She’s Got No Fight Left

April 8, 2015


I love my mom… I really do.  She’s my mom.  She practically raised me on her own after my dad left us when I was only 2.  She’s been there for me for everything, the good and the bad.   She was always more like a best friend than she was my mom.  She was the cool laid back parent that pretty much let me get away with anything I wanted so long as the cops never brought me home (which they never did).

But she has this problem… well, it’s actually an injury that just creates problems .  When she was around 20 or so, she was involved in a car accident that ejected her from the vehicle and hit her head.  She was in a coma for 3 days.   My family told me that the doctors said she wasn’t expected to survive and a priest was even brought in to read her the Last Rites.  Defying the odds she woke up, and was sent home the following day.  Without proper medical care and followup treatment, my mom had to relearn how to walk, talk, and most things you can imagine after a head injury, all on her own at home with the help of her family.  But she did it.  Looking at her, you wouldn’t think anything was wrong or had happened… until you see her behavior and mood swings.

Even the smallest brain injuries will affect a person in unpredictable ways.  Add that to our family history of depression and anxiety, and 30+ years of time passing since the accident without any treatment for the injury or the depression, and you have what I am dealing with… what I’ve dealt with since as long as I can remember.

Mom was never the easiest person to deal with.   As long as I can remember, she’s had mood swings, anger issues, and unpredictable emotional outbursts.  Her rationalization skills were always lacking, and her memory wasn’t the greatest.  I know my father leaving us really killed her spirit, and even to this day I know she still loves him.  But him leaving only added onto her already fragile mind state.  She didn’t become a stronger person after he left… it only started her slow and steady shutout of the friends, family and world around her.  And now after 29 years, I am finally coming to the end of my tolerance of her problems and lack of self-responsibility.

Now that grandpa is gone and our lease is ending, I’m ready to move out and finally start my life.  But I cant.  My mom doesn’t make enough money with her business and so far had been refusing to look for work.  She picks up job applications,  but doesn’t fill them out or return them.  She cries about her business failing and calls herself a ‘loser’ and follows it up with excuse after excuse.   She managed to get a job delivering newspapers at night, but quit after one night because she “didn’t have a dome light in her truck”.  Ever heard of a flashlight?  After that answer,  she blamed me for not going on her route with her.  She’s an adult, I can’t hold her hand during a evening paper route, a route in the town she grew up in, when I have a job of my own to be at before 7am.

I’m trying so hard to help her get her stuff together and give her the courage to stand on her own feet, but it’s not working.  I’m looking for low rent/income apartments for her and I set up the viewings and drive her to see the place.  I’ve registered her for the housing assistance program and filed for her replacement social security card because she has suddenly lost it.  I printed out the application for Public Aid and upon seeing it was 18 pages, sat down with her (prepared for arguing and tears) and told her I would help her with the whole thing, only to have her fill out the Name/Address/Basic Information section, flip through the rest of it and then start crying and putting herself down before telling me I don’t know what’s she’s going through and then shutting herself in her room and laying in her bed.

I know she’s depressed, I dragged sharp metal objects across my skin for 10+ years so I definitely understand the feeling of being sad, lost and helpless.  I reached my breaking point, or as I refer to it, my “scared straight moment” and forced myself to face and fix my problems.  But for years I’ve watched her wallow in her self-pity and now that time is seriously running out, and she hasn’t reached her wake up point… I don’t know if she ever will.  I don’t know is she can. 

She yells at me and says I have everything figured out and a boyfriend to help support me, therfore I don’t understand her feelings and frustration and accuses me of not caring.   However, it’s obvious with her mind state that she doesn’t see the problems I am facing within the situation.

I have a mother with depression.
A mother with a brain injury.
A woman who is emotionally spent.
A woman who has given up.
A mother who cannot love herself or try to help herself.
A person who cannot function in the day to day Real World.

I have to worry about all of this.  I feel like it’s my job to save her and to help her and try to give her the strength and belief that she is not the loser she calls herself.  That she can find a job and stand on her own two feet.  I can’t fix her brain injury and I can’t make the depression go away.  But I can try to help her and support her, and suggest methods of self support and urge her to try and find ways to better herself, her life, her feelings.

