The Dusty Rose [5458 words] (FF)
Copyright © 2005 by Crystal Barela
“You have a name?”
Dee squinted up at the woman, not able to make out anything but her dark silhouette and the toes of her fire engine red cowboy boots.
“Ya talkin’ to me?” she asked, placing her guitar in the tattered case and closed the lid.
“Yeah, you looking for a gig?”
“Watcha wanna hear?” Dee stood, topping the little lady by a good six inches. “I was done for the day,” she said, taking in the older woman’s eye catching outfit. “But for you I can make an exception.” She tipped her cowboy hat and winked.
“I’m Fran Rose,” the woman said. The sunlight shone in her glossy red lipstick. “I own the bar you see behind me, ‘The Dusty Rose’,” she said, extending her hand.
Dee took Fran’s hand in hers and gave it a soft squeeze and pulled a cigarette from behind her ear. She placed it between her lips and brought her lighter up. She studied Fran and sucked in the welcome burn.
“I want you to play in my bar.”
Never in Dee’s history of busking had someone on the street offered her work. Song requests for a buck aside.
“Seriously?” Dee said and blew out a stream of smoke into the hot desert air.
Bright blue eye shadow caked Fran’s lids and climbed from the black eye liner all the way to her penciled in brows. Fine lines feathered from the corners of her eyes while she squinted up at Dee into the sun.
Dee couldn’t help but stare at Fran’s braless melon sized breasts. She was wearing a tight sequined trimmed red tank top and her tits swayed under the fabric, the shadow of her dark nipples winked when she moved.
The young woman exhaled and smiled at the thought.
The jeans the older woman wore were ass hugging and made for a generation younger than her own. The silver and turquoise belt-buckle drew Dee’s eyes straight to Fran’s crotch.
“Name’s Diane Dukes, but good friends call me Dee.” Dee threw her knapsack over her shoulder then picked up her guitar case. She had made enough money this morning to go check into ‘La Casa Del Sol’ down the road. A week in town during high season, spent singing in The Circle, would keep her fed and under a roof for a good month.
“Whatcha think, Dee?” Fran took hold of Dee’s arm and led her toward the front of the bar.
“Woah, honey.” Dee tossed her butt and adjusted her hat. “You heard me sing?”
“Rico did. That’s enough for me.” Fran pulled Dee through the door.
She stepped into the cool interior of the bar and asked, “Who’s Rico?”
Fran pushed Dee up to the bar. “This is Rico,” she said. Rico nodded and set a tall iced-tea on the counter for his boss.
“What would you like?”
“The same,” Dee answered. She set her hat on the bar and ran a hand through her short blonde hair. The stage was a good size and set up in the corner. Stairs led up the left and right of the triangular wedge. The horseshoe shaped bar was at the center of the restaurant. A dance floor was at the bar’s head, the hardwood worn from years of line dancing and two stepping. Tables and chairs were sandwiched between the booths that hugged the walls.
“We can pack about one hundred and fifty people in here on a good night,” Fran said. Already, the tables were full and the bar was filling fast. “I need you tonight for a two hour set.” Fran sipped her drink and placed a hand on Dee’s knee. Her overly long, manicured nails flashed in the beer lights. “You got enough material?”
“Of course, but…”
“Set’s to start at nine and finish around eleven-thirty, with a twenty minute break. Drinks and food are free.”
An eyeful of cleavage flashed at Dee as Fran leaned forward. This seemed too good to be true.
“How long you in town?”
“Two weeks…”
“Great. How’s two hundred a night sound?”
Dee nearly spat out her drink. For one gig?
“If tonight goes well, I’d like to set you up for the week. That’d be tomorrow night, Sunday and next Thursday.”
That kind of money would keep Dee floating for months.
“Hey, Boss!” A woman with dark skin and braids burst through the swinging wood doors that led to the kitchen.
“This is Maria,” Fran said standing.
“Good news. Randy called back and said he could fill in for Amy tonight.”
