THE WARNING © November 21, 2004 MY SECRET OBSESSION

THIS IS AN ADULT STORY WITH ADULT THEMES DEPICTING LESBIAN SEXUAL ACTS. IF IT IS NOT LEGAL FOR YOU TO READ STORIES OF THIS NATURE, OR IF IT OFFENDS YOU- LEAVE NOW.

My life had become busy and hectic. A lifestyle that I do not relish. I require solitude, and I don't do pressure.

As my mind raced down my mental checklist of all of the details I needed to address, I added an item. "Buy day planner." I was stressing. Somehow, I had gotten involved with scheduling my girlfriend's tour schedule, even though she had a perfectly good manager who was quite capable of handling things. But, I had personal contacts at the clubs in Houston. I was an assistant club manager, and a talent booking agent, myself. So, I was nice, and offered to help. Today, I noted, I had to deal with ASCAP. Phone. Phone. Phone. Fax. Signatures. Fax. Signatures. Fax. Signatures. Fax. Phone. Phone. Phone. I HATED having to do shit like that. It would take HOURS. The necessary red tape.

It was rather a stupid thing for me to do. Not just because I was busy enough without getting involved with Bette's tour, but because Bette was not supposed to be involved with me AT ALL. Bette's father, a politician in Missouri, had discovered that his daughter was having a lesbian relationship, and vehemently disapproved.

Bette's father decided that his career could not stand such a thing. So, he promptly got Bette a gig with a house band in a club that an associate of his owned. It was too good an offer to pass up. Bette took the deal, and left Houston, and me, to pursue her career as a singer in St. Louis, under the watchful eye of her father's associates.

We were young and in love. The tragedy and the drama only fueled the fire.

Bette and I had just gotten back from a trip to Cozumel, Mexico. We spent 4 days and 3 nights making love in paradise. Her father had only inspired us to go to greater lengths. We had vowed to sneak away, often.

High on the top of an ancient Mayan temple, frozen with fear, and laughing uncontrollably at our ridiculous predicament, Bette and I decided that the thing to do, would be to plan a tour for Bette's band. That way, Bette could promote herself, her band, and her club, and we could have tons of opportunities to sneak around! It was a damned clever idea. It was always a good to have some fresh talent in the house every once in a while in the club business. Her home club would benefit from her absence. We reasoned and rationalized until it was all perfect. And, really, they had been threatening to go on tour for a while, anyway.

As for our predicament, Bette, and I had taken a tour of the Mayan ruins in Tulum, Mexico on a day trip, while we were in Cozumel. And we had gotten ourselves into a jam. As we explored the wonder of the ruins, we decided that it would be a great idea to climb the temple. To experience the structure and become one with it. To let it offer us up to the skies and the GODS.

We climbed and climbed until we reached the top. The treads and risers were unusually small, I thought. Short.

When we got to the top, the view was incredible. My heart soared as the energy of the ages and the spirits that be, mingled with the willing, believing, receptive living. The view of the ancient structures of a long gone ancient civilization, surrounded by white stone and sand, and waving palm trees against a clear blue sky, above the aqua sea, was breathtaking.

And, it was all so wonderful, until it was time to climb down.

Let me tell you, girl- that mother fucker was STEEP. And those itty-bitty treads and risers that constructed the stairs on that temple were obviously intended for little tiny Mayan feet, not for size 7 1/2 huarachis. I wondered how the male tourists fared with this situation. The tread was so short, that it did not give the heel enough room to clear the previous step, which forced anyone with over a size 6 foot to literally walk on tiptoes.

Bette suddenly FREAKED out. It was as if she feared she would NEVER get down alive. She began to cry, and I wasn't sure if she could talk. In attempt to calm her down, I tried to engage her in conversation. I was relieved to find out that she could still make sense, even overwhelmed with fear. So, we talked about everything else, but being stuck on the steep side of a temple. Thus, the conversation about the tour.

