THE DISAPPEARANCE by Blue Sleighty © 2005 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.

Austin, Texas is the home of outstanding creativity. Great minds retreat there to remain unshackled and left to explore and practice in their naturally drawn curiosities. Hungry souls seeking knowledge and 'refusing the bit', artists and craftsmen of all genres and mediums reside there as living efforts of brave and courageous self expression. The concentration of intelligence, creativity and talent is powerful. It will make your volt meter register, your geiger counter crackle, and your level go about half a bubble off plumb. The spirit of Texas is not a slogan made up by some marketing company. The spirit of Texas involves energy, attitude, and a state of mind. The integrity is there, it's just hard to trust when found within an otherwise cocky and rebellious nature. And, you either like it, or you don't.

Austin, the capital of Texas, is an important historical Texas city in the beautiful Hill Country. It is also the home of great music and Texas blues. And some great Texas blues CLUBS. It's a party mecca, with it's famous SIXTH street, and other excellent night life and music venues abounding in the city.

Bette, my girlfriend, was a blues singer, and was about to play two musical engagements in Austin, as scheduled on her 17 city tour.

We had met and fell in love during a less complicated time, a few years before, when Bette also lived in Houston, where I currently lived. Bette sang with a successful blues band that played the Gulf Coast area from Texas to Florida. And, we booked Bette often at the club where I worked as assistant manager. I developed a huge" fan" crush on her, and she found out about how I felt about her. To my surprise, she was interested in me. We became lovers. She shared with me my first serious lesbian experience. We were together for 18 wonderful months. But, Bette's father, who was an ambitious Missouri politician, disapproved, and made Bette move back home to Missouri, where he could have her watched, because it was a sin, and he feared for her soul. He didn't understand it, and it was disgusting. He didn't think his career could handle the scandal of her lesbian lifestyle. It rubbed reversely against his republican beliefs, ruffling his coarse stiff right pointing quills. And, so forth. He was going to make certain that we could not be together. Because it was wrong, wrong, wrong. At least my parents were pretty peaceful about it. Not in any way accepting. But, peaceful. They just ignored the fact that I slept with women, and treated all of "the women I drug up" as they would any friend of mine. Which was perfectly adequate, I thought. I didn't hang out with them much, anyway.

As a natural result of her father forbidding us to see each other, Bette and I started sneaking around to be together. Even though we now lived in different states.

Bette was scheduled to perform for two nights in Austin, Texas while her band was on tour. Bette's tour had begun when she left St. Louis, where she now lived and was employed by a popular club as the singer of their house band.

The first performance scheduled on her tour was in Chicago. Then they went to Nashville, Atlanta, and on to Key West. Rented a tour bus in Key West, and then drove on to Miami, Fort Lauderdale, Daytona Beach, and Tampa. Then they flew to Mobile, Jackson, and New Orleans. They got 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 in St. Louis.

I had met Bette secretly in New Orleans, and Bette had rented a car claiming to be weary of the tour bus, so that we could ride together for a few of the cities on the tour, and in need of some time to take care of some personal matters.

We thought that we had escaped the watchful eye of Bette's father- but, apparently not. The night we arrived back in Houston, someone broke into my apartment with the intention of convincing me that I needed to stop seeing Bette. I don't know what he would have done, had I not awakened to discover him in my living room, stumbling through my apartment in the dark. But, even though I managed to render him vulnerable by holding him at gun point, and making him take his clothes off, and prevented an attack, or whatever he had planned for me- he had made his point loud and clear. I needed to stay away from the girl. Bette's father had sent him to tell me so, and to make sure that I understood in no uncertain terms.

I let him go, fearing that the police would do more harm than good in this case. But, I kept his I.D. His name was Gary Elliott. He was 6' 3", 240 lbs. And, he had to spend several hours, I'm sure, running around in the middle of the night with no shirt, no wallet, and no car keys, because I kept those items when I let him go. I wondered if he remained free, or if security found him, after I anonymously called them from Bette's cell phone.