“Call him back,” Fran said. She threw her arm around Dee’s shoulders, her perfume climbing along the young woman’s skin. “Dee has got us covered.”
“Oh.” Marie turned on her heel like a little Dutch girl in a coo-coo clock and left through the doors.
“Where you staying?” Fran asked.
“Gonna get a room at the ‘Del Sol’.”
“Maria!” The woman poked her head through the doors. “Call ‘The Palms’ and get a room for Dee for the week.”
“That ain’t necessary, I…” Dee started, feeling like she was stuck in a tornado.
“Not a problem. I know the owners and you can’t beat the location.”
The Dusty Rose was crowded when Dee crossed the street that night, people crowded around the benches set up out front. She walked in, jeans sliding off her slim hips and weaving between tables to the stage. Hat off, Dee ran a hand through her hair and let out a long breath.
“You look great, Dee!” Fran said from behind the young singer. “I love this shirt!” she drawled, running a finger along Dee’s tan skin from collarbone to the deepest part of the vee, leaving a trail of heat.
It was definitely her lucky night.
Dee looked down at the thrift store western shirt she had picked up some years ago. She had ripped off the sleeves the day after she had gotten her tattoo. Thought it looked tough and showed off the flock of birds that flew around her bicep.
The noise from the crowd in the bar was making it difficult to hear. Dee hunched over bringing her face close to her new boss. Fran’s pink tongue made a wet trip around her lips, Dee’s eyes followed in slow motion.
“I said, how’s your room?” The weight of Fran’s breasts were heavy against Dee’s arm.
“Pretty. Too pretty, you didn’t…”
Fran waved her hand dismissively.
“Can I get you something to drink before you start your set.?”
Dee cleared her throat. “Water’d be great.” She couldn’t help but watch Fran go, and she noticed neither could half the people in the bar. For a woman her age, Fran was stacked. Hell, for a woman any age. Fran had changed into a trashy blue sleevless dress that got the “girls” noticed. They bounced with each click of her fuck me heels. Dee’s pussy moistened.
Hello, Mrs. Robinson.
Laughing beneath her breath, she tuned her guitar. Dee leaned in close to the worn wood, listening for the slightest imperfection of pitch. She’d had this baby since she was fourteen. It was like her lover, always at her hip, riding her through the ups and downs. Tonight they were definitely up.
Tall glass of water in her hand, Fran returned and handed the glass to Dee. With a sway of her hips she squeezed past the singer and up the stairs to the stage. Fran’s dimpled thighs and ass waved hello before slipping out of view when she turned to face the audience.
The crowd cheered and men whistled as Fran took her place behind the microphone. “Hello, Borrego!” Fran said, waving her arms, quieting her guests. “Tonight we have a special treat for y’all.” She gestured for Dee to come up on the stage, and Dee took the steps two at a time.
Fran threw her arm around Dee’s shoulders and pulled her flush against her hip. Dee had to bend her knees a bit to make the two of them fit.
“Please put your hands together and give a warm Borrego welcome to Dee Dukes!”
The cheering and clapping lit something inside the young singer. Dee’s pulse raced and she could feel a shot of electricity zip through her body.
“Thanks, Boss.” Dee stepped close to the mike, finding her spot on the stage. She wasn’t nervous. Dee knew she’d been born to sing. She opened her mouth and let the words roll off her tongue.
Fran’s legs went weak.
The kid’s voice was like chocolate. Dark, rich cocoa drizzling across your skin being lapped up by a lover during siesta, chocolate. Languid slow strokes frosting your cake, lighting your candle, granting your secret desires, chocolate.
Just when the crowd was squirming in their seats, crossing their legs for a bit of relief and winking at loved ones thinking of tonight, the sexy tempo changed. Dee burst into color like an ocotillo cactus in the spring. Red and orange notes flashed like wildfire.
Tourists and locals raced to the dance floor, like they did the canyons during flower season. For forty-five minutes Dee kept her audience swaying, sweat building, and hearts thumping.
“Gonna take a break ya’ll, be back soon.”