But everything I do is shot down.  All my suggestions and encouragement is met with excuses, resistance, fighting, tears, self-pity, accusations of not loving her and abandoning her, and name calling.  I try telling her that not everything is her fault and how to work on the things she can control.  She may have no control over the fact that she has a brain injury, but she does have the control to treat it… to seek help.  She would qualify for medical disability but I can’t convince her to see a doctor because of “insurance”, where as if she would just quit coming up with excuses, she would find out that she can see a doctor and disability will provide her with insurance and help to pay for her bills, both medical and financial.  There are programs out there that she can access, that will help her, that she does qualify for…. but if I can’t get her to fill out the paperwork or give me the information I need to fill it out for her, or see the doctor, or quit resisiting…. then I’m lost too.  Her refusal to work with me seems like a white flag, a surrender.   Her life choices cannot keep effecting me so negatively.

I feel like it’s an episode of ‘Intervention’.  She’s the addict and I’m the substance.  Her belief that her life will never get better and that it is what it is, and that if she can just keep me with her forever… is just enabling behavior if I stay.  She’s too dependant on me when I know she has the strength to do it on her own, or with minimal help.  But her refusal to belive it, or make an effort for positive change or any type of independence is driving me to the brink of giving up on her.  If she continues to refuse to try and do anything for herself, I have to walk away.  I have to do it for myself.  I cannot allow her this guilt and power over me to keep my life from progressing and growing.

If she won’t get help and won’t let me try to help her help herself, then I have no more words… I have no more answers or ideas.  I love my mother. She gave me life and raised me to be a strong fighter…  but how do you fight for someone who refuses to fight for themself?

Dusting off my fingers and writing again…

February 4, 2015


Its been a while since the last time I wrote… its been  exactly 8 months since the last time I posted an entry.  As usual, lots of things have changed since my last post about my old rescue squad getting shut down. 

Mom, grandpa, and I resigned our lease for the house back in July 2014.  At this point we’ve been there a year and a half.   The longer we stay there, the more apparent it is that the landlord sucks and that the house had cheap ass work done to it before we moved in, just to make it look good.   I’m just thankful we’ll be able to cut out of the lease early if we need to, and I’m sure as hell not going to stay there for a third year.

Yeah… about getting out of the lease early…  grandpa passed away this past November.   He got a bug that everyone was catching in early winter and for 3 weeks, he refused to go to the hospital.  Finally he agreed and went in on a Sunday afternoon,  and he passed that following Friday afternoon.   By Thursday night, he was so tired and fed up of being sick and in pain, he signed hospice papers allowing the nurses to hook up a morphine drip and remove the bipap mask.  That stubborn old cowboy held on for 19.5 hours, and before the morphine knocked him out, his last words were “Give me a light” has he holds his arm up with an invisible cigarette in his fingers, finally succombing to a smoking-related illness.  How fitting.

The bills have gone from being split 3 ways, to split 2 ways and I’m lucky I got my raise after grandpas funeral, or we’d have already lost the house we’re renting…  The biggest change?   The silence in the house now.  I no longer hear the constant hum of the oxygen machine,  and the living room TV isn’t on full blast anymore.  The silence is deafening.   I miss my grandpa.   No more hockey stories, no more cowboy stories…  no one around to steal my cigarettes and to buy scratch off lotto tickets for…  its been almost 3 months and I’m still not used to the silence.

With grandpa being gone, I cant wait to be able to move out.  Right now I’m stuck staying with mom because she’s screwed without me.  She’s not trying to help herself in anyway.  The way her business is going and the way her finances are, she can’t afford to stay in the house we’re renting alone.  All in all, rent + utilities are around $1500/month.  I’m frustrated because I’ve already spent the last 6 years living at home helping with my grandpa.   Im going to be 29 this summer and I want to be back out on my own.  Its not fair that I have to put my adulthood independence on hold who knows how much longer, because my mom cant be an adult for herself. 

Im ready to start my life with my boyfriend.  Im ready to get a cheap, tiny apartment so we can scrimp and save for the down payment on our first house.  It took us 10 years to finally get together and I don’t want to waste anymore time.  This isnt just some random relationship.   We’ve been friends forever and we’re finally together.   It took me ten years to come to my senses and figure out he’s the one (he had it figured out when we met).  I’m with the man that I’m going to marry.   The man I’m going to have babies with… the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with… and I couldn’t be happier. 

I’m ready to start the next chapter of my life.   I’m ready for a new beginning.   But still, things aren’t perfect.  My determination to be on my own, and to be independent again is hindered by my guilty conscience about my mom not being able to hack it alone…  but I know I can’t sit around and forfeit my happiness because of her self-pity.  I know when the lease is due to renew, I cannot sign it and strap myself into another year letting her depend on me.


