|
Lesbian Movies Trailers - Pics:
CLICK HERE to Watch Cute Lesbian Teens in Action
"Goddammit, Dad! They forgot the fucking gaskets. How am I supposed to put this together without the damn gaskets?"
Shelly is up to her elbows in the newly delivered 'Cuda exhaust. "What the fuck?" The collector gaskets aren't in any of the boxes.
The nice couple, with the SUV and broken fan belt, stares.
"Baby, can I see you in the office?"
"Dad? Now? I've got stuff —"
"Now, baby."
Shelly scowls and tromps to her dad's office. "Dad, I'm not thirteen anymore —"
"That's just about enough of your attitude. Whatever is happening with Brigid, don't bring it here."
"Nothing's —"
"My ass, little girl. Stop playing the poor, suffering, wounded girlfriend. That's sure as hell not how I raised you. You're stronger than this."
Shelly sits with a plop into the vinyl chair by the desk. "Dad, I was ready to be done. Just work and love my cars and be satisfied. I just want to be...home."
"Baby, this is where you grew up. But I think home drives a Hemi."
Shelly raises her eyes to her dad, a slight tremble in her lip. He's not such an old man and not nearly as clueless as she thought.
"What do I do, Daddy?"
"That's not up to me."
**
Shelly dives deeper into the Hemi 'Cuda. Each small part of the engine adds to her heightened sensitivity of its owner. Brigid's hands will caress the steering wheel as the bucket seat cradles her full ass. Her entirety will be fused with the energy of the 'Cuda.
The body comes in cushioned sections from the man up north. Screaming green with perfectly aligned stripes. There isn't room to be sloppy. The body has to be lined up on the frame. The fenders have to be lined up to the body. They have to fit the hood. There's so much that goes under there. The crew lifts the black hood to place the killer engine.
The engine has been tenderly put together on the stand, each part painted the correct Mopar color. The crew attaches the rebuilt trannie and slips the package into place.
Brigid checks on the car after hours. She sets appointments with Shelly's dad and doesn't watch the daily work. For the next two months, Shelly only sees her truck passing on the road. She swears she will not run after this woman.
**
The finished 'Cuda is a ball of energy waiting to take flight. Brigid is leaving her truck with Bob for awhile and taking off in the car.
Shelly's dad convinces his daughter to park her Chevelle by the 'Cuda on the edge of the lake. The photo is a testimony to what they can accomplish.
"Do you want to drive her back?"
Shelly runs her hand over the sharp angles of the car. She has no right and knows it. She races her own muscle back to her cabin and stays away from the garage.
**
Evening comes and the high beams of the truck sweep across Shelly's porch.
She practically tips over her chair getting to the gate.
In the dusky light of the forest, Shelly's hope sinks as she sees her dad and Bob climbing out of the truck. Shelly can't remember ever having tears stream down her face like this.
She kicks a pile of firewood and begins throwing the smaller logs.
"She's gone? "She's fucking gone?"
Her father steps into her line of fire and grabs Shelly by the shoulders. "That's just enough of that! Yes, she's gone. But she'll be back eventually for her truck."
"Eventually? What the hell do I do with eventually?"
Her dad looks to Bob, who says, "I'm not one to wait for life to happen."
"And just exactly what do I do?"
"You drive to Key West. That's where she's going. A perfect 'Cuda can't be that hard to find on those little islands."
The fire that keeps Shelly alive blazes. She pushes her hair out of her red and puffy eyes.
"Which of you will take care of Ursa?"
Shelly doesn't even notice the billboard for the Classy Chassis as she barrels down the interstate towards Florida.
**
"License and registration, please."
Shit.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?"
How stupid do I look? Shelly thinks but says, "I imagine I was going a little fast."
"Ninety-four in a seventy. I'll be right back."
The officer walks back to the flashing Georgia State Police car and settles in to extend Shelly's wait.
She's not surprised to be pulled over. The Chevelle is a cop magnet. She's been lucky that the few other police she's seen have been on the opposite side of the interstate. Usually she's running rabbit for a semi and slows when she sees him pulling back.
But she's only halfway through Georgia and still has a good ten hours before she pulls into Key West. Night is pressing in but Shelly is wound too tight to slow up. She'll get this guy out of her hair and ease past Macon before ramping up again.
"Ma'am, this ticket is for twenty-four over the limit. I know it's a fast car, but let's keep it down."
"Of course," Shelly says but thinks, My narrow ass I will.
