Motel Daze

Copyright 2005

By Sandra Barret
sbarret_fic@yahoo.com

Special thanks to Matthew Hagan, and Jennis for beta reading.

Bette emphasized her frustration by dropping the black, overstuffed luggage as soon as she passed
the threshold into the motel room, and then she kicked it into the open closet on her right for good
measure.

"Are you fine-tuning your petulance or did you forget to take your menopause meds again?" asked
her partner, Clara, who sauntered into the cramped motel room as if it were a luxury suite at the
Hilton instead of a beige box at the E-Z Stay Motel. Clara squeezed past Bette and plopped down on
the queen-sized bed that dominated the room. She bounced up and down on the bed and then
patted the brown and rust bedspread beside her. "The bed's firm enough, come check it out."

Bette held firm to her sour mood and paced the gap between the bed and the other three walls of the
room. She paused before a faded painting of a country cottage smothered in barely discernable wild
flowers. "What's this?" she asked, more to herself than to Clara.

"It's just a painting, Bette."

Bette pulled a pair of gray-rimmed reading glasses out of her shirt pocket and leaned into the
painting. "It's paint-by-number," she announced a moment later.

"No it's not." Clara scooted her plump frame to the top of the bed and fluffed two pillows behind her
back, making herself comfortable. "Come over here and have a nice rest with me. We've been driving
for hours."

"It is paint-by -number. See here," Bette pointed at the thatched roof on the cottage. "They didn't use
enough yellow to cover the number 7 underneath."

"Fine," Clara sighed. "The room is crap on a stick, okay? But the Weston over booked, and we arrived
too late to hold our reservation." She sat up, patting the bed again. "We're stuck here for the night,
hon, so how about we just go to bed?"

Bette folded her reading glasses back into her shirt pocket and walked to the edge of the bed as her
lover unclasped her long gray hair and let it cascaded over the off-white pillow behind her. Bette let
out a long, slow breath and the start of a smile curled the edges of her thin lips. She bent over Clara
and kissed the top of her head. "Okay, Mrs. Happy, let's go to bed." She glanced at the red, glowing
digits of the motel room clock radio. "It's past midnight anyway."

"And you know your grand kids will be here at the crack of dawn," added Clara. Bette's face crinkled
into a full-blown grin at the thought of her two young grandkids. They and their mother were the only
reason she didn't regret her early, failed marriage. Clara scooted to the edge of the bed, and Bette
gave her a hand in getting up.

"How's your back?" Bette asked as she led the way into the white-tiled bathroom.
Clara stooped over their luggage and tugged at it. "Stop that," Bette berated. "You'll hurt your back
again," She pushed her way past Clara. She stooped down to unzip the luggage and pulled out their
individual toiletry bags, a hard, faux-leather case for her and a paisley zip bag. She passed the bag
up to Clara, who was pushing a fist into her own lower back. "So your back is that good, eh?"

Clara grimaced. "Not too bad for seven hours in the car." She stepped into the bathroom, and Bette
squeezed in beside her. They stood side by side over the sink, and Bette studied her partner as they
brushed. The shorter woman showed no signs of pain, but Bette knew better. She'd make sure Clara
took some Aleve before they went to sleep.

Bette raked a free hand through her short, nearly white hair. "It's about time I got this mop cut."

"Leave it be," said Clara, brushing her fingers through Bette's hair. "Just because it's curling over your
ears doesn't mean it's too long already."

"It aggravates me."

"I think it's cute," Clara announced as she ambled back into the main room.

By the time Bette finished in the bathroom, she could hear the quiet snores of her lover in bed. She
changed into her pajamas, the creased pair that she wore only when they traveled. Clara, who slept
in an oversized t-shirt, would laugh at her in the morning, but Bette wouldn't wear her usual boxers to
bed. What if someone came into the room and there she was, in just her boxers? She pulled back
the covers and slipped quietly into the bed, as quiet as the creaking box spring would let her, that is.

