By Sunnybunny
The two stared at each other, eye to eye, Heather swaying on her feet with a sudden wave of dizziness. Everything from the last night’s… events… came flooding back to her in one overwhelming tidal wave. The cool night air whipping the girl’s hair around, the way her profile seemed to glow in the setting sun… the feeling of her slender frame as it was caressed in her groping hands.
Heather pressed a hand to her forehead, willing her to turn away from those piercing little eyes but found herself unable to, rendered completely immobile by the child’s striking stare. The world was tilting beneath Heather’s feet, threatening to send her staggering sideways until she toppled over like a house of cards. Coupled with the lost money, this was becoming too much.
Angie raised her chin, bathing her profile in the early morning sunshine, and her freckles practically shimmered like diamonds. The corners of her mouth were tugged up into a wry smile, and her eyes were all for Heather. It was a knowing grin, the one shared between two mischievous friends who were preparing to pull off a rather clever scheme. Or perhaps, Heather wondered in some deep and far off corner of her brain, she already had.
“Hello there, Angela!” Walter boomed like a cannon beside Heather, the sudden jolt tearing her out of her shock and sending her crashing back to Earth. “You look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!”
Heather groped a hand along the trunk of the car to steady herself, glad that the man was too focused on the girl to notice her dishevelment. She had to get a grip on the situation or risk losing everything. Walter was smiling broadly at the child, curiously unsurprised by her sudden appearance at such an early hour.
Angie only had eyes for Heather, never leaving the older woman who was doing all she could to keep from cowering away in her presence. She had a mad idea the child would open her mouth to inform her that the sheriff was looking for her. The only cop in town with an APB on this sick woman with a penchant for taking kids for rides into the desert to feel them up. She could even see it, Angie bowing at the waist to spill the beans like a bratty little — well — kid.
And Walter’s reaction? She imagined his face would pale at first, perhaps even before his jaw would fall, and he would look at her with an accusatory gaze. Then the shock and horror would bleed away to disgust…
“So, you DO remember me,” Angie sang instead.
Walter, clueless to the fact he was definitely not part of this conversation, interrupted again. “You’ve already met Angie, huh?” it took Heather a moment to figure out that he was talking to her and wanted some sort of response. She nodded her head. It was the only thing she trusted herself to do under these bizarre circumstances. He continued, “Don’t surprise me none! Everyone around here knows Angie… or rather, knows to watch out for her!” He winked at her good-naturedly.
Angie stuck her tongue out but the smile never left her face. “Yeah, we know each other already. Right, Heather?”
Heather was sweating bullets beneath her clothes that had nothing to do with the desert temperature. Angie was teasing her, clearly enjoying making the woman squirm with their shared knowledge and understanding that Angie could rat her out at any moment. And of course, she didn’t know the other problem Heather was having…or did she? What on God’s green earth had possessed Heather to take this brat for a ride? Buy her ice cream? And…
Walter chuckled, clueless and not at all bothered by the rather cryptic implications in her knowing tone. “Well how’s about you help Heather with her things and I’ll head back to make you some breakfast too?”
“Sausage? Biscuits? Some gravy?” Angie asked, sounding hopeful and very much like the child she should be for a moment.
Walter roared and shook with laughter, the tray tittering noisily in his hands. “You must have this place confused with the Ritz, girl! We don’t do a full continental here!”
Angie, undeterred, “And a tall glass of orange juice?”
Walter bowed his head, shaking with quiet chuckles. “Guess I better get before you request to see a menu! You two hustle up and I’ll be back in a jiff!”
Walter lumbered away and his presence was immediately missed by Heather, suddenly terrified of being left alone with this child and her mischievous smile.
Angie rocked back and forth on her feet, clapping her hands together behind her back, then her front. “So, do you need a hand?” she asked, looking for the first time since reappearing like she did not know what to say.
“What are you doing here?” Heather attempted to muster all of her grown-up fury, to try and intimidate the child into a hasty confession. It might have worked if her voice hadn’t wavered.
Angie shrugged and glanced back down the road, toward her father’s garage. She nodded her head, “Daddy always goes in early, but today a part was supposed to be delivered and he wanted to be there to get it and finish up that job that’s been sitting for a dog’s age. And to get an early start on drinking. He and the sheriff, Rick, blow through a case every day.”
“That’s not an answer,” Heather said.