Bette had slept through the whole thing. She was sleeping soundly in the bedroom behind closed doors, after a swim, a shower, and sex. And, many nights on tour singing in clubs until very late at night. Her exhaustion kept her unconscious through the entire ordeal, while I dealt with our uninvited guest.

I didn't tell Bette about the warning. I was afraid I would upset her and possibly ruin her tour. So far, she did not suspect that her father was the type of man that would resort to such extreme measures to get his way. Bette had a lot at stake with this tour. I didn't want to upset her right now with any startling revealations about her old man, whose attention she craved, and approval she tried hard to get, but never received. And, now, it was evening. Bette was taking a shower. And, while she was busy, I was adding a brick to a black plastic bag with Mr. Elliott's shirt, wallet and car keys in it, and was about to sink it in the lake. I used black plastic hoping it would attract less attention if, for some reason, it resurfaced on the water. My apartment was right on the lake. I just loved it there. But, what I was about to do made me wonder how many other secrets that lake held within it's muddy shores.

I decided to cut his I.D. into a couple of hundred tiny pieces, and bury it in several different flower beds around the apartments, after I got rid of the bag. I had the pieces of the I.D. in a little plastic medicine bottle in my pants pocket. I walked a short distance around the lake, to the nearest fishing pier. My friends had partied like fools on this pier many times. I smiled at a vivid recollection of my friend Lisa lying on her back on the boardwalk, while Glenda, a fellow employee from the bar where I worked poured a stream of peppermint schnapps into her open mouth. Animals. I smiled at the memory, and looked forward to the next time. I walked out to the end of the dark pier. It was about 150 feet long. I looked all around, to see if anyone was looking. I spied the parking areas. I checked out the windows of the facing apartments. Balconies. I surveyed every inch of my surroundings. And, when I was satisfied that I was unobserved, I gave the bag a shot-put style launch, and sent the bag and it's contents on a short flight before it crashed into the water and sank to the bottom of Spring Lake. Splash.

It was late fall. It got dark by 6:00 P.M. And, there was no moon overhead. I walked back down the pier, my deck shoes clomping on the boards. I reached into the pocket of my khakis, and found the little bottle containing the slivers of the now shredded I.D. that I had taken from Mr. Elliott. Back at the shore end of the pier, I took the long way back to my apartment, kicking divits into the dirt in the flower beds along the way, adding a few random slivers of plastic from the shredded card, and then smoothing the loose soil back in place again with my shoe.

After I had finished getting rid of the evidence, I was just a few steps away from the stairs to my balcony. And, hopefully, that was the end of THAT.

Bette was drawing the blinds, when I walked in. "Where were you?" she asked absently, as she towelled her hair. Her dark, coarse hair dried quickly. The back of her red satin robe was damp. She was scheduled to sing at the club where I worked in just three hours. We normally left the blinds open to enjoy the view of the lake, but Bette was dressing, and she tended to run around the whole apartment, rather than containing the task to one room.

Bruce Cockburn was singing "Waiting for a Miracle".

"I was just walking around the lake. It seems like we've been inside an awful lot, lately."

"I thought you enjoyed our indoor sports," Bette moved into my arms, smiling and kissed me. She smelled so nice and clean. Her mouth was fresh, and still tingly with mouthwash. "I saw you on the pier, out there from the window."

Oh, shit, I thought to myself. I fought the urge to pull back, and look searchingly into her eyes, wondering what she might have seen. I kissed her like I was innocent. Hopefully she would take my pounding heartbeat as a compliment. I remained calm, and decided that the sky was too dark for Bette to have seen me toss the evidence of last night's visitor over the rail of the pier from here. There were no lights on at the pier when I did that. I relaxed.

"Yes. It's nice out." I dismissed her casual observation, and kissed her more through my whispers, enjoying her tongue, and her warm soft lips and the heat spreading between my thighs. The air was scented with Bette's perfume. A vanilla candle added a warm glow to the otherwise dark room.

