The Sidecar Tales 01 - Liz

During that time, I got sexed three or more times a day. In the desert, on sun-warmed rocks. Under little waterfalls in the country, riding two-up (I was the 'pillion'). Inside the inn. In bathrooms of service stations, where we gassed up. When I couldn't get erect, I ate pussy and got sucked on in the middle of nowhere, with an audience of ants, lizards, roadrunners and birds. I licked her breasts and sucked her nipples, until Liz screamed with pleasure (men don't spend anywhere near enough time with women's breasts—not just the nipples, but around, between, across and underneath).

With her willing consent, I sexed her ass, hair, face, back, legs, skin, and hands, as well. She loved it, smoothing the flow of desert-dry air across her slender body until the thick goo dried in the sun and flaked off. She loved it.

A couple of months went by in a blur of sex and semen. Then, one morning, I woke with something of a hangover, except that we hadn't been drinking. On the bureau, there was a letter in a Residence Inn envelope.

She'd gone. Dry-eyed (the tears would come later), I read:

"This is good-bye, my most beloved, straight lover. I gave you a dose of a sleep aid, to make sure that my leaving would be unseen. I've contacted my former lover—the one I didn't say much about—who I left a year ago. She and I want to make a go of it as married life partners."

"I've told her about you, and what you and I did, and why, and a lot of how we did it. I told her of the thrusting and the filling with jism, and the multiple orgasms you wrung out of my oh-so-willing body. That girl is a total lesbian slut. You'd like her, if you met. She, like me, is not a man-hater, it's just that—most of the time—we both strongly prefer women."

"I'm leaving on the motorbike you bought for me, and taking the several thousand dollars you gave to me as a free, no-strings gift. Ditto the credit card, in case I get into bad trouble, and needing big cash. I'll send this back, in pieces, when I get to my lover's home."

"Please don't try to track me down. I know you can, given all the money you said you have, but I ask you, please, let me be. Let me be gone from your life. You'll cry, and so will I. But I have a really good reason to live separate from you, as a family on my own—one that you don't suspect."

"So, my most penetrating and lusty fuck-buddy, I'm pregnant. I'm carrying your child (or children) in my fertile womb."

"I did this very deliberately, deciding, after I left you for the first time, that, on returning, I wanted it to be YOU that knocked me up. That—plus the nasty, kinky, utterly naughty sex that you so pleasured me with—was the reason for my return. I wanted your genes and mine to mix, and I wanted it done the old-fashioned way ... by fucking me senseless, day-in and day-out, until I 'caught.' All four of the over-the-counter pregnancy tests came out positive, yesterday."

"My lover and I will birth the child (she's a certified nurse midwife) and raise him or her (or them, if we have twins). Between the two of us, money won't be a problem. I know your e-mail address, and, every now and then, my partner and I'll send you photos and videos of your kids."

"The videos won't be all about the kid(s), so you can see a couple of girls going at it, too ... very loudly and graphically, I might add."

Your loving lesbian fuck-toy,

Elizabeth Prescott, mother-to-be

The one-and-only Liz the Lez

"PS: the main reason why I don't want you to just appear in my life is that, if you walked in the front door, I swear that, day or night, any season or time of day, no matter who's watching (even including the kid), I'll trip you and then do my best to beat you to the floor. I'll rip your clothes off, and then mine, and then I get you up and force-fuck you until you cum spurting in me. I swear I will."

"PPS: My partner says that, if I do it, she'll suck the cum out of my body, wait until you recover, and then the freaking slut will fuck you in the kitchen until you cum all into her, too. Then, she PROMISED we will trade you back and forth until you crawl back out of the house, years later, an old, used-up man."

"So, maybe its best you not know where we are."

—THE END—