**
The notion is that Brigid is heading to the tip of Florida. Shelly can corner her in the end of the long state. All she has to do is keep an eye out for hot-rodders once she gets to the beginning of the islands. If the 'Cuda has been through, they'll be the ones to have seen her.
Shelly tries to look past her headlights into the exits for any sign of the car. She's sure to God she's going to speed past Brigid getting gas And once Brigid's gassed up, she'll decide to head up around the Gulf instead of Key West. She'll go to New Orleans and be another thousand miles away. Shelly is heading the wrong direction, she just knows it. And the one woman that can make life right is probably downing a drink in Pensacola.
"Shut up!" she yells in the dark of the Chevelle. Ah, the joy of an obsessive personality. "She'll be in Key West. She'll be there."
**
The expansive bridges of the Keys look like launching pads to Shelly. If she could just get up enough speed, she could take flight. Ramp over the tiny islands and land squarely on Duval Street.
The confined space of the islands gives Shelly hope that she won't just drive right by Brigid. "What if I'm heading south on this bridge and I see her flying north on the other?" Ouit!
**
"Baby, I got that room at the Pearl you asked for. You'll have to park your car at the airport. You just can't park in Old Town." Shelly's dad is a dream for helping his daughter. How he ever came to understand all this is a mystery to Shelly.
Shelly relaxes in the knowledge that it's hard for cops to hide on the bridges. She passes everything she sees. But she wonders if the pair in the Buick has seen the muscle car that came before her. The family in the Caravan? Someone has seen something. There has to have been a middle-aged man with a hard-on for the fast ride screaming through his memory.
**
Shelly parks the Chevelle at the airport and leaves her with a sound caress. "Baby, I've got to go. I'll be back as soon as I can."
A moped? A scooter for God's sake. Shelly is perched on a red moped, with a knapsack full of random clothes. She hums into town. Thank fucking God these people don't know her. The Pearl gives her a room key and she is instantaneously jealous of the beautiful females playing together in the pool. They love each other and are here together. Damn it.
Shelly's pride won't let her slink through town on the scooter. She laces up her Docs and sets loose.
Shelly walks. Up and down the streets of Key West, surrounded by tropical plants larger than anything she's seen up north in tiny pots. There are porches, barking dogs, and bikes waiting for rides. But no 'Cuda. Without sleep, Shelly meticulously follows each block. The houses are obscured by the foliage and she can barely skim by as she looks for any sign of Brigid.
It's a turn onto Southard Street that tells Shelly she will have to sleep soon. If she sees nothing by the end, she'll hail a cab.
The sea-salt dusted homes and overgrown landscaping fill the street. A little boy yells to his dog, Simba, and Shelly keeps on.
Exhausted, Shelly grabs a cab to the strip. She has to spend some time looking through the crowd.
Maybe she'll see the 'Cuda darting through town. Maybe Brigid has parked at the airport and is walking the streets. Sleep forgotten, Shelly takes off for Mallory Square. Sunset is revered in Key West. She may be in the Square.
Local artists display their work. There are dog tricks and inconsequential vendors. Shelly wanders through the group, hoping to find evidence of Brigid.
The sun sets and the conch shells cry as Shelly makes her way out of the Square and down Duval Street. She looks into the face of everyone she passes, startling some, unnerving most.
She settles in to watch the crowd from a perch on a restaurant balcony. The island homes, a sea of metal roofs, spread out in front of her and their occupants spill into the streets.
Duval Street, in all of its glory, will not show sign of the 'Cuda unless she's cruising. And Shelly is sure, is hoping, that she will not see Brigid doing the Duval Crawl.
As the hot night progresses, fatigue finds Shelly leaning on the rail, feeling for the familiar vibrations of Brigid.
Back at the Pearl, she peals off her sweaty clothes and drops naked on the bed.
Shelly's exhaustion causes her to sleep late and it pisses her off. As she showers, she decides she will, in an effort to save time, ride the scooter through the grid of streets. Pride be damned. This shit's got to be done.
She gets a map from the front desk and hums off in her search. Back and forth on the east-west streets, Shelly cranes her neck to look up the long streets. The overgrown plant-life obscures any straight-shot.
Buzzing along Southard, Shelly nearly flies over the handles as she screeches to a stop in front of a little yellow bungalow. Behind a picket fence gate, sits the Hemi-green 'Cuda.
Shelly freezes. Without faith in the Almighty she thanks something above.
Shelly hops off her pitiful ride, pushes through the gate and heads up the walk. She knocks and looks through the long window in the door. Nothing moves.