Fran hopped off her stool and hurried toward the stage. This girl was it. Tomorrow night they would bang down the door to get in here, and Fran hoped tonight she would be banging Dee. This drifter was hotter than summer pavement.
“Amazing, Sugar,” Fran cried, taking hold of Dee’s hand and leading her away from the crowd. She needed a few minutes alone with her new found talent. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a voice like yours.”
They went through the bar and into the quiet kitchen; food service had ended when Dee took the stage.
“Thanks. I’m glad I’m working for you.”
They entered a darkened room. Fran flipped a switch and the desk lamp lit the interior with a soft glow.
The door shut behind them. A fine sheen of sweat covered Dee’s exposed skin. Fran could see a salty bead rolling between the girl’s breasts in the vee of her shirt. Her tongue ached to lick Dee clean.
“You work for me, honey, in more ways than one.” Fran leaned into Dee, pussy meeting pussy. She swiveled her hips against her. “If you catch my meaning.”
Fran looked up at Dee with limpid blue eyes, framed in thick black liner and glittery eye shadow. The heat of the older woman’s hot little body pressed her into the desk.
“Not into girls, Dee?” Fran pouted, her glossy lips begging to be kissed.
In answer, Dee slid her arms around Fran’s waist and settled her hands on her ass, pulling Fran’s hips firmly against her own.
“In more ways than one,” she echoed, brushing her lips against Fran’s. “If you catch my meaning.”
Dee’s fingers took hold of Fran’s skirt hem and inched the fabric up around her waist, her time on stage making her horny and eager to touch pussy.
With a yank of the her shirt tails, Fran popped the snaps on Dee’s shirt open. Dee chuckled and slanted her lips against Fran’s. Their tongues were impatient as pent up desire heated the office.
Hot thighs squeezed Dee’s leg as her hand slipped down to pet pussy.
Fran’s clit was soaked
Dee’s thumb caught the little nubbin as two fingers began a steady rhythm.
There was a knock at the door.
“Don’t stop!” Fran begged, riding Dee’s hand.
“Boss?”
Dee kept her pace.
“Yes, Maria?”
“Crowd’s getting ancy out here.”
Soft pubic hair clung to Dee’s fingers, pleading with her to keep going.
“Be out in a second.” Fran rested her forehead against Dee’s chest. The silky strands teased the singer’s sensitized skin. Dee took Fran’s shoulders between her hands and looked down into her frustrated eyes with a rueful grin. She cupped Fran’s face and tilted her head back.
“I’ll give you a proper encore later tonight.” She kissed Fran’s pout softly and pulled open the office door, buttoning her shirt on the way out.
It was the last song of the night. Couples were plastered together in the sticky heat and Dee’s voice caressed their bodies while they swayed. This is what Dee liked, the happy ending. The cuddle and sway. The last thrum of the guitar hung in the air and was greeted by satisfying applause. New fans crowded around, asking questions. Did she have CDs? Where would she be playing next? But Dee’s eyes were on Fran behind the bar.
The older woman’s dark hair was piled high upon her head, a turquoise comb holding it off her face. As Fran hurried across the bar, the curls that had come free floated around her neck. She pushed her way through Dee’s new admirers and threw her arms around the young singer.
“You rocked!” Fran cheered, giving Dee a perfumed squeeze.
Dee settled Fran under her arm and they took a seat at one of the tables. Dee couldn’t help but smile. She was on stage, people were into her music, and this hot little number wanted to be fucked till Tuesday. It was giving her a real hard-on.
Rico brought over a bottle or wine for Fran and a beer for Dee. They chatted with the locals, Fran’s hand caressing Dee’s leg under the table the only sign of impatience for the bar to close and fucking to commence.
Last call, and then even Rico was gone.
“What you wanna drink?” Fran asked, walking over to the bar. She stood on tiptoe and reached over the bar for a glass, ass front and center.
“You,” Dee said. She grabbed Fran’s hips and pulled her rear into her crotch. Dee ground her hips into the plump roundness, positive she could feel Fran’s heat through their clothes.
