The Girlfriend Experience
Copyright© 2026 by JeremyDCP
Chapter 9
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 9 - 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
CoachellaCutie Online Diary
Subject: Vegas, baby!
Entry Date: July 16, 2018 | 7:56 a.m.
Location: Caesar’s Palace | Las Vegas, NV
Weather: Hot AF
♫ now playing: “God is a Woman” | Ariana Grande
How I feel: Scared, excited, nervous
Dear Diary,
I did it. I actually did it. I left home!
It still doesn’t feel real. Yesterday morning I woke up in my boring little bedroom in our boring little house in Citronelle. Now I’m at CAESAR’S FREAKING PALACE in Las Vegas and in a few hours I’ll be in some tiny town hardly anyone has ever heard of, interviewing for a job I’m too scared to tell anyone about. And that even includes Evie.
The bus ride from Palm Springs was long. Ten hours of stopping in every random town and rest stop along the way. I had a window seat. Some chatty old grandma was sitting next to me, saying she hoped to win big at slots. I told her good luck.
When we weren’t talking, I mostly sat there and stared out the window, wondering what I was doing. Everyone back home thinks I came here to push a housekeeping cart around or something. If they only knew the truth. But when that truth finally comes out, no one will ever forgive me. Maybe one day they’ll write a book about me? “Altar Girl to Call Girl: The Lindsay Anastacio Story.”
I should feel worried. Guilty. I think I’m supposed to feel guilty.
But I don’t. This is MY life. I’m so done doing what everyone else wants.
Caesar’s Palace! I mean, it IS a palace. I keep walking around touching things. The bedspread. The towels. The little lotions and soaps in the bathroom. Everything is mine, at least for one night. I soaked in the tub and took the longest shower of my life too. Not once did the water run cold. There was even a TV to watch! But best of all? No Gina banging on the door, telling me to hurry up.
I walked around until three o’clock in the morning, just taking everything in. It’s so massive. Marble floors, gold everywhere, so many people coming and going. Unbelievable. I sat in the lobby and watched others for an hour. No one knew who I was. No one asked where my parents were or what I was doing out so late or what Dad had planned for Sunday service. I was just a regular girl. I felt anonymous, inconsequential.
It felt weird. Good weird.
Tried going into the casino, too, but a man in a suit asked me for ID and said I wasn’t old enough. Gotta be twenty-one, he said. Oh well.
Isn’t that hilarious? I’m old enough to let randos smash for cash, legally, but GOD FORBID I pull a lever on a slot machine!!!
I didn’t sleep much, but that’s okay. Just kept staring at the ceiling, thinking about the interview today. Thinking about what I’m walking into. What it’s going to be like working at a brothel. Whether I can actually go all the way and finish this.
I can. I know I can.
I think.
Time to order the Uber.
-Lindsay
“Grace?” Pamela’s hand materialized on the small of Lindsay’s back, warm and comforting. “What’s going on?”
“He’s –” Lindsay was suddenly in dire need of a drink. A real drink, preferably hard liquor even though she’d always refused to try any, something served straight up and swallowed in a single motion. “He was my –”
“Her chauffeur.” Eric Lawson finished the sentence for her with a flourish. “Uber driver, technically, but chauffeur sounds much more classy.”
Red neon pulsed overhead as Riley and her own client sat nearby, too, lost in the seductive snap, crackle, and pop of pre-party conversation and hoping for an evening of erotic fulfillment of their own. If Lindsay tried hard enough, she could smell tomorrow’s scent du jour: regret. Right now, though, she had no room for the worry that tomorrow would bring.
This was her first day on the job. I can’t screw this up. She had to impress Colt, prove to him that he’d made a wise investment in hiring her. I can’t turn Motormouth away either. Colt might fire me. It’s just a party. Be professional like Pamela taught you. Lindsay had done everything she could to mentally prepare herself for strangers using her body. What was it that one prostitute told her on Twitter? Think of yourself as a rental car; you’ll be driven hard and returned with the tank empty.
But ... with this guy?