We finally decided to look like morons, and sit on the steps, and kind of lower ourselves down on our butts from step to step, until we got to better footing, or our panic went away, or we got a better idea, or SOMETHING. But we HAD to get DOWN. Talking about undignified. I wished I had on jeans, and I imagined Bette did, too. The little khaki camp shorts that we both wore didn't offer much protection. I was certain I would fall if I tried to walk down. I was too hung over to even consider it. We had been drinking a bit of champagne the night before, and my equilibrium was slightly off.

The footing NEVER got better. An hour later we reached the bottom. We got a round of applause from the other tourists. Everyone was very kind.

Bette and I got up, and tried to brush the dust off of our asses (futiley), and took a bow. Everyone laughed good naturedly. Then we waved, and wandered off to find a bathroom, and a cerveza, in that EXACT order.

And that's how the tour decision was made. At present, it was months later, and Bette's tour had begun.

It would go like this: Fly to Chicago, Nashville, and Atlanta. Then, to key west. Rent a tour bus in Key West, then on to Miami, Fort Lauderdale, Daytona Beach, and Tampa. Fly to Mobile, fly to Jackson, get another tour bus in New Orleans for the rest of the tour for multiple night engagements, in Lafayette, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, Dallas, Oklahoma City, and then back home again, the slow way. They would play in Kansas City, (Missouri, of course) and Jefferson before their homecoming. It was an ambitious tour, I thought. But, in the music business you can't make it unless you get out there and stake your claim in your genre. You have to make your name synonymous with the genre. And, when I think of the best southern white girl blueswomen, I think of Bette, as surely as I think of Susan Tedeschi, Lucinda Williams, Marcia Ball and Lou Ann Barton.

I was pretty certain that Bette's father had someone watch Bette at all times. But, I wasn't nearly as concerned as I should have been about it. I was going to join Bette in New Orleans, and ride through her tour with her until she reached San Antonio. Then I would head it back home. I looked forward to ten nights in hotel rooms, and plenty of reveling and mind blowing sex. A couple of those days would be spent here, in Houston.

I was listening to Antone's Women. A collection of Texas female blues artists, some of which I already mentioned. I wanted my apartment to be perfect, so that when Bette and I returned there in three nights, there would be nothing to bother us. I was making sure the bed was made, there was food, wine, candles and the scrabble board was ready. (just kidding about THAT part) I was packing for my trip, and taking care of last minute details. I couldn't WAIT to get to New Orleans! I was going to eat everything in sight!

I was going to eat a soft shell crab po-boy, with it's ugly legs sticking out grotesquely, dripping in tartar sauce. And, I was going to eat a gallon of gumbo. And beignets! I didn't care anything about Bourbon Street. I had been many times, and everyone should go at least once. But it was too much for me. I worked in a bar. I didn't necessarily want to be in one on my day off. I did plan to drive through one of those little daquiri factories. Those were GREAT. And, I wanted to find absinthe. (another good absinthe article) I secretly wanted to meet Anne Rice. I had been to many, many book signings. I wondered if she allowed tours of her home? I doubted it. But, I sure would like to go on a haunted house tour! I could do that while Bette was sleeping. Traveling was very tiring. And, so was sex and partying.

I met Bette in New Orleans as planned. I flew to the airport, and took a cab to the hotel where Bette and I would be staying. I couldn't wait to see her. I arrived at 3:00 P.M. Bette would be performing at 9:00. We could have dinner together before it was time for Bette to get her stage gear on. The hotel was beautiful. The polished brass and wrought iron gleamed against hardwoods. I found the room. Number 371.

I knocked on the door. "Hayay!," Bette's familiar greeting was music to my ears.

Bette met me wrapped in her red satin robe. I loved that robe. She looked so beautiful in it. The room smelled of sandalwood incense. Bette was listening to Bonnie Raitt, "I Ain't Blue". I closed the door behind me. Bette moved into my embrace, kissing me through her big smile.

"I love you"

"I love you, too," I reassured her. We sighed in the comfort of our familiarity.

