Chapter 1: Hebe

Copyright© 2016 by Bondi Beach

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1: Hebe - Two young women on a road trip with Dad's blessing, what could go wrong? Dads mostly think they know best for their children, especially their daughters. Their daughters often have a different view. Zion National Park is a magical place, and the journey proves full of surprises and transformations. AAA coverage? Who needs it when you have a goddess with you? IMPORTANT: There's a short cheat sheet in my blog entry for April 1, 2016 to help you understand who the heck all these people are.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Mult   Reluctant   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Light Bond   Group Sex   Oral Sex  

Roll me over in the clover, roll me over lay me down and do it again

~ Traditional

THE DOOR OPENED SO FAST I barely had time to step aside before a large disheveled guy hit the sidewalk a foot or so away. When I looked up I saw Oscar, an even larger guy, blocking the doorway. He straightened his tie and smiled.

''Sam, good to see you.''

I extended my hand and he enclosed it with both of his.

''Hi, Oscar.''

I gestured to the guy on the sidewalk, now trying and mostly failing to rise to his feet.

''Another one?''

Oscar laughed.

''Third one in two hours.''

''Hebe's going for a new record?''

''You got it. Come on in.''

Oscar's palm in the small of my back reminded me, and not for the first time, that having Oscar on my side was much better than otherwise. The guy wasn't really seven feet tall, but on some nights he made Mack trucks look petite.

Hebe waved when she caught sight of us just inside the door, her smile radiant. For years a mouthful of metal made kissing an adventure, but we found ways around that.


I leaned across the bar to kiss her cheek.

''Hey, sweetie, how's it going?''

I already knew the answer. Hebe's charms were all too apparent, her disdain for a bra obvious. Easy to see why some guys got the wrong idea about her. We weren't exclusive yet, but on those long, sun-soaked, lazy mornings, after the rush and the joining and the laughter and smiles and sighs, I knew she was the girl for me.

Oscar nudged me. No way to ignore one of Oscar's nudges.

''Buy the lady a drink, buddy, OK?''

''How about you, Oscar?''

''Tonic water with a lime wedge. Thanks, Sam.''

''Hebe, what'll you have?''

She grinned. Looked from me to Oscar.

''You mean, besides... ?''

I let that one go by.

''Name it, sweetie.''

''I'll have a draft, Sam. You?''

''Same for me, Hebe, thanks.''

I watched her take care of a couple of customers down the bar. Their eyes tracked her every move, and I knew they'd be candidates for the Oscar treatment before the night was over. I turned to Oscar.

''So, quiet night more or less?''

Oscar shrugged.

''Not too bad.''

He gestured in Hebe's direction.

''She inspires them, and some guys never learn.''

Hebe was back with our drinks. We touched glasses, the three of us, and drank. After Hebe moved away, Oscar poked me.

''Her dad's after her again, she tell you that?''

''The same thing as before, right?''

''That's it. Doesn't want her spending the rest of her life in this crummy bar.''

Calling this bar a dump was a little rich, even for Mr. Z. He owned it along with Estiatorio Z, the white-tablecloth establishment travel writers and restaurant critics often featured in their ''Where to Dine in the City'' articles, plus a couple of other bars. He'd been after Hebe for months to come back to work for him in the restaurant.

Oscar chugged the rest of his tonic water and stood up. Stuck out his huge paw.

''Got to circulate, Sam. See you later.''

I gestured at Hebe.

''I think I'll keep an eye on you-know-who.''

Oscar laughed.

''Yeah, you do that. You and half this bar, right?''


It was a pretty busy night, the usual mix of older guys and a few women who had nowhere else to go, a couple of sex workers not soliciting at the moment, an off-duty cop or two, and a sprinkling of hipster wannabes, some of them self-proclaimed artists or writers. Or yuppy fucks, as Hebe called them.

''Hey, penny for your thoughts.''

Hebe had returned and I hadn't noticed her.

''All about you, sweetie.''

She snorted.

''Yeah, sure.''

I was startled enough to keep quiet for a moment.

