Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

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By Sunnybunny

Angie’s reservations seemed to evaporate entirely once Heather was behind the wheel, gunning the engine and letting the custom-built engine roar to life. She let it hum like a predatory cat, glancing sidelong at Angie to gauge her reaction before revving her foot against the gas, making the beast under the hood roar. The girl’s eyes lit up like saucers, going from Heather to the hood of the car as if she could see through the sheet of metal of the hood to take in the engine underneath. Heather couldn’t stop herself from grinning, appreciating she had found a budding young gear-head out in the middle of nowhere.

They raced down the deserted street toward the busted intersection, kicking up great clouds of dust in their wake, slowing to a crawl beneath the traffic light and swinging left. Heather threw the shift about between them, flexing her feet expertly against the pedals, unable to stop herself from showing off a bit of her driving skills.

She couldn’t help but notice that as they rumbled past the filling station at the street corner, Angie hunkered down a little in her seat, until just the top of her sand-colored head could barely be seen over the door. Heather glanced back at the empty garage, flipping her sunglasses back down before asking, “I guess your dad wouldn’t approve of you getting into cars with strangers?”

Angie twisted around in her seat to stare back the way they had come, peeking over the top of the headrest. The dry wind was making her threadbare dress whip all around the car. “He told me to stay around the shop where he could see me until he finished up tonight.”

“Should I take you back then?” Heather felt a creeping feeling of doubt and the first real notion of fear. Had she technically kidnapped a kid? Suddenly she was feeling more than a bit like Chester the Child Molester and spied a good empty lot up ahead where they could turn around.

“I don’t think he’s even awake,” she said, turning back around to sit back heavily in the seat. “There really isn’t much work to do at the shop so mostly he just sits around, plays darts with Tommy Elder and drinks beer. That car, the one that’s hoisted up like that in the garage? It’s been there forever now, ain’t no parts for it around here so it’s on order. In the meantime, nothing to do but…” She shrugged, looking at Heather for the first time since they passed the place. “I really like your car. It’s a ’77, right?”

“You got a good eye,” she answered with a nod, impressed and not bothering to hide it.

“My dad taught me a lot about cars,” Angie answered without being asked. “I can even drive some.”

“You can drive?”

“You want me to show you?” A mischievous smile crossed her mouth, reached her eyes and lit them up. Heather was smiling now too.

“Not a chance.”

“How come? The only cop in town is back at my dad’s station, playing darts and drunk as a skunk.”

“There isn’t much here, eh?” Heather asked, changing the subject.

Angie didn’t press the matter and shook her head. “More’n you’d expect.”

“I saw a McDonald’s sign coming into town. Where is that?”

Angie chuckled at the question. “That place shut up before I was even born.”

Heather should have expected this but couldn’t help but feel a little crestfallen. “So much for that Big Mac Attack. Is the diner the only place to eat around here?”

Angie nodded her head, crossing her ankles over the low dash. The bottoms of her feet were stained a rich coffee-color. “Yeah, if you want anything else, it’s a pretty long drive to the next town over, ‘least two hours. Mostly though we get food from the grocery store. They have a freezer up front with tons of ice cream. It’s just up here.” She pointed lazily with one hand before tucking it behind her head, the picture of comfort.

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Heather teased.

“Oh, I am.”

They pulled into the parking lot beside the rusted-out husk of an Impala. Heather reached into her front pocket and produced a crisp, new five-dollar bill and handed it over to Angie. “Grab me one too, huh?” Angie skipped up to the front door, her skirt lifting gently with each lift of her knee and threw the door open and vanished inside. The bell chime announcing her entry was a brass contraption tied to the inside handle. Through the wide glass windows of the front of the store, she spied Angie already leering over the top of the freezer near the register, raising up onto tip toe and grinning hungrily down at the pile of treats.

She laughed at something Heather couldn’t hear and slid the screen aside, fishing out two large pops wrapped in paper. A moment later, she reappeared at the door, jogged down the steps toward the car, and hopped in over the top without bothering to open the door. She handed one of the two pops in her hand over. It had a cartoon character on the front, Spongebob Squarepants. Heather wondered if the large, blue eyes were gumballs like the ones she got from the ice cream trucks when she was Angie’s age.

Angie unwrapped her ice cream (another cartoon character but from a show Heather didn’t recognize) and placed it between her lips unable to keep herself from humming in delight.

They were back on the road again a moment later, racing down the narrow streets of Oasis with no new destination in mind, just enjoying the sensation of the wind in their hair and the ice cream melting against their lips.

“The mountains are on fire,” Angie pointed up ahead and indeed, a trick of the light of the setting sun made it seem like the range of mountains before them was ablaze. “That’s what my dad says all the time. There’s a lake out there somewhere too, s’what keeps the Oasis from burning up like all the other towns out here. Something about the wind coming off the water and down the mountains…” she trailed off. “Anyway, that’s what keeps this place alive.”

“Just barely,” Heather said before she could stop herself.

Angie laughed at that, smearing a bit of the treat across her cheek. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It ain’t so bad though. It’s a friendly place with nice folks, don’t have to lock your doors at night like you do in the big city. Everyone knows everyone.”

“Is that something else your dad says?” Heather ribbed.

Angie blushed a little and smiled, nodding. “Yeah…pretty often, too. Especially when I tell him I’m bored and that there’s nothin’ to do!”

“Is that pretty often? Being bored with nothing to do?”

Angie made a face, taking another lick of her ice cream. Her tongue was long and pink, with a purple streak running down the middle from the treat. “Only sometimes. When Mary Rose isn’t tied up with her piano lessons at the church or Billy Ross can come out and…” she paused, hesitating on the word ‘Play’ before switching it to “…hang out. Missy Tat and Denny are usually around but they had chores to do, so I just been bored all day by myself.” She looked over, smiling through ice cream stained lips. “That’s when I noticed this car of yours and had to get a good look. I know everyone’s car in town, my dad’s fixed ‘em all for some thing or another over the years. No one in Oasis has a car like THIS. So I knew you were new.”

“At what point did you think about stealing change from my seats?” Heather teased but Angie looked hurt for a moment, looking away.

“I hope you don’t think too bad of me. I wouldn’t have done it, I don’t think. I feel awful sorry about it.”

Heather reached over to ruffle the girls head good-naturedly. Angie’s hair was thick, soft and flecked with coarse grains of sand. It was meant as a gesture of affection but it drew a frown across the child’s face.

“Why are grown-ups always trying to pat me on the damn head?”

Heather didn’t know if it was the huff in her voice or the liberal use of a swear, but it made her laugh all the same. It sounded strangely natural, and it was clear that Angie was no stranger to cussing and likely wasn’t reprimanded for it too often.

“Sorry, guess it’s because you’re so cute. We can’t help it.”

“People say that a lot, too,” Angie said in her wiser than her year’s voice.

They raced past the old, blown out husk of what was once the McDonald’s, and Heather looked longingly back at it through the rearview mirror. The arches had faded to a bone-white but were still standing.

Before she knew it, Heather was glimpsing another worn sign bidding them farewell as they were leaving Oasis, wishing them safe travels and a speedy return. “There really isn’t much more to see,” Angie commented. “This road goes all the way into California if you follow it long enough but there isn’t anything to look at between here and there but more sand.”