Angie turned her head, surprised by the sharp tone or so it seemed. “I don’t have to tell you nothing.” Again, Heather was surprised by the girl’s maturity. The statement hadn’t been malicious, it was just stating a simple fact. She may as well have been commenting on the weather.
“Then what are you doing here?” Heather righted herself, hoping that rising to her full height like a grizzly bear may sway some leverage back into her favor.
“I came to see you,” Angie answered airily. “Was I not supposed to?”
“I… what?”
Angie drew nearer, lowering her voice despite the pair being quite alone, but something in the open air of the parking lot made it seem necessary. “I didn’t tell nobody what you did.”
Heather replied automatically, “Why not?”
Angie looked puzzled but kept her voice down. “I thought about it, what you did to me, about the way you just up and did it. That’s the way grown-ups do things, isn’t it? They just up and do something or take something without bothering to see if you’re even interested. Like dragging us to church every Sunday or taking us into the city for a movie we don’t even care to see.” Angie fished around in the back pocket of her shorts and produced a small, silver lighter and a square-ish cardboard box. It was such a queer sight that it took Heather a moment to realize that Angie had just pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Or maybe It’s this guy that you’ve known your whole life and one day he tells you–” (She flipped open the box and pulled out one of the long cancer sticks) “You’re the prettiest little hound dog I ever did see!” She lowered her voice to a booming baritone. “Can you mold my clay for me?”
Heather gasped aloud, taken aback by the child’s frankness. “Angie…”
She stuck the cigarette between her full lips and flicked the flame of the lighter to life with the other hand. “Hmm?”
“They really let you smoke?”
Angie shook her head, grinning. “Gosh, no! But I’m far enough away from the shop that nobody will see and if Walter comes back, I’ll toss it quick. Want one?” Angie offered the pack forward but Heather waved it away. She smoked, but the last thing on her mind was a cigarette.
“I’m sorry, Angie,” Heather confessed. “I’m sorry for what I did, for what others have done to you.”
She waved the comments away with her cigarette hand, shaking her head. “It’s just the way things are here. It’s me, it’s my fault.”
Heather started to protest automatically, but Angie held up a hand to silence her. “No, it’s true. Ever since I can remember, everybody stares at me. Boys, girls, it don’t matter.” She twisted the toe of her foot into the dirt, a rather girlish gesture, Heather noted but did not interrupt. “I first noticed it, during this school play a few years back. I didn’t even have a part, really — just one of the backup singers — but I kept noticing that everyone was just… staring at me, ya know?”
Heather nodded, urging the child to finish.
“At first I thought I was just being crazy. That they was just watching the stage and I was imagining things. Then my solo came up and I took center stage and… it was like the whole world just stopped turning, and I was the only thing that mattered to ‘em.” She exhaled smoke, dragged, exhaled again. “After that, I just couldn’t stop noticing it. When I was riding my bike around, I’d catch them making eyes at me, hoping the wind kicked up just right so they’d get a good look at my panties or something like that.” She looked away then, trailing smoke from her lips. “And when they wasn’t looking I guess I felt — I don’t know — disappointed?”
Heather couldn’t help herself. Maybe what came next was inevitable fate but she was heartsick for the poor child. So young and to be shouldering such a heavy burden. Despite the urgency to find it, all apprehension about the lost bag melted away. Not gone but not as pressing. “Come inside,” she offered, stooping down to start collecting her bags. “We can talk more.”
They hauled everything inside the narrow living space and dropped it all to the floor, making a haphazard pile in one corner. Unpacking could wait. Heather started to close the door behind them but decided against it. She wanted to help the girl, to hear her out, but the last thing she wanted to chance was being alone with her again behind closed doors. She left it standing open, watching the shadows from the morning sun grow shorter as the day progressed.
Angie seated herself on the edge of the bed, dragging absently on her cigarette, down to the filter and using a tumbler glass from the cupboard as an ashtray. “Heather?”
Heather turned to face the girl, not daring to go nearer than she was, resting against the dresser and in clear view of the door. “Yeah?”
“After I got home last night, I thought a lot about what happened,” She started.
“So, you said,” Heather replied, apprehension tensing up in her chest.
Angie nodded her head, stamping out the cigarette. “I thought about how you felt up under my dress, the way you kissed me. I thought about it and…” She paused, watching the wisps of smoke trail up from the glass. Heather watched anxiously, terrified by what she would say next, terrified that she wouldn’t say anything more at all.
“I played with myself,” Angie confessed at last.