"My dad fucking SHOWED UP in Chicago. I swear to GOD!" Bette released me, gesticulating her irritation. "He didn't warn me, or ANYTHING. So, don't come to the shows, Blue. I'm sorry, honey. But, we can't take any chances."

I was slightly worried, but, I wasn't too disappointed about not making Bette's performances. It was probably better that way. I was happy to be with her in her hotel room. And, I liked being alone. I always have. So, while Bette was performing for 5 hours, there were plenty of things I could think of to do to enjoy the time. Like see some of the sights that Bette wouldn't care about, and check out the seedy underbelly of the city (my favorite passtime). And, find some Absinthe, which Bette didn't need to KNOW about. And, maybe buy some disguises, so I didn't get iced by Bette's dad, I thought, smirking. I was beginning to think this could be becoming a dangerous situation.

Now Bonnie was singing "Mighty Tight Woman".

We were staying in the French Quarter, at a hotel just one block off of Bourbon Street, on Dauphine Street. Bette put on some clothes, and we decided to go find food. We spotted a little bistro a short walk from the hotel. We spotted a restaurant where we would dine, the next day when we had plenty of time. It was beautiful. We would dine al fresco, and sip wine, and laissez le bon temps roulet. Let the good times roll. For now, the food at the little bistro was delicious, and very reasonable. Suitable, as well, for our casual dress. I was getting my fix of shrimp gumbo. Bette decided it looked good to her, too, and enjoyed a steaming bowl of succulent shrimp, chicken and sausage in a gumbo made from dark, savory roux. It was beyond description.

After a very enjoyable meal, and a couple of beers, it was time for Bette to go back, take a shower, and start putting on her stage persona. It was not just clothes and make up. Bette became someone else. She would go into the shower, warm up her voice, and set her mind and attitude, and emerge from the bathroom, the sexiest, most beautiful sensuous confident creature that ever strutted across the stage with an ElectroVoice in her hand. She even seemed taller when she became the bluesinger. Maybe it was those spike heeled boots with that silver chain around one ankle. Whatever it was, it was something to behold. Her hair was thick and coarse and almost black. It was straight and shiny. Her eyes were large and emerald green. Bette's full lips and big white smile captivated the room.

When I watched her perform, it mesmerized me. On more than one occasion, when watching Bette on stage, it took the wave of a hand across my field of vision to get my attention away from her.

In our room, Bette showered. She warmed her voice up in the warm steam. She sang a Kris Kristofferson tune, "Help Me Make it Through the Night". It was a treat to my ears. She practiced her vibrato, and her highs and lows, voice tricks, and breathing exercises. When she emerged, it was reminiscent of Sigourney Weaver in "Ghost Busters", when she transforms into Zuul. Only, in a better way.

Bette was ready to go by the time her manager called for her to meet the band in the lobby. They would take cabs to the club where they were performing for the next two nights, and then on to Lafayette for two nights. Not big enough for a limo, yet.

It was 8:00. I decided to take a nap. I only woke up slightly, when Bette got in at 2:00 A.M. We were both too tired to do anything but snuggle and snooze. Her hair smelled like smoke.

The rest of the tour went pretty much the same. We enjoyed the local charm of New Orleans, and then Lafayette. And, then, we made a stop in Houston for a couple of nights. Once back at my apartment, Bette and I could really relax, before taking off for Austin. Bette expressed the desire to take a swim, when we got back to my apartments. I lived on a lake. While she went to the clubhouse swimming pool, I checked in with my boss, Ken, who told me to have nice time, and hung up on me. I called my mother, and got no answer. I called her mobile telephone. My father answered from the phone in my mother's long, midnight blue Sedan DeVille.