I just wanted to hold Bette close, and love her and kiss her forever. I loved her. She was so talented and focused. She handled her career very intelligently, I thought. So many musicians and singers are so self centered that they never make it simply because they have no discipline, no business skills, and no one to help them do the tedious part of promoting them. Negotiations, marketing, budgeting, scheduling, promotions and other aspects of career management are very time consuming, and most artists preferred to focus on their art. Not business details. But, Bette had a handle on both ends. I found that to be very impressive. And, Bette was a little older than me. Not that it made much difference. We were still very young. The fact that she loved me made me feel like I was must be pretty special, though.

She was beautiful. Men and women alike told her all of the time how attractive she was. She oozed sensuality onstage, and off. I craved her. It was so tempting to flaunt our relationship. We even looked good together. I fought a feeling of doom in the pit of my stomach, and focused my attention on the excitement building inside of me, and the tenderness that I felt for her inside my heart at that moment.

She was going to be hard to give up. I shut those thoughts out of my mind for the time being.

Bette's smooth red satin robe parted a little, and I could feel her rough, black bush scratch against the fabric of my khaki slacks. Bette unbuckled my belt, and then my waistband, letting my slacks fall. I stepped from my shoes, one at a time, leaving them under the pile of fabric that once was my starchy, pressed, khaki pants. My feet were bare on the soft, thick carpet. In my high cut panties, and white muscle shirt, I left things where they lie.

Tracy Chapman sang in the back ground,

"........Give me one reason to stay here,
And I'll turn right back around.
Give me one reason to stay here,
And I'll turn right back around.
Because I don't wanna leave you lonely,
But you got to make me change my mind."

I untied Bette's sash and opened the front of her robe. I moved against her, feeling the springy hair of her pubic mound against my soft skin at the top of my thigh. I put a hand on each of her hips, and pulled her pelvis against me, pressing our bodies together, before I turned her towards the sofa.

I lay gently beside her, and we nestled down into the soft velvety cushions. Facing each other, smiling slightly, and looking into each other's eyes, we kissed absently. We looked for, and found signs of love in each other's dilated, lid draped pupils. I found her robe with one hand, and drew it back, exposing her smooth, hard body. I caressed and stroked her skin, running my warm hands over the length of her long, muscular frame. Bette stretched, and purred, almost like a cat, turning onto her back. I laughed a little, and kissed her, my tongue finding hers, touching softly, sucking and nibbling, while I felt her rippled abdomen under my sliding hand. My fingers found her black curls, just beyond.

"Mmmm, Blue," Bette moaned and parted her thighs allowing my searching fingers to find the wetness that now accumulated in the folds of her labia. With dampened fingertips, I slipped my fingers over her sensitive swollen clit.

My mouth found Bette's erect nipple. I sucked it into my mouth, pulling my head back as I rolled it in my mouth with my hardened, teasing tongue, pushing the sensitive skin against my sharp front teeth. Bette's eyes were closed. She lay with one hand curled beside her face, and one arm thrown back across the soft velvet cushions, enjoying the attention that I gave her.

I dropped to the floor beside her, sitting with my calves against the backs of my thighs, I pulled her hips forward, and over, so that she was positioned along the edge of the sofa. She drew her knees back. I leaned towards her aligning myself to reach her most intimate parts, now wet with her juices. I wrapped my arms around her hips and drew my mouth near her hot, waiting pussy.

I parted her lips with my thumbs, and rested my hands on the bottom of her buttocks, at the backside of her thighs. My mouth found her other sweet wet lips and Bette moaned as I sucked the fleshy folds of her cunt into my mouth. She ran her fingers through my long satin blond hair, rubbing it's silkiness against her bare thighs and stomach. She writhed her hips, forcing herself against my mouth. My tongue became a point, and found her tight hole, and then slipped up to her hard clit. Then I flattened my tongue against the entire length of her clit's shaft, and moved it firmly up and down. I moved it in a slight sweep, playing with her flesh, and very lightly passing a satiny wet swirl over her screaming bud under her clit's fleshy hood. Soon, I licked her in an unrelenting hot, sliding circle, stroking with steady pressure against her clit.