Heather closed her eyes, tensing all over, suddenly overcome with flashes in her mind of Angie, curled up beneath the blankets of her bed, one hand caressing down her panties and rubbing at her swollen, preteen clit.
“I play with myself a lot,” she continued. “But this time it felt good. Well, it always feels good, but this time was different. Thinking about you made it different, Heather.” She reclined back in her seat, resting the flat of her palms against the bed, sinking in an inch.
Heather stole a frightened glance at the door, half-expecting to find Walter there, breakfast tray glued to his hands and looking aghast at what he had overheard. The doorway was deserted.
“I think I know what I want.”
Heather was too afraid to ask, said nothing, could almost hear what was to come next like a deadly premonition.
“For once I want to know what it’s like to want to be touched. To touch someone back and want to make them feel good, too. I want to have a say so in what happens to me.” Her eyes narrowed, determinedly. “I want to kiss you, Heather.”
The air inside the small motel room suddenly grew stifling hot. The world tilted beneath Heather’s feet again and would have sent her sprawling about the room as if caught in an earthquake if not for her grip on the dresser behind her. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the sound of her breathing, the pressure of blood flowing in her ears, the quiet hum of the overworked air conditioner, but it was all for naught. As soon as her eyes closed, her imagination was assaulted with more images of Angie. There, that deep, golden tan was all over and seemed to shine like precious metal in the sunlight. In her mind, they ran through those barren fields they had spied just outside of town together. They were both naked and smiling as if gleefully unaware. Their hands were joined together as they dashed about, laughing like loons, pleased that they were the only two people that mattered in the whole wide world.
“Heather?” Angie again, tearing her back to reality. “Did you hear what I said?”
Heather nodded, unable to talk through the swelling knot in her throat.
Angie mirrored her reaction, biting her lower lip and looking down, clearly not the reaction she had expected. When Heather at last found her voice, it cracked, as if she hadn’t spoken in weeks rather than seconds. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Angie. You’re just a kid.”
Angie twisted her face up into a tight frown. “You’re saying a kid don’t know what they want? That they can’t be in charge?”
“No, I’m saying that you should just… try being a kid?”
Angie chuckled, but it was a humorless sound. “Because that’s worked out so well… no, being a kid sucks, Heather. It really sucks and I’m tired of going along with it.”
Heather regained her balance but the heat wasn’t going away, nor was the looming presence of the open door, and try as she might to stop herself, she kept glancing over. “You’re not kissing me,” she replied, trying to sound firm in her decision.
Angie was in the process of lighting up another cigarette, pausing to speak with the flame wafting before the white stick. “Why? Afraid I don’t know how? You’d be surprised…”
There was an air of mystery in her trailing off. It sounded almost like a dare. A double dare even, something fitting for her age. Her age, yes, Heather thought. Something she desperately needed to keep in mind as things low in her abdomen seemed to clench tighter and tighter… wetter and wetter.
“No,” Heather intoned, stretching the word out to put a bit more finality on the matter but Angie was persistent, perhaps sensing the growing weakness in her adult counterpart.
“You won’t have to do nothing,” Angie reaffirmed, dragging lightly on the cigarette, ashing it into the glass. “Just stand there and let me kiss you. That’s all.”
The first signs of irritability began to surface inside of Heather. If it was one thing that drove her crazy, it was having to repeat herself, and that overrode any feelings of arousal. “The answer is No, Angie. N-O.” A kiss could lead to more-much more-and Heather was desperate to put this matter to rest and focus on the more pressing task at hand. Find that money took precedent and with Walter due to waltz back in at any moment, she could not afford any dalliance indulging Angie any further. No, she decided. It was best to stamp this problem out as quickly and quietly as possible.
Angie lapsed into a disappointed silence, idly puffing away at her cigarette without taking in any lungful, more or less just creating smoke clouds that hung in the air like gathering storm clouds.
“You know that you want me to,” Angie replied quietly, perhaps knowing that she had already overplayed her hand but was stubbornly refusing to give up.
Heather bent forward, snatched the smoldering cigarette from between the girl’s fingers. “Give me that.”
Angie looked startled by the sudden reaction but made no move to stop Heather, to wrestle the smoke back.
Heather took it between her lips and took a long drag. The filter was still warm from Angie’s touch, a little damp from her mouth. It had been ages since Heather had had a cigarette. Longer since she’d really enjoyed the act of smoking at all. It tasted of dry paper and processed poison on her tongue, in her throat, disappointing her. She had thought maybe, just maybe, there would be a hint of the girl before her there. A phantom of taste that could reawaken the sweet sensation of her body…
Heather was playing a dangerous game, she knew that, could see herself teetering on top of a high cliff that was bathed in golden sunlight with oblivion stretching out far below.
