Author’s note: This fictional romance includes mature, bisexual, and multiracial elements, and coersion. The few sexual acts in this chapter involve conscious live humans of age 18+. For readers’ convenience, most non-Anglish language communications are presented in loose Anglish translation. Your feedback is appreciated. If you like this, VOTE, dammit! Your votes and feedback are a Literotica author’s only payment.
*****
“Ahhhh…”
What a relief! She could only hold her bladder just so long.
Rosa had both looked forward to, and dreaded, the long drive from muggy Houston to Guadalajara, a mile high in the Mexican sky. Yes, it would be good to get back where the air was better, but getting there would be circuitous and torturous. This stop was a godsend. She bent forward on the roadside diner’s toilet seat and wiped herself with care. This might be her last clean rest room for a long time.
She checked her makeup in the mirror, straightened her sapphire skirt-suit, slung her raspberry daypack over her shoulder, and walked through the side door to the sun-soaked parking lot. Where were her family’s two minivans? Their spaces were empty. Maybe they pulled around front? She walked to the street. No sign of the familiar vehicles.
¡Hijo de puta! Son of a whore! Where did those imbécils go? She walked the eatery’s asphalt perimeter and along the bleak main street. Nothing. ¡Carajo! Jackshit!
They had driven off without her! Rosa boiled. It was not enough that her husband and kids and his cousins and everyone else took her for granted, oh no. Now, they had totally forgotten her! They would be sorry, oh yes! Wherever they were, they would have to come back for her. Rosa pulled her Android phone from the daypack. Fuck! The battery was dead! She could not even call them to retrieve her. Shit shit shit!
Rosa prided herself on being a thoughtful, rational person, not overwhelmed by petty emotion. She employed a little ritual to keep a lid on her temper. Take a deep breath. Count backwards from ten, with a little curse at each number. At “tres… dos… uno…”, just relax, and throw her devils into a mental septic tank, ker-splash!
The devils she visualized sinking into the cesspool this time included all her closest “loved ones”, the tontos, morons. Her husband Roberto’s face was the last to go under. Drink deep, sucker.
Rosa walked back into the lonchería, her sports shoes gliding across the tiled floor. The diner’s sole waitress, an older woman in a peach uniform whose name tag read Teresa, jotted notes by the cash register. “The group I was with – did you see them go?”
“I saw them drive away a few minutes ago. Did they leave you behind? Ah, it happens all the time. Give them a call.”
“I tried to call but my phone is dead. Mind if I recharge it here?”
Teresa pointed to a power outlet. Rosa dug the charger from her daypack.
“If you don’t want to wait, use the store phone.”
“You know, I think I WILL wait. It’ll be… informative… to see how long it takes till they miss me.”
Rosa ordered a tall iced jamaica tea and sat in a corner booth. The sweet hibiscus drink tingled her tongue; she considered her situation and possibilities.
Teresa surveyed her deserted domain and walked to her only customer’s booth. “Mind if I sit and talk?” Teresa asked. Her lined face wore an easy smile.
Rosa brushed back her long black hair and gestured at the opposite seat.
“You know, if I wait here till they notice I’m missing, that could be a long while. HA! I can just see it: everyone in each van thinks I’m in the other, and all of them are yammering and bullshitting and sulking, lost in their own petty concerns. They might not even notice when they cross the border, not if the vans go through different lanes. Maybe when they reach Ciudad Victoria for dinner. Maybe.” She sipped her cold spicy tea.
“I should call Bobo, I mean Roberto, that’s my husband, to tell him to get his goat-smelling cabroncito butt back and pick me up. I could call him, or Ernesto in the other minivan, that’s his cousin. But before calling, I need to decide: do I really WANT to be retrieved?”
“What? What’re you thinking of?” Teresa looked into Rosa’s sad eyes.
“I’m thinking that maybe if my own family doesn’t miss me, maybe I won’t miss them either. Why don’t they miss me? I don’t know. But… now it seems like I’m only another servant girl, a moza. Roberto hasn’t been much of a man for me lately. I know he’s got girls on the side; what man doesn’t? But him and our three kids, they don’t ask me stuff, not nicely; they only tell me what they want and I’m expected to make it happen.” She fumed inside.
“We have a business, an import store and office, in Guadalajara, that’s home now. This vacation, we saw Roberto’s parents in Dallas and his brother’s family in Houston. I don’t especially like them, and they feel the same. They think I’m not good enough. I don’t poker oyna really want to contact any of them.”