As I continued my slow sensual assault on Bette's cunt with my tongue, I moved my fingers towards her tight hole, and wet them with her juices. Bette exhaled sharply, and then sucked in a breath as I coaxed my fingers inside of her, first one, and then two, as I still moved my tongue against her. I pushed deeply inside of her, feeling her ridged walls clasp my intruding fingers in a vice like grip. I wondered how a cock could ever fit into such a tight place.

I slid one wet finger out of her pussy, and found the tight little pucker that was her asshole. I slipped in slowly, and easily, just up to the knuckle, then back out, and then in all of the way, one finger in her ass, and one in her cunt.

Bette cried out and planted one foot down on the edge of the sofa. She moved her hips up and down, forcing my fingers in and out of her. She put one hand behind my head, pulling me tighter against her, as she fucked me, coming against my mouth. I felt spasms twitching inside of her ass and her cunt at the same time, as her orgasm throbbed through her, and her muscles gripped me in strong but weakening rhythmic convulsions.

I always felt like I had done something fantastic when I made her come. I suddenly felt like I was going to cry, as the thought crossed my mind that the time may come soon when I would never see her again. Released from our gripping passion, I moved back and looked at her blissful afterglow. Lips slightly swollen. Face flushed. Hair disheveled. Bathed in the blue darkness. I fought back tears. And then, for some reason, Bette said, "No matter what, Blue, I'll never forget you, and I will always love you." Soon we were both sobbing, though we never acknowledged why. Maybe it was the passion. Maybe the raw emotion stirred by what she said. Or, maybe, somehow we both knew.

"Shhh. Me, too, Bette. Me, too." I stood up, and pulled her up with me. C'mon girl, you have a show to do. No puffiness."

At nine o'clock, Bette and I arrived at the Blue Note Club in separate vehicles. She in her rent car, and me in my old blue truck. I parked in the back, piling in beside someone's red Testarossa, that was in "my space", and Bette parked at the musician's entrance, on the side of the club, and joined her band members and her manager. I wasn't officially at work, because I was still on vacation, but in light of the recent developments with Bette's father, I thought I should tell my boss, Ken, what was going on. If I were in any other business, I would not have even considered telling my boss the story I was about to tell, but, this was the BAR business. We saw a different side of life.

I stopped to chat with a couple of my waitresses and bartenders, before I decided to find my boss. I asked one of the bartenders where Ken was, and he pointed. I followed the direction of his finger.

When I found him, my heart sank. Seated beside Ken at a table in the very front of the club, was Dax K. Jackson. That would explain the Ferrari parked in my parking spot. Dax was a very handsome, rich man. Dax was a musician. Not the greatest, but what he lacked in talent, he more than made up for in incredible good looks, money, and cool toys. EVERYBODY wanted to be Dax's friend. His money came from an inheritance, and from what I understood, he would certainly never run out. I knew that Dax liked Bette.

"Hey, Blue!" Ken motioned impatiently at me, when he saw me at the end of the bar. "You know D.K., right?" Ken nodded towards Dax.

"Dax." I smiled weakly at the handsome blond man. D.K. squinted one eye at me. A crooked white toothed grin broke out on his face, like he knew something that I didn't. "Hello, Blue". He looked towards where the band was setting up. I looked to see if he was looking at Bette. My eyebrows narrowed, and my hair bristled. He was.

"Blue. Go get $10,000.00 out of the safe. D.K. needs some cash." Ken tossed the rest of his scotch down his throat, and then shook his glass to get the waitress's attention. I hated it when he did that. I thought it was so rude. I grabbed the glass from him, and took it to the bar. The bartender filled it with ice, and poured in a double shot of J&B. I picked it up, and looked at it for a second, and tossed it back, myself, drinking it down in two gulps. I sat it back down. The bartender refilled it.

Ken was probably planning to win the money from Dax at poker, later. I hoped so, as I handed Ken his drink. I did what I was told, and went to the office for the cash. I hated our safe. It took me ten minutes to get the old, decrepit vault to open. Finally the right combination of numbers, turns, jiggles, and shakes got the tumblers to line up, and the heavy door clicked open. We didn't usually keep much cash around. Ken must have collected some debts. I found three stacks $10,000.00. I grabbed a note pad off of the desk, and wrote out a note documenting that I took the money, a version of "why", and when. I stuck it in the safe, and closed it back up, giving the dial a spin.