It Still Feels Weird

June 4, 2014

Its been a month since my rescue squad shut its doors. 

Its so weird not packing my bags every Thursday night and going into shift.  Since we closed the doors I havent been able to apply anywhere due to my new CPR card having been lost in the mail… twice.  Until I have it in my possession,  I cant apply anywhere because without it, my EMT license isnt technically valid.  (My former supervisor got in touch with me to tell me that he finally got ahold of it and is going to be kind enough to drop it off to me while im at work some time this week instead of risking it being lost for a 3rd time.)

Its just… sad.  Ive had time to get over the shock and anger of the whole situation and the actual closing down, but I still have my moments when I almost forget that its over and still think I have to go into shift.  I havent put away my old uniforms, and I still have my key to the station.   I remembered to give back the pager, but kept my old ID card because it was expiring this month anyways.  I got a fancy little plaque with my name on it, thanking me for my dedication.

I know my EMS career isn’t over (at least I hope not…) but like I said, that squad was my home.  I’ll never forget my time there.  All I can do in the meantime is keep up with my continued education hours and make sure I get my current CPR card from my old supervisor…

Ive mourned the “death” of my squad, and its time to move on and plant new roots somewhere else.  Even then, I’m sure it will still feel weird running on new ambulances with new people and wearing a different uniform. 

Closing Up Shop.

April 9, 2014

Well it happened.

I found out about it on March 19th.
How professional.

All the drama, lawsuits, state fines, and problems from the last few years have finally come to an end…

My rescue squad has been shut down.  We close our doors at 5 am on May 9th. 

I’ve spent the last four and a half years there as a volunteer… every Thursday night and rotating weekends.  Its where I meet great friends who I can consider almost family… where I learned how to really use all the skills I gained in EMT class… where I learned that I’m better in high stress situations like CPR and trauma calls than stay-and-play medical calls.  Its where I learned how to drive an ambulance… and torture newbies that didnt have their ‘ambo legs’.  Its my EMS home… and now its gone.

Well it will be in May…

I’ve been so upset about the news that I haven’t been able to write about it until now. I didn’t have words that could actually be written.  I’ve been attending meetings with the rest of the department trying to figure out a way to fight it, or to decide if its worth taking the department into a new direction (paramedicine). 

We were the first rescue service in the state of Illinois.  Operating since 1940 purely as a volunteer non-for-profit service.  Paramedic license #1 was one of our founding members… a gentleman whom I have had the pleasure of meeting.  A man who still believes in the department he helped establish all those years ago.

I know my department hit a rough patch back in 2012, and since its been a fight to regain our reputation and trust from the town and people we served.  I’m not going to waste energy by getting into all that happened… but we have fought and persevered,  made changes and turned into a stronger, more respectable department. 

Everyone still wearing the uniform and showing up to shift knowing we have less than 40 days left, has dealt with the criticism and taboo of being associated with the department, innocent victims in the political gunfire of the issues that ultimately brought us down.  We stand strong together,  all vowing to stick together until the very end… which we have done, and is approaching fast.

My time there has been short in comparison to the time the average career EMT/Paramedic will last at other departments.   Four and a half years at my squad makes me a veteran.  Its rare for a person to stay a volunteer as long as I have without the love, respect, and passion I hold in my heart for this career.  After so long, my department was no longer a stepping stone in my EMS career… it was my home.  It was a place I planned on stayed for as long as I live in this area.

Now I feel like I’ve experienced the death of a loved one.  I feel a part of my heart broken and raw, filled with anger and hatred for certain people and certain politicians,  people who I never want to see face-to-face after the department closes its doors…

I understand my career is not over by any means… I have already been applying to local private ambulance companies and may have an offer from a different volunteer department just 20 minutes away, but I am losing my home… my EMS home.

I know the day I don my uniform for the last time is going to be difficult and bittersweet. I’m doing my best to keep it from dragging me down, but it not easy. I am trying to keep my head up and a positive attitude. It’s the only real way to handle the situation.

The next 30 days will go by fast. I have 50 more hours of shift time to look forward to, and im going to do just that.

Keyboard Players Press Buttons

February 10, 2014

Its 8:32am.  I’m sitting at my desk at work listening to the hum of the ECP beds and trying to decide if an energy drink is essential today. 