Rosa sipped more tea. “Do I really want to go back to Guadalajara? No se, I don’t know. If I didn’t, then where would I go? I don’t know that, either. I just know I’m invisible to them. What if they don’t miss me at all? Except for not having a house slave, that is.”
“Is that really so bad? It’s not like you have to work out of home, right? I tell you, I’d rather be a moza at my home than a waitress out here, if only it paid.” Teresa fetched herself a cup of coffee. She thought, this woman does not know how good her life is.
“So you’d abandon your husband and kids and family, all that, just because they overlook you, take you for granted? Is that all? Does your husband beat you or anything, or maybe show off his girlfriends to try to humiliate you?”
“No, no, he doesn’t treat me bad, nobody does. But nobody treats me good, either. I’m only part of the background. Think of a big live-action picture of family life. You can see Roberto, and Ernesto, and the kids and everyone. They’re all running around and active inside the picture. And I’m over at the edge, painted in like a cameo, stuck in one position. And it’s not even gold paint, just some stale oil color.”
Rosa’s resolve hardened. “I know what to do. I’ll wait here for, what, another hour? If they haven’t called or returned, then to Hell with them! I have a cousin near San Francisco, my mom’s sister’s girl. She’ll take me in. If Bobo’s family gets worried enough, they’ll ask around, and they’ll eventually find me. And if they don’t worry enough…” Rosa shook her head.
“You’re really going to run off? Just like that?”
“Hey, I’M not the one who ran off! They did! Ran off, left me here, and didn’t even know it. I should put up with that? Hey, Teresa, look at me, please. Tell me what you see.”
Rosa thought she knew her own inadequacies. She wondered what others saw.
“Hmmm, I see an obstinate and confused woman. No, not that? Okay, I see a tall Ladina, not too dark, not nearly as Indio as me. She’s, what, in her mid thirties? With a very nice figure. Looks to be in pretty good shape after having three children. She’s well-dressed, obviously very middle-class, quite attractive, what the kids call a MILF. She wears subtle scents. And she thinks she knows what she’s doing. That’s what I see.”
“That’s what you see,” Rosa said. “What I see in a mirror is a prisoner. I’m in chains. I’m chained to Bobo, and to Julio and Jaime and Tina, those are our kids, the ingrates, and to the family business. Maybe they’re thin chains, maybe they’re thick – doesn’t matter. I’m chained.”
This woman does not know what chains are, thought Teresa. But she is welcome to her delusions.
“Yeah, to Hell with them and their chains! If they want me, they’ll have to find me and catch me! Yeah, I’ll go to California, to my cousin Serena. I won’t try to hide but I won’t give myself up, either.”
Teresa asked, “And how will you get there? Do you have good papers, enough money, credit cards? Do you want to make it easy for them to trace you, find you? Plane tickets, card charges, all that stuff – that’s just a big wide paper trail. And they could track you when you use your phone, too.”
“What can I do about all that? I could use my ATM card, get enough cash from the store account. The phone? I could get a new SIM card, give the phone a new ID. How to get there? I guess I could take a bus or train, right? And my papers are great. I was born in Arizona – I have a USA passport.”
“I thought you didn’t sound like Jalisco! You still have the northern accent. Have you been in Guadalajara long?”
“Half my life. My folks sent me there for university. I met Roberto, so handsome and slick. He knocked me up; we got married; I’ve been there ever since. Yeah, seventeen damn years already. Anyway, I need to get to California. Do you have any ideas?”
Teresa wondered if she should help this lost woman. She seemed beset by FWPs, First World Problems. What a wimp! But, plotting an escape made her feel like a conspirator. This could be fun.
“If you’re not going to fly, what you’ve got are trains and buses and cars. The train is expensive but safe. The bus is cheaper but odd, much stranger than good Mexican buses. And cars… you could rent one, or get a driveaway car, or just find someone driving in your direction – but that might not be too safe. How much money do you want to spend on travel?”
Rosa calculated. How much could she get from the store balances? She ran the firm’s books regularly. She knew they had accounts in Mexico, the USA, and most countries where they did import-export business. She could easily tap into a few accounts. She could avoid cash-reporting laws if she took under US$10,000 at a time.
And how long would a few tens of thousands last? Not real long, not in the states, especially if she tried to live canlı poker oyna like she did in Mexico where everything cost much, much less. So, she had to decide – where did she want her life to go from here?