“Picked her up outside Caesar’s Palace and dropped her off at the opera house down the block. A two-hundred-mile trip.” Eric leaned toward her. “She wasn’t much for chit-chat. Spent most of the ride gazing out the window or listening to music and ducked almost every attempt at conversation I made. Tried to be a nice guy.”
I ... I need your money...
Hungry eyes again slid down Lindsay’s body, lingering on her bridal white bra so long she felt her nipples ache. They continued their stroll, visually devouring her, slowing again when he reached her G-string, the muscles in his jaw bunching. “In hindsight, can’t say I blame her, I guess.” His gaze slowly climbed back up to hers. “Obviously had a lot on her mind.”
“I’m – yeah, I’m –” Lindsay covered her breasts with one arm and her pussy with the other hand in the classic nymph-caught-bathing-in-the-forest pose. “I just didn’t expect – I mean, you’re – and I was –”
“You okay?” Eric’s voice carried that same patronizing concern from yesterday, the one that made Lindsay want to claw out the upholstery. “A little tongue-tied?”
“Easy there, cowboy.” Pamela stepped between them and leveled a glare on the man. “Sounds like quite the coincidence, you two crossing paths again. Small world.” Her smile stayed calm and professional, but something in Pamela’s posture had shifted to that of a lioness who’d just sniffed a predator in the weeds and was primed to protect her young. “You’re making Grace nervous. If you’re wanting a party with her, that’s not a great way to start.”
“I – you – that’s –” Words continued to pile up in Lindsay’s throat like a multicar accident on the 10 freeway. Oh, I just want to shrivel up and die. Didn’t she just give herself a pep talk about being professional? Act the part, dammit! “But you were – and I was – and now you’re –”
“Here to have sex with you.” This time, Eric finished the thought with zero ceremony. “The barkeep said I’ll be your first-ever client.”
She bit her lip, and a deep crease furrowed her brow.
“I spent the whole ride yesterday, both here and back, trying to figure out your deal. Pretty girl, traveling alone, nervous as hell, obviously lying through her teeth about where she was going.” Eric cocked his head. “You weren’t very good at it, by the way, you know. The lying.”
“I wasn’t – I didn’t –”
“Cousin and an aunt.” The amused look on his face said it all as he looked at Pamela. “Told me she was coming here to visit a cousin and an aunt.” Her eyes narrowed as Eric added, “That was the best she could come up with.
“So,” he slapped both palms against his thighs and switched his focus to Lindsay, “here’s the deal. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you got out of my SUV. You were in my backseat looking like someone’s daughter who’d run away from home, and I...” He took a breath before adding, “ ... wanted to help you. That was my first instinct. Protect you. Talk some sense into you. I was worried you were maybe being trafficked.
“But I also had a sneaking suspicion and already knew Flagstone’s only claim to fame is this brothel. I mean, why else would anyone want to come here? And that suspicion proved true when I logged onto the website this morning and saw your pictures plastered everywhere.” He worked to keep his grin easy, not sound like a jerk. “Grace Kneels, the newest addition to the roster. And I realized no one forced you to take a job here; brothels don’t work that way in this state. You came here under your own free will.”
Eric spread his hands wide. “Cards on the table. I’m not gonna lie. I drove back here today because you’re gorgeous and you’re young and I spent our entire trip yesterday imagining what you’d look like without that white blouse and those little shorts on.” Both shoulders went up in an innocent shrug. “Now I won’t have to imagine.”
Lindsay swallowed hard, feeling her face dissolve into shame and woe. Her first party wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Or any party, for that matter. She stood here, half-naked and under inspection, realizing she’d soon be purchased by this man who knew both her real name and where she lived. I mentioned Citronelle to him! So much for anonymity, right? Lindsay looked at his waist, the oversized buckle of his belt exposed by an unbuttoned shirt. E, his monogram there.
E. A silver belt buckle. Sterling silver, no doubt. And when a man rubbed his hands together that way, especially in a brothel, wasn’t he a moment away from unbuckling his belt to receive the services he was entitled to?