The fire on the mountains was spreading down into the valley, igniting the dunes into pyres and the scattered trees and cactus stalks to torches. She wondered if the town would look ablaze on their return trip?

She glanced over at her impromptu passenger, got a twinge of the anxiety from before, fretting if she had technically kidnapped this girl and perhaps now her father was scrambling about their tiny town with Oasis’ single police officer in a panic. Heather turned her head, opening her mouth to shout over the blowing wind and sound of the engine in order to be heard but paused at the sight of Angie’s slender legs.

The dress had snaked its way up her hips, revealing flesh sun-dyed the same dark tone as the rest of her. Heather’s breath hitched again and a heat spread out on her face that had nothing to do with the desert wind. She forced herself to look away but the glimpse had left her chest tight, as if her ribs were constricting around her heart. Heather tightened her grip on the wheel, hoping more to get a firmer grasp on the situation rather than the car rocketing more than sixty down a barren stretch of highway. She chanced another look, longer this time, unable to help herself. The tender area where the girls legs met her hips was visible, scarlet in the rapidly fading light, encircled by the leg-hole of her tiny panties, looking just as old and worn out as the dress blowing around them.

Heather took a shaky breath, willing her nerves to calm down while she searched her mind for an explanation for what was happening. Heather had always jokingly referred to herself as a sexual deviant but…no, there was no way there was any sort of real….she was lost in her reasoning for a time, lapsing into silence while she tried and failed to sort it out.

She slowed the car to a crawl and nosed it to the shoulder of the road. In the rearview mirror, the town was a speck of yellow light far, far in the distance. Heather looked over at Angie who was gazing over the passenger door, looking completely comfortable for someone so young to be literal miles from home with a complete stranger. All at once, Heather recalled long school assembly meetings from grade school, where a few local police officers would gather all the students together in the cafeteria or auditorium to warn them all about ‘stranger danger’.

Heather whipped the wheel around in a tight circle motion, preparing to head back the way they had come. They had probably already gone too far, been gone too long, and Angie was likely going to be in serious trouble but…

Instead of going back down the highway she rolled to the opposite shoulder and punched the car into neutral and set the parking brake, but didn’t cut the engine. They idled for a beat before Angie turned around to face Heather. “Why are we stopped?” The ice cream was long gone but she was still sucking idly on the stick. Her lips were lightly stained a dark purple, as if she was wearing lipstick. Her question did not show any sign of fear or concern, and that filled Heather with relief for some reason.

“Angie,” she began slowly, through a dry mouth. “I need to touch you.” She quieted almost at once, heart thundering like a jackhammer once the words were out. It hadn’t been a request, but a statement, as casual as if she had said she was getting a drink of water to quench her thirst. “You don’t have to do anything, just sit quiet and still while I do it.” Her heart was beating faster with each word until she was certain it would cause a heart attack. Heather unbuckled her own seatbelt with trembling fingers and shifted in her seat to face Angie beside her. The girl still did not appear anxious or frightened, but there was definitely something playing across her young features. Was it more curiosity? Or was that just Heather trying to ease her own conscience for what she was about to do…

She reached for Angie, sliding the palm of her hand across her middle to encircle her fingers around the girls ribs. The fabric wasn’t as soft as it looked and Heather tugged it higher, bunching it up around Angie’s middle to reveal her body. Her belly was smooth, warm beneath her hand, almost hot and slightly damp with a sheen of sweat. Heather drew in a shaky breath, scooting across the middle of the bench to sit closer to the girl, trembling so bad her fingers delayed in obeying her whims. They snaked drunkenly higher to caress Angie’s narrow chest, searching for a nipple but missing it. Her clumsy fingers became desperate, groping all around (for that was the only word that could best describe Heather’s lewd exploration) until they found the little dots of flesh and she gasped aloud. Never had she been so aroused, so wanton for someone, man or woman. Yet the simple sensation of the soft, tender flesh of this girl’s nipple rolling between her thumb and index finger had left her quivering. Heather buried her face in the nape of Angie’s neck, inhaling her scent. She smelled like sweat and open air and sand and cheap discount brand shampoo. Heather’s tongue darted out to taste her, coming away salty and sweet…

Angie made no move to stop her, simply sat quietly, allowing Heather to explore her without complaint or protest. She even shifted a little in her seat, moved her hands to make the path easier without being asked. Heather gripped the girls knobby knee, slid her palm flat up the smoothness of her inner thigh but could not bring herself to reach through her panties. Instead, she caressed Angie from the outside, her breath hitching again, smoothing her finger out against the little cleft of her slit before begging away. She fell heavily back into her side of the car, breathless and sweating coldly. “Th-thank you, Angie,” she murmured, her voice sounding strange and dazed even to her.

Angie made no reply, save from looking at her with a curious expression that knit her eyebrows together. The quiet grew longer, until it was palpable but Heather could not think of anything else to say, any sort of explanation for her behavior. It all had just been a surge of attraction, an animal magnetism that compelled her to act.

She buckled her seatbelt again and shifted the car back into gear, rolling along the gravel until they were on the highway again, racing toward town and pushing 90.

Continue on to Chapter 3

By Sammy

Lizzie’s face was a soft foggy circle in my side window, still struggling to defrost in the morning air. The long drive up had been mostly silent, both of us knowing this moment was coming, yet neither able to prepare for it.

The way my daughter’s gold hair shone, even then, warmed me out of winter’s clutches, the hidden sun slipping from mind until I realized just how many mornings in the coming months I’d be clinging to it in her absence.

As she grew smaller in my rearview mirror, finally taking Brenda’s hand once we were just about out of sight of each other, it finally sunk in that I was going to be stuck for three hours in a car with no company and a radio I couldn’t afford to replace.

Oh, the things I do for her.

The things she does to me.

. . . . .

I’d guess it started with her stockings.

They were the first piece of skating gear I ever bought her. I can still see her stubby legs in Sears, scurrying over the minute she saw them. Pale, pink, with puffs on the heels. Probably not the best choice for squeezing into skates, but at least she had the good sense to head straight for the bargain rack.

She won her first competition in those stockings. And her second, third, and fourth. And every time, alone in the locker room or, in the arenas too small for them, a lone bathroom stall, I’d get the privilege of sliding them up her thin legs, Far too toned for five, I might think with silly jealousy, my hands cupping her thighs nearly all the way around and knowing even then that my pleasure was much less than motherly. (Or would that be more?) Which might have started to gnaw at me for a moment. Then Lizzie would peck me on the lips with an ecstatic “Thank you, Mommy!” and I’d smooth her short hair by the back of her neck, and everything would be okay again. Because I knew that whatever was inside me, whatever it was growing into, I would never, ever do anything to hurt her. She was my baby girl. My very life. And, well, just because she was that, it didn’t mean she couldn’t also be my own personal pixie in darling pink stockings.

And watching her, in them, in action… different pairs through the years, sure, but some things never changed. The pink crinkling slightly at the knees as she’d crouch for a jump.  Legs spreading at the top of the arc, skirt flitting up around her hips just enough for that round little bottom to peek out, hiding the briefest pooch in the centre. And her muscles tensing when she landed, and the smile she’d effortlessly flash without losing a smidgen of focus, picking me out of the crowd wherever I was.