That is too big a question for now, she thought. Concentrate on getting to San Francisco, and the money. “How much money? As little as possible, but I want to be safe. I’ve heard of driveaways – that’s where you deliver a car to another city, right? Maybe that’s for me.”
Teresa smiled. “My nephew works at a driveaway agency in downtown Corpus Christi. I could call him, see if he knows of any cars going to… where, California?”
“Yes, San Francisco, anywhere around there.”
“Okay, hang on.” Teresa pulled out her TracFone – no expensive monthly plan for her, no way! Her conversation was brief. “You’re in luck. They have a Ford Explorer going to Oakland, right across the Bay from San Francisco. You just need to get there, and you’re in luck again. The bus stops just down the street in a half-hour and will take you almost to the agency.”
Teresa’s conspiratorial smile flashed. “If you were me, and I were escaping, here’s what I would do. Yes, get a new SIM card. Get as much cash as you can – but not around here. Where do you know your family saw you last?”
Rosa thought. “Hmmm, probably back in Galveston, when I cursed at Ernesto for backing-up into a guardrail post.”
“Perfect! So you drive to Galveston and make whatever credit card buys you need, and get your ATM cash – and then, put away all your plastic. Make that the beginning and the end of your paper trail. Buy yourself clothes and luggage, just enough, and whatever else you want for a new life. Maybe a little computer? You can’t live on just a phone.”
“Those are good ideas.” Rosa pulled a paper pad from her daypack and jotted notes. “Nothing traceable after Galveston, no.”
“And you think you really want a new life? You can do it. It’s mental, more than physical, y’know. Just think that you’re not in your old life anymore, and do what it takes to be where you want to be. Re-invent yourself. Don’t be the old Rosa. Who were you? Whoever she was, old Rosa has to be gone. Paint a picture of the new you, and live it.”
*****
On The Road, Day 0 – From Galveston
*****
Rosa took Teresa’s advice and saw her helpful nephew Paco at the auto transport agency. His bosses, the Chan brothers, were somewhat less than welcoming.
Steve, the older brother, dismissed Paco from the office. He asked Rosa suspiciously, “What, you have no American driver’s license? Just from Jalisco, Mexico?” He knitted his thin eyebrows, scowling.
“Yes, is that a problem? Here’s my US passport.”
“Oh? Well, we don’t usually see American citizens with foreign licenses. It’s sort of irregular. Greg, is there a rule about this?”
The younger Greg’s pockmarked face leered. “Oh yes, we have rules, and they allow exceptions under certain… conditions. Like, conditional approval by the location managers, that’s us. Yes, certain easy… conditions.”
Rosa suspected where the conversation was leading. “And just what conditions would I need to meet?” She held her temper.
Greg smirked. “Oh, let’s just call it a little oral persuasion, shall we?” Steve grinned also – not a nice expression, no.
Rosa sighed. “I suppose this involves me using my mouth on somebody, or maybe two somebodies, right?” She quickly considered – were two blowjobs worth a few hundred dollars to her? Train or bus tickets, or a car rental, would cost at least that much. How much was she willing to whore herself? Would this be any worse that blowing Roberto, the few occasions he presented himself to her lately? “Okay, but I don’t get undressed at all, understand? And no groping.”
She sucked. She did not swallow. Her light scarf was disposable, after all.
Paperwork in her daypack, Rosa drove the silver SUV to the nearest WalMart. She bought another light scarf, snacks, and a big bottle of mouthwash, paid in cash. She quickly used the mouthwash.
Rosa had over three hours to think and plan during the long drive to Galveston. Her plan evolved along these lines:
What was in her daypack? A wallet with I.D and money cards, US$450 cash, and about as much in pesos. Phone (now charged) and charger. Makeup; change of underwear; tee shirt; basic jewelry as well as some of her favorite pieces. A well-used Leatherman tool. Notepad, pen, paperback, Kleenex, Tylenol, Pepto-Bismol, birth-control pills, Mentos. Sunglasses, ballcap, bandana.
What to buy? Stores close before ATMs, so go shopping first, and NOT at another fucking WalMart. A duffel for everything. Good clothes, but clothes that can survive being wadded into the duffel – portability is vital. The right cosmetics. A small computer, maybe a little ToughBook or ThinkPad – those are rugged. A new SIM card for her phone. A sleeping bag – she could sleep in the Ford SUV if necessary. Other basic supplies, and do not forget the tequila! Charge everything.
