Homebound Ch. 01

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This is a long winded romance between two women with a dash of supernatural elements(reincarnation). As with my other stories, there is a strong focus on plot and the characters drive the story forward. While there is sex, it isn’t the focal point.

Huge thank you to Wax Philosophic for allowing me to borrow one of my favorite characters from Mistress and Charlotte’s lives. If you haven’t read any of the ongoing series featuring these lovely ladies yet, I highly recommend it.

As always, I love and thrive on feedback. So, whether you loved it, hated it, or something in between, please leave a comment or shoot me an email. Thanks for reading!


Josephine Daniela Vasquez – Present Day

The farmer’s market was packed, and I threaded my way through the dense crowd in search of a stand with berries. The sun baked the area and I was grateful I chose to wear a tank top and cut-off shorts before leaving the house. There was a gentle breeze floating in the air but it was akin to a desert breeze, offering absolutely no relief from the late August heat. I finally reached the produce stands, finding a long table with various berries strewn across the surface in their tiny square green boxes. Blackberries, peaches, nectarines, and a handful of overripe blueberries, which I knew were just starting to be out of season. “Can I help you?” the young woman standing behind the table asked in accented English.

I smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’ll take a crate of blueberries and a bundle of spinach, please,” I said. She was pretty, her dark brown hair hanging over her shoulder and her skin a dark bronze, much like my own.

After gathering the items that I requested, she placed them in my reusable bag and took the cash I was handing her. “Hablas español?” she inquired.

I chewed my lip before I grinned,”Si, pequeno, lo siento,” I apologized honestly, letting her know I did but only a little. She handed me my change and my bag. We chatted amicably about the weather and the city. “Gracias,” I said before leaving the stand. You might be surprised how pleasant it is to have a simple conversation in one’s first language. It’s the little things, I tell you. I left the area, heading toward the sidewalk to make my way home. I struggled with the weight of my bags, lifting the load onto my shoulder. My Latina heritage is obvious and the interaction at the farmer’s market was not the first instance of someone thinking I knew fluent Spanish. Let me explain a little.

My mother came to the states when she was pregnant with me, fleeing from the tiny town of Jecori in the Mexican state of Sorono. She never got into much detail of the actual journey to America but did tell me it was hot. She eventually admitted to me that she wasn’t pregnant when she began the trip, which always makes me cringe when I think about it. As first generation, she struggled to find proper prenatal care and I feel fortunate to be alive as she was only seventeen when she had me.

She made her way to California, crossing the border illegally and obtaining work where she could until I came along. Finding childcare is difficult in general but with the added issue of being in the country illegally with absolutely no familial support, my mom had to rely on the assistance of other migrant workers she had become close to. She was able to continue working after I was born and support our two-person family, traveling up and down the west coast for jobs.

It wasn’t a bad childhood; she loved me very much, taught me good morals and always put my wellbeing first. We were reasonably happy until she was detained for being unable to prove her citizenship. That’s when shit hit the fan.

“Hey!” a voice pulled me from my reverie as I hurried through the crosswalk. Once I reached the curb, I turned to see a woman following me. She was absolutely stunning, long blond hair shining in the August sun, her alabaster skin stark against the little royal blue sundress that hugged her body. She held my wallet in her hand.

“Oops, thank you so much,” I said as she approached me, handing me my wallet. The closer she got, the more beautiful she became. Her hair held little kinks, the wavy ash locks laying over her shoulders and her emerald eyes catching mine. A splattering of dark freckles lay on her soft cheeks and petite nose. Her fingers brushed mine when I took it, and my breath hitched as I felt a strange tingling where her skin had touched mine. Her eyes widened for a brief moment before she relaxed and smiled, causing me to wonder if she’d felt the same thing.

“No problem. I saw you drop it at the farm stand.” Once I had my wallet, she gave me a little wave and took off down the street, her curvaceous hips swaying. Meh, she was probably straight anyway.

I headed in the opposite direction toward the house. It sat on a slanted road facing downtown and the three bedroom home was comfortable. When I stepped inside, one of my two roommates sat on the couch, hands thrumming the controller of his video game console. “Sup?” he offered, illegal bahis his brown eyes unmoving from the screen in front of him.

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it because he was too engrossed in his game. “Nothing got some veggies and crap from the market.” I headed to the kitchen, putting the produce in the fridge before grabbing a soda and plopping down beside my roommate.

I tried to watch whatever Alejandro was playing but I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. “What’s the point of this?” I asked.

His dark brows pulled together. “I shoot the bad guys,” he explained. “You going to the club later?”

