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The Hitchhiker August 23, 1980, some 40 miles north of Corpus Christi Julia woke up to a slightly foggy world. Sections of her brain seemed to be booting up slowly one by one -- she noticed that scratchy sheets covered her bare skin, the air smelled of stale cigarette smoke, dim light was streaming in through the thin fabric of cheap curtains. Her eyes came into focus. She was looking into the sleeping face of a beautiful Chicana -- wavy long hair tussled across a white pillow, smudges of eyeliner under long, black lashes. The stiff white sheet fell just below the woman’s collarbone, not quite low enough to reveal what she knew were heavy breasts with dark nipples and an expanse of coffee-brown skin. The kiss-bruised lips were half-parted in sleep so that Julia caught a glimpse of white teeth. The hitchhiker, she remembered. She’d picked her up at a gas station on Interstate 35. They’d fallen into bed in a deliciously beautiful and terribly irresponsible embrace. Somewhere along the line there had been a walk on the beach and a campfire. Tequila had been involved. Julia swallowed and thought she caught a hint of lime and salt. Her body twitched and she realized -- half-embarrassed, half-delighted -- that she’d woken up from a dream that wasn’t a dream at all. She felt wet and sticky as she stretched and rubbed her thighs together. She crawled out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake the slumbering woman. Julia tip-toed naked into the bathroom and shut the door with a faint click. She lifted the toilet lid and sat down heavily. It hurt when she tried to pee. It stung at first. She liked the sting and allowed a sloppy grin to cross her face. She wiped herself and stood up, flushing the toilet. She felt sore even after a few half-hearted stretches. She liked feeling sore. Julia flexed her butt muscles, clenched her vagina and felt good about the jolt it sent through her body. If she closed her eyes, it felt almost -- almost -- like two fingers were slowly moving in and out. It had been too damned long … She stood in the tiny bathroom for another minute, rolling her shoulders, cracking her knuckles before turning to the sink to wash her hands and face. But there was a moment of hesitation. She lifted her fingers to her nose and inhaled deeply, the scent of musky sex undeniable. That too, made her feel good, and for a second she debated washing the smell away. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and snorted at the disheveled woman with short-cropped auburn hair and pale gray eyes that grinned back at her. Julia scrubbed her hands and splashed water in her face. The cool liquid was invigorating -- made her heart pound a bit harder. She lathered soap onto a washcloth and made sure there were no more sticky patches along the length of her nose, chin, and jaw. When she stood there, done with the task, she wondered what to do next. She thought about taking a shower, but her eyes fell on several tiny hotel shampoo and conditioner bottles that had been lined neatly along the bathtub’s edge but now lay scattered around the drain. She stepped into the tub and picked them up, a fleeting image raising the hair on the back of her neck -- flashes of her forearms pressed against the cool tile while the Chicana’s hand was buried deep inside her, hot water prattling down her back, massaging her shoulders, savage teeth on her neck. Julia closed her eyes, the memory of those fingers burrowing so deeply that it was almost painful forcing her breath out in short gasps. Just the thought of it made her shudder, and she felt the warmth begin to spread anew. Casiana -- such a perfect name. A strong, sharp “C” that slips into a sensuous and slow “ah,” then dips with a soft “s” into a wonderful sigh, followed by a satisfying moan. Caah-see-aah-nah. It was right for her, for Casiana: A melodic sharp beginning and tender end that slides off the tip of the tongue and disappears. She knew that woman would be trouble the second she saw her -- sitting on the sidewalk next to the gas station, a cigarette dangling loosely from her lips, holding a cardboard sign that said, “Corpus Christi.” Julia had stopped to buy a Coke and fill up her car. She’d glanced at the woman, then stopped abruptly and stared. Casiana looked like a woman an artist would pick as a model for a trashy romance novel. Except that she was not wearing skin-tight leather or a flashy red dress. No, Casiana sat there in her ripped up jeans and a faded blue T-shirt that hugged her just right, a much-used hiker’s pack at her side. Casiana had grinned at her and held her sign a little higher. It was one of those moments, Julia could see in hindsight. One of those moments when you know you’re gonna get in trouble and you just don’t care. The thought to walk away and