"Good to hear from you Blue. We need to keep the line free. We're waiting on a business call," dad said. That was pretty much typical. They were up to who knows what. At least we all knew each other was still alive. And, with that, I considered my duties done, and decided to set the stage for seduction. Our nights in the beautiful French Quarter did not include any time for sex, as it turned out. Bette's manager required her presence during the day, and no one in Bette's band knew I was along. We had been very discreet and careful. Bette's band members partied all night and slept all day. Bette had to take better care of herself than that, or she could lose her voice. So, she was left in peace, which made it easier to conceal my presence.

Now, back in Houston we wouldn't have to worry so much. I put a pot of water on to boil. I would make pasta with fresh tomatoes, olive oil and garlic. A little balsamic vinegar, and some shredded parmesan. A salad, and some warm italian bread. It would be nice and light. Then we would have a little wine and get comfortable. I went through my music collection. I found my case marked "S". S for seduction. I know it sounds awfully goofy, but, it was the sexiest collection of music I could imagine. I had compiled it myself. It had Marvin Gaye, Boney James, Barry White, Van Morrison, Simply Red, Percy Sledge, Bryan Adams, Kenny G, and Rod Stewart. I thought it would be perfect for this evening. It was 2 1/2 hours of music.

Bette came back from her swim, as I was straining the pasta. I had already showered, and was looking fresh and clean and made up nicely. I wore gold silk drawstring pajama pants and a silk tank top. My blonde hair was clean, freshly shampooed and dried. It was in a braid, down my back. The scent of patchouli drifted through the air from a candle in my living room. Bette untied her string bikini, and let it fall, in the middle of the kitchen, as I looked on, tossing sauteéd garlic and tomatoes with the pasta. She had my full attention. I put the pasta in the oven to stay warm, the salad in the refrigerator to stay cold, made a mental note that I was happy I hadn't heated the bread yet, grabbed the wine, and hit the power button on the stereo.

Bette was thin as a rail. She had scarcely an ounce of fat on her body. Her breasts were small, and each seemed to be highlighted by white triangles, in contrast to her tan darkened skin where what was unprotected was pigmented golden brown by the sun. Another white triangle highlighted her pubic area. Bette's thick black bush was a black triangle within a white triangle. Her nipples were large and pinkish, on small creamy pears, and pointed outward and upwards, wide apart on her chest. Her ass was round and muscular. Not flat. I watched her walk away to the bathroom. I admired her lean, muscular body. She was thin, but she was not boyish. I was enticed to follow.

Steam created by the scalding hot water that beat down on the floor of the bathtub, filled the bathroom. Bette reached into the shower and adjusted the temperature. She slid back the clear sheet of plastic that was my shower curtain. I watched her as she soaped her body, and washed her hair. She rinsed off, and got out of the shower. She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her, and took me by the hand. She led me to my bedroom.

Bette pulled me towards the bed, and stopped. She unwrapped the towel from around her body, and gave her hair a quick shake with it, before she dropped it. Bette pressed her still damp body against me, her mouth seeking mine. We kissed feverishly, suddenly overtaken by a simultaneous rush of sexual excitement. Her wet skin stuck to the silk of my pajamas. My nipples hardened from the chilling damp fabric against them. I pulled my top off, and untied the drawstring on my pants.

Soon our naked bodies pressed against each other. I felt Bette's nipples brush against my own. I could feel my cunt dampen with excitement. I felt Bette position her pubis against my hip, and press forward with rhythmic undulations. Her fleshy clit, as it became engorged with blood, pushed through Bette's curly black pussy hair, making contact with my upper thigh.

Then we were on the bed. Bette's hands moved across my flesh, stimulating every inch of my skin. I lay on my back on the bed, while Bette lay along beside me, propped up on one elbow, and running her hand up and down my torso.

Bette traced each of my hard nipples with her fingertip. She pinched the little buds, one at a time, before taking them into her warm mouth and sucking, and rolling them playfully with her soft tongue, first one snd, then the other. Bette reached her searching hand down between my legs, to find my hot, wet, pussy. She felt the warm slick cum that seeped out from between my swollen, aroused lips. She dampened her fingers with my wetness, and rubbed my clit. First, lightly.

