This series is a companion to my story Truth & Admiration.
My intent is not to offend, but this is a d/s lesbian romance with strong themes of nonconsent and reluctance. If that's not your cup of tea, I understand and hope you will find another story to enjoy.
As always I hope you will enjoy the story, and that if you do you will leave a comment.
XOSNS
*
The Storm
Her mother had called the hotel in El Paso the night before, waking Leethie, who had fallen asleep with the lights on, on top of the bedspread with her pants at her knees. Her mother had been upset. Leethie had apologized and explained she had just fallen asleep, but that she was ok. She had told her about the drive, and looking out blankly at the city lights told her how nice the room was, and how much she liked the view. Leethie had promised she would call as soon as she arrived in Palm Springs.
She woke up early, checking out and making herself a cup of coffee at a loveless buffet before setting out. The trip to Palm Springs took Leethie through Phoenix, then into the desert. The drive was almost four hours longer than the day before, but not as nearly as hard for Leethie. As she got further from home her mind seemed easier; gentler. She spent less time attacking herself and more time enjoying the drive.
When she arrived it was dark and a sleepy-looking "bellboy" in his forties led her through the lobby and then out the back into what she at first thought was a courtyard, but was much larger than she expected. Behind the hotel was a surprisingly dense and lush garden that seemed to go on and on. Palms and other plants formed a dark labyrinthian path that wound deeper and deeper until the bellboy-man turned and there was a modest cottage hidden among the dark palms.
Her mother had been excited to book her the bungalow where Frank Sinatra used to stay. Leethie wasn't sure what she expected but was surprised that it turned out to be so small. It had a queen-sized bed and the furniture was nothing special, neither was the badly dated kitchenette. Her body was still humming from the road as she undressed, and climbed into the shower. She knew she needed to check in with her parents, that they would be worried and that her mother was anxious to hear about the room. Sitting on the end of the bed, she dialed home wrapped in a towel.
She stared at her toes as the phone rang. Her nails were chipping. She wondered if she'd have a chance to get a pedicure before she saw Miranda. She hoped so.
"Hi!...Yeah No, it was fine," she told her mother. "I like driving... No, the room is great... yeah, it was like walking through a jungle... no, it's fun. I like it. I'm fine, just tired I guess... I know, I'm being careful I promise... it's ok, I understand.... yeah, totally. Tell him I said good night."
She had taken a long shower, slowly turning down the cold until the water was as hot as she could stand; letting it beat down on her sore shoulders and neck. Still, they were stiff and her eyes ached. Her right calf had been cramping up for the last 100 miles or so of the drive. She peeled off the towel and lay back spread eagle, stretching and flexing her limbs with all her might.
Turning over she pushed the pillows to the floor, pulling the covers and down off the end of the bed. Crawling on her hands and knees to the middle of the bed she let her arms collapse, her face pressed into the crisp white sheets and her ass in the air, knees spread. She pushed her fingers through her hair, it was thick with damp and resisted her fingers. After a long day of driving with the windows it needed to be washed, but she didn't have the energy to dry it. Still, it felt good. She was thinking of Miranda's fine warm gray hair; imaging holding it tight.
Facedown, "Mother of Pearl" by Roxy Music played in her mind; it had become an earworm, forced on her tired thoughts now like the vibration of the motor and the momentum of the drive - both of which still played on her body as the song played on her mind. She had never liked Roxy Music; had always thought they were too strange. But the truth was she'd never given them much of a chance, dismissing them out of hand as weirdos; their creepy porny cover art. The first time she'd heard Mother of Pearl, Miranda had been playing it. Leethie had walked in during the slow part.
"Who is this?" she'd asked. "It's really good."
Miranda, who had been reading on her bed in their little room in Luca, looked up smiling. "Roxy Music." The two of them had already argued about the band, and Miranda had known how Leethie felt.
"No," Leethie laughed.
"Listen," Miranda had urged. Her legs had been folded and crossed up off the floor. Just a slip of a girl, so happy - almost triumphant - to share the song with Leethie.
And she had; for the first time, Leethie had really listened to Bryan Ferry's tortured enunciations and random trills. It had been in that moment, sitting across from Miranda on her narrow bunk, the two of them smiling at each other, lost in the song together, that she had reassessed her new friend. She had already known Miranda was smart, but for some reason, it was there and then that she realized Miranda was smarter than she was; much smarter.
Leethie mashed her face against the clean hotel linen, luxuriated in the feeling of her stretched spine. She'd grown to love the chaos of the first part of the song, but it was when the tempo dropped and the madness of the first part ended that Leethie still loved it the most.
The moment when Ferry started wearily "Well, I've been up all night," and the chorus chided "again?" but Ferry sings on, uninterrupted, "party-time wasting is too much fun."
It was the first song on the second tape Miranda had made her; the one that had been waiting for her when she and her father had gotten home after graduation. Miranda had written "DEUCE" on it in her curling script. Of all the tapes Miranda had sent it was the one Leethie listened to the most - but only when she was alone. It was the only tape she hadn't listened to on the way from Austin to El Paso; not because she didn't love it, she did. She loved it very much. But she avoided it because it made her uncomfortable. Of all the tapes it was the most personal, the most unabashedly sexual, the most unambiguously a love letter.
Before leaving El Paso she had taken it out of its case and popped it in. All-day she had returned to it, listening to it again and again as she cycled through her collection of mixed tapes. She wished she had it now, that the little bungalow had something she could play it on. In her mind, Ferry promised, "I wouldn't trade you for another girl!"
The hotel's AC cooled her naked skin, wicking away the last moisture from her shower. Despite the shower, her body still hummed from the road. With her eyes closed, she felt as if it were still speeding through the dark at 80mph. She pulled hard at her hair, her mind buzzed, and passages of the song seemed to burst from her skull in fits; power cords and drifts of the piano, blurts of sax.
"Submarine lover in a shrinking world!" Ferry singsonged, the music loud and clear in her mind, as if someone had jacked the volume of a radio, then spun it down again. A full-blown auditory hallucination.
'You need to sleep,' she told herself, knowing she had to wake up early. But as ready as her body was for sleep, after a full day of watching for cops and guarding against bad drivers, her mind was still on full alert.
Leethie stretched her arms out above her, enjoying the feel of her muscles pulling on her stiff joints, and the clean starched linen scraping against her palms. Moving them like wings, she swung her arms in wide arcs on either side of her until they were folded and tucked beneath her. Cupping her breasts she sighed and huffed. The soft flesh felt big in her hands, overflowing her grasp even as she splayed her fingers wide. Firm and smooth. Leethie was proud of her breasts, but she felt a stab of heat only as she pictured them touching Miranda's; the feel of her perfect little scoops; the drag of her rosy nipples.
