The Girlfriend Experience Ch. 17

Literotic asexstories – The Girlfriend Experience Ch. 17 by Jeremydcp,Jeremydcp
(h/t The Citronelle Courier) Evie Bancroft, a 2018 graduate of Citronelle High School, has been found dead at The Manor Motor Lodge, officials say, after she came under intense local scrutiny for working as a prostitute in a Nevada brothel.

The 19-year-old’s death was ruled a suicide due to asphyxia by hanging by the Evergreen County Medical Examiner’s Office. Upon her autopsy, toxicology results revealed that she had marijuana, the anxiolytic Alprazolam (Xanax) and the antidepressant Sertraline (Zoloft) in her system at her time of passing.

“Evie was the kindest person I ever knew and she meant the world to me,” Lindsay Anastacio, a lifelong friend of Bancroft, told The Citronelle Courier. “I have no other words. There aren’t any. My head or heart can’t understand this. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Bancroft’s body was found in the motel at 8 p.m. December 18, Evergreen County deputy sheriff Mark Brown said, after Anastacio informed the department of a suicide letter, in an e-mail, Bancroft had written. At the time, Anastacio was at her residence in Utah. Brown stated there is no suspicion of any foul play.

Since her passing, friends and family members have come forward to memorialize Bancroft’s “gentle spirit” and “nuanced personality.”

“Evie was super funny and she had a pure heart, but she struggled with bipolar disorder and made some misguided decisions,” Clancy Tompkins, her high school sweetheart of three years, said. The couple broke up in August. “Still, I loved her. I wanted to marry her as she was the only girl I ever had eyes for; the only girl I ever even wanted to be with. My condolences go out to her mom, her dad, and her younger brother.”

A funeral mass will be held at 11 a.m. Sunday at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Citronelle, according to her obituary. Bancroft will be buried at 1 p.m. at the Gate of Heaven Cemetery.

Representatives for Happy Ending Ranch, the Flagstone, Nevada brothel where Bancroft was employed, did not immediately respond to request for comment.

Evelyn Klarissa Bancroft

December 2, 1999 – December 18, 2018

RIP

“They’re trying to blame me for Evie’s death. Everyone is saying it’s my fault.” Sobs tore from Lindsay’s chest as her entire body trembled. Evie was her best friend and life was never going to be the same after this senseless tragedy. How could this happen? Why did it happen? “People I went to school with have taken to calling me the town slut, that I coerced Evie into prostitution, and she’s dead now because of me. I can never come back here again.” Lindsay’s stomach twisted into a jumble of knots. “Ever.”

“It’s not your fault, honey,” Pamela said as they conversed over the telephone. “Please, don’t ever believe for one instant this is your fault. I want you to get that thought out of your head.”

“I know it’s not my fault!” Still, Lindsay wished she could crawl out of her skin and hide. Maybe put an end to all this misery the same way Evie did. “Her mom went off after Clancy and Zack told her she took a job at Happy Ending Ranch. Hillary unloaded, said some horrible things she regrets now, and it pushed Evie over the brink. And it didn’t help that Zack posted on Facebook that Evie had taken up whoring just like, quote, her best friend and fellow skank, Lindsay Suckadickio did, end-quote.” Fuck Zack! I hate his fucking guts! Eat shit and die, asshole!

A sigh escaped from Pamela. “How did your folks handle the news that you once worked at the brothel? God, Lindsay, I haven’t spoken with you since before you quit back in August. I was in Maryland rehabbing my back and didn’t even get to say goodbye. You just … vanished. I still don’t know why you quit. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Lindsay dropped to the floor and into the fetal position as she held the phone tight to her face and ear. Just hearing Pamela’s voice again was therapy in and of itself, like a warm, soothing hug, something Lindsay was in desperate need of. “My mom and dad weren’t happy, either, and this week has been the first time I talked with them since October. They’re still not happy. No fences have been mended.”

“You’re in Citronelle now? The funeral is tomorrow? Such terrible timing with Christmas right around the corner.”

“Yes. I’m never coming back here again. But I think I’ll pass on going to the funeral. I … I just can’t.” Lindsay huffed out a breath. “I’m afraid of being swarmed there.” I’m so embarrassed! “This is a small, tight-knit community. Everybody knows everybody, and I’m public enemy number one. I’m the outcast. The local media is after me nonstop. There’s a news van parked right outside our motel room door, for Christ’s sakes!”