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last few days about my drinking habits and came to a conclusion; I’m not alcoholic, but I am definitely a binge drinker. Which can be a slippery slope into a bigger problem.

I don’t need alcohol to function, I don’t have DT’s from withdrawal, I don’t drink every day, or even every weekend.  I’ve never pissed myself while drunk or woke up covered in my own vomit.  I dont leave the bar falling on my face or ever get kicked out or cut off.  I dont go out every weekend or throughout the week.


When I do go out, most of the time I end up piecing the night together or asking asking a lot of “What happened?”‘s.  That is a problem.  I never go out eith the intention of getting drunk, but it seems lately that I’ve become that drunk, obnoxious girl you see at the bar and try to avoid.  And trust me, I hate those girls.  You know the ones I’m talking about… the ones who are drunk by 10pm and you want to slap because they keep bumping into you or spilling their drinks on everyone.  Me? Im not a spiller or a bumper, I’m a talker

When I’m drinking, I just want to talk to everyone, about anything.  And just like with everyone,  I become honest.  I’ll say anything that is on my mind without worrying ab it offending anyone.   It was while drunkenly talking to the keyboard player of my favorite local band this past weekend,  that somethingwas said to me that really bothered me and got me rethinking myself and actions whilst out… 

“I like you at the beginning of the show, but I don’t like you at the end.”

I remember the entire concert,  but after the show through my flashes of talking to people, dancing with some of the girls I’ve made friends with from the show, the comment from Jordan was the only real clear moment in my memory after the concert.

That really bothered me.  You can joke and rehash things with your close friends without a real need to feel bad or embarrassed,  but a comment that honest from someone you don’t have a close relationship with can make the real difference someone (like me) needs to open their eyes and really look at themselves and their actions.

That is exactly what I’ve been doing this week.  I can’t keep going out and acting the way I have been.  I’ve made some major changes in my behavior in the past, but it seems I didnt finish and there are still some that need to be changed.  

I don’t want to be that girl you see at the bar who everyone wants to stay away from, who they make jokes about…  I’ve seen those girls and I know what I think of them, I don’t want to become them.

So,  I just want to say thanks to Jordan.   He helped me open my eyes a little bit more.  The only way I can prove to myself and to others that I can change is by doing it.  I can and I will.

Weird Girl

January 21, 2014

I feel bad. I can’t fully explain why, but I feel like shit. Its not an “I’m sick” feel bad, it’s all in my head.

The winter cold isn’t really helping.
I hate the winter… bleak, wet, cold, miserable… everything is the same, no color or warmth.

Seasons change, bringing out the change in others and what we see around us… who and what we surround ourselves with. The white disappears and color starts to peek through.

I need that to happen. I can’t stand the cold I feel in the air and the cold I feel in myself. I need warmth… sunshine… smiles… laughter… I don’t know how to make them happen right now.

Right now I feel like this weird girl, weird to everyone and to myself. I laugh to hide the tears, drink to cover my fears. It’s a pointless circle of bullshit I’d love to break…. but I’m not comfortable trying. I’ve grown accustomed to how I feel these days and thinking of happiness seems so… foreign.

I can’t write, I can’t think, I can’t move sometimes… It’s in my head, I know. But lately inside my head is the only place I really know.

The Bass Player

December 13, 2013



The concert was everything Leah was expecting, the usual good time with her best friend Veronica, some tasty drinks, music she liked, and hot band guys. The band played their usual crowd pleasers, and as usual Leah had pulled Vee to the front of the stage, placing them right in front of the bass player, Chris.

He was 5’7 or so with dark, dirty blond hair. His eyes were a light brown and he had a strong, thin face with a chiseled jaw line and pink, pouty lips. Leah, like so many others, believed he held a strong resemblance to Kevin Bacon, but much sexier. His arms were strong and muscular from years playing the bass.  She wondered how his fingers were…

She was on her 6th drink by the end of the show and spent most of the show trying to tease the bass player from the crowd. She would raise her drink to him when he looked hot and sweaty, only to take it away when his mouth reached down for the straw. Finally he reached the straw with his full, pink lips before she was able to pull the drink out of his reach, and he emptied the entire glass in one long suck. When he was done he pulled the straw from the plastic cup with his lips and spit it towards Leah, smiling and laughing as he slapped his bass. Leah shot him her sexiest, dirty look and laughed, nudging Vee in the sides.  Vee just smiled and rolled her eyes.