"Woman, where in the hell are you?" She contemplates leaving a note, but can't imagine what it would say. Hi. I've stalked you this far. I'll be hiding in the shrubs across the way. Please leave your blinds open.
Shelly spends the day scanning the town. Natives are walking their dogs and she thinks of Ursa. Tourists head out on boats to snorkel or to swim with the dolphins. Fucking tourists. They're as thick as the cats and chickens on this island.
Evening comes and she settles at a table outside Sloppy Joes. It offers a clear view of the dinner crowd and Shelly downs several beers and conch fritters.
Before scooting back by the Southard house, Shelly decides to hit the Square again.
It's early and the crowd is easier to pick through.
Lesbian Movies Trailers - Sample Pics
CLICK HERE to Download Exclusive Lesbian Pics and Videos
"Tell your fortune? The cards reveal all," the modern gypsy calls to Shelly.
"You don't want to read what mine have to say."
A full-hipped Indian woman obscures her client as she paints a henna tattoo on the woman's hand.
A young hippie couple with a Great Dane sells hemp dog collars. Shelly stoops to look at a deep brown collar with tan beads that would look nice on Ursa's brindle neck. But that's not —
"Thank you." The henna customer walks past with sun-burned feet and a low-slung sarong.
Shelly looks up to see Brigid walking towards town.
She stands with the collar in her hand and stares. The energetic brunette doesn't bounce along with the energy Shelly knows she has. One foot in front of the other, she aimlessly looks around.
"Hey, that's twenty— "
Shelley drops two tens and, clutching her collar, follows Brigid.
Brigid walks down Duval, tattooed hands barely swinging. She pauses in front of the Hog's Breath and a good-looking woman motions her to a table. She smiles, waves the invitation off and moves on.
Shelly follows at a safe distance. In the fifteen hundred miles she's driven, she has not thought of what she will say when she finds her. Her plan only got her as far as finding the 'Cuda. At this point, she doesn't care if Brigid wants her there or not, or if she will slap her and tell her to go to Hell. She'll be goddamned if she's leaving this island without her.
Shelly follows her melancholy love to the Bull and Whistle and watches her disappear through the wide doors.
Inside is shaded and dark. Shelly loses her target in the sea of patrons until she sees her climbing the side steps to the second floor.
Shelly considers getting a shot of Jack at the bar, but decides that clear-headed is the best way to go.
Upstairs, Brigid gets a draft and settles on a barstool on the iron balcony.
Through the tall doors, Shelly takes in the skirt draped over the barstool and the long legs resting on the iron rail.
Here we are.
Shelly slips around the pool tables and stands just inside the door leading to the balcony. She can smell the familiar, musky perfume and watches her lover cross and uncross her legs.
"You were wrong."
The brunette lifts her head and straightens her back.
"You said that I let everyone I love drive off."
Brigid slowly comes around on her stool and stares at Shelly.
"I never loved any of them."
Brigid's eyes narrow and she looks at Shelly with doubt.
"I suck. I really do. I'm not good at these things. But I'm here."
"And what in the hell does that mean? You're here? Whoop-de-fucking-do."
"It means that I've driven hundreds of miles with a tiny hope that I would see you again. It means I don't want the one thing I love to drive away. It means I have no fucking clue what to do now."
"Say you're sorry."
"What?"
"Sorry. Say you're sorry. If you mean it."
"I'm so sorry. I—"
"Fine. I have to think about this. I'm here through the weekend. You do what you like. But I'll be back here tomorrow night. After sunset." She slips past Shelly without touching and disappears down the stairs.
**
The next day is torture. Killing time, Shelly rides the scooter out to the airport parking and takes off up Highway 1 in the Chevelle.
With the windows down, the ocean air messes her hair as she screams up the asphalt. She's just blowing the dust off the Chevelle. She is at the end of the world and can't imagine going too far without Brigid.
Back and forth between Marathon kills time. In Key West, she drives past the airport and her pitiful scooter. She'll risk a nasty parking ticket in town, fuck 'em, she'll risk a towing. She has to get there and a red humming scooter just isn't going to do it.
The sun is beginning to set on a night that will decide so much. Parked behind Mallory Square, Shelly watches the sun set from the comfortable embrace of the Chevelle.
Getting out, Shelly rubs her baby. "Wish me luck."
Shelly strides down Duval with purpose. She passes the strolling tourists like they're standing still. She sees the empty balcony of the Bull and Whistle. She's early. She would not risk being late.
