No Vacancy (Lesbian- Encounters)
Information should be free, but servers cost money. Donate to keep Nifty online and ad free! https://donate.nifty.org/
Read my new book, Knot for Everyone! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CL34T4W7/ https://www.draft2digital.com/book/1187539
Patricia yawned and straightened up in the driver's seat, refocusing. She'd been driving through the desert for a few hours now, and the monotonous scenery kept lulling her into a daze.
She'd been using the radio to keep her awake and alert, but she was out of range for all but two stations, now: an AM station with a hellfire preacher, and an FM station that was playing 24 hours of "We are the World" for some damn reason.
She leaned over to rummage in the glove box, emerging with the "Purple Rain" soundtrack. She slotted it into the cassette player and cranked up the volume.
As if summoned by the titular song, fat drops of water hit her windshield, putting little craters in the desert dust that had accumulated. It wasn't long before it was raining in earnest, and Patricia slowed down a little.
The cigarette lighter popped out, and she looked away from the road a moment to touch it to her Virginia Slim. She exhaled a cloud of smoke and fiddled with the window crank, trying for the sweet spot that would let the smoke out, but keep the rain from blowing in.
The storm kept getting worse. Her watch read 4:30, but it was dark as night. She could feel the wind pushing at the car, and the noise of the rain hitting the roof all but drowned out the music.
She was driving along at 15 miles per hour, looking for somewhere to pull over. It was a good thing she was moving slowly, because a set of black and white sawhorses with flashing yellow lights suddenly appeared out of the dense rain. Big signs printed with DANGER! BRIDGE OUT! were affixed to the sawhorses.
Patricia cursed and turned the car around. She'd retraced her route for an hour when she saw a lighted sign ahead. She slowed down further and rubbed the condensation on the windshield for a better view.
BLUE MESA MOTOR COURT AC / COLOR TV / CLEAN ROOMS
She let out a deep breath. Thank god. She wished she'd noticed the place when she'd driven by earlier. It would have saved her a lot of grief. Better late than never, though.
All of the parking spaces were full. There must have been a classic car show going on somewhere nearby, because her '82 Chrysler LeBaron was the newest vehicle there. She parked beside the office and grabbed her purse. She opened the door and made a dash inside the building, and even that short run left her clothes soaked and long brunette hair dripping and bedraggled.
The office was small, containing a short counter with a door behind it, a couple of armchairs with an ashtray stand placed between them, and a percolator on a table. A rack on one wall held glossy brochures for local tourist attractions.
Patricia slapped the "Ring for Service!" bell on the counter, and footsteps approached. The door behind the counter opened, and a young woman emerged. She was short and blonde, wearing a long tie-dyed dress and green John Lennon glasses. She beamed a smile at Patricia.
"Hey there! Welcome to the Blue Mesa. I'm Marigold Montgomery. What can I do for you?"
"Hi, Marigold," Patricia said. "Just a room for the night, please."
The young woman looked sad. "I'm afraid we're all booked up. The storm, you know."
"Can you point me to the nearest place that might have a room?"
"Nowhere nearby, I'm afraid. There's not enough tourist traffic anymore."
Patricia sighed. "Can I at least park here? I guess I can sleep in the car."
The blonde shook her head. "Absolutely not."
Patricia nodded. "Okay. I understand. Thank you." She turned to go.
"Not when I have a perfectly good apartment back here," Marigold said, smiling.
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm not going to turn anyone out on a night like this. Help yourself to some coffee and come on back."
"Will you get in trouble with the manager?" Patricia asked, filling a Styrofoam cup with the rich brew.
"I am the manager," Marigold laughed. "Come on."
It was obvious that the apartment had been one of the motel rooms before being connected to the office. It had a tiny kitchenette, a small table with two chairs, the bathroom, a dresser, and a queen bed. Despite the promise of the sign outside, there was no television, but Marigold had a record player and a box of albums on the dresser.
"We send our laundry out, so I don't have a washer and dryer," she told Patricia. "You can hang your clothes up on the shower rod. There's a robe on the back of the door."
"Thank you," Patricia said. She went to the small bathroom and started undressing. She was just getting the robe on when there was a tremendous crash of thunder and the power went out.
"Oh dear," she heard Marigold say. Patricia came out of the bathroom to see the young woman rummaging in a cabinet by the light of a small flashlight. She came out with a couple of oil lamps, which she lit and set on the dresser.
"I was going to fix something to eat, but that'll have to wait," she said. "I do have wine, though." She grinned and held up a bottle.
"That'll do fine," Patricia said. "I could use a drink or four."
"So where are you headed?" Marigold asked, refilling her glass.
"Back to San Francisco," Patricia said.
"With flowers in your hair?" She laughed. "I love that song. Have you heard it? I just got the record last month."
"Not really my style," Patricia said with a smile. "I'm more into Journey, Madonna, and Boston."
"I don't know them," Marigold said. "But I don't get out much. What's in San Francisco that you're getting back to?"
"My mom and dad. I help take care of them."
"No other family?"
Patricia held up her left hand, where a fading mark on her ring finger could be seen. "He didn't like that I wanted a career instead of kids."
"That's tough."
"Better than being miserable in a role you didn't choose."
"True," Marigold said.
"Do you run this place all by yourself?"
The young woman frowned. "Yeah. My parents didn't approve of my lifestyle--that whole free love scene--so we parted ways. They're total squares."
"That's rough. Where are they?"
"Back at Heaven's Grace."
"That's where you're from?"
Marigold nodded. "Took the first chance to get out of there, and here I am."