get in her car -- yes, to leave the beautiful woman with her pouty lips and batting long eyelashes to sit and wait for someone else to take her to Corpus Christi -- well, it never even crossed her mind. Julia had simply nodded, grinned back, and unlocked her car with trembling fingers. She was supposed to be at her uncle’s house. She was definitely not supposed to be shacked up in a shabby hotel room along the highway with a stranger she’d spent all night fucking. Julia rubbed her face, trying to wipe away the grin, but it was no use. She realized that this was exactly what she wanted: having a woman’s face buried between her thighs, having a woman’s fingers filling her up, having a woman pinch and bite her nipples while she sat on the sink, or on the dresser, or while she stood half in and half out of the doorway to that trashy hotel room they’d rented with frantic urgency. Julia felt like she’d put her body to good use for the first time in five years. And damned it felt right. The reasons why she’d denied herself these kinds of experiences didn’t even begin to make sense anymore. There’d been a nasty break-up and a falling out with her parents. She’d been too depressed to keep trudging in to her job. One day she’d decided she needed a fresh start, which didn’t involve another woman. She moved to Waco, started her own business (she was a landscape architect), and the years slid away -- one by one -- without pain, or joy, or hurt. And she’d been meaning to keep it that way. But at that moment, standing at the sink, Julia felt like she’d been forced under water and had just freed herself, struggling to the surface with everything she had, finally taking in that first gasping, stinging breath of life-saving air after so many wasted nights. She took a deep breath, held it for four seconds, and released. She slipped out of the bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed, watching Casiana sleep. She didn’t want the woman to wake. She wanted this moment to last just a little longer, wanted to pick up the bed with Casiana in it and hide her away so she could revisit waking up to a beautiful stranger over and over again. The thought that no relationship would come of this neither hurt nor bothered her. Yeah, it would be nice. Julia remembered the fun they’d had for two days before their passion took over -- Casiana convincing her that ditching responsibility was just what she needed to fulfill her life at that moment, resulting in a side trip to Big Bend several hundreds of miles out of the way, where they laid beneath the stars sans sleeping bags and talked for hours. Casiana had a fierce personality -- strong-willed and sharply intelligent -- and would surely make for an interesting mate. But Julia had a feeling that it wasn’t meant to be, and that was just fine. She realized she was staring at the sleeping form, her body beginning to tingle, and she resisted the urge to shake herself, as she’d done so many times -- to physically chide herself for letting her body call the shots. She decided right then and there that she wasn’t going to slip back into the waters quietly for who knows how long before her next resurfacing. She was thirty-two years old, dammit, and didn’t want to waste any more time. Casiana twitched in her sleep and grunted, then rolled over, the sheet slipping gently off her shoulders. She didn’t wake, not quite yet. But it was too much for Julia. She couldn’t continue to just stand there when thoughts of the prior evening kept forcing her eyes to zone in on the beautiful body lying before her. She padded across the room and cautiously slipped between the sheets. She didn’t know what the morning after would be like, but she was hoping it involved more of what she’d already tasted. She remained still for a few heart-pounding moments, trying to calm her breath, her nostrils filled with musk and a touch of jasmine perfume. She eased onto her side, facing Casiana, their lips only inches apart. Tentatively, she reached out a trembling hand and ran it down the length of the Chicana’s bare shoulder and side, dipping suggestively. “Come on,” she couldn’t stop herself from whispering, the words laced with a touch of urgency. “Wake up.” “I was wondering how long you were going to watch me sleep,” came a sleepy response and Julia jumped. The room filled with hoarse laughter, deep and rich and melodic -- like the woman’s name, only more sensual and pregnant with promise. Casiana’s eyes opened, pupils struggling against the light, contracting quickly. A lazy smile crossed her lips and she swallowed. “I need some water,” she said, the smile widening. Julia nodded and hopped out of bed, quickly filling a glass left for that purpose on the bathroom countertop. She handed it over and sat down on the bed, trying not to fidget with her hands. Casiana drained the glass