And then them, in the laundry… I’d make sure to wash everything right when we got home, as then I could still feel the sublime blend of chill and sweat as I rubbed them on my face, my breasts, my stomach, further below… she, upstairs in the dead midst of her post-skate nap, and me, in the laundry room struggling with feelings it took me far too long to understand, as if there was much to understand about sliding my daughter’s various underthings across my mound, the tangled frills of little-girl-lace mingling with the wisps of my wheat-blonde pubic hair,  then deep inside, deep as I could go, till I was coming again and again.

And that was about how it went. Until the day when Lizzie was five, and I moved from the laundry room into her bedroom.

She had gone immediately from the rink to a birthday dinner for Felicia, the closest (and cutest) friend she had made of all her fellow skaters. I had the house to myself, and before I knew it I was crossing the house, from the veiled motherliness of laundry inspection to the abject perviness of basket-raiding, mining her big beige bucket for the freshest pair I could find, dried sweat and specks of whatever else — God, everything else — on the gusset I was soon sucking off, feeling out of my body as I was furiously cumming on her bed, my eyes drifting, at the very last moment, to the family of soft brown teddies staring at me from the corner they had claimed long ago. I was stilled by that in a way I still can’t describe. Every time thereafter, I made sure there was enough room for all of us.

And there were many thereafters — the dam had burst. My dreamland grew all the more intricate, imagining my daughter into all manner of scenarios. We toured the house in my head, me showing her the wonders of making love, taking her slowly and softly through her first time, relishing the moment I first touched my tongue to her virgin underneath. Eventually, the bathtub became my locale of choice. Soaking, soaping, my legs spread wide and just touching the sides of the tub in symmetry, Lizzie nestled in my center, my ankles crisscrossed behind her legs as I held her tight, filling her unsure mouth with my tongue as her smooth mound slid against my belly in the sudsy mess. Feeling every quiver as she came for the first time, her tiny body invaded by impossible pleasures she had no conception of… and that was only the beginning.

And the funny thing is, I don’t know whether I ever could have started out on this grandest of adventures if Lizzie hadn’t been so intent on her own.

She was a born explorer, whether through the thick evergreens surrounding our little backyard pond, or the endless nooks and crannies of our large, winding country home. She loved our crawlspace in particular, so much so I had to place a six-foot wardrobe in front of the entrance to it in my bedroom. That only seemed to enchant her more, though — the Narnia effect? — and one night while I was out with my friends, she “accidentally” tossed a sock behind it. When Brenda, her babysitter, had managed to budge it just enough, Lizzie scurried between her legs, right into the darkness, and refused to come out.

Poor Brenda was beside herself. And then Lizzie found the skates.

They were in the back, right behind the Christmas lights and boxes of ugly heirloom glassware, where they’d been sitting, untouched, since my mother’s death from Alzheimer’s ten years before.

I suppose what happened next would best for Brenda to explain. Not to mention that transcribing the voicemail, which I still have after all these years, means I get to listen to that faint sexy lisp for the millionth time.

Uh, hi, Ms. Masters. This is Brenda… Brenda the babysitter… of course. God, so stupid. I, um, just wanted to warn you that you might be coming home to a little situation here at the house. See, Lizzie tricked me and got into the crawlspace and absolutely would not come out, and then she found this really old pair of skates, and begged me to take her out to the pond. I know I shouldn’t have, but she said just for a few minutes, and now she won’t stop! …  But, um, Ms. M, I really gotta say, you wouldn’t believe how quickly she took to it. You know I trained with my Aunt Ellen up north and have been doing competitions for a few years, and I think I’ve never seen such a natural. And I’ve definitely never seen a four-year-old get a foot off the ground and actually stay on her feet, let alone in skates I had to stuff with extra socks. And I’m sorry if this seems nosey… but I really have to ask… there was a “Pat” sewn into the heel of the skates… Pat Masters… was she Lizzie’s grandmother?

I came home shortly after that, to a brilliant glow from the backyard, arching out to the limits of the driveway. As I made my way towards the back of the house, I saw that the Christmas lights on our inside ring of evergreens were on and heard Lizzie laughing louder than I ever had before. She was circling the pond, tracing primitive but confident figures, and Brenda was on the stone bench beside the pond, hot chocolate in hand, cheering as Lizzie zipped around the ice. And I mean zipped.

I noticed Brenda’s thighs subtly rubbing together. Her eyes were on Lizzie, intent, unblinking. But she turned towards me immediately when my foot crunched snow.

“Hi, Ms. M!”

“Please, Brenda, I told you. Abby is fine.”

She blushed. Lizzie, skating, still hadn’t seen me. “She’s really taken to it, huh?”

“Yup. We’ve been out here two hours now. She’s barely stopped for a breath.”

“But I mean… the figures. She’s actually doing figures.”

She shrugged and smiled shyly. “Once I realized she wasn’t getting off the ice, I thought I might as well pass the time somehow. So I showed her a few things. I hope you don’t mind… ”

I stopped and looked at my daughter on the ice. She was in her own world, completely, her body seemingly relishing its testing of these new boundaries in this new world, the cruelty of my hiding it from her making me flinch.

I glanced at Brenda, whose own eyes were set on Lizzie.

“No, Brenda, I don’t mind. And, to answer your earlier question… yes.”

“Yes, what… Abby?”

“Yes, my mother was Pat Masters.”

She seemed as if she hadn’t understood me.

“Olympics Pat Masters?”

“Yes, Brenda… ” I smiled, unable to resist the urge to mimic her incredulity, if just a little. “Olympics Pat Masters.”

Right then, Lizzie spotted me.

“Mommy!” She sped over to us, leaping over the snow at the edge of the pond and into my open arms. I held her tight and pressed my cheek to hers. “Did you see me?!”

“I sure did, baby.”

She pulled back and smiled at me with every last tooth. “Did you see what Brenny taught me? All of my… my fingers?”

I chuckled. “Figures, sweetie. They’re called figures.”

“Yeah, my figures! Did you see? I made an eight!”

“Wow, a four-year-old making a whole eight on her first try. That must be some kind of record.”

“Yeah! Do you know how to do any, Mommy?”

My eyes caught Brenda’s, peeking out from beneath her purple knit cap, boring deeply into mine. She grinned.

“Yeah, Abby… do you?”

. . . . .

And for her age and experience, Brenda certainly was accomplished. She had been on the ice herself since the age of three, and had even begun coaching skaters younger than herself when she turned thirteen. She was also persistent and curious, which, I think, are just about the two most important qualities for success in anything.

And did I forget to mention she was gorgeous? God, was she gorgeous. This was some time before I had come to accept my feelings for Lizzie, but upon meeting Brenda, I had indulged freely and fully. She was thin and wiry, in a way that seemed to be both from and naturally gifted for her sport, with nipples that were delectably erect more often than not, usually braless under her thin t-shirts and knit sweaters. I had been letting myself leer maybe a little too often lately, and I was pretty sure she’d noticed at least once or twice. I couldn’t help it, nor a snuck whiff of her fragrant brown hair just about every time we were close. And I simply enjoyed spending time with her: she made me laugh. She often came off as naive, even for her age, and yet… there was a more-than-occasional fierceness to her I found irresistible. She was a fighter, another symbiotic match to her skating. I could always tell there was more to her than I, or I bet anyone else in her life, her prudish parents included, knew there was.