When I got back out to the table with D.K.'s money, Ken was sitting alone. D.K. was up by the stage, talking to Bette's saxaphone player. My blood pressure went up. I handed the money to Ken, who tucked it inside his jacket. I tried to ignore what D.K. was doing. And, I especially tried to ignore Bette.

"Ken. I'm in trouble."

Ken gasped, sarcastically, looking into his glass as he raised it to his face and took a gulp out of it. He said nothing, waiting for me to continue. He stared straight ahead, being an asshole.

So, I told Ken the whole story about Bette and me, from beginning to the current situation.

When I was finished, he was quiet for a long time. He looked at me at first with a measure of affection, and kindness lighting his face, and, then, Ken looked down at the table in front of him, and sighed. He glanced back up at me. "Honey. I'm not going to let anyone 'get' you." With a serious expression, he looked me dead in the eye for just a second longer than necessary. Ken got up, and pushed the white shock of hair at his widow's peak, on his otherwise black head back away from his forehead, and ambled off towards the bathroom.

I waited for Ken to come back from the bathroom. I tried not to look towards the stage, where Dax talked to Bette. Bette was up on the stage. Dax stood on the floor below her, looking up at her. At her feet. The band was about to begin.

I watched Bette and Dax out of the corner of my eye. My hackles were raised. I saw as Dax moved to the rear of the stage, and the next moment, he had joined Bette, with his bass guitar in hand. He tossed his guitar strap back around his neck, and flapped the leather eyelet over the nut to suspend the heavy Rickenbacker. He held the guitar's electrical cord out in front of him, slightly dangling the heavy chrome plug in front of Bette. She took the plug from him, and stuck it into the hole on her amp. I could hear them both laugh.

I stood up, abruptly, and tried not to look. But, in a tiny fragment of a second, Bette glanced my way, just as I was trying not to glare. My eyes were burning anger. Jealousy overtook my sensibilities. I bolted out the front door of the club.

In the parking lot, I paced back and forth, trying to regain my composure, as the scene that I just witnessed replayed in my mind. Just what in the hell was going on? I was furious.

As I was staring at the ground, pacing furiously, I didn't notice when the red Monte Carlo pulled in, until it had screeched in, and the door flew open, practically knocking me over.

I jumped back, looking up, as a tall, slim man, with head shaved slick, and and face shaven, too leapt from the car.

"Huh! There you are, bitch!"

It was Gary Elliott, the man who broke into my apartment. But, he had changed his appearance. Where once he had a long beard, and blong stringy hair, now he was clean shaven. I couldn't help but laugh a little, as I recalled how he looked trying to hide his privates behind his hands, the last time I saw him. Apparently he didn't think it was very funny.

I heard something go "whump", as he knocked me upside the head with the back of his big hand. He was 6' 3" and weighed 230 lbs, according to the I.D. in his wallet.

"MMM" I strained to clear my head, and my vision, as I tried to decide if anything was broken. I experimented to see if my jaw still worked, slowly pushing it forward, with a 'pop'. I blinked my eyes, crinkling my cheeks, and blinking, trying to see how severe the numbness was. I brushed my hand over my face, and felt for blood. I thought I'd probably live. So far.

Before I realized it, Gary Elliott had maneuvered me into his car, and we were squealing out of the parking lot. I regained my ability to focus, just in time to see Bette and Dax bust out the front door, looking both directions.

We sped off down the road, tires screeching. I sat silently, as Mr. Elliott cussed me angrily, recounting the details of our last meeting. Especially the part about the keys. He said the I.D. was fake. He had spent eight hours in jail. Whatever his name was, he was pissed OFF. "That's all right, bitch. Things seem to be going as planned. You know that Dax is Bette's new bass player, don't you?" He turned to me a second to see my reaction. I refused to give one. But my thoughts were racing. "Yep. The old man set all of that up." He looked at me to see if THAT did anything.

An instant later, I saw headlights in the rearview mirror, and could see that very quickly, the car behind us was gaining on us. I was beginning to hear an earthy roar. It was that damned Testarossa. From another direction, I could hear sirens.