"Well I, for one, am extremely grateful that you are," Patricia said.
"Just so you know, I don't snore," Patrica said. The two women were pulling down the bedcovers and rearranging pillows.
Marigold laughed. "Wouldn't bother me, anyway. I sleep like the dead." She stripped off her tie-dyed dress in one fluid movement. She had small breasts with pink nipples, and smooth hips. Her pubic hair was full and bushy, but the light color made it look neater. She had some scars on her right side. "Car accident," she explained when she saw Patricia looking at them.
"Looks like it hurt."
"Only for a little while."
Patricia turned her back and slipped the robe off, quickly getting under the covers.
"Awww, you're shy!" the young woman said. She laughed again. "No hangups, here. Be free." She climbed in on her side of the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard. She took a box off of the bedside table and opened it up. She pulled out a joint and a box of matches. She fired it up and took a deep drag, exhaling a redolent cloud towards the ceiling. She handed the joint over.
"Here. Good stuff. You'll have great dreams."
"Well..." Patricia hesitated. She'd smoked pot in college, of course, but not since then.
"Oh go on," Marigold said. "I won't tell the cops." She chuckled. "Indulge a little."
"Sure, why not," Patricia said. She took the joint and inhaled. It -was- good stuff. She felt looser and more relaxed almost immediately. She handed it back.
"See? Told you."
"You were right. Between the wine and this, I feel like a totally different person."
"That's a good thing, I hope," Marigold said. "No bad trips allowed." She brushed some ash off of her boob.
Patricia was distracted by the slight bounce of the young woman's breast. She wondered what it would feel like in her hand. In her mouth. Something else she hadn't done since college.
"You can if you want to," Marigold said quietly. She rubbed her fingernail across her nipple, making it stiff.
Blame the wine, or the pot, or the so-very frustrating day. Blame asshole ex-husbands, or the pressures of being a caregiver for aging parents, or the fact that she'd never see this girl again. Patricia leaned over and gently sucked that nipple into her mouth, running her tongue around it.
Marigold arched her back and closed her eyes. "Yes. That's so good." She cupped a hand behind Patricia's head, keeping her close. She enjoyed the attention for a few moments, then rolled Patricia onto her back, kissing her with intensity.
Hands were everywhere. Patricia was kneading Marigold's firm ass with one, her supple breast with the other. Marigold had one behind Patricia's neck as her tongue explored her mouth, the other working between her legs. The brunette was already wet, and Marigold slipped two fingers inside her pussy easily.
Patricia gasped at the sensations emanating from her cunt. She couldn't resist the young woman's administrations even if she'd wanted to, and her first orgasm shot through her quickly. She grabbed Marigold's hips, pulling her forward, and the blonde scooted up to grab the headboard and kneel over Patricia's face.
Patricia stretched her neck out and sank her tongue into the wet slit above her. It had been years since she'd had a fresh young pussy in her mouth, and she wondered why she'd ever stopped. No other taste compared. Marigold rocked her hips forward and back, riding Patricia's face, panting.
Patricia grabbed the young woman's ass, squeezing hard in time with her licks. She sucked Marigold's hard clit into her mouth. Marigold braced against the wall and reached back to spread her cheeks, and Patricia took the hint and slipped one long finger inside the blonde's asshole.
Marigold cried out, impaled twice over and enthralled with the feeling. She shuddered as a train of orgasms roiled through her, and she gushed sweet cum into Patricia's mouth. Patricia pulled out to grab onto her ass again so she could thrust her tongue even deeper into Marigold's snatch, and the young woman repaid the favor by reaching back and fingering the brunette to another release.
Marigold flipped Patricia over and had her get on her knees. She spread her cheeks and leaned in to flick her tongue across her pink asshole. This was a brand new sensation for Patricia, and she moaned into the pillow helplessly as she masturbated.
The two women lost track of the number of their orgasms as they ate and fingered each other, finally drifting off to sleep in the small hours, wrapped in each other's arms.
Patricia woke up alone. She figured Marigold was out dealing with guests. She retrieved her now dry clothes and got dressed. Her purse was on the table, and she made sure she had everything and opened the door to the office.
The dirty windows grudgingly let the pale morning light into the room. The wallpaper was torn, with water stains growing from a crack in the ceiling, and the counter was covered in dust. The percolator lay dented on the floor, discolored with rust and old mold. Stuffing and springs poked through holes in the cracked vinyl covering the chairs. The brochure rack hung precariously from one screw, its advertisements sun-faded to illegibility.
Patricia gasped. What the hell? She glanced behind her to see a room stripped of all furniture, with rotting cabinets and graffiti covering the walls.
She made her way outside slowly, lost in a daze. The parking lot was empty, the asphalt buckled and cracked. All of the room doors and windows were covered with plywood, and No Trespassing and Condemned signs were nailed up every few yards.
The landscape was quiet, especially in comparison to the violence of the storm that had passed through the previous night. No traffic, no insect or bird sounds. Patricia looked around, totally lost. Her car was where she'd left it, and she climbed in and started the engine. The radio came on, and "I Would Die 4 U" blared through the speakers until she hit the button to turn it off.
She put the car in gear and approached the highway. Across the street, unnoticed the previous night, was a large iron arch. A short fence ran from either side, enclosing a bare patch of ground planted with untidy rows of crooked headstones. Iron letters at the top of the arch read Heaven's Grace. She could just make out the inscription on the stone closest to the cemetery entrance.
Marigold Montgomery 1940-1967 Beloved Daughter
Patricia turned west.
Happy Halloween!