Passion engulfed me as her fingers moved up and down my hard clitoris. I spread my legs wider, so Bette could part my cunt lips. She parted my labia, and glided her lubricated fingers over the extraordinarily sensitive bud, each stroke exciting me further. Then her fingers found my cunt hole. Suddenly, I ached to feel them inside of me. I grabbed her wrist, and pushed her hand further, forcing her fingers inside of my waiting hungry pussy, filling me, and fucking me. Stroking in as my hips moved and my thighs clasped, forcing Bettes captive fingers deep inside of my cunt.

I released my thighs, allowing Bette's hand free motion.

"I'll never play piano, again," Bette whispered. We both started giggling.

But, not for long. Bette's fingers on my clit did not cease their teasing, gliding, massage. Knowing I wanted to feel her fingers inside of my pussy, Bette began to plunge in, bumping my clit with the heel of her palm each time she slid her fingers into me.

I was about to come. Bette kissed me, and continued her assault on my clit. Then, she lowered her head to my breasts, and without warning, bit my nipple, HARD. Pain and pleasure ripped through me.

AAaagh! I screamed.

That made me come. My pussy clasped down hard on Bette's fingers as my orgasm shook through me. I pumped my hips forward hard, my cunt throbbing with its beating, pulsing, climax. My thigh clasped her hand once again, immobilizing it. Any movement at all, too sensitive to bear.

Bette rolled over, and reached into the drawer of my nightstand. She found my vibrator, which she knew from many past experiences was there. She twisted the base, turning it on. She was hot, and almost there. All she needed was a little bit more..........

Bette angled the vibrator so that it rubbed against her agonizing clit on each stroke in and out of her excited pussy. Soon, her climax waved through her, as she clasped the vibrating cock inside of her, and I held her as she came. We kissed, and rocked together and enjoyed each and every spark of our fire.

We dozed a little. I remembered that the patio door was not locked. I worried that there may be a candle burning. I was afraid I left the oven on, and, I thought I heard something. Bette was asleep. I eased out of bed, very quietly. Bette never noticed, and snored, softly. My little stainless steel .22 magnum derringer style pistol lay on my dresser. I put on my short satin robe, and tied the sash. I picked up the pistol, quietly. In the dim light from my nightlamp, I checked it anyway, even though I knew that it had 3 shots in it's small four shot revolving cylinder.

I eased out into the hallway that went by the bathroom to the living area. I could see....something. A shadow? I was oddly calm. And, it was that calm that let me know without seeing that there was someone in my apartment.

In emergencies, I was blessed with the gift of calmness and resolve. And though I felt my body steel with adrenaline, and my heart beat, it was not beating wildly. My nostrils flared. And my mind was clear and alert. I considered my advantages, and disadvantages. I mentally went over my disadvantages, and tried to change them into advantages. My size and femaleness was the biggie. I would try to appear to be defenseless, and wait for an opportunity to strike. I was very strong, and worked out constantly. I had been in many fights, and worked in the bars for years, having to defend myself against drunks, and occasional robbers. I did not know what to expect. Whether or not this person had a gun. What they were doing there. I hid my gun in the folds of my robe, behind me. I would keep it concealed, until the right time. The element of surprise might be to my advantage. I was not afraid. In fact, I almost looked forward to it.

I closed the bedroom door behind me softly, wanting to protect Bette.

As I rounded the corner to the living room, I caught his profile, right before he noticed me. He had long, stringy hair, I could see by his silhouette in the dark, backlit by the full moon outside the patio doors, which were open. It was a white guy. Blonde hair. I could tell, even in the dark. He had made his way across my living room, and would have in just minutes, entered the bedroom where Bette and I lay together, had I not gotten up to check things. As it was, we were now face to face just a few feet outside the door.