Bette woke up in the night to the dark silhouette of her lover, who stood in front of the window's open
drapes. Moonlight filtered in around Clara, casting the room in patterns of gray.
"Can't sleep?" Bette asked.

"It's my back again," said Clara, turning around.

"You didn't take any medication before bed, did you?" Bette accused as she kicked back the covers
and sat up.

Clara just shrugged. "I took some a half hour ago."

"Hmph." Bette padded over to their half-opened luggage and fumbled around until her hand grasped
another zipped bag. She pulled it out and waved it at Clara. "Some of us think ahead," she declared.
"I noticed you'd packed the massage oil," said Clara, laughing.

"Come back to bed, and I'll give your back a massage," said Bette as she unzipped the bag to pull out
the bottle of lavender oil. To her surprise, she pulled out an entirely different bottle that was also in
the small bag. She held it up to her lover with a raised eyebrow.

Clara shrugged her shoulders as she passed by and lay on the bed. "You're not the only one who
can think ahead."

Bette shook her head, leaving the bottle of scented lube on the nightstand and pulled out the
massage oil that she'd been searching for. She straddled her lover's legs and lifted the oversized
t-shirt. Spilling a small amount of oil in her hand, she slowly worked at Clara's lower back muscles.
"Oh, that's good," Clara moaned. "Can you go a little lower?"

Bette gingerly lifted her lover's panties and pulled them low over her hips. Clara squirmed
underneath her. "Am I doing something wrong?" asked Bette, somewhat annoyed.

"Just lift off me a minute will you?"

Bette rolled off of Clara, and her lover moved with a quickness that suggested her back pain had
lessened dramatically. When Bette watched a pair of panties fly across the motel room, she knew
that her lover was no longer in significant pain. With a crooked smile, Bette shifted to lie down next to
Clara. "Not needing a massage anymore?" she asked.

Clara drew slow, languorous circles across Bette's stomach. "I wouldn't say that," she whispered,
her voice deep and husky. Clara's fingers toyed with the top button on Bette's pajamas. "You had to
wear these, eh?" she teased.

"You know I do whenever we travel. What if someone comes knocking at the door?" Bette felt a
welcome heat growing between her thighs as Clara slowly worked each button loose.

"No one's coming tonight," said Clara, pushing Bette's top off her shoulders. Bette pulled it the rest of
the way off, and it joined Clara's discarded panties. Clara's dilated steel-blue eyes stared down at
Bette as she cupped one of Bette's breasts and rolled her thumb over the hardened nipple. Bette
sighed, arching into Clara's hand. Not satisfied with the distance between them, Bette pulled her
lover closer. The weight of the other woman settled on top of her, and Bette moaned aloud. "I love the
feel of your body."

Clara chuckled, "No one would believe a butch like you could be a bottom."

Bette nibbled her lover's earlobe. "Too much talking." She slipped her hand under Clara's t-shirt and
roamed over the soft skin until she found a full, round breast in her hand. She caressed the warm
fleshy underside until she felt Clara's hips pushing hard against her thigh. She dropped her hand
lower, brushing against Clara's mound. "Just a minute," she said, shifting to the side and reaching
for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. She squeezed out a small amount and warmed it with her
thumb and forefinger. The scent of strawberries drifted up to her.

Clara tugged at Bette's pajama bottoms. "Don't you think these should come off?"

"Um, I need a little help with that," said Bette, keeping her moistened fingers in the air while she tried
to pull off her pajama bottoms with one hand. Clara sat up and tugged them off for her. "Thank you
kindly," said Bette as Clara lay next to her again. She leaned into Clara, kissed her chin, then her
cheek, and finally, brushed her lips teasingly across Clara's. Clara pulled her closer and their lips
pressed together. Bette opened to Clara's probing tongue and for a moment, was lost in her lover's
passionate kiss.