“I’ve been on the menu since I saw you on the corner,” Fran purred.
Dee nibbled the back of Fran’s neck and her hands slid around Fran’s waist to the front of her dress.
“You wear this on purpose?” Dee asked, slipping her fingers into the vee of Fran’s thighs.
“What purpose would that be?”
“Getting laid.” Dee lifted the hem of Fran’s dress, knowing she’d find a hot bare pussy. “A woman who wants to get fucked on her bar.”
Fran’s laugh was cut off by a groan as Dee’s fingers dipped into her dripping folds.
“Mmm…that’s a wet cunt.”
Fran couldn’t believe this was happening. This hot young girl wanted to fuck her. Dee’s nimble fingers were playing her pussy, her calloused thumb rubbing her clit in a confident circle that was going to get Fran off before she had time to catch her breath. Fran gripped the worn wood of the bar as Dee’s fingers widened her aching opening. The girl leaned in and licked her clit with wide greedy swipes of her tongue. She slurped the soft flesh in a steady rhythm until Fran’s toes curled in her four inch heels.
Desire burst in front of her eyes, the bottles of booze swimming in and out of focus. A shot of one hundred proof pleasure raced through Fran’s veins.
Jack Daniels, Smirnoff and Crown Royal becoming crystal clear as Fran collapsed on the bar. She reached beneath the bar where the wine was kept, and pulled a bottle from the shelf.
“Your turn,” she said, climbing down from the bar.
With a practiced twist of her wrist, Fran opened the bottle of red, tipped the bottle back, and took a long swig. She handed the bottle to Dee who took a sloppy drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The older woman pulled her through the doors to the kitchen. They kissed their way across the stainless steel interior and up the narrow staircase at the back of the room.
A studio apartment was at the top of the stairs and it was hotter than Hell. The space with small, a mattress and desk were the only furniture.
Dee stripped while Fran turned on the fans.
“I crash here when I’ve had one too many,” Fran said. She turned and shimmied out of her dress. She pulled the comb from her hair and the dark tresses fell around her shoulders. Fran took another swig of wine. “Lie down.”
Dee stretched out on the white sheets, her long body reaching from head to foot of the bed. Her tan skin glowed gold in the soft light of the moon coming from the small window. Young, strong, and free. Fran dropped to her knees on the mattress beside Dee and straddled the girl’s hips, wine bottle in hand. She leaned forward, bringing the bottle with her, pouring the liquid into Dee’s mouth. It dribbled down her chin and neck.
Purposefully, Fran tipped the bottle, letting the cool wetness drip over and around the young woman’s small pert tits. The wine pooled in Dee’s navel and caught in the curly hairs of her bush. Fran set the empty bottle on the floor beside them.
Red liquid caught in the blonde curls at Dee’s nape and Fran drank her salty skin. She nibbled her way to Dee’s collarbone and the crease between her arm and chest. The fine hair of her underarm was wet with wine and moved with each swipe of Fran’s tongue. She bathed her tits with saliva and sucked her nipples deep, causing Dee to moan and lift her hips from the bed, taking Fran with her.
“Don’t you eat?” Fran asked. She ran her tongue over Dee’s ribs, counting each one with a flick of her tongue. Dee pushed Fran’s head away when she reached her belly button, giggles erupting from between her lips.
Relentless, Fran insisted on licking every drop of wine from her navel before turning laughter to moans. She massaged the rough hair on Dee’s mound with her cheeks. The drifter’s musk was deep and earthy, smelling of the road and sleeping outdoors.
Fran let her tongue sneak out for her first taste and the girl trembled beneath her like a string plucked on her guitar. Again she licked and Dee’s body arched in the air, taut as a wire. Fran plucked again and again, Dee’s moans echoing in the room as if they were writing an acoustic dream. Moans and sighs mingled with the sucking sound of Fran’s hand in Dee’s pussy.
Lyrics were pulled from between both sets of lips.
A song, a melody.
Building.
Growing.