I moved quickly past him, having time to make it into the middle of the living room, before he caught up with me. I had my gun still hidden behind me. We squared off, facing each other. The intruder lunged for me, grabbing my wrist. I pulled back, and he tightened his grasp. Just as quickly as he had grabbed me, I swung my free arm up and around from behind me, and slammed my pistol down as hard as I could, on my assaulter's hand where it held me in it's tight grip. At the same time, I stomped the heel of my foot down hard onto the top of the arch of his left foot. He was wearing soft cowboy boots. He groaned in pain, clasping and rubbing his wrist, while he hopped on one foot.

When he was able to look up, again, I was a safe distance away, and had my gun pointed at his head.

"O.K., dude," I said ,quietly, as I threw on the light switch. "Take all of your clothes off."

The hammer clicked with an unmistakable sound as I pulled it back. I kept the pistol straight out in front of me, pointing right between his eyes. I needed to make sure he was made vulnerable, and this was the safest, quickest way I could think of. His hair was dirty blond and stringy.

"Uh. Do WHAT?" The moron blinked in disbelief.

"I said, TAKE OFF ALL OF YOUR CLOTHES. RIGHT NOW!" I tried to sound serious.

"What? Are you kinky, or something?" The idiot laughed like a redneck cartoon. Uh hull hull hull. That, right there, was enough to make me want to pull the trigger.

"You wish I were kinky, dumb ass. Now, take off your fucking clothes before I show you how serious I really fucking am. Get with it, mother fucker. Unhitch those britches, and pitch them to me, NOW." I was still talking in a loud whisper.

He did as he was told. I caught his pants, as they flew through the air towards me.

"Underwear, too. I mean EVERYTHING, bitch!" I kept my gun trained on his stupid head. He glared at me.

Soon, he was butt assed naked, and I had his clothes in a pile behind me.

"Keep your hands up."

"Look, lady," he started whining. "Could you just let me go?"

"Well, why don't you tell me what you were doing in here, and then, I'll call the police."

"Aw, man." The dumb ass tried to cover himself with his hands. I let him. "Look. If I were you, lady, I'd stop messing with that girl in there." He looked at me with complete honesty. "It's all about her."

And, THAT'S what I had been most dreading. I wanted him to say he was robbing me. Or, he was planning to rape me, or he was about to implant my brain with an RTD, or do an anal probe. But, worse than any of that, was his answer.

"Could you just let me go? I'll just leave. You won't hear from me again. But, if you keep messing with that singer chick, you are going to end up smoke, girl. Her daddy means business. And, he runs with a bad crowd, if you know what I mean."

I considered what he was saying to me. I thought better about calling the police. "I'll tell you what. I'm going to keep your wallet, your shirt, and your shoes. That should keep you pretty manageable. And, you are free to walk out that door. I will be on alert to the possibility of your return. I suggest that you do NOT return. Because, I will shoot you, next time. I have a 12 gauge." I doubted that I worried him, much. But, I meant it with all of my heart.

I took his wallet, his keys, and his knife out of the pockets of his jeans. He had a fit and a spoon wrapped up in a dirty bandana stuck deep down in his front pocket. He was a junkie. I let him keep that part. I pitched him his pants and underwear. In no time flat, he was dressed and out the door. I could still hear him warning me that I needed to stop seeing the girl.

As soon as he was OUT, I bolted the door behind him. I picked up Bette's cell phone from where she had casually left it on the lamp table at the end of my sofa. I didn't want the office to see my phone number on caller ID. I disguised my voice, and lied about my apartment number, but reported to the apartment security gaurd that 'a suspicious person on the grounds had tried to break into my apartment'. I gathered what remained of my assailants belongings, and stuffed them into a plastic bag. I would go through his wallet, and discard the clothing later. I was tired. I was going back to bed. I could hear sirens in the distance, and see flashes of lights, as the security gaurds enthusiastically searched for the reported security threat. They were happy to be in their element.

I laughed a little as I imagined the hired punk boy walking around barefoot, with no shirt on, trying to explain himself.

I snuggled into bed next to Beth, who still slept peacefully. Soon, I drifted off.

You didn't really think I was going to let a little thing like that stop me, now did you?

Blue

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