In the weeks after my daughter’s home ice debut, Brenda repeatedly skirted around the question of my own mother. She was a fan, that much was clear, but she was also perceptive enough to see it was something of a sore issue.

One night, we were sitting in my car in her driveway after a night of babysitting.

“I kinda wanna ask you something, Ms. Masters — sorry, Abby… but it’s personal.”

“Please don’t be shy, Brenda. I trust you like a member of the family now. Really, I have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lizzie thinks the world of you, and as far as she’s concerned, you’re her way to the championships.”

We both giggled. “Championships, huh? Did she mention… which?”

“She wasn’t able to narrow it down. But you know what? I believe her. As much as it makes me feel like some kind of filthy careerist, I believe her.  And more importantly, I believe you can help her there.”

She demurred. “Wow. That means a lot, Abby. Like I told you, Lizzie is incredibly talented.”

“Thank you, dear. I know she is.”

“What I wanted to ask you, though… it’s not about Lizzie.”

I smiled politely. “Just ask what you want to ask, Brenda.”

“Your mother.”

“That’s not a question, dear.”

She grimaced and pursed her forehead. I have to say I enjoyed it, if just a little bit.

“Okay. What was up with your skating? Or… your not skating… and, well, your mother? I mean… she’s a legend. Medalling at three Olympics in a row, the Order of Canada, frenching Maggie Trudeau… ” She blushed and looked away for a moment. “But you told me you don’t even skate.”

“That’s right. I don’t.”

Her eyes searched mine. “But why? What happened?”

I struggled to answer. My mother had been forgotten by most. She seemed to be one of the few cases where post-glory reclusiveness had actually seemed to work, instead of increasing the attention paid to her. I hadn’t had to answer anything like this for years. Reporters and documentarians had stopped scouring long ago.

“You see, Brenda… my mother was a difficult woman. Demanding. Exacting.”

“You mean… abusive?”

“No. Never. But there’s a thinner line than you may think between abuse and ritual.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My mother, and she was a good mother… well, I suppose she found it difficult to distinguish between a pupil and a daughter.”

“So… ”

“So… I stopped skating.”

“You mean altogether?”

“Yes, Brenda. Altogether.”

“Was that hard for her? I mean… ”

I bristled. “She managed.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to imply that, well —”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I understand.”

“But I don’t. Understand, I mean. And I want to… ”

The yearning in her eyes was unmistakable. I had no chance to think before Brenda’s lips were on mine, firmly, right there in the driveway in front of her parents’ house. I let my pleasure overtake my reason and met the movements of her lips with my own. We went back and forth a few times, chewing, sucking. Her breathing got heavier. She made a sound from the back of her throat and muttered my name dreamily. I reached a hand out to hers and grasped it, intertwining our fingers. She was sweating, and anxious, determined. Everything I did with my lips, she seemed to match. We continued like that for some minutes until a light emerged from the second floor of her house, causing her hand to pause about an inch from my breast, half-uncovered in my blouse. Then, somehow, I managed to grab her shoulders and pull my mouth away.

“Brenda, we can’t do this.”

“But… why? I mean, I’ve seen the way you look at me… ”

“I’m attracted to you, okay? I can’t deny that. You’re a beautiful girl, Brenda.”

She looked out the window towards the front door, hiding her face. The mother in me sensed intimately the parents in there, waiting up for her.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“You’re fifteen. And Lizzie’s babysitter. And fifteen.”

“I know. Boy, don’t I know… ”

She still hadn’t met my eyes, and I was still racking my brain for an appropriate way to tell her I’d probably fuck her, no matter how old she was, if we weren’t in her parent’s driveway.

“Look, we’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, Ms. M… as long as I get to talk to you.”

I cupped her chin. “Hey. You’ll always get to talk to me. Okay?”

A smile. “Okay.”

Then I found myself treading the pervert’s well-trod path. “Just… make sure you don’t tell your parents about any of this, all right?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t tell my parents anything.”

I chuckled. “Well, that doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

She shook her head. “Look. I feel close to you, Abby. Okay? In a way I can’t be to either of them. It might be messed up, but I just can’t. Whatever happens with us, or” — she took an almost imperceptible breath and looked away — “with Lizzie, they won’t know about.”

I felt overwhelmed, by everything. “Okay, dear. Just… Christ, tell me what you tell them, okay?”

“Okay, Ms. M.”

We shared some silence.

“Well, I gotta get back. That light’s been on for like five minutes.”

“Good night, dear.”

“Good night… Abby.”

She left the car, jogged up to her front door, and waved just a little too enthusiastically before ducking inside. I laid my head on the back of my car seat, reeling over what I told her. It was more, by far, than I’d ever told anyone, including every woman I’d ever fucked.

What I hadn’t told Brenda, however, was that, the night I came home to Lizzie’s skating, after I had driven her home… I showed my daughter my mother. By that, I mean, I sat Lizzie down and, for the first time, showed her the freestyle program that had won her grandmother the Olympic gold medal in women’s figure skating. The two of them never had a chance to meet, my mother having passed several years before Lizzie was born.

We snuggled into the couch, our eyes set on the television. We watched my mother psyching herself up, the camera catching scattered glimpses of her in the dimly lit hallway of the arena, offset by her bright blue skirt and brighter red hair. By the time Pat started her routine, Lizzie’s eyes were glued to the screen. I tried to see what she was seeing, divorced from my eyes, this woman my daughter knew only in old photos and scattered stories, reaching and exceeding the summit of what she now sensed was her birthright. But all of that trying to see what she could see was quickly supplanted by what I was seeing. Namely, the object of my most intense adolescent fantasies flexing every physical and emotional muscle while I cradled the impossibly beautiful creature I had given birth to. Who turned me on more than my mother ever did. No small task.

I soon realized my dancing fingers on my daughter’s skin, begun as innocent warming as our house heating geared up, were timing themselves to the rhythms of my mother’s intricate movements on the ice, to which I had masturbated more times than I could count. Not only this routine, but variations of it in competitions the months and years following, one jump exchanged for another, newer and sharper feats of physicality that only strengthened my desire to fuck my mother’s brains out. And holding Lizzie in my arms, her attention unbroken from the screen, I didn’t fight it — I embraced it. I fed off of her, my palms flat and open, feeling her tensing and flinching in excitement to what she was watching. Tiny belly clenching when Pat landed a jump, letting out a little half-giggle I could feel in her neck when the crowd cheered. I was both gladdened and disappointed that Lizzie didn’t seem to notice my encroachments, intent as she seemed to be to connect what my mother was doing on the ice to what Brenda had taught her. And once I made that connection, I was helpless: my daughter was joining me and Brenda, linked between our hands, trading kisses with each of us before we bent our lips to her breasts barely there, nibbling her ripe young nipples, the purpose and vast pleasures of which she was so ignorant of. I made her in my mind watch Brenda and I make love, letting her know what I was doing immediately after I did it, preparing her for a life of lesbian servitude to her insatiable mother.

Okay. So I lied. I guess it didn’t entirely start with her stockings.