“You shouldn’t smoke these.”
“Who’re you?” Angie challenged, unabated. “My mom? She ran off years ago. Some hot shit photographer that stayed in Oasis one summer to take some nature photos. They got really friendly. That’s what everyone here says about it, when they talk about it, which is all the damn time.”
Heather nodded, thinking there were so few things to discuss in Oasis. Old scandals likely got rehashed despite their lack of relevance in the here and now. The missing bag tried to thrust itself back into her thoughts, but she pushed it away again.
Angie shifted in her seat, reclining further back on the mattress until she was practically lying down, perched up by the crook of her elbows. “They met in the diner, just across the way there. I know because I was with her then, and they got to talking and had lunch together, then dessert. I lost count of how many hours passed by there while they talked each other up. I left for awhile and came back and they was still sitting there, eating two pieces of pecan pie and in no big hurry to go anywhere. I think I ended up walking home.”
Heather shook her head miserably, overcome with empathy for the child. She knew all about parental abandonment, not that she would ever share such an intimate detail.
“She came home all smiles and laughs, telling us all over dinner what a ‘fascinating’ guy he was. How ‘hysterical’.” Her quotes were bitter. “Dad got real jealous and they had a row later that night, when they thought I was sleeping. I cried myself to sleep that night for the first time but not the last.” She raised her hand to her lips, searching for the cigarette and momentarily forgotten that it had been swiped. Despite her better judgement, Heather handed it back. “Thanks,” Angie murmured.
“Please don’t cry,” Heather said, not sure if it was for Angie’s sake or her own.
“Who’s cryin’?” Angie asked, wiping at her eyes with the back of her cigarette hand. She sat up then and looked a little embarrassed but greatly relieved. “I guess I should go.”
Heather nodded, feeling a mixture of emotions herself, both wanting her to go and wanting her to stay. “I want to apologize again,” she confessed but Angie waved her off.
“Apology accepted,” she replied airily. “But if you want to pay me back, I could think of a way…”
She was on her feet now and closing the distance between them, languidly, clearly in no hurry. She looked up at Heather from inches away, making Heather recoil a little from the precociousness dazzling in her light eyes. For one terrifying moment, Heather was certain Angie was going to kiss her, could even picture it happening as if it were happening to someone else. The girl would rise to her tip toes, lift her chin ever so slightly to the air and slowly her eyes would drift closed. Heather felt herself tense in anticipation, going rigid like a deer in oncoming headlights, unable to move, not wanting to move…
Angie reached past her and stamped the cigarette out in the cup. The look she parted with was a sly one. “I’ll be seeing you around.” And then she was gone.
Continue on to Chapter 5
I am absolutely LOVING this story!! How about the rest of you out there?
You can definitely count me in as a fan — great writing, sensuality, suspense, and kinkiness — what’s not to like!
Excuse me while I fan girl out for a bit lol being such huge fans of Bambi and her mother and the ongoing adventures of Cheryls Daughter of a Porn Star, comments like these really make my day! 😀
I guess because of the lack of certain language skills some of the sensuality may have escaped my attention, but i will stay tuned, i really like what i read til now . 🙂
This story seems to have a lot of plot similarities with one on the Leslita site called “Shelter”. Is it the same author under a different name?
You have a keen eye 🙂
I pay homage to a select few of my favorite works but the plot and it’s direction is wholly my own ❤
Oh, yeah, “Shelter.” That was a good one. A pity the author never finished it. Luckily, we have Sunnybunny’s excellent new story to warm our souls (and a few other crucial areas…)
Ok thanks. Yes, as Jtby says, it was a shame that “Shelter” didn’t really finish properly, so I hope your story has a proper ending (but not too soon of course..)
The interaction is pretty good. Banter and tension, tension, tension. I shall read more as it becomes available
Meh…the suspense seems built more for the author to snicker at her readers than anything else. If we’re thinking of the author more than the characters, that’s no good. Just too much unnecessary “plot.”
You’re really bad at taking hints, aren’t you? Everyone knows how you feel about chapters without sweaty sex in them. You really needn’t keep reminding us of that rather boring fact. You are the only person who cares about your opinion on that topic.
