Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Sunnybunny

The next few minutes were a blur, a hurricane of images that Heather had to puzzle out later in the quiet of her motel room.

She paced nervously around the room, not bothering to undress or even put down her keys. They shakily transferred from hand to hand in a great clangor of metal on metal while she walked. Each creak of the floor or bluster of wind against the door was a squad of police officers preparing to bust through the door and arrest her. Silly, since the only law enforcer in town was likely dead drunk somewhere in his parked cruiser per Angie.

That name again… it flooded her mind like water from a breaking dam, bringing with it a flurry of images and sensations. She could still taste the girl’s sweat on her lips, feel her naked flesh in her palms until she had to rub them against the legs of her jeans and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.

They had pulled into the deserted parking lot of the motel with the silence stretching as long as the miles of highway behind them. The entire trip Heather kept glancing over at Angie, still buckled in her seatbelt. Her legs were no longer crossed and propped up on the dash. Instead they were planted firmly on the floorboard with the knees drawn together in an almost shy fashion. The girl never once looked over but instead stared serenely out the window at the passing darkness. For the first time in her entire life, Heather longed to be able to read minds, to look into someone’s head and see what was rolling around inside. How could she be so stupid? So incredibly reckless? What on this earth had possessed her to assault this young girl? The urge had simmered, like a pot of water on a slow boil. The unapologetic grope-fest was a result of it spilling over and flooding out.

Heather recalled killing the engine and without the rumble of the car’s motor filling the silence, the lack of communication was too much. She willed Angie to speak first, to say something about what had happened, even if it was a venomous shout of anger. It would serve her right after all.

Heather paused her pacing and forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed. It was like sitting on a goose down pillow, and she sank up to her hips in the mattress. The carpeting at her feet was a tacky AstroTurf green and had likely been spiffy when it was put in during the Kennedy administration.  She scooped up the television remote from the end table and flipped through the stations. The satellite connection was spotty, with the color washing in and out of the movie (Bad Boys 2) as it played on. Sometimes it would stutter and freeze entirely, reminding her of old sitcoms and comedy movies where the actors would have to adjust the antenna on the television set, the “rabbit ears,” to get a good picture.

She couldn’t focus on the movie, too much happening in her head. Her nerves were tightly wound springs in her joints, just itching to go off.

“Are you going to tell?”

Angie looked over then, the first time she had since IT happened. IT with big capital letters, yes.

“I never told before,” she frankly replied. “Why would I tell now? Because it was a woman touching me?” She shrugged and looked down at her knees. “I don’t know. Maybe I should tell…”

It felt like a mule kick to the head, knocking any rational thought away. Heather had been prepared to sort of reason with the girl, maybe even bribe her into silence, at least until she could leave town. She looked up then, right at Heather with those piercing eyes that seemed to shine in the darkness of the car and cut right through her. The look stole her breath and any chance of raising an argument was useless.

Angie stared for a moment longer, almost as if she were willing Heather to say… something, but whatever it was, she couldn’t think of it. Her mind was muddled again, lost in a thick fog of desire and despair. Angie climbed out then and made her way around in front of the shining headlights to her bike, parked upright by the kickstand, and took it by the handlebars. She swung one leg over the seat lazily and cast one curious, long look back at Heather, eyes shining beneath her bangs, seeming to once again be willing something from Heather.

The older woman mulled it over in her mind, turned it over and over again but came up empty. Whatever it was escaped and Angie looked away, set her bare feet on the pedals and rode away into the night.

Heather tossed the remote aside and flopped against the mattress, onto her back, staring up at the stucco ceiling and the naked bulb hanging down overhead. The weight of the day was beginning to settle in, driving her farther into the mattress until sleep was a real possibility. Her bags were outside, in the trunk of her car, one in particular was quite precious to her but… it could wait. She would not dare go outside again for fear of some vengeful boogieman lurking about waiting to punish her what she had done with Angie.

If she dreamed, Heather did not remember it and when morning came it rose with another terrible revelation. For inside of the trunk, nestled in the back with the rest of her light luggage was a black satchel, the kind old-timey doctors carried around in the movies. When she popped the trunk in the wee hours of the morning with the sun barely peeking over the distant hills and turning the sky a deep wash of purple, it was missing. She would discover it was the only thing of hers missing after tearing everything but the spare tire out of the trunk. That and the five hundred thousand dollars in cash it carried inside had been stolen during the night.

Heather was frantic. She tore the bags out of the trunk like a woman possessed, scattering her meager belongings about in the gloom of early morning twilight. Her mind was racing, chanting to herself, ‘It must be here, it must be here, it must be here!’ She stopped just shy of ripping out the spare tire before she resolved herself to reality: the bag was gone.

She spun around, bracing herself against the rear bumper, scanning the deserted street as if expecting to find the thief tiptoeing away with the bag under one arm like a silent film villain. There weren’t even any footprints in the scattering of sand dunes. The area seemed completely devoid of life, eerily quiet in the cool air and bleak surroundings.

Heather cradled her head in her hands, the panic giving way to despair, neither doing her nor the situation any good. She tried to focus her mind, dredging up anything from her memory that may give a clue to where it might have gone. Had she lost it on the highway? She imagined her trunk bouncing open over a pothole and the bag leaping free from the dark interior to scatter along the blacktop. If that was the case, then it was truly lost for good. That realization led to another panic attack that doubled her over and pulled her to the ground.

No, no, no, no, no! She repeated it in her mind until the echo was too much and the words came spilling out of her mouth. “No, no, no!”