As I carried Lizzie down the hall to her room, she made me promise to show her as much of “Gramma on the ice” as I could (and I could show her pretty much everything). I moved us across the hardwood to her bed, not bothering with the lamp, and as I lowered her from my arms into the waves of moonlight on her sheets, I let my lips touch hers, and kept them there, close and tight, as I fell with her to the bed. We lay there, unmoving for some moments, then more, my hand firm to the back of her neck. I finally pulled away, shame and doubt rising up till I found myself melting in the glow of my daughter’s brilliant smile.

“I… I liked that, Mommy.”

“I did too, Lizzie.”

“Why don’t we kiss always like that, when we kiss?”

“That’s a good question, sweetie.” A really good question, I thought to myself. Enough that I struggled to answer it. “That was more like a grown-up kiss than a kiss for mommies and daughters.”

“Grown-up? You mean like you and Daddy?”

“Yes, kind of like that.” I softly stroked her palm with my thumb. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve asked about Daddy since he went away.”

“I know… ”

“Have you been thinking about him?”

“Not really. But Felicia’s dad also got really sick went away, so we were talking about it.”

“I’m glad you have someone to talk to about that with, Lizzie.”

“Me too.”

“You like Felicia a lot, huh?”

“Yeah. I love her.”

I chuckled. “Love, huh? You’re growing up before my very eyes. But slow down a bit, hey? I’m not ready to have an adult daughter yet.”

“Why don’t you have a new grown-up friend since Daddy’s gone?”

“I guess I don’t need one right now, baby. It wouldn’t be fair to them. You’re all I have time for. All I need. And I love you more than I could ever love anyone.”

Her face took on a look of intense concentration. “Then maybe… maybe we can kiss like before, like grown-ups? Just sometimes?” She cast her eyes downward. “You’re so pr-etty… ”

It took everything in me not to ravage her right then. “Thank you, Lizzie. Mommy thinks you’re beautiful, too. But we’ll talk some other time about the kissing, okay?”

“Okay.” She seemed to have lost her shyness. “But, oh! I know a grown-up you can kiss.” She giggled. “Who really wants to kiss you, too!”

“And who would that be?”

“Felicia’s mommy.”

“Paulette… ” I murmured, half to myself as I pictured the fit, fetching woman with the short black hair.

“Yeah, we heard her on the phone in the other room. She was talking to Felicia’s Aunt Sarah. Felicia’s mom told her that I was staying for dinner, then she laughed, and said ‘yeah, the real cute one with the real hot mama.'” My face flushed. “That means she likes you, doesn’t it, Mommy?”

“Erm, well, sounds like she likes you too, darling.” And with the way cute sounded in that context, I couldn’t help but wonder just how much…

“Yeah, but you guys can be grown-up friends, like you said. Felly and I talked all about it.”

“Boy, you two sure have everything figured out, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I guess you’re more grown-up than I thought.” Again fighting off wild urges, my tongue worming between her perfect little lips, I pecked her on the cheek and tucked her in tight.

“Mommy, can I ask you one more question?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

“Can we watch more of Gramma tomorrow?”

“That I can say yes to. Absolutely.”

Continue on to Chapter 2

By Openmindedwoman

Anita and I sat on the plush couch in her den happily sipping glasses of wine. Through the sliding glass doors to the backyard patio we could see her daughter Amy and my niece Juli laughing and kicking a soccer ball back and forth, full of the after-school kind of playful energy that seventh graders ought to have.

“Amy wants to be on the high school soccer team when she gets to that age,” her mother said in a wistful voice. “But we haven’t really done any special community or lower school teams like lots of the girls do to get their skills up.”

“She certainly is naturally athletic!” I proclaimed, watching her curls bounce and her strong young legs move quickly and with agile turns as she moved the ball. “And don’t tell me she doesn’t have any very special skills. You’ve been a wonderful teacher.” I let my hand rest casually on Anita’s thigh as we talked. She covered it with her own, our upper arms and shoulders in light, warm contact.

Anita laughed a low knowing laugh and turned to face me. “Yes, Leslie… it wasn’t THAT kind of special skill I was talking about. But she does have some talents that you don’t even know about.”

“Yet?” I countered.

“Yes… yet,” she whispered back. “And I imagine Juli might have some of those same talents.”

“Welllll,” I fluttered my eyes with an exaggerated look, and whispered, “She might have had a lesson or two that she would be anxious to share.”

Quiet surrounded us for a few moments as the girls ran and played, wearing tee shirts and loose gym style shorts in the spring sun. We each seemed lost in our thoughts, and if Anita’s were going where mine were, then perhaps she had the same butterflies I was having low in my naughty stomach.

Finally I asked the question that had been intriguing me since our amazingly erotic escapade there previous weekend. “Anita, tell me more about you and Amy. I mean, nursing her so long, sustaining your lactation? She’s just turned 13!”

“Oh, Leslie,” Anita blushed a bit and her hand went subconsciously to her full bosom, rubbing over one and then the other of her very full breasts.

“Please,” I said, “it’s okay, whatever it’s about. I hope you could tell that from the things that happened… how eager Juli was to watch her new friend nurse from you like that… how eager she was to do it herself… and how wonderfully excited it made ME to think… to wonder… especially watching those two young naked darlings under your spell.”

“It began so naturally, Leslie, when Amy was born, and she hungrily breastfed, it seemed to me.” Anita’s fingers never left her breasts, moving lightly from the tip of one to the tip of the other while she talked, almost as if in a trance. “My nipples have been wonderfully sensitive ever since I started jilling myself, or even before that. I don’t know why, but they seem to be like wired electric circuits straight to my… ummm… my…”

“To your pussy, Anita… it’s good to talk openly between us now. As you saw, I’ve taught Juli that certain words are for the doctor’s office, and some are meant to be savored on the tongue in ways that suggest the erotic woman… or girl… that we are.”

Anita smiled, “Well, yes, then, from my rather oversized… tits… right to my… pussy. And when she would suckle, I tried at first to remain calm, motherly, but it wasn’t long before I realized the mess I was making in my panties, and I started feeding her just in an open robe, sitting on the tail of it, but naked, and as she would move from one side to the other, I began to allow the hand that wasn’t cradling her to move to my wetness, and soon I was jilling every time she would feed. It was wonderful.”

“I can surely understand that,” I said with a smile, letting my forehead move to her temple in a warm, reassuring gesture. “My nipples have been a lot like that too, so sensitive, almost as long as I can remember, though I’ve not had the experience of motherhood. But then, years went by?”

“Actually,” she answered, “I continued until Amy was four, and I found myself wondering if it was just too much… whether she was actually aware of my heartbeat, or what I was doing.  She would crawl up into my lap after a bath, naked, and nudge, wanting to suckle, and for me it was like a siren call to an exciting and loving place far from the real world and filled with amazing pleasure. It got so I would caress her as she started… feeling her arms, armpits, tummy… chest.”

I nodded and grinned, fingers moving lightly on her thigh. “Sounds pretty familiar in a lot of ways, actually.”

Anita continued, “But I was also not really producing much in the way of milk by then. I’ve learned that it is different for every woman in that way. Some can go on for years as long as the feeding is continuous, some can’t. So I decided to let it stop, and soon I was normally dry.

“It must have been almost a year and a half later that my foxy little sweetheart surprised me with her awareness. There was a scene in some TV show we were watching that played on the subject, and she asked if that wasn’t what we used to do. I said that it was, and she asked right out why we stopped, because she liked it a lot, and she had the feeling that I did, too.”

