected her to become. Her lips twitched at the thought, then withered into a frown. Rather than let her thumb keep working the bead, Lindsay forced her hand into her lap.
And what about Evie? God, Evie.
Anxiety scorched a trail to Lindsay’s heart and ripped it wide open. Evie Bancroft, her best friend since kindergarten, the one person who would see through the cleaning agency story if they spoke too in-depth about it. They’d spent years talking about escaping Citronelle, about bigger lives and better places, but Evie’s version of escape was surfing and an oceanfront apartment in Redondo Beach. Not this. Never this.
She would tell Evie the truth one day. Eventually. Maybe.
“Actually, now that I think about it,” the driver glanced at Lindsay again in the rearview, “Flagstone has some... pretty interesting businesses.” He cleared his throat abruptly, scratched behind his ear. “Not that it matters, really. Family is why you’re here.” His eyelids went to half-mast. “Right?”
Pretty ... interesting businesses? At those words, a thought, a vision blindsided Lindsay, sharp and visceral. She imagined kneeling at this faceless man’s feet with both hands bound behind her back, his hard dick thrusting in and out of her mouth. Wait, wait, not so hard. That hurts, please, just slow –
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