The vast majority of us here enjoy a good story and are patient enough to enjoy the build-up. It’s the build-up, after all, that makes ordinary sex become magnificent, and it’s what distinguishes a good story from a boring one. I apologize if you’re not aware of those facts. I read many books that don’t have a hint of sexual content. You know, because I like to read a good story. Good authors, just like good lovers, take their time building to a climax.
Furthermore, you have mentioned you write erotica, but that your stories are not suitable for our site. I’m fine with that. However, my repeated requests to get a link to your writing, both on this site and in an email sent to you weeks ago, have been noticeably ignored. I can only conclude that you have written nothing and your claims to the contrary amount to empty bragging.
I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. Perhaps our site is a bit too literary for you. We aren’t for everyone, goodness knows, and we may not be what you are seeking. In the meantime, here‘s a story you might enjoy.
I think it is building up to be a great story!! ….and it doesn’t have to have “sex” in every other line, I’m just sayin’
I can assure you that it will satisfy everyone here, if like you they are patient and enjoy the ride at least as much as the destination.
Cheryl, this is awesome, not to say hilarious, i pissed myself laughing reading that shitbag called story, but that is exactly what i think that guy needs! *lmfao*
Well said Cheryl. BRAVO! I get the feeling the majority of us agree with you whole heartedly. Please continue Sunnybunny……GREAT story.
People like Matthew are the reason that so much of modern culture is completely worthless on an artistic level. Because all these folks want is ACTION EXPLOSIONS LOUD NOISES MAYHEM ACTION SEX GUNS CAR CHASES SCREAMING GUITARS ACTION! The subtleties of a Vladimir Nabokov, a Jacques Tati, a Morton Feldman, or a Yasujiro Ozu are completely lost on them.
I think we’re being a bit too hard on Matthew, picking on him unnecessarily. If you look back at his earlier comments, most of them are intelligent and thoughtful. Yes, he’s a critic, and sometimes he’s overly negative, but it seems to me that he — and anyone else — should be allowed to freely express opinions here, whether or not we agree with them (as long as it’s done politely, of course).
As Cheryl’s character, Cheryl, says once, or maybe more than once, in Daughter of a Porn Star, “It really annoys me when my mother is right.”
Oh, he should absolutely be free to express strong opinions, I agree completely… just as we get to respond every bit as strongly. I disagree with Matthew in some crucial areas, but he’s clearly able to take it as well as dish it out, so kudos to him for that.
My point was to let Matthew know we get it. He’s basically made the same point over and over again. He needn’t continue with his ad infinitum form of objecting, where he either complains that there’s too much plot or too much conflict. We know how he feels about chapters without sex. He insults our authors because they recognize good elements of fiction and try to incorporate them into their stories. I am growing tired of it.
If he has something new to say that contributes rather than continues his same complaint, I’m all for it. If it’s more of the same grumbling, we’ve heard it. Furthermore, we are ignoring it as far as changing what we deem worthy of publication, so basically he is singing to an empty room. We aren’t going to change our choices of what we, the owners of this site, see as good stories over the drivel often found on some other sites. Neither are we going to alter our editorial choices to please his desire for what he wants to see. It’s time for him to stop.
He was warned in the first of these childish posts that he needed to be polite. Mostly, this resulted in his giving this same complaint when he doesn’t find he likes the sex in the chapter, or rather the lack thereof, instead of the equivalent of calling the authors here hacks, which he did in that first insulting comment.
Yes, he has written some complimentary posts, but those seem to occur only when he finds we are somehow acquiescing to the type of story he wants. He needs to realize that he’s not the only reader we have and that some of the fiction here, perhaps even most of it, may not be right for him. He needs to decide, if that’s the case, that it’s fine. Move on to something else. He doesn’t need to make sure we hear his regular complaint about every chapter he doesn’t deem worthy of his time.
Well said, it only confirms what i think, I could not have said better!*thumbsup*
Cheryl has given us another boring example of getting right to the point when writing a comment instead of building up to it. I really wish all of you commenters would take the time to develop the various aspects of your comments instead of rushing me to the point. I want to enjoy the process as you form your premises, savor the the creation of your ideas and feel an intimate connection with them as they grow… not get them shoved down my throat willy-nilly. I want to feel as though it was MY IDEA and I wrote the comment. (Lol sarcasm usually lightens things up for me)
This is an absolutely captivating story, one of the best I’ve ever read. My anticipation, curiosity and eagerness increase with each chapter. I love it but it’s making me so damn horny!