I was beginning to get fidgety feelings as mental images of those moments went through my mind.

“Are you okay with this, Leslie?” Anita slid her hand from the top of mine up my arm a ways.

“Oh, wow, more than okay, Mommy Anita. Since we are being honest with each other, let me say that it gives me a very fluttery spot inside to hear you talk about it.”

She smiled broadly and continued, one hand on top of mine, one hand still sliding back and forth from one full breast to the other, her head tipped towards mine enough that they rested together. “Well, long story short, with the help of a few hormones I took, I was able to start lactating again, and some time later, with a nervous lump in my throat I asked her if she remembered asking me about us stopping her feeding sessions, and if she would ever like to do it again. Then she surprised me once more, not only firmly saying she would, but also saying that she thought maybe I was liking it, too.”

I let a sigh of… what… amazement, arousal, intrigue slide through my lips, almost a low whistle. “And so…?” I prompted her.

Anita licked her lips, took a deep breath, and admitted that she had told her daughter that indeed she loved doing it, and it made her feel good in a very special way, and very close to the daughter she loves so much.

“And so we started again, not as often as one would feed a newborn, but often enough to be a hugely satisfying way for us to bond. And yes, I continued to turn myself on while she suckled, and at least half the time I brought myself to orgasm. I don’t know just when I could tell that there was some unspoken communication about body arousal, but Amy would get warm as I got warm. Sometimes we weren’t naked when we did it. Sometimes it would be after school and we would just sit in our clothes, or part of them, and I would get ‘uumhum’  or ‘uhhh-uhhh’ yes and no answers to questions about her day, and I would tell her about mine, with long silent spaces as we just enjoyed each other.”

“When did the time come that she really understood what it was about for you, Anita?” I asked in a low whisper, urging her story on.

“It was after she turned 10, I guess,” Anita responded, and I noticed that she seemed as body restless as I was. “I noticed that while she lay with her head on my thigh and tugged on my nipple with her beautiful Cupid bow mouth, she would rub her fingers over her own nipples, which were beginning to puff out nicely. When I asked her if it felt good to her to do that, she nodded enthusiastically and said that she did it a lot, and she knew that it must feel really good to me, too, and she really REALLY loved making her mom feel ‘specially good’. I guess it just went from there.”

“So it did go from there…” I let my voice trail off. “We saw how much Amy loves doing it, and how she opens her very sweet young body to you. I don’t remember nursing from my mother,” I added wistfully. “I imagine I did so, but only as a baby… I did watch my older sister feed Juli, and I so remember the feeling it gave me, and I’ve often wondered…”

“Oh, Leslie, yessss. It did go on from there. I asked her if it felt good for her to touch any other part of her body, and she answered that she does it sometimes just like I do. How I ever thought I was hiding something from her, I’ll never know, but now my darling girl knows exactly what she is doing to her mother, and she knows how beautiful it is to be loved in return, loved and touched in every way.”

Anita smiled and turned her face towards mine, so that our foreheads rubbed, and then moved in enough for a lingering kiss. She took my far hand and lifted it to her chest, holding it beneath hers, and pressing it into the full soft flesh. “I saw how you watched them, Leslie… watched them both pulling on my nipples and tasting me. You want to taste it, don’t you, hon? I’ve not been on the hormones for some time now,” she added, “so I’m producing less and less. Now that Amy knows it is more about giving each other that very special woman pleasure, we don’t really need the by-product. But there is some for you, my wonderful new naughty friend, if you want.”

Anita was unbuttoning her blouse as she spoke, pulling it open, and deftly lifted her bra up and over her heavy, ready to be suckled tits. I nodded numbly, and scooted down onto the couch, on my back, thinking this must look just what Amy looked like to us only a week earlier. Anita leaned forward enough to dangle her large, well-used dark nipple above my face, and my tongue snaked out, tentatively, washing over the tip. She shivered, hissed, and lowered it more as I did it again, circling this time, intending to tease a little, but wanting her to know that my actions were not just for me to sample her, but for her to feel all I could give her as well.

“Please, Leslie… yes… go ahead,” she hesitated, then continued as I circled her slick wet nipple, thick as my little finger, again. “Just feel it first if you want, like that, lover. It feels so good for you to do it like that.”  Her hand wandered to my top and slid underneath, finding my front hook and releasing it, then cupping my warm flesh as I teased her.

“But not too long,” she urged with a giggle. “I’m very ready, Leslie.”

With the need apparent in her soft voice, I opened my lips and took her nipple into my mouth, pulling it lightly, then further in, until the whole tip of her hanging tit was in my warm mouth. I suckled, and I heard her sharp intake of breath. I suckled again, and soon was rewarded with the taste of Anita’s sweet milk. It came as a bit of a surprise to me how just the act of doing it would be like a lightning bolt from my mouth, through her caressing fingertips to my belly, to my pussy. It seemed as though I could virtually feel a surge of wetness start down my inner channel, warming me there like the slow warmth of a small light bulb turning on inside.

“Let’s do this right, dear girl,” Anita cooed, and I released her enough for her to shed her blouse and bra, and wiggle her skirt up to her waist. I stripped my pullover top, letting my bra cups fall to the side, and wiggled my bottom until my skirt was bunched up as well. My head rested on her warm bare thigh, and I felt her fingers reach again to caress my tits when I licked and tickled and again captured her firm thick nipple.

“You’ll have to work at it a little, Leslie, to get very much now, but don’t worry… I’ll love every little nibble.”

The taste was amazingly wonderful to me… I guess it came from being a woman who always did savor the scents and tastes of intimacy, and the thought of how I had taught that attitude to Juli had led her to try it without hesitation. Before long Anita urged me further over, to her other nipple, and there I could feel her arm beneath my head, her hand firmly between her legs, fingers moving in a steady circular rhythm, and I slid my own hand under my thin nylon panties, matching her growing heat. The wet flow there greeted my fingers and immediately soothed the way for them to slide inside, curling, finding the sensitive spots, and then back out, isolating themselves on the tip of my love bud, back and forth, around it in circles, and then back and forth.

It seemed like long minutes went by, with only little animal sounds of encouragement coming from both of us. I mimicked the motion of my fingers on my clit with my tongue on Anita’s nipples, and she returned the favor with her saliva-coated fingers on my firmly raised and ready nipples… my mouth and her fingers moved in circles, suckles, flicks, circles, tugs, and scissors, growing more and more urgent until I felt her thighs quiver and her stomach clench with the inner spasms of her orgasm.

“Ohhhh god girl, harder… just a little… godddddddddddd.” Her voice was ragged, needy, her hips rolled, and her body shivered. Then she slumped, and I hurried my own touches until I felt the same beautiful explosion inside myself, hips bucking against my fingers, head pressed firmly against my full-bosomed lover.

We stayed motionless as our bodies came down, and long deep breaths escaped our lungs.

“Good?” she asked needlessly.

“Better than good,” I replied needlessly… it was all so clear to both of us. I twisted myself around to lie more flat on my back again, looking up into her eyes for confirmation. They glistened, and her face flushed with both the afterglow of our climax, and with a sparkle of something else…

“Look,” she said, nodding towards the sliding glass doors. “I think we have company.”

And there we were, me on my back, topless, with my hand under my panties, Anita with her bare breasts exposed to the world, her legs spread wide with her hand cupping her equally wet vulva. Peering in through the glass were two delightfully grinning faces.