All I could think of was that I had been kidnapped like a pussy, and then that damned Dax had come and saved me. Gyad.

Dax cut aka Gary Elliott's Monte Carlo off in his Ferrari, forcing him onto the shoulder of the road. The police crossed the esplanade from the other direction, blocking the Monte Carlo's path. The car came to a halt, throwing me into the dashboard. My forearms blocked me, as I crossed them against myself, and aka Gary Elliott threw his arm out to shield me, out of reflex, further protecting me from harm. I heard him cuss, "fuck".

I just sat there. The police, Dax, and Bette were rushing the car. The doors were pulled open from both sides. Dax was standing shoulder to shoulder with the police officer that was about to arrest aka Gary Elliott, and Bette was standing behind Dax, with her hand on his chest from behind him. And something inside of me kept telling me that this was unreal. It was all too perfect. It was definitely a set up.

An officer shined a light on me. "Are you O.K.?"

I nodded. I'm sure they thought I was in shock, or something. But, all I could think of was how fucking unreal.

Here comes the rich, handsome, young Dax to save the day. Bette's new bassist. And, of course, I have thrown away all evidence that there was ever an intruder to warn me to stay away from Bette, and if I try to point out that something is up to Bette, I'm going to look like an idiot.

I guessed it didn't matter anyway. Bette would be leaving for Austin in the morning. I'd had all of the bullshit I intended to put up with, and it looked like it was about to come to a heartbreakingly predictable end.

After all of the questions were asked, and the reports were signed, a wrecker hauled off aka Gary Elliott's car, and a police officer hauled off aka Gary Elliott (who would, no doubt, be released without charges, courtesy of Bette's father)..

I stood on the side of the road, my hands in my pockets. Bette was looking at me with concern all over her face, and her hands all over Dax Jackson.

"Come on, Blue," Dax smiled. "I'll let you drive my Testarossa!" he nodded over his shoulder as he and Bette turned towards his car.

"Ooo! Come on, Blue!" Bette looked over her shoulder at me.

"Dax."

He stopped, and turned around to look at me.

"Are you going on tour with Bette?"

"Oh! I'm going on tour, for sure!" He laughed at his rhyme. So did Bette. "I'm moving to St. Louis, tooey!" They laughed. Bette held her nose.

I could not believe this was happening. What an incredible farce.

In the meantime, back to the matter at hand, If I drove, Bette would have to sit in Dax's lap, because his car only had two seats. I stood in the street as they were walking off towards the car. If I refused to go, it would become a big scene. I couldn't just ask them to leave me on the side of the road. I didn't want to see her in his lap. And, I knew that was the last time I was ever going to see her. I wouldn't go back to the club, tonight. And, she had a key to my apartment. After she finished her act, I was betting she would go by my place and pick up her things. She would be afraid to stay at my place, now, for fear of facing me. And, I didn't think I could bear saying goodbye to her, anyway.

Just that moment a patrol car pulled up, and an officer opened the car door, and got out. I appraised the curves. Definitely female.

"Is there anything I can help you with tonight. ma'am?" the lady officer flashed me a big white smile. She removed her hat. She ran her hand over her head. As she got closer, I could see her name was Sanchez. She looked Puerto Rican, and she had a New York accent. She was scorching, with her white teeth and dark complexion.

I smiled at her, flashing my sexiest smile. "Well, yes, Officer Sanchez. I could use a ride."

I watched as Dax glanced back, opening the door for Bette. Bette looked at me, brushing her hair back, as the wind blew it across her face. She smiled, weakly. She got into the car. Dax closed the door carefully, and walked around to his side. He flashed me an evil smirk before he opened his car door. Our eyes locked for an instant before he got into his car, and peeled away with Bette. I watched as the tail lights disappeared around a bend in the road, ahead in the darkness, and listened to the sound of the high performance engine rumbling down the highway.

Officer Sanchez waited for me by her patrol car.

"I'm Blue." I stuck my hand out. "My name that is, is Blue." I smiled, as I took her hand in mine.