“Oh, honey, you’re not an outcast.”

“Yes, I am! The high school stripped me of all my awards and took my name off the plaque, right from the wall, for being the Homecoming Queen the last two years. They don’t want to be associated with my kind anymore.” Lindsay pushed through the humiliation and found the will to continue speaking. “I walk down the street, and people, they point and stare like I’m sort of thing. Oh, there goes the hoe! One guy offered me twenty bucks if I would suck him off. Can you believe that?” Lindsay’s heart stuttered, and she contended with this falling, spinning-down feeling. “We’re leaving in the morning before the funeral. We … I have to get the fuck out of here. I have to.”

“We? Who are you with? And where will you go? Do you have a place to stay? What are you doing for work? You know, if you need any help, I’m always here for you. I’d do anything to help you. I can wire you some money if you need it.”

Lindsay glanced across the way at Sammy, who was preparing another dose of Valium, a sedative which reduces anxiety. She had been floating up to her eyeballs in relaxants since Tuesday evening. First it was the rigors and pain following the gangbang, and then something far more debilitating – word from Sammy of Evie’s e-mail, and the subsequent confirmation of the unimaginable. “No, I’ll be fine. I have a place to stay, someone to be with.”

Lindsay and Sammy’s trip to Hawaii had been cancelled. They’d spent the last several days in Citronelle, a veritable nightmare for poor Lindsay, multiple interrogations with the sheriff’s department, having to fend off harassment from Evie’s family and former classmates, and dealing with backlash from her own family. This can’t be happening. Why is Evie gone? Lindsay stared off into the distance with glassy eyes. I wish I could’ve been here for her!

“Do you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Is that who you’re staying with?” Pamela had so many unanswered questions from what transpired over the summer and feared this telephone call may be her last opportunity to receive any sort of explanation. “And where do you live now?”

Lindsay regarded Sammy as he leaned down and gave her a cup of water and yet another Valium. “Seattle.” She popped the capsule and swallowed.

“Seattle? Evie said you were living in Salt Lake City.”

“Umm, what?” Why did Evie say that? I told her not to! Sammy didn’t want Pamela to know about their relationship because he had plans to return to Happy Ending Ranch after the new year and party with all his favorites again, Pamela being at the top of the list. “I don’t know why Evie told you I lived in Salt Lake. I’ve never even been there.” Sammy feared Colt would perma-ban him from the house if, as a customer, he knew he snatched his top grossing girl away. “I met this awesome guy and have been living with him in Seattle since August.”

“Okay.” The skepticism in Pamela’s tone caused Lindsay to gnaw on her bottom lip. “What’s his name? What’s he like? And where did you meet him?”

“I … in Las Vegas. And his name is Raymond.” Mike’s middle name; easy to remember. Pamela knew him as Sammy, but also knew his real name was Mike. So, I can’t use either. “He’s older and has money. He treats me well.” I never was much of a liar. “I’m … I’m happy.” Better change the subject. “How are you? How is your back? Mariko told me you’re returning to work?”

“Mariko? You’ve talked to Mariko?” The hurt in Pamela’s voice was palpable. “I’ve called you, left text messages, e-mails; I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for months. And you’ve talked to Mariko?”

“She sent me a recent e-mail and mentioned you were going back to work.” Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Another lie. I’ve been avoiding you because I felt awful for abandoning the house and leaving you in the dust like I did. But again, did Lindsay have any choice? Mike wanted me to drop everything and start over, build a new life with him. That, and the $20,000 per week he offered her to do so. I love you, Pamela! I never wanted to leave you. Lindsay needed to distance herself from Pamela to keep those feelings at bay. It hurts that I haven’t seen you in ages.

“I know I haven’t been the best friend. We’ve lost contact, and that’s my fault, and I’m sorry. One day, soon, you and I will sit down and have a long talk. I’ll tell you everything. Right now, though, isn’t the best time. Not with what I’m dealing with.” Yeah, right. Another lie!

There was zero chance of Lindsay telling Pamela she was Mike’s sugar baby and that she had hooked up multiple times with Mariko, Scarlett, Riley, and Sahara since bailing out. Mike brings them to Utah and pays them well. Of the group, Mariko had emerged as Lindsay’s favorite. I have more fun with her in bed than I ever did Pamela. That was because Mariko had a dominant side and enjoyed roughing Lindsay up. Mariko and Mike using me together is straight up fire.