Through the dim lower level to the bar upstairs, Shelly counts the steps but doesn't slow. She swerves around the pool players and the early drunks and grinds to a halt on the wrought iron balcony. Alone, she grips the rail and searches the people below.
The remaining light from the sunset is long gone and Shelly still holds the rail and looks. Evening can mean just about anything and she waits.
"I was wondering how long you would stay here."
Shelly whips around to the only voice that can move her.
"I've been sitting along the wall, watching you. I had to see if you would wait."
"I came over fifteen hundred miles. I'll wait."
"Good choice." Brigid's face opens up like the first time Shelly saw her. There is no better sight. Shelly grabs her around the waist and lifts her off her feet.
"Hold on, girly. It isn't quite that easy. You have to prove yourself. Woo me. Court me."
"Whatever it takes. Walk with me to my car before she gets towed?"
She takes Shelly's hand. "Let's make sure your baby's safe."
The pressing speed in Shelly's stride calms with Brigid as her governor.
**
For three straight days, Shelly shows up at Brigid's with a handful of flowers and an idea for the day.
They take a boat and snorkel in the shallow coves. They find their laughter after a baby barracuda attacks Shelly's navel ring. "Damn barracudas!"
The day after, they set out on a small catamaran to see the dolphins play. Next is a tour of the Hemingway House.
Sitting at Sloppy Joes, they people-watch and put away several Bud Lights.
"You know, this was Hemingway's favorite place," Brigid says. "He took the urinal from the men's room and used it to water his cats."
"Those poor cats. Ursa would never have to —"
"Come back to my house."
"What?"
"You heard me. Let's go."
The small house offers a blue pool in back, concealed by tall fences and palms.
Shelly pulls her lover to her and kisses her deeply. Their lips part and tongues meet.
Shelly clasps Brigid around her waist and digs her fingers into her flesh. She doesn't ask, but pulls Brigid's shirt over her head, exposing a tan that warms her skin. Shelly has to taste the glowing confection. Trailing her mouth down her throat and over her collarbone, Shelly lifts a full breast to her mouth and covers it with licking kisses. She pulls the nipple into her mouth and delights in Brigid's deep sigh.
She steps back to look at her lover. Her lover. Brigid's messy shag covers one eye and her smile says that all is forgiven. Maybe not forgotten, but forgiven.
Clothing is a momentary obstacle. Shelly's long, firm form meets the softness of Brigid's curves.
She leads Brigid to the edge of the pool and sits her ass on the smooth lip. After a kiss, Shelly slips into the water and pulls herself up between Brigid's creamy thighs.
"I love —"
Brigid silences her with a kiss and grins as she presses Shelly to the furrow between her breasts.
Each swell pronounces the delicious combination of flesh, perfume and the hidden inside scent.
Shelly rubs her cheek against the smooth slope of Brigid's belly, taking in the scent of her skin. There is a sweet smell around her navel that hints of pussy. It's as though her mystical insides all have the same scent and it escapes through every puncture.
Her scent makes Shelly crawl toward her sweet and slightly bitter cunt. She is inviting, warm, sweet, musky and slightly sweaty. The flavor on Shelly's tongue sends shockwaves through her. Her own pussy melts.
Her hands divide the upper lips and her tongue strikes at Brigid's exposed clit.
"Jesus." God is getting a lot of credit on this trip.
Shelly whips her tongue around the jutting nub and clasps her mouth for a potent suck. Brigid's clit lies exposed to the onslaught of Shelly's mouth. Flicks, deep presses, forceful sucks. Shelly is thrilled with Brigid's writhing body.
Every oral fascination Shelly has felt on her own body, she shares with the hope that it will strike Brigid with as much power.
She rubs her fingertips around the growing wetness and slides them up through Brigid's cunt and back to her opening.
Thrusting, Shelly latches onto Brigid's clit and drives home her desire, taking Brigid along for the ride.
Her fingers accelerate and power through each ebb and curve.
She feels Brigid ramping up, arching her back and driving her body into Shelly's force. Her overwhelming need causes her to clutch Shelly's head into her body.
Screaming through the rush, Brigid bucks against Shelly's mouth.
They settle in a crumpled heap.
"I don't have a splinter, but can you get concrete burn?"
**
The two hot-rods scream up the Interstate towards Indiana. When the roads clear, they race.
Shelly should have sabotaged the Hemi.
|
|
Lesbian Lip Gloss
Lesbian Movies
Lesbian Movies Sites
Lesbian Movies Tube
Lesbian Films Movies
Free Lesbian Sex Movies
Download Lesbian Movies
|