A bass added, then the steady beat of the drums.
Dee’s voice carried over the ensemble, demanding. Her pussy lips clashed together like cymbals at the end of a score and Fran cried out in delight as her hands were caught in Dee’s passion. Come bathed her fingers, mingling with the wine, and stilling their movement.
The older woman took a spot next to Dee, resting her head on the young woman’s shoulder.
“You are one hot number,” Dee whispered. She brought her arm around Fran, kissed her on the forehead, and snuggled her closer to her body.
The Circle was the only patch of grass in town and lucky for Dee, the stage for hired talent had been set up near the food vendors down the block. That left this spot at the arts and crafts fair open for her musical talent.
The sun was rising. Artists were setting up their booths, their tables covered with everything from hand-sewn quilts, to spun pottery, to airplanes made of beer cans.
Beneath the shade of a tall palm tree, Dee laid out her guitar and tacked the sign she had scribbled when she had left Fran this morning. “Playing tonight. The Desert Rose. 9:00 p.m.”
“Dee?”
“Tina!”
“Didn’t know you were in town yet,” the blonde said pulling Dee into her sun-drenched arms. Tina was a local artist, a sculptor who used things others threw out in the trash to make beautiful art. She worked with power tools and her toned arms and shoulders had been an inspiration for more than one song. The paint-splattered overalls and tank top did nothing to hide her womanly figure.
“Got in yesterday morning.” Dee took a seat on the grass and pulled Tina down across from her.
“Already playing at the Rose? Thought Amy was performing there.”
Dee laughed. “She’s sick. Won’t be on stage until next Friday. That means I’m gonna be livin’ large the next couple of months. Might make my way to the East Coast.”
“You’ll have met Fran then?”
Dee waggled her eyebrows and Tina punched her in the arm.
“You are such a cat.”
“I’m all about pussy, darlin’.”
As Fran had predicted, the bar was packed. She thanked God Amy wasn’t here to see the turn out. She definitely wouldn’t like it. This was Amy’s stage. Fran was in her glory, pouring drinks, telling tales and showing off her double Ds.
Behind her on the microphone was Dee, who seemed at ease and at home. The crowd was happy.
“This is what you found to replace me?”
Fran snapped from her fantasy of strap-ons after hours at the sound of Amy’s scratchy voice.
“Darlin’, listen to her! She’s rockin’ the house,” Fran said, coming around the bar. She took Amy into her arms. “How’re you feeling?”
Amy looked like shit. She was supposed to get bed rest for the next week and a quick survey confirmed the doctor’s diagnosis. Her normally beautiful red hair hung lank and sweaty against her shoulders; her ivory skin now sagging and gray.
“You’re gonna get everyone else ill wandering about.” Fran pulled Amy toward the corner of the bar and set her on a stool before coming back with a hot mug of tea. Dee had moved onto the next song and it was a slow one. There was a crowd on the dance floor, moving in tight little circles.
“Where’d you find her?” Amy took a sip, glaring over the rim of the mug at the young singer.
“Rico heard her singing on the corner.”
Amy snorted into her tea.
“Listen, sweetheart, it’s only for the week,” Fran said. “After that, you’ll be feeling better and back up on stage.”
“What about in your bed?”
Fran had known Amy as long as she owned the bar. They’d been lovers off and on for nearly ten years, but Amy definitely had a predilection for younger men, not women. When the mood took Amy, and it did about once a month, she knew where to go to get some female lovin’. She had never been turned away.
“Look, Amy,” Fran said meeting her eyes. “When you feel better we’ll talk about this.” She took her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze, then caught Maria’s gaze over Amy’s shoulder. “Maria will drive you home. I don’t think you should be behind the wheel of a car in your condition.”
“I want to know now!” Several customers turned at Amy’s raised voice.
This was definitely not the time to be discussing this.
“Look. I never ask or complain about who you have in your bed, Amy…”
“But…”
“And a woman my age seeing you with all of those young boys could become insecure…”
“But…”
“We’re friends. I respect you and would never do anything to embarrass you.”