There was enough money in that bag to buy a new life for herself. It was a fresh start, a clean slate, all tucked away inside that leather case and now it was missing. No, not missing. She raised her head to appraise her scattered luggage anew. It was stolen. Had to have been, she reasoned. There was no way it and nothing else in the back had taken flight over a bad stretch of road. Everything else was accounted for, as far as she could tell. To entertain the idea that something so ridiculous could happen to one bag was absurd, and she scolded herself for even considering the possibility.

That’s where stupid gets you, she told herself. You are smarter than this. So, think! Think like the badass, tough as nails, infamous outlaw should!

She rocked back onto her haunches and tucked her legs underneath Indian style and rested her elbows on her knees in an almost meditative pose. Someone in this town, the armpit of the fucking world, had broken into her car and stolen it. She spied a few of her bags and noted the zippers had been taken down and left open for when she spilled the contents of the trunk out, everything inside had scattered. So held up a single digit while she brooded, notching each realization with a new finger.

She thought, this means the person didn’t know about the money beforehand. They had searched every bag until they found the satchel in the back and after seeing its worth, had taken it. This person was probably still around and wouldn’t likely flee town right away, in the middle of the night, and if they did, their absence would be noted right away. That would lead to a name and possible destination of the thief and when Heather caught them… those fingers held out now balled themselves into a tight and angry fist that rocketed into a downward thrust into the pavement.

Heather got to her feet and lowered the trunk lid until the latch was at eye level. No sign that the lock was tampered with so that meant…

She stalked around to the passenger door and groaned aloud. She had left them unlocked. It hadn’t required any expert burglar with a lock pick. The perpetrator had used the pulley under the seat to unlock the trunk, meaning everyone in that whole town was a suspect!

Heather slammed the trunk shut, barking out a cry of frustration before whirling around, hands tossed into the air and nearly ran face-first into the motel manager.

He blinked at her from inches away, and all she could think of for a long moment was that they were the same height.  “Oh!” she gasped, taking a step back until her ass was pressed up against the bumper. What was his name again? Waylon?

“Walter,” he said, as if reading her mind. he was smiling sheepishly, almost apologetically when he said it. “Sorry to startle you but I was just on my way over to deliver your complimentary breakfast when I noticed you standing here and…” He trailed off and it was then that Heather took stock of the man and noticed he was balancing a silver platter in his two beefy hands. “Is everything okay?” His friendly smile faltered ever so slightly as he glanced around at her belongings, helter skelter in the drive between them. “Did you… lose something?”

“No,” she answered reflexively. “I was just… getting my things from the back and…” She held her hands up in a manner that said ‘clumsy me!’ and laughed it off.

Walter nodded at that, clearly more than pleased to accept this as a reasonable explanation for the only customer he had entertained in months. “Can I give you a hand?”

Heather looked at the tray in his full hands and thought ‘Which one?’ but shook her head in reply. “No, thank you, I got it. I didn’t know the room came with a free breakfast.”

Walter shifted his feet around, his heavy cowboy boots scuffing the blacktop. He smiled again, sheepishly in a way that made him look like a ten-year-old boy with a box of chocolates for his Valentine. “Well… it isn’t. I just figured with, well you being new in town is all and…” he trailed off again, murmuring something about southern hospitality. “It ain’t too much. Just some toast and scrambled eggs, a few hash browns. The hash browns are the frozen TV dinner kind though, hope you don’t mind.” He looked wary during the revelation of the hash browns origin, like Heather would lash out at him for it, but she was too distracted, staring intently at the man.

Was the thief standing right before her? Had Walter’s mad impulse to break into a woman’s car to (cringe) sniff at her dirty laundry paid off with so much more for the old pervert? Walter averted his gaze, turning a brilliant shade of red under her searching eye. Was it more shyness? Or was it a look of guilt?

“Hey, Walter,” she breathed. “Do you guys have problems with… theft in Oasis?”

“Theft?” He looked up sharply but the look in his eyes wasn’t alarm, like a deer in the headlights, but genuine surprise, even concern.

“Yeah, theft,” she repeated, some of the wind taken out of her sails.

“Why, no, ma’am!” he thundered, reeling back. “Everyone around here pretty much knows everyone else! If something were to go missing here, it’d be spotted right off! Why, did you lose something?” His eyes fell on her luggage again.

“No-no,” she placated, smiling again in a way she hoped was disarming. “But you can never be too careful. You know,” she twisted the toe of her shoe into the dirt and looked down, working up a blush of her own. “Big city girl on the road, stuck out in the sticks, just waiting for some mad backwoods cannibal to come and get her!”

Walter bought the act hook, line and sinker. He reared back his head and roared with laughter. “Little lady, you’ve been watching too many horror movies! Around here, we take care of our own.” Walter winked at her then. “And as long as you’re staying here, that means you too!”

No, there was no way he was lying. Walter was a lot of things but a thief? No, definitely not. So what did that leave? Or more accurately, who?

Walter quieted, suddenly realizing he was still holding the food in his hands and motioned with his head as an offer to carry it inside the room. “Lemme get you fed and I’ll leave you to your luggage. If you ever need me for anything just ring the front desk. it’s the number printed on the side of your room’s telephone. Oh, well what do we have here?” Walter’s gaze and tone shifted so quickly, it tore Heather from her musing long enough to follow his gaze. What she found on the end of it made her gasp.

There she was. Just as stunning as Heather remembered, and the mere sight stole her breath away. Today, she was wearing day-glow red shorts and a lime green tank top, both in much better condition than the flimsy dress she wore the day before. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, leaving the dust of freckles on her cheeks and nose free to shine.

“Hey,” she cooed, hands planted casually on her narrow hips. “You remember my name, don’tcha?”

“Angie,” Heather breathed.

Continue on to Chapter 4