“Would you rather I lied? I can backtrack and lie. I can tell you I just happened to be in the neighborhood and –”
“No.” Lindsay shook her head, tried to get a grip. “No, I ... honest is good. Honest is –” Too much. Terrifying. Making her wish she could run back home and jump into her mother’s protective arms and forget any of this had ever happened. “Honest is fine.” Maybe marrying Packard and having babies and going to church every Sunday for the rest of her life wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.
“Enough.” One word from Colt, and the atmosphere in the parlor changed. Just like that. Everyone looked at him behind the bar, including Riley and her client. “Pamela, take Grace somewhere quiet and talk to her. Let her catch her breath.” He folded his arms. “Sir, you’ve come a long way to be here and I respect that. But my girls don’t get ambushed in my lobby like this. You want a party with Grace? Lose the fucking attitude, the entitlement.”
Colt took a deep, measured breath.
“You and I are gonna have a long talk about decorum and respect before you do anything with Grace, or any of our other ladies. You got that?”
Eric shriveled up and averted his gaze, nodded his head.
“– and the whole thing just came down. Thirty feet of scaffolding, right into the excavation pit.” Eric shifted on the barstool, legs open and on either side of Lindsay as she sat across from him. “Sounded like a bomb going off.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Nah, thank God. Happened during lunch break, so the site was mostly empty. But if it’d been an hour earlier –” He inspected his keys as he set them on the bar, the memory a troublesome one. “That’s construction for you. One loose bolt, one missed inspection, and suddenly you’re having to attend a funeral. Or multiple funerals.”
Lindsay shuddered. “I could never do that. Work somewhere that dangerous.”
“You get used to it. Or you tell yourself you do.” Eric reached behind him and rubbed his left shoulder. “Body keeps score, though. I’ve got pins in this shoulder, a fused disc in my lower back, and my knees crack whenever I take the stairs. I do my best to avoid stairs.”
“That’s awful.” Lindsay noticed the way his face had tightened as he tended to his shoulder. At eighteen, she felt no chronic pain, had no surgical scars, and there was no accumulated damage from years of hard labor. Still, Lindsay knew those days were coming and had never made fun of anyone for any physical or mental ailments.
“That’s forty years of concrete and rebar.” Eric shook his head and offered a grimace. “At least I walked away in decent shape and can enjoy my retirement. Some guys I worked with weren’t so lucky.”
Don’t think about the sex part yet. Twenty minutes ago, Pamela gave Lindsay a pep talk of her own in the kitchen. Just chat with him. Get to know him. The rest will follow. He’ll behave, treat you better, else Colt will kick him out. Trust me. Pamela made it sound so easy. And weirdly, it was, mostly because whatever Colt had said to Eric, it worked. He apologized to her three times in five minutes until Pamela told him to drop it and move on.
“Do you miss it? The work?” Somewhere between all those apologies and now, Lindsay stopped thinking of Eric as Motormouth. Strange how quick that switch flipped. He still talked a lot. It just didn’t grate the same way.
Plus, she desperately needed a payday.
“Parts of it, yeah. All the friends I had mostly. Not the early mornings or the heat or the foreman breathing down all our necks.” His hand dropped back to the counter.
Maybe I should try giving him a massage after he books time with me? It was difficult for Lindsay to know someone was in so much discomfort. Colt appeared with a plate of hot French fries and set it on the bar. This guy reminds me of Uncle Craig in more ways than one.
“Gotta admit, there’s something very satisfying about construction too. Driving past a building you helped put up, knowing it may be there fifty, a hundred years after you’re gone. I guess I miss that too.”
“I’ve never built anything.” Lindsay snagged three fries and took a big bite.
“No?”
“Unless you count a birdhouse in seventh grade shop class. It fell apart during presentation. Mr. Patterson gave me an F. Said it was the saddest attempt he’d ever seen at woodworking.” She licked ketchup from her fingers, eyes constricting. “I dropped out of the class a day or two later.”