The band started to play their last song and pulling girls onstage to dance when the bass player reached his hand down to Leah in an attempted to pull her onstage.  Leah smiled, licked her lips, and pulling Vee away from the stage, shot him a “oh please” look,  heading to the bar with a goodbye wink in his direction.

While the music ended Veronica and Leah sat at the bar grabbing their last drink before last call.  The venue was almost empty before Leah noticed the guys from the band walking across the floor.  A few of the guys saw her sitting on her bar stool and approached to say ‘Hi’ and give hugs, as she had become a regular face in their crowds.  She carried on some small talk with the guitar player, watching as the Kevin Bacon look-alike bass player stood a few bar-stools down, looking at her with a sly smile and ordered a drink from the cute female bartender.  Leah knew that he knew she wanted him.  “Ass” she thought, smiling to herself.

The bass player threw her a nonchalant “Hey how ya doing?” and went back to his drink, talking to the singer.  Leah kept catching him looking her way and had an idea.  She waited till he was paying attention and when he was, nudged Vanessa to tell her she was going to use the bathroom before they finally closed the bar.  As she walked out of the venue hall, she heard the bass player say he he would “Be right back” to the guys.  She smiled to herself.

As she exited the venue area, she stepped to the left and hid in the shadows of the hallway near the entrance.  A few seconds later she saw the bass player walk through the venue doors, noticing him stop and look around.  Leah snuck up behind him.  She covered his eyes with her hand, standing on tip-toes and whispered in his ear;

“How about I spend a half hour on my knees, that way you can spend the three hours on your back afterwards begging for more?”

Chris turned his head, Leah’s hand over his eyes slipping away and confirming who he thought was the girl he just followed.  He smiled down at Leah, her deep blue eyes staring into his longingly.

“That is quite the line” he said.

“It’s not a line, it’s a bet.” Leah retorted.

He shot Leah a smile that caused her pussy to tense.  Chris grabbed her hand and led her outside.  They walked around the back of the building towards the back parking lot holding the trailer that would carry their gear home.

Leah leaned against the back of the trailer, smiling at Chris and sitting herself on the small edge.  His hands began to run through her layered short brown hair.  He gently ran a finger down the right side of her face.  Leah smiled, sucking his finger into her mouth and kissing it.

“You’re no stranger to our shows… why now?”  he asked, dipping his head low and meeting her lips with his.  Leah could taste the sweat worked up during the show still salty and fresh on his full, pink upper lip.  The taste was delicious!

“Does it matter?” she asked, pulling away from his tasty mouth. “Stop asking obvious questions.”

In seconds Leah had his belt, button, and zipper on his jeans undone with one hand, never breaking eye contact.  She could already tell his cock was hard from the bulge pushing against his zipper.  She pushed the denim to his knees, leaving his boxers on.  Leah’s hand reached up and pulled on the bottom of his boxers, letting the head of his cock jump through the opening of the front.

Chris stared as Leah’s lipstick covered lips seemed to open in slow motion and slowly move towards his cock.  She watched as his head tilted back the moment her tongue snaked forth from between her lips and swirled its way around the head of his cock.  She felt all the muscles in his body relax at the touch of her warm, wet tongue.  Her right hand reached up and freed the rest of his cock through the hole that was the cage of his boxers.  She realized she had 8.5 inches of hard cock to play with.

Her tongue danced and teased the head of his cock.  His hand reached out and started to grip and massage his shaft up and down.  His cock tasted like his lips, sweaty and salty, and it was driving Leah wild.  One of her free hand moved towards the crotch of her jeans, slipping a finger into the hole of her own jeans near the left side  pocket and pushing her barely there thong out of the way and started to tease her swollen cheery as she serviced his cock with her hungry mouth.

After ten minutes of teasing Chris’s cock, she could feel his dick muscles start to tense and tighten.  If she was going to hold true to her ‘promise’, she couldn’t very well let him cum now.  She had another 20 minutes to go before she could let him blow his load!  Leah loosened the grip of her mouth around his cock head and let it slip from her lips.  She stared up at him while her hand continued to massage his hard shaft.  She was starting at him when he looked back down at her.

“Whats wrong?” he gasped.

“Nothing.  If I’m gonna live up to my bet and get what I want…!”  Leah replied.

“You’ll get what you want!” Chris gasped.