“But…”
“Dee and I will stay lovers until either one of us decides differently.”
“You hussy!” Amy hissed.
“Certainly so…”
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to Fran that way,” Dee said, coming up behind Fran and setting her hands on Fran’s shoulders.
They hadn’t heard her finish her set.
“You don’t even know Fran!” Amy rasped, staggering to her feet, drunk on cough syrup and brain addled from illness.
“Maybe not, but I know how to talk to a lady,” Dee said. She stepped a bit closer and used her superior height to intimidate.
“Dee, this is Amy,” Fran said.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed resting?” Dee asked, posture softening.
Fran nodded, coming to stand next to Amy. Maria put her arm around Amy’s waist, holding her up from the other side.
“Sore throat is nothing to mess with when you’re a singer,” Dee said.
Amy glared back.
They steered the redhead out of the crowded bar and left Maria to drive her home.
“Is there a problem?” asked Dee. The warm weight of her hand on the small of Fran’s back sent a chill of pleasure up the older woman’s spine.
“Not specifically,” Fran answered, hurrying behind the bar to help with the crowd. “Amy’s just jealous sometimes, is all.”
“Does she have a reason to be?”
“No.”
Dee nodded, took the glass of water Fran put in front of her and headed back to the stage.
The guitar was lighter than Fran had imagined. She held it close to her naked breasts and strummed softly.
“I wish I were an artist,” Dee said, digging in her jean pockets at the foot of the bed.
“You are darlin’,” Fran said. “Music is…”
“No,” Dee laughed, taking a seat on the mattress next to Fran. “A painter. You look so beautiful holdin’ my baby.”
Fran felt her pussy twitch. “Believe me, sugar. You paint pictures with your words.”
The girl was a genius when it came to spinning poetry, but not at rolling joints. Dee had loaded her paper, but she was spilling grass all over the bed in an attempt to form a joint.
“Give me that,” Fran sighed, setting the guitar in her lap. She took Dee’s stash and with a lick and a roll along the edge of the paper was done.
“Guess it’s been a while since I had the luxury,” Dee said.
“Where’d you find this?” Fran asked.
Dee lit the bud and handed Fran the joint. “Oh, I’ve been coming to Borrego for three years now. I have my sources.”
“Three years?”
“Just never wandered into the ‘Dusty Rose’. I’ve played in the circle,” Dee said, taking a deep drag. “Busking for a week during Desert Days fills my pockets for a month.”
“With your voice you could record. Make an album and…”
Dee laughed, which turned into a cough as she exhaled the sweet smoke.
“It’s true!”
“Even if I could…that’s not the life for me. I love the road, Fran.”
“Isn’t touring the road?”
“Hitching, sleeping under stars, worrying where you sleep, what you’ll eat…that’s the road.”
“And you like that life?”
Dee met Fran’s eyes, handed her the joint, and lifted the guitar from her arms. She cradled the wood warm with Fran against her stomach and sang.
“Sitting by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
Got nothing to eat, but the shoes on my feet,
and the sun in the sky and the wind on my face,
I wouldn’t change a moment that brought me closer to you.”
Fran set the pinner in the plastic cup they were using as an ashtray and rose to her knees. She framed Dee’s hips with her thighs, leaning against the long line of her back.
“Sitting on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
My thumbs sunburned from hitching for rides,
but when I rest my head on my pack at night, the stars are so bright…
I can count them closer to you.”
Fran brought her arms around Dee’s waist and slid one hand up and under the guitar to cup a breast and the other down south to cup her bush. She tweaked Dee’s nipple with her long nails and sank two fingers into the young woman’s pussy, happy to hear the catch in the singer’s voice.
“Sitting on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
Every day somewhere new and a face to…”
Dee’s clit was rock hard and butting against Fran’s palm in excitement.
“…to…” she said again distracted by the roll of Fran’s thumb.
“Sing baby,” Fran whispered, nuzzling her lover’s ear. “It makes me so hot when you sing.”