Then Bette focused on Clara's needs. She gently rolled her lover to the side and slipped her
moistened finger along Clara's outer folds. Her lover moaned, pushing her hips up to meet her. Bette
traced and teased Clara until she felt her lover's thighs trembling. With years of experience guiding
her, Bette dipped one finger into Clara, feeling the other woman's natural moistness surround her.
Clara held her tight, thrusting against Bette's palm. Working in a faster rhythm, Bette glided in and out
of her lover, brushing her thumb against Clara's clitoris with each plunge. Perspiration damped
Clara's exposed chest, where the t-shirt had ridden up. Bette's fingers moved faster, feeding the
rising passion in her lover, until she felt Clara's body spasm beside her as she climaxed.

Bette slowed down as Clara relaxed in her arms. She pulled her lover close, but didn't withdraw,
enjoying the feel of Clara's muscles tighten and relax in a slow rhythm around her finger. When Clara
recovered, she slowly pulled Bette's hand away, satiated. They lay in each other's arms quietly for a
time, until Bette heard Clara's breathing deepen. She smothered her low chuckle in the pillow, not
wanting to wake her lover again. She carefully rolled Clara to the side; just enough to reach the
discarded bed blanket and cover the two of them. She squinted at the clock. They had three more
hours before her grandchildren would show up. She'd sleep for an hour or so, and then get ready,
she told herself.

#

A knocking sound interrupted Bette's dreams. Someone pushed against her shoulder. She rolled
away, muttering under her breath. The offending hand pushed at her again.
"Come on, get up." Clara's urgent voice broke through Bette's sleepiness. She opened her eyes,
blinking at the extreme brightness of the room. Where were they again?

The incessant tapping sounded again, this time accompanied by a pair of very young voices. "Shit!"
Bette exclaimed, trying to roll and kick off the covers at the same time. All she managed to do was
tangle herself further in the bed linens. Clara stood over her, laughing. "Don't just laugh at me, you
old battleaxe!" Bette growled. "Give me a hand."

Still chuckling, Clara yanked at the bed sheets until they pulled away from Bette's half-naked body.
Bette glared at Clara, who was already dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a white long-sleeve
blouse.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Bette complained as she fumbled around the room, retrieving her
discarded nightclothes.

"Because you looked so peaceful," said Clara, handing her a blue terrycloth robe. Bette wrapped her
bathrobe around herself and tied it securely, while Clara unlocked the motel room door. As soon as
she opened it, two young girls tumbled in, three year old Dani and four and a half year old Brianne.

"Nanna Bette!" screamed Dani. Bette squatted down and braced herself as her three-year-old
granddaughter dove at her. She remained steady until Brianne, who had taken a moment to throw
her arms around Nanna Clara, came running at Bette. She ended up sitting hard on her backside,
with two grandchildren rambling at her about their ride to the motel, they're latest toys, and the
general excitement of childhood life.

Clara just laughed at her, but her daughter, Emily, took pity and scooped up each child. "Nanna Bette
needs to get ready kids. Let's give her a little space to get dressed, okay?"

Two little pouting faces pulled away from Bette and explored the small motel room. Bette pushed
herself up off the floor, taking care that her bathrobe stayed wrapped around her. She slipped into the
bathroom where Clara had left her a clean change of clothes. She was shutting the door, when she
saw little Dani point to a bottle that still sat on the night stand and ask, "What's that?"

Panicking, Bette swung the door open again, but Clara was already there, extricating the bottle of
lube from small hands and sliding it into the night stand drawer. She turned toward Bette, saying,
"That's just a little something that your Nanna Clara likes to travel with, honey."

Clara winked at Bette, who glowered at her from the bathroom doorway. She closed the door again,
but not before catching her daughter trying to cover up her own laughter. "No sense of decency,"
Bette muttered to herself as she pulled on the clothes that Clara had set aside for her. "None at all."

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, Clara had straightened up the motel room and was
regaling the grandchildren with a tale of their drive here that sounded far more exciting than anything
Bette remembered. Feeling presentable and less like a weary traveler, Bette announced she was
ready to go.

As the motel door closed behind them, Clara looped her arm through Bette's, and they followed their
grandchildren outside to greet the day, oblivious to anything and anyone but themselves.