Leah smirked to herself while she saw Chris’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he awaited the touch of her mouth back on his cock.  Her lips barely formed themselves back around his now throbbing cock before she felt the ropes of cum splash against the back of her throat.  Leah tried to lap up all that she tasted, a few ropes missing her lips and splashing down her chin.

Leah sucked him dry, catching the last few spurts of his sweet juice down her throat, her fingers reaching up and sweeping the few lost drops on her chin to her lips.  The bass player came, but he didn’t go soft.

Leah went on teasing his cock, but a pair of hands pulled her mouth away,her lips feeling the shuddering of his muscles as his dick slipped from her mouth.   The bass player grabbed Leah’s hands, pulling her to her feet and went for the bottom of the trailer door.  He lifted it a few feet and ushered Leah to step inside.  As Leah did as she was told, she could feel him climbing in the trailer after her.  She heard the metal door slide the rails and shut.

As Leah stood in the dark she heard the bass player moving in the dark.  A dim light turned on and Leah saw him standing there, his pants still at his knees and his cock hard in his hand.  Leah was standing straight up, but he was hunching slightly to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.  The bass player reached toward Leah, grabbed her around the waist and pulling her towards him.  Leah could feel his hard cock pressed against her stomach.  His mouth moved towards hers, kissing and biting her lips ravenously.

The bass player pulled away, grabbed Leah by the hips and turned her around.  His hands were at her ripped denim jeans, pawing and tearing at the button and jeans keeping him from what he wanted.  In moments Leah’s pants matched his, at the knees.  The bass player leaned Leah over a stack of amps sitting in the trailer, his lips kissing her neck while his hands ripped her thong from her body, dropping it to the floor.  His right hand reached around Leah’s hips, his strong fingers dipping into her dripping pussy.

Leah’s throat let out a gasp when she felt two of his fingers plunge into her honey pot, curled in a position that immediately hit her g-spot, causing her to moan and grind her pussy against his hand.  His other hand reached around and put his fingers to her throat lightly dragging them against the skin, tickling and drawing goosebumps on her skin,  and guiding her face towards the left where he met her lips with his.

The bass player’s mouth on hers kept Leah so preoccupied that she didn’t feel his cock pressing against the outside of her pussy until she felt him press his hips into her, pushing his 8.5 inches into her tight, dripping cunt.  Leah could feel each inch push into her wet snatch, her mouth letting out a groan.

The bass player started to thrust his hard cock into Leah with vengeance,  letting her know that after all the shows she had seen him play, he had looked at her during and after each one, wanting her more and more each and every time.  Leah’s head was banging into the amps as she went limp, her body at the mercy of the bass player.

Leah moaned, groaned, gasped, screamed, and whimpered as she felt the bass player fuck her.  She wanted to turn around and kiss him, run her hands through his hair, anything… but the feel of his big, hard cock had her stuck in position.  She had never felt anything like Chris bending her over and pummeling her cunt.

Leah felt herself pouring cum and knew that her first orgasm wasn’t far off.  She tried to ignore her head bouncing off of the amps and focus on the feeling of the bass player filling her pussy.  The feeling of electricity starting running through her entire body, from her fingers, to her lips, to her toes, all going numb.  Her whole body tightened, the bass player feeling it, his thrusts getting harder and faster.

Leah’s moans alongside the tightening of her pussy muscles were driving Chris insane.  He wanted to keep fucking her, but he had stared at this girl from the perches of the stages he played on for over a year.  He couldn’t hold it back anymore.  He knew she was having an orgasm all over his cock and he wanted to be a part of it.  His cock started shooting juts of cum into Leah’s spasming cunt.  The sounds spewing from her throat didn’t make it easy.

The bass player pumped Leah’s pussy with thrust after thrust until she was silent aside from her gasps.  Slowly, he pulled himself out of her tight cunt, her pussy lips gripping him with every inch he slid out of her.

The two stood in place as they recovered from their orgasms.  The silence of deep, gasping breaths was shattered by someone banging on the door of the trailer.  The bass player yelled at the intruder to ‘Hold on’.  Leah did her best to pull her jeans back on as the door slid open.

“Oh… so that is where you both disappeared too”  said one of the roadies.

Leah did the best she could to keep composure as she pushed past the bass player to leave the trailer.  A hand reached out and grabbed her by the arm as she tried to slither past.

“I thought you said 3 hours?” the bass player asked.

“Yeah, well… timing I guess” Leah spit out.

“I’m not done… and neither are you.” the bass player told her.  “Your coming home with me”