Dee forced the words out, her voice dropping deeper and deeper as Fran found her rhythm, until her words turned to moans, and her moans to release.
There was a knock at the hotel room door. Dee was in the bathroom having just stepped out of the shower and shouted for Fran to come in.
“You’re early,” Dee called from behind the bathroom door, toweling her hair dry. They were going to drive out to Font’s Point and take in the view of the canyon under the light of the moon and stars.
“You were expecting me?”
The bathroom door swung open and there stood Amy Ashland, still a bit pale, but looking better than she had two days before. Her long hair was a glossy copper, her eyes like sparkling emeralds. She was wearing a thin sundress that could have been lingerie, the fabric was so sheer. Taking a cue from Fran, she was braless.
Dee held the towel against her chest and frowned.
“Oh, don’t cover up on my account,” Amy drawled, leaning against the door jam and deliberately eyeing the young woman from head to toe.
“What are you doin’ here?” Dee asked. She brushed past the other singer who purposefully thrust her hip into her path, but Dee squeezed by, grabbed a pair of jeans from the motel room bed, and hastily stepped into them.
“A little too bony for my liking, but your skin…” Amy’s reached a hand out and Dee backed away.
“What do you want?” Dee pulled her t-shirt over her head.
“Coming to see my competition.”
“Look, Amy,” Dee said grabbing her cigarettes and shaking one into her palm. “I’ll be gone in a couple of days and your relationship with Fran and her bar will return to normal.” She lit her smoke and took a seat on the mattress.
“What if I want you gone now?”
Dee snorted. “Honey, I don’t understand what your issue is. But I live my life just the way I want and right now I want Fran.”
Amy’s eyes flashed and she moved closer, pink blooming in her cheeks. She leaned forward and Dee fell back into the pillows, thinking the woman might hit her. Instead, Amy boxed her in with her arms and brought her lips within an inch of Dee’s own. “You could have me too.”
“You’ve got some balls, Amy,” said Fran from the doorway. “The medication must have cut off the oxygen to your brain.”
Amy straightened and took a step back against the wall and folded her arms across her chest.
Fran rolled her eyes.
“You’ve never taken me to Font’s Point,” Amy whined, tears in her eyes.
“Fuck, Amy,” Fran said. She walked over and put her arm around her friend’s shoulders and steered her to the door. “You’ve taken half the town there and I’ve never said a word.”
“But…”
“No buts. Go home and get better so you’re able to work Friday night.”
“But…”
Fran shut the door in her angry face.
In front of Fran and Dee stretched the endless canyons of Font’s Point. The rocky hills and valleys climbed in every direction like miniature Grand Canyons. The browns and reds of the miles of open earth were bleached by the moonlight, giving the landscape a monochromatic beauty. They sat cliff side, Fran leaning her head back against Dee’s shoulder and sitting between her thighs.
“That was a little harsh,” Dee said hugging Fran close to her.
“What? Amy?”
Dee nodded against the top of her head and Fran had to laugh.
“Amy has a flair for the dramatic,” Fran said. “The desert brings a lot of interesting people to live in her heated embrace. Many of them have something just a touch off. You aren’t the first she’s taken an interest in.”
“An interest?”
“Hmmm…and a dislike.” Fran snuggled closer. It was a bit chilly, not bad really, but when it’s a hundred and ten during the day, eighty feels like a nip in the air. Dee hummed under beneath her breath and Fran could feel the gentle rumble against her back. She was going to miss Dee.
“Where you headed next, Sugar?”
“South,” Dee answered, kissing her way around Fran’s neck.
“Mexico?”
“No, closer,” she said. Dee pulled Fran back onto the blanket and nibbled her way down her belly. She used her teeth to unbutton and unzip her jeans.
“Where’d you learn that?” Fran gasped. Dee breathed against the lace decorating her mound.
“On my travels.” Dee took hold of Fran’s jeans and tugged them down her hips.
“Mmmmm…I love a proper education.”
This is a revision of an earlier story.