Who knows how long Juli and Amy had been watching, but they stood whispering and giggling, an arm wrapped around each other’s bare waists, their tee shirts off, firm young girl tits rubbing back and forth against the glass.

“I guess it has been more of a playtime than we might have intended for them, hmmm?”

Or was it?

Continue on to Chapter 6

By Sunnybunny

The road wound in and around the dunes, little more than a black ribbon threading through white wrapping, utterly devoid of organic life, just miles and miles of rock and sand and sediment. In the distance a range of mountains danced in the lines of heat rising from the pavement.

The wind had transformed her thick head of long, dark hair into streamers, billowing out the back of the convertible. She depressed the accelerator, revving the engine and climbing the needle back into the upper seventies. The car lurched forward, bellowing out through the exhaust and racing through the sand canyons that flanked her on either side. The noise echoed endlessly all around but nothing stirred. There was nothing TO stir for miles still. In the barren wastes of the Nevada desert, it was easy to imagine she was the last woman on earth, totally free with nothing between herself and eternity but a stretch of highway.

She saw a battered road sign up ahead, spiked into the side of the road and long abandoned. It was eaten through with rusty holes but the intent was clear. There were no words left but this sign spoke in an international tongue. Two golden arches and a distance counter detailing how far away you were from the only fast food chain for days. After a few days’ drive and sleeping in the back, even the greasy concoctions that only barely passed as food in her book sounded pretty choice.

“A pit stop it is, then!” she thought out loud.

She lowered the visor at her brow and scrutinized the wrist watch wound over the mirror, calculating she would be there before the afternoon was gone. With any luck, she’d be able to find a good motel with basic Wi-Fi access but she would settle for a clean bed. She loved her Mustang, with its worn canvas drop top and seat belts that barely worked, but the bench seats were a pain to sleep across. That is, ‘sleep’ in its loosest sense. Mostly she just tossed and turned beneath her leather bomber, trying to get comfortable enough to snatch a few minutes before the sun rose and it became unbearably hot.

She flipped her shades down over her eyes. The occasional tree came next, little more than twigs at first and clusters of cacti before swelling to bolder and more prominent breeds.

The town itself was small but larger than she would have guessed. It seemed to spring up out of the sand as if dug out of the earth, making her think of King Solomon’s mines but she couldn’t say why.

She paused at a traffic light (the only one in town as it would turn out) and idled for a beat to take in her surroundings. Most of the buildings had long been shuttered and were little more than brick husks. The glass in most was smashed out, no doubt from bored kids with too much time and too many rocks to throw. The elements had done the rest, weathering the signs and advertising away until blank white triangles remained suspended along their sides and store fronts. What remained was a quiet diner tucked into a corner with a handful of late model cars parked out front. A gas station was across the street from that, shutters wide open with an old sedan cranked up high, all four wheels missing. There was nobody in sight.

More distressing, there was no sign of those telltale golden arches anywhere around. Not even a sign to point her in the right direction. She drummed her fingers over the wheel, weighing her directional options. It wasn’t like she was pressed for time. There were no other cars on the road and besides that, the traffic light wasn’t working. The diner seemed like the most immediate place to gather information and sate the gnawing hunger but through the haze she spied something that changed her mind mid-turn. She cut the wheel harder, staying on the road and nosing past the diner and crept up toward the large, grey MOTEL sign leaning precariously over the street. On a windier day, it might have been lost in the haze of sand.

She yanked the emergency brake up and climbed out, blinking in the sunlight, surprised to find the heat nowhere near as oppressive as she anticipated. It was still hot but not unbearably so. The double doors of the motel hung open, stopped by a couple of heavy chairs with a healthy pile of desert sand out like a doormat.

She stepped over it and into the gloom of the reception area, following the static-laced tune of some golden oldies to the front desk. a heavy-set man with thinning hair leaned back in a rocking chair, feet up on the counter and crossed at the ankle. They were hairy and bare, sun-tanned as the rest of him. He glanced up just then, meeting her gaze and it was hard to say whose expression bore more bewilderment. A heartbeat passed then another before either reacted.

He sat up so suddenly, as if the chair had suddenly goaded him with a Taser, that the back of the chair banged against the wall with a crash. She couldn’t help but jump in surprise. “Hi-hi!” he bellowed, too loudly. “Welcome! Please, come in!” he gestured with his hand as though he was offering a seat, but there was nowhere to be seated.

“Did you need a room?” He asked before shaking his head. She spied grey wisps trailing through his dark mat of hair and she upgraded his age calculations to the upper fifties. “Of course, you do! Why else would you come knocking!” He paused again, screwing his face up in afterthought. “’Less you need directions…? Do you need directions or a room? We get both in here but…not too often.” He blushed sheepishly, realizing he was talking too much but unable to help himself. She doubted he got many visitors one way or the other.

She smiled automatically, slipping right into her flirtatious role as if it were a favorite t-shirt. “It’s okay, really. I need a room, yea, for a couple of days maybe. Is that alright?”

He was nodding his head before her question was even asked. “Course it is! We got plenty of rooms with all the ane….enema…enamines!” He paused again, unsure of the word before clarifying, “We got your basic satellite TV, hot n cold running water, internet access.”

She waited a beat for him to continue before she realized that those were about it and more than she should have expected from the place. “That sounds great, thank you so much Mister….?”

“Walter,” he bowed. “Walter Gates.” He set his things down onto the desk (a dog-eared crossword dated sometime during the Reagan administration and pencil) and came around to shake her hand. “Can I get you to just sign in here?” He fished out a worn, laminated guest book and flipped open to the first page…the only page in the book. Inside were a handful of dates and signatures, the most recent being six or seven months back. “The rates are listed here,” he pointed out helpfully to the opposite page taped to the inside of the book. “Is it…just you?” He sounded hopeful.

“Just me,” she clarified with a nod, scribbling a few zigzagging designs that would pass for a signature. He spun the book around to study it, looking hesitant. “And you are…?”

“Freemantle,” she replied coolly. “Heather Freemantle.” Not her real name but it would do for now.

He fished a pair of keys from the wall and handed them over. They were worn, marked with a heavy brass ring bearing the numbers 01. “Need help with your bags?”

Something must have shown on her face because Walter faltered, offered a bemused smile. “I really don’t mind.”

Heather shook her head, offering a fresh smile that flashed her dazzling white teeth. “Thanks but I travel light, I can manage. You can help me one way though…”

She let the question hang in the air, baiting him to ask. “Anything!”

“Just where the heck AM I?”

He roared with laughter, slapping his beefy, spotted hand down onto the counter top. “Girlie, drove all this way, into the middle of nowhere and…” he waved the thought off. “Shouldn’t be surprised. Nobody comes here on purpose anymore. But this town here is Oasis. Oasis, Nevada. Allow me to be the first to say welcome! We don’t have much here, the world largely ignores us but we have hospitality. We have hospitality in spades!”

“I sure hope so…” She was referring more to the outside being oblivious to their existence rather than the latter but no need to tell HIM that…

“Just down the road there is the diner if you wanna bite to eat.” Just the diner, she thought. No name, just like the motel because it didn’t need one. “There is a filling station just down yonder ‘s well. General store down the way a-piece. Don’t reckon you’ll get lost here. You gotta try pretty hard to get lost here.” He roared with another fit of laughter.