“Okay, that’s fair. Take a deep breath, honey. I know it may be difficult to hear, but this mess will blow over. One day, things will be okay between you and your folks again. Everything will be fine, trust me. What happened to Evie, it happened, and it can never be reversed. That’s horrible and I’m so, so sorry. I know she was your best friend and you’re going to miss her. But you’ll patch things up with your parents, your three sisters, in time. I agree, though, that you need to get out of Citronelle. Like, now.”

“Yeah.”

“Evie thought the world of you,” Pamela said. “I only knew her for two weeks, but all she did was talk about you and share stories from when you and her were growing up. I loved hearing about you. It was fascinating to me, made me remember all the fun times you and I had together, and how much you meant to me. And still mean to me. Evie said you were the best friend any girl could ever have.”

Don’t cry. Please don’t cry again. Yet Lindsay’s eyes betrayed her. “What about you and Colt?” Lindsay’s voice cracked as tears slid down her cheeks. “Evie’s uncle was saying the family should go after the brothel and implicate it, you and Colt, as a reason for her death.”

“What? Sue us? That so ain’t happenin’.” Just that quick, Pamela went on the defensive. “Colt spoke with the deputy from Citronelle twice this week about Evie and the time she spent working here but has since deferred all questions to our lawyer. What could we be sued for? Evie came to us, asked for a job, we offered her one, and when she said she wanted to quit and go back home, there was no resistance from us. We did nothing wrong. Evie was on a plane to Palm Springs within four hours. I even paid for her ticket with my own money. If anyone wants to try and press charges against us, for anything, I say let them try. Our lawyer will have a field day with them.”

* * *

Fuck this backwater town and everyone in it. Sammy stomped through the small hotel room, back and forth along the wall, around the bed, and into the bathroom where he propped his hands on the counter and stared at his reflection. His hair was unkempt, his face ragged and weary. Sammy had the notion he had been dodging bullets left and right this week and couldn’t wait until he and Lindsay were out of this fleabag motel and Godforsaken town. Every minute I’m here, I’m putting myself more and more at risk. We need to get back home pronto.

Somehow, he had managed to stay in the shadows throughout this entire ordeal, with Lindsay front and center in the spotlight, and no one in Citronelle seemed to have any suspicions about the ongoing “transaction” they had agreed to. I’d be in a heap of trouble if the police ever found out the truth.

What would Sammy do if he was charged with solicitation? I don’t want to think about that. Sure, he would hire the best lawyer money could buy and fight it (and probably win), but also lose his job as CEO of Gradiph Pharmaceuticals. The owner doesn’t take kindly to negative publicity, especially sex scandals, and wouldn’t think twice about terminating me. His career would be ruined, his reputation tarnished all over the Utah newspapers. I would have to go into self-imposed exile.

And his children would know he’d left their mother for a teenaged prostitute. Carolyn would hate me.

But what if the lawyer failed and Sammy was forced to serve a prison sentence too? I’m not going to fucking jail. After all the millions of dollars he had spent on prostitutes over the years, could the joy ride possibly end this way? I’d be even more of a disgrace to my kids.

We need to get the hell out of this dump. Sammy wasn’t comfortable here and had a bad feeling. These people were beneath him. Citronelle was, hands down, the worst town he had ever visited. All it would take is for one of these inbreds to accuse me of offering Lindsay money for sex and the shit would hit the fan. After all, she’d already been outed to her friends and family, the local media was roasting her, and it probably seemed strange to more than one onlooker that her “boyfriend” was old enough to be her grandfather.

Then again, maybe not.

It’s possible no one in this wretched hellhole has the mental capacity to connect the dots.

Goddammit. I spent thirty thousand dollars on our vacation, too, and we didn’t even make it to the fucking island. That money went down the drain as the hotel, airfare, and rental vehicle were all non-refundable, and they

flew to Palm Springs by way of Los Angeles instead to deal with this catastrophe. Evie ruined my plans, my holiday season. On Christmas Day, Sammy intended to propose to Lindsay along the surf in Hawaii. He made that decision on Tuesday evening while she was stuffed full of endless dick at the BDSM club. That proposal is so not happening now.

Godfuckingdammit! Blood raged through his veins. Why couldn’t the worthless cunt wait to kill herself until a more opportune time? Frustration bubbled at Sammy’s face and his eyes squeezed into thin slits. Why did it have to be now?

(End of Chapter Seventeen – to be continued)