in slow sips, occasionally rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She sat up and set the glass on the nightstand, crawling into Julia’s lap as she did so. Their eyes met and there was no hesitation or pretense there. They both knew what they wanted. And Julia was not surprised to feel the body settle in her lap, to feel legs wrap around her waist and hands bury in her hair, massaging the base of her skull before gripping firmly and pulling until their lips crushed together. She moaned into Casiana’s mouth and her hands found the woman’s strong, smooth back, fingers digging in to pull them closer, then wandering lower, lower, tracing the spine until it disappeared. She strained her arm until she found her wet target and grazed the opening with the tips of her fingers. “Straight to the point,” Casiana murmured, half laughing, and gasped between nips and stronger bites along Julia’s collarbone. She pushed back for a moment, sliding out of Julia’s lap until she lay next to her. Then she dipped her head and sucked in a pink nipple, grazing teeth along its edges. She took Julia’s hand, which had momentarily retreated when she’d moved, and placed it between her legs encouragingly. Julia pressed her hand along the dark, damp curls and slid her fingers between the slick folds, finding the tiny swollen nub and rubbing it slowly while she tried to breathe through the assault on her breasts. Her breath was coming out in gasps and she couldn’t stifle a strangled groan when Casiana bit down just hard enough to send a lightning-hot jolt through her body that hurt like hell and set her body on fire. She struggled for only a second. The nipple was still incredibly tender because of the many other bites it had endured, and she almost thought she couldn’t take it anymore, but pleasure flooded her body only a second after the pain began. She thrust her fingers inside Casiana’s opening, unable to control the pace. She was overcome by the desperate desire to taste the woman in her mouth, to rub the slick sex across her freshly-washed cheeks and chin all over again. She’d always been a passive lover, but there was something about this Chicana woman that obliterated her inhibitions. Julia extracted her fingers, put both hand’s on Casian’s shoulders, and pushed her away with as much strength as she could manage. She caught the frown and confused look in the other woman’s eyes and ignored it as she scrambled to her knees. She spread her lover’s legs and dove in face-first, languidly coating her lips and nose in musky sex before dipping a swirling tongue into the dark hole, tasting her, as she knew, most likely for the last time. And she took her time, resting on her elbows with hands clamped around trembling thighs. She sucked the clit into her mouth and ran her teeth over it, excited still more by the responding rhythmic moans she was eliciting. She alternated running her tongue the length of the folds, running it around the entrance in a circular motion, and shoving it as far inside as it would go. She could hardly get enough air down there, hair tickling her nose, but she was unwilling to break contact with her lips. It wasn’t long before the bucking hips picked up speed until finally, with a desperate, strangled cry, Casiana couldn’t hang on any longer and crashed over the edge, her fingers digging into Julia’s forehead and pulling her hair. Hours later, it would be a knock on the door from housekeeping that would finally disrupt the spell that had pinned them to the bed -- forcing a cry of, “Don’t come in!” from Julia and a “Give us a damned minute!” from Casiana. They missed check-out time by several hours and Julia would find a half-day charge on her next credit card bill. And it wouldn’t make her mad. A tiny grin would cross her face instead. They shared a hamburger on the road and Julia babbled about her family for a little under an hour until she reached her uncle’s house. She’d neglected to ask where Casiana wanted to be dropped off and apologized with a sheepish grin when she stopped her car. There was an awkward silence for several seconds. Julia couldn’t think of what else to say. “It was nice meeting you,” didn’t seem to cut it. “I had a great time,” didn’t either. In the end she said nothing, got out of her car, retrieved Casiana’s pack from the trunk and handed it to her. She was crushed in a lingering hug and coffee-brown fingers trailed her cheek. Julia saw the regretful grin and returned it with one of her own. “Adios, chicita,” Casiana whispered and turned away without another word. She slung her pack over her shoulders and took quick steps down the residential street, turned a corner, and disappeared. Julia sighed and turned toward her uncle’s house, mentally composing an excuse as to why she was so damned late. Feedback? E-mail me at kimberlylafontaine@yahoo.com. |