“I plan to get very lost here,” she chuckled and left him, twirling the key around her index finger.

Outside the air felt a touch cooler, as if she had been inside for hours rather than minutes. She shrugged out of her jacket and slung it over one shoulder, winding her way back through the barren parking lot toward her convertible. the sun was beginning to nestle down amongst the water-color mountains for the evening and would be winking out in a while longer. Probably by the time she polished off her dinner it would be full dark and she could mosey back to her room in the cover of night without risking another encounter with Walter. The last thing she wanted was him to nose around her room while she was away, so instead of taking her bags inside right away, she left them latched inside her trunk, safe and sound. She doubted his intent would be malicious or perverse, but simple curiosity could make her stay here a whole lot more bothersome.

She was partway back to her car before Heather noticed she wasn’t alone. She had been so distracted ruminating on her situation that it took her aback to see someone, ANYone about. Already she was finding that it was easy to forget there were perhaps other people living here besides Walter in the eerie silence of Oasis.

The girl was pedaling her bicycle lazily around her car in a wide circle, standing on the pedals as she went, eyes fixated on the cherry-red body of the Mustang in a mix of admiration and curiosity. Her hair was shoulder length, the same color as the sand dunes piling haphazardly in the lot, lifting gently in the light breeze. She wore a checkered sundress that looked a half-size too large for her skinny frame, clinging to her body and shoulders. The hem was too short too, hitting her at mid-thigh rather than the more conservative knee-length the dress might have reached when it was new. Now it was just as worn and frayed as the town itself.

Heather watched her turn those circles around her car like a predatory shark with one hand shading her eyes for another moment before she called out. “If you’re thinking about rooting around in the seats for loose change, spare yourself the trouble. There isn’t any.”

The brakes on the bike wheezed, throttling to a stop so suddenly she nearly pitched over the handlebars. Her hair wiped around to face Heather, her hair tussling around her reddening cheeks. “I wasn’t gonna steal nothin’!” she cried. “I just like the car is all!”

“Uh huh…” Heather let the patronizing words of disbelief hang in the air between them. She folded her arms across her belly, smirking across the tarmac at the girl. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

The girl stepped off her bike in an almost defiant gesture, standing beside it with hands locked across the handlebars and bare feet planted. Her nose was wrinkled up in a hard frown that Heather couldn’t help but smile at. True, the little urchin was likely out to rob her, if she hadn’t already but she was sure making a fun show of playing the outraged victim at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“It’s true, look!” She plucked at her dress, tenting it out with her fingertips. “I don’t have no pockets anyhow! Where would I put it if I stole something?”

Heather shrugged noncommittally, strolling a few paces closer, wondering if the girl would back away. When she didn’t, Heather gave her a few brownie points. She was either brave or stupid and the woman couldn’t help but try and find out.

“You could have stuffed it down the front, into the band of your underwear maybe or just ridden off carrying it, one-handed.”

She came into the shadow of the road sign, at least shielded from the dazzling afternoon sun and got her first good look at the child. Her skin was bronzed the same dark shade as Walters, no doubt a mark of living in Oasis all their lives rather than being any relation, that would no doubt be shared by the entire small population. A dust of freckles played across her small, slightly upturned nose, above a full pair of bright red lips. For such a young thing, she was strikingly beautiful. Yes, that was the word that came to mind when looking at her. Not cute or lovely but beautiful, the kind of face that should be selling cereal or drinks to kids in television commercials, not ripping off peoples’ loose change.

“What’s…your name?” Heather asked, flustered by the girl and not quite understanding why. Her voice came out in a dry rush of air.

The girl seemed to be studying her in the same intense manner but her expression had softened somewhat. “Angie. Angie Lawrence. My daddy runs the service station up the road, there.” She pointed vaguely over her shoulder, eyes never leaving Heather’s. She spoke very matter-of-factly, not showing the slightest reservation at all about speaking with a total stranger. It occurred to Heather suddenly that the girl had likely never even MET an outsider before, likely knew everyone in town from the day she was born.

“What about you? You got a name?”

Heather faltered, frantically searching her mind for the name she had used at the motel. “Heather,” she replied perhaps too quickly. She had very nearly revealed her real name. “My name is Heather Freemantle.”

The girl squinted up at her suspiciously. “You don’t sound too sure,” she replied warily.

“You calling me a liar?” Heather arched a daring eyebrow.

Angie shrugged her thin shoulders, clearly not believing Heather but decided not to press the matter. At last she looked away, trailing her gaze casually back up the road toward the diner. “What’re you doin’ here Heather Freemantle?”

“It’s a free country, isn’t it?” Heather asked but didn’t like how harshly it came out and decided to try again. “I’m just passing through, might be around for a bit.”

Angie didn’t seem to notice, didn’t even seem to be paying attention. Heather appraised the girl anew, pegging her age somewhere in the preteen range by the way the dress hung about her. Her hips and bust were yet to fill out, the dress looking more like a circus tent around her body than any clothing. When she turned back around to face Heather, she noticed the neck line plunging dangerously low to show off a flat swatch of bare chest, barely covering the tops of the child’s nipples. The sight made Heather’s breath hitch.

If Angie noticed, she did not give any indication. She screwed her face up again at Angie, fixing her in a fresh gaze that was older than her years. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around, Heather Freemantle.” She climbed back about, swinging a slender leg over the seat, the color of polished bronze, and began to pedal away. She paused half way down the road and turned, craning her long, swan-like neck around to call back to Heather. In the stillness, she didn’t have to shout to be heard. “Maybe I thought about takin’ some.” It took Heather a moment to figure out the girl was talking about the car, loose change. “But I couldn’t. I ain’t no thief and it’s a really pretty car. I’m sorry for even thinkin’ about it.” She was speaking in the same matter of fact tone of a much older girl.

It took guts to admit that, Heather reasoned and couldn’t help but be a little taken with her right then and there. Plus, her accent was the cutest thing she had ever heard. “What would you have done with it, had you found any cash?”

Angie gave the question a quiet mulling over, casting her gaze to her foot, perched up on one of the pedals. “I would buy an ice cream at the shop,” she confessed at last.

Heather had no idea what she had expected as an answer but ice cream hadn’t been it. It doubled her over in a fit of laughter until she was wiping tears away from her eyes. “You got priorities, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Angie retorted without any of the anger befitting a child of her age after being referred to as ‘kid’. “I’m almost eleven years old!”

“How about I treat you to that ice cream?” Heather asked before she could talk herself out of it.

“You mean it?” Angie asked, a look of surprise breaking the carefully constructed mask of an older child she worked so hard to maintain.

Heather raised a hand as if in surrender, tracing an X over her chest. “Cross my heart.”

For the first time, Angie seemed to show a bit of hesitation, gazing up and down the empty road around them, as if she were searching for something or, more likely, if anyone was watching them. “What about my bike?”

“We’ll toss it in back or leave it parked here. Won’t be gone long, right?”

“I guess not,” she reasoned aloud, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than Heather. “It’s just right up the road there.”

Heather fished the set of car keys free from the back pocket of her jeans. “Climb on board, Kid. I think we’ve both earned ourselves a little treat.”

Continue on to Chapter 2