''Hebe? Where'd that come from?''

She shrugged.

''Dunno.'' A grimace. ''Sorry, Sam. I'm off tonight.''

Another shrug.

''It's Dad. He's on me again about working for him. As if I'm not working for him here, after all.''

''He loves you, Hebe. You know that.''

A laugh.

''Yeah, I know. It's not that. It's, just, well, you know.'' She snickered. ''A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.''

''Hebe, do you always speak in clichés?''

She leaned across the bar to kiss my cheek. Her lips were warm.

''Only when they hit the mark, Sam.''

She left to tend to someone at the other end of the bar, someone close to getting the Oscar treatment if the slobbery look he was giving Hebe was any indication. Oscar saw it and began to move toward the bar and the drunk. He made it look easy, moving without apparent haste but covering ground faster than it appeared.

Oscar clamped his hand on the guy's shoulder just as Hebe recoiled when the drunk copped a feel of her unfettered breast. Without apparent effort Oscar lifted him to his feet, turned him, and propelled him to the front entrance and out the swinging door. I heard a shout from outside. When I reached the door myself and looked out, the guy was in a shoving match with one of the Market Street regulars, a homeless guy with a sign and a small tired-looking dog beside a couple of garbage bags.

It was over pretty quickly. Showing agility that surprised me, since these homeless guys seem to be barely capable of movement, he sent the drunk on his way with a swift kick in the butt. I left them to it and went back inside.

Hebe had her head bent close to hear Oscar's whisper. When I came up she nodded to him and pulled back. She saw me and smiled.

''What's up, Hebe?''

Her trademark laugh.

''Oscar says that's the fourth one tonight. Almost a new record.''

I looked from her to Oscar.

''Really? So why's that?''

Oscar gestured towards Hebe's top.

''That's why.''

I knew that. So did most of the bar. Tonight's top left no doubt Hebe was female, curves where they should be, especially two of them that demanded attention with every movement Hebe made. Maybe her breasts were trying to gain their freedom, I didn't know, but several women as well as men down the bar liked the view.


Her grin would have done credit to the Cheshire cat.

''So what? I like this top.''

She gave a little wriggle, and I heard Oscar sigh.

''Sweetie, you're making more work for Oscar.''

''He doesn't mind, do you, Oscar?''

Oscar shrugged. ''It wouldn't hurt to tone it down, Hebe, you know?''

That provoked another laugh from Hebe, but she put on what might have passed for a contrite expression.

''Sam, Oscar, I love you both.''

Her eyes, her voice, made it clear exactly what she meant. Oscar looked at me. I tried to look innocent. Hebe laughed again when she saw my expression.

''I mean it.''

A small pout.

''I'll make it up to you both. Promise.''

I tried to keep a straight face as I turned to Oscar. He shrugged.

''Let's let the lady get back to work, Sam, OK?''

''Sure, Oscar. You, too, right?''


''I'm going outside for a couple of minutes, OK?''

Hebe smiled. Leaned across the bar again and kissed my cheek.

''Don't go far, lover.''

''No worries, Hebe.''

Outside on the sidewalk the homeless guy had disappeared.

''Date, sweetheart?''

She was in her early twenties tonight, perhaps younger, and soon to be going on forty if she kept up this line of work.

''Not tonight, thanks.''

She shrugged and turned to check for other prospects. It was late enough that this part of the block was starting to thin out, but despite that there was no shortage of cruising whores. The girls stood alone, some of them, others in groups of two or three, all the way up to the corner where a liquor store's lights spilled out onto the sidewalk. I walked to the corner and back to the bar entrance and reached to open the door.

I turned around at the throat-clearing syncopated rumble of a Harley as it pulled up to the curb in front of a fire hydrant. The rider, a tiny female, kicked the bike's stand into place. She dismounted and removed her helmet and shook her hair out. When she saw me, she smiled and stepped forward for a hug. I held her tight.


The cover image, Bathing Woman, Hebe (c. 1830), is by Demeter Laccataris. It is in the public domain in the United States.

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