Marybelle Magnolia Blossom Rousseau was going home.
It hadn't been a decision that she had made lightly as she hadn't been home since she was 17 years old.
Plus --she adored her life in Los Angeles.
She had been a wide-eyed teenager full of youth and promise when she had first stepped off the Greyhound bus in Hollywood for stardom.
She turned her nose contemptuously at the pimps trying to get their new "ho" out of her and made her way to the San Fernando Valley.
Working hard as a waitress and taking acting classes -- she had been discovered.
Now at 25 years old, Belle Rousseau was the hot young thing in Hollywood.
Her pictures were splashed across magazine ads and billboards selling everything from hairspray to lipstick to perfume to couture fashion.
Her movies were popular with people in their 20s and early 30s and Belle was a star.
But she hadn't been home in 8 years and she knew it was time.
She had done her last obligation for her newest movie "Fever" by performing like a circus star from the east coast to the west coast pimping the movie out on all the TV and radio stations.
She needed a little "me" time, she thought.
She settled into her seat in the Greyhound bus for the long ride home. She could have taken her BMW roadster home or even flown first class, but she thought it fitting that she should return home the way she had left.
Besides, she snuggled deep into her new Prada coat, she could always rent a car if she needed one.
Secretly, she dreaded going home. Home was Nowheres-ville USA. It was a tiny backwater town in Louisiana where everyone knew everyone. She was a fourth generation girl and she loathed it.
Everyone knew everyone else's business including when Louanne was out late with Billy -- her father knew about it before she got home.
If Marla was fighting again with her husband Brent --the town knew.
If old Mister Glenn was out at night with the local tramp Sue-ellen -- his wife Mable knew.
It was incestuous.
But it was home.
It was the place where Belle had spent many a night listening to her grandfather talk about World War II.
Where Belle had eaten a thousand stomachs full of fried chicken, collard greens, cornbread and buttermilk.
And though Belle was an L.A. girl now -- she would always been a Southerner at heart.
Back home held her family and her heart. It was in Louisiana that she had first kissed a boy, fell in love, lost her virginity and lost her heart.
The bus bumped into its first of many stops.
She arched and stretched her back and wobbled off the bus. She noticed several men looking at her but she was used to it.
Even if she hadn't been a movie star, Belle was a stunning young woman. She was petite at 5 feet 5 but she was a curvy girl with a plump little booty that made men want to bend her over and luscious breasts that always pressed her t-shirts forward.
Her hair was shoulder length with blonde highlights and her eyes were chocolate brown.
Some critics compared her body to Jessica Simpson and she didn't mind.
Belle dropped her lipstick that she had been reapplying and bent over to pick it up. She heard a quick intake of breath.
Her short skirt had ridden up past her ass cheeks as she had bent over.
She readjusted herself and turned around.
"What are you looking at?" She asked the pimply faced teen and his friend.
"Nothing." He said sullenly.
She got back on the bus but not before she heard them say to one another, "Was that Belle Rousseau?"
"On a Greyhound bus? Yeah right. She has millions. What are you smoking?"
Belle settled into sleep trying hard not to get pissed at the old guy looking at her across the way.
The bus was half full and finally she had had enough.
"Take a picture it will last longer." She told him before she moved away from him.
*******************************
Louisiana was all that she remembered, and her memories were not fond.
"Ugh." She said aloud. "And yuck."
The cool autumn wind swirled around and her nipples were tight and hard underneath the blouse.
She laughed at the thought. In Hollywood, people were paid to keep actresses nipples nice and tight. And these weren't porn actresses either.
Jennifer Lopez had employed just such a person before her controlling new husband forbade it.
She had changed into tight, boot cut jeans with her favorite Jimmy Choo heels and a white angora sweater. She had a yellow scarf tied into her hair and sunglasses. Belle looked every inch the Hollywood star.
She decided to rent a fancy car after all to make the final trek into her hometown.
*****************************
Beau LeClaire watched as she climbed out of the car. She was a small, slender little thing but with curves in all the right places.
He had remembered her as a young girl climbing into the Magnolia trees and swimming in the local pond.
She had worn out a pair of Daisy Duke shorts and a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt one summer and had been nothing to look at.
She had had knobby bony knees, skinny stick arms and had been flat as a board. But damn she had filled out, he thought.
If she could wear the childhood clothes now, her ass cheeks would be peeking out from underneath her shorts, her long legs clearly tanned and toned and her luscious breasts would be stretching and filling out the t-shirt.
Though she was dressed perfectly respectable, her tight jeans and sweater left nothing to the imagination.
"Beau, you there?" She asked loudly.
He rubbed his hands on the cloth and came out. "Yes, Miss Belle. I surely am. What can I here do for you, ma'am," he answered, adopting a servile attitude.
"Beau LeClaire. I've known you all my life. Don't talk to me like I'm some Yankee girl." She said.
"Yes, Belle Blossom. We have known each other our whole lives." He used his nickname for her.
Belle nodded in agreement.
"And I reckon I know you better than any of those fancy Hollywood boys." He took a moment to insolently look her body up and down.
"I guess." She said rolling her eyes.
"You guess? Who was it that climbed between those pretty thighs one hot July night and popped your cherry?"
Belle gasped and a blush spread across her cheeks. "You have gotten mighty crude since last we met." She said startled.
"I've learned some new tricks since then, Belle. Want me to teach you?" He moved closer to her.
"No, I certainly do not. I need you to fix my car. Nothing more."
Beau smirked and threw over his shoulder as he advanced toward her car. "Leave the keys here and I'll drive you home."
She threw the car keys at him which he caught deftly.
He grinned as he saw the small sporty Mercedes Benz. "No wonder its broke, Belle darlin'. You got yourself some fancy foreign car."
"So?"
"You need a homemade American car that's sturdy and won't break down at every turn."
He scooted past her. She had settled herself between the cashier and tires so there was little room. He moved passed her and placed his hands on her hips pressing his cock into her ass.
"And you need a Southern boy to ride at night." He whispered into her ear as he passed her.