Eric tilted his head and couldn’t help but smile. Since when had eating French fries become so sexy? “Birdhouses are harder than they look. All those little pieces, the angles –”
“Mine didn’t have angles. It was basically a bunch of pieces of wood badly glued together with a hole in it.” She mimed something lopsided with her hands. “The birds would’ve taken one look and flown the other direction.”
“Smart birds.”
“Rude birds.” She chomped on two more fries, then pushed the plate toward him. “Want some?”
Fifteen minutes later, their discussion continued.
“So, you just walked around the hotel for three hours? By yourself?” Eric’s gaze turned sharp, all inquisitive. “First time in Vegas?”
“First time anywhere, really. I’d never been out of California until Sunday. Never stayed in a hotel either.” Lindsay gestured at the bar all around them. “Certainly never anything... like this.”
“Does it feel overwhelming?”
“It does. But good overwhelming, you know? Like, scary but exciting. I have no regrets, no second thoughts.” Lindsay wiggled atop the stool, unaccustomed to the stretchy butt floss of her G-string. But dressing like this would be an ongoing necessity. Pamela mentioned during orientation that their customers wanted flash as well as substance. “But the whole experience at Caesar’s was awesome.” Lindsay grabbed a few more fries, biting into them without meeting Eric’s eyes. “I got their cheapest room, too – all I could afford – but still felt like a queen.”
“Livin’ large.”
“For one night, anyway.”
Eric tipped back his whiskey. “I’m really impressed by all the work and effort you put into deciding to work here.”
“Yeah, like I said, been planning this for months. Researching brothels, figuring out the legal stuff, saving up what I could from my old job.” Lindsay’s lips twitched in a poor attempt to hide her disdain. “I worked at a corn dog stand at the fairgrounds. It had a stupid name, and I wore a stupid uniform and made a stupid wage. As in, slave wages. But I saved everything I could and sold some stuff on eBay. That’s how I was able to afford to travel here.”
“Oh? What kind of stuff on eBay?”
“Clothes, mostly. Shoes. A purse my aunt gave me for graduation that I knew I’d never use. It was butt-ugly.” She wiped her hands on a napkin and said, “Some stuff from my ex-boyfriend that I had no intention of keeping either.”
“Ex-boyfriend, you say?” He looked at her a little too long, with a little too much curiosity. “Bad breakup?”
“You could say that.” Lindsay scrubbed a hand over her jaw. “Packard wasn’t ... Packard ... he wasn’t a good guy. Took me way too long to figure that out.”
“Packard?” Doubt glimmered in Eric’s eyes. “That his actual name?”
“I know, right? Sounds like a car salesman. Or a serial killer. Wouldn’t surprise me if he took that route one day too.” Lindsay scribbled on a piece of paper and doodled a star. With bunny ears. “Packard was an asshole. The worst kind. Controlling, jealous, thought he owned me because we’d been together since sophomore year. Everyone at school was scared to death of him too. He’d bully me as well, threaten and intimidate me, but no one ever said or did anything to him. No one had the courage.” She smacked the pen onto the counter. “Not even the teachers.”
Pamela, who was seated on the opposite side of Lindsay, reached out and touched her shoulder, a gentle squeeze. She was allowing their conversation to develop, never interrupting, but her touch was a gentle reminder that she was there, and this discussion had an endgame goal.
“So, what happened? With the breakup?”
“When I decided that yes, I’m definitely moving to Nevada to pursue this line of work after graduation, I ended things with Packard. Told him I didn’t love him anymore, nor would I ever again. Told him he was pathetic.” Lindsay firmed her spine, sat taller. “He didn’t take it well.”
“Define didn’t take it well.”
“He showed up at my house, my job, every day for a week. Called and texted me constantly. Told everyone at school I was a slut who’d been cheating on him, and –” Lindsay stopped, gathered her composure. “It doesn’t matter. Point is, it just reinforced the idea that I had to get out of that town. Not just because of Packard, but because of everything. The expectations, the judgment, the feeling like everyone was watching me at all times. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“And you ended up here.”
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