How much cash? Use different ATMs at different nearby banks to tap the various accounts. Take US$9950 from each. Three accounts, or four? Four might be a bit much, might hurt the store’s business. Hmmm, but maybe Roberto NEEDED a bit of hurt! She would think about this further.
Where to go? To her cousin Serena, near San Francisco. How to get there? The driveaway agency gave her five days to go two thousand miles, just four hundred miles a day, so she did not need high-speed cruising on Interstate freeways; she could take slower, calmer highways. Where to sleep? She would not waste money on fancy rooms, she knew that. Ah well; worry about that when she got tired.
Now, the big question: Did she really want to do this? Was she being silly, as Teresa had more than hinted? Or did she have real reason to abandon her old life? Well, maybe not abandon, but at least take a long vacation from her family and its work and political games. She felt like they would not miss her, and, truth be told, she would be damn glad to get away from them – her cheating husband, indifferent children, arrogant relatives, all those who used or ignored her.
What was she leaving behind? Nice clothes and shoes, and some jewelry, all easily replaced. A little collection of ornate glassware – but those were just gifts from people who thought that collected the stuff. She would not miss it. Her home? HA. She’d had very little input on its layout and decor. But most of all, she would leave behind a family that did not even miss her. And a pile of bad memories.
She had switched-on her phone back at the diner and nobody called. Nobody missed her yet. Almost all day, and nobody noticed she was not around. That was the only signal she needed.
*****
Rosa reached downtown, charged her purchases, and hit several ATMs for cash. Nearly US$40,000 in $20 and $50 bills made quite a stack! She divided the paper into smaller piles and folded each in one of the men’s athletic socks she had bought. This was not secure but it would do for now, as long as she kept hold of her daypack.
With the cash stashed, she got out of town.
The bloated setting sun singed her eyes as she rolled toward Austin. Her phone sat quiet, still living on its old SIM card. Damn, the family must have reached Ciudad Victoria by now – and no call! Nobody noticed yet, the bobos! This was their last chance. She would change SIMs before tomorrow, and then if they tried to call her, so what? It would be too late.
Rosa convinced herself she was not being foolish. This has been brewing, she thought, brewing for quite a while. Roberto, the kids – and Roberto’s family, the way they treated her! Ernesto, pinching her ass, making crude suggestions. Ernesto’s wife Carmen, giving her orders. The others – oh, shit on them all! Yes, it was time for a new life in a new place! If they wanted her, they would have to come find her, and then beg her, persuade her that they had changed, that they would value her as a person. Yeah, sure…
She had been wired on stress since her family lost her late that morning. She was running on empty after driving through Austin. Would she sleep in the back of the SUV tonight? No, she needed a little more comfort than that. She found a cheap motel in a nameless town.
She lay fully-dressed on the basic bed. Waves of exhaustion and energy alternately swept across her. No, she was not quite ready for sleep yet. She took a booth in the basic motel’s adjacent basic diner. She ordered decaf coffee and a slice of peach cobbler, and added tequila to the coffee from the bottle in her daypack. Attitude adjustment, she thought – it’s therapy, a psycho-medical necessity.
Rosa’s skirt-suit felt… old… after living in it that stressful day. She looked forward to fresh clothes, a fresh bed, and a fresh future. She was lost in her thoughts when a male voice asked, “Mind if I sit here, ma’am?”
The questioner sat across from Rosa without waiting for an answer. A tall thin Anglo wearing a cheap grey suit, with a bony face and neat short dark hair, somewhat older than her. Raw hands – this man was no office worker. His crinkled grey eyes revealed nothing.
“Yes, I do mind. No, I want to be by myself.”
“You sure about that, ma’am? I saw you check into your room all alone. And then you come down here, a pretty lady like yourself, and you’re a drinking woman, I can tell. You look like you could use some company. I promise, nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen.”
Rosa held her hand up, waving her engagement and wedding rings in his face. “See this? I’m a married woman. I don’t want company. I just want to be by myself now, so please go away. That’s all I want to happen, that you leave.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, pretty lady. I’ll…” he reached over and touched her shoulder. She kicked out under the booth table and landed her foot in his groin. He emptied his lungs with a WOOMF! and bent over.
“Did you get the message, slim? Or do you need a shot of mace in your face?”