I knew he was referring to the gay club down the street that I had yet to check out. It had been roughly four months since we’d been living together and I’d grown used to his prolonged screen time, with work and play. Plus, he invited a lot of men to his place. I had a copious amount of ear plugs in my bedside table. I’m pretty sure his sister took the bottom floor room for more than the private bathroom. “I guess I could check it out.”

He finally took his eyes off the game and looked at me, waggling his brown eyebrows. “There’ll be a lot of hot chicas,” he sang, nudging me with his elbow. Alejandro Flores and I had more in common than just our sexuality and the color of our skin; he and his sister, Ana, were second generation from El Salvador, their parents seeking refuge from the violent street gangs flooding their city and a corrupt government.

When I turned eighteen, I ditched my latest foster family, heading up to Seattle, Washington from Long Beach, California.

Being only in my junior year of high school, I reenrolled myself in one of the public schools in the city. I lived in a shelter for some time until I found work and an amazing program that offered housing assistance for teens such as I was. I met Alejandro and his older sister when I started school, the three of us quickly becoming friends due to our shared experiences.

They were the closest thing to family I had aside from the few migrant workers in California who helped me cope after my mother’s passing. Well, they tried. I wouldn’t allow the help and suffered for it. I’ll get back to that sob story later. Some time before I graduated high school, I was offered a scholarship for being a second generation Mexican-American, with the added bonus of being a former foster child.

It was enough to cover my schooling, which is a lot more than most can say and I chose physical education. It came as a surprise due to my few brushes with the law and for being a general fuck up. I guess the organization saw something in me, a glimmer of hope and promise. Whatever it was, I was more than thankful to have the opportunity.

I slapped the arm of the couch as I stood. “I guess I’ll go take a shower if I’m going to tag along with you. Can’t be smelling like a sweaty mongrel if I want to find myself a lovely lady to dance with.”

“I hear some people like that smell,” he snorted, eyes back on the video game in from of him.

I chuckled as I walked up the stairs to my bedroom. It was so nice feeling a part of a family. Our little trio was close knit and I loved Alejandro and Ana as if they were truly my siblings. It had been almost fifteen years since my mother passed and I finally felt like I had a true family again. Alejandro specialized in computer informatics while his sister worked at the high school. She actually recommended me and helped me land the job. I had been a substitute teacher floating around in Seattle, having trouble finding a steady position.

It was tiresome, as all I wanted in that point in my life was a little predictability. I moved around enough in the first part of my life and I was ready to have a stable job at the very least. Ana found me such a job, a spot opening and she helped me secure that position.

I stripped, eager to wash the sweat off my body from my ritual morning run and the overall grim from the heat outside. The shower washed over me, easing the muscles sore from my run and the hike I took the day prior. I washed my body hastily before stepping out and wrapping in a towel. I headed to my bedroom, my mind on what I was going to wear to the club.

“You going like that?” Alejandro asked, his shoulder leaning against the threshold of my bedroom door.

“Uh, real funny Al. Now, get out so I can get dressed.” I shooed him from my doorway, closing it before turning to the closet. I grabbed some clothes and tossed them on my bed, throwing my towel over the back of the computer chair in my room.

The faint puckered scars on my abdomen weren’t as ugly as they had been, the knife marks still a reminder of my reckless behavior as a teen. The air from the oscillating fan ran over my flesh, causing my dark nipples to tighten and little goosebumps to spread across my skin as I pulled on my bra, adjusting the straps.

I thought about skipping out on the bra, as I had one thing in mind when I decided to go to the club: I wanted illegal bahis siteleri to spend the night with a beautiful woman. For some reason, I thought back to the blond and my wallet and the rush of lust I felt when those green eyes met my own. It was such a strange sensation, not quite static shock but perhaps describing it as pins and needles would be more accurate.

I felt my nipples stiffen against my bra as I thought about it and sighed. Shit, I needed to get laid. Admittedly, I had a thing for blondes, originating with a beautiful surf Goddess in shining armor who saved me from potentially beating up a racist asshole. I wondered if this was the reason I couldn’t get the stranger out of my head. I remember it being one of the integral moments that lead me to getting my ass in gear and taking what life offered me. Which, I eventually realized was a lot.

It was a few months short of my eighteenth birthday and I was biding my time before I could take off from my latest foster family. They weren’t the worst, but I was over it by that point, my brush with death after a fight I picked sobering me to the realities of life and my own expectations. The sun was warm over the beach, the sand hot on my bare feet as I walked near the sidewalk, cherishing the sounds of the ocean. I found a spot by a palm tree and eased down in the scorching sand, watching the water push onto the shore and recede back.

A roller skater passed behind me on the sidewalk, a distant conversation mixing with the sounds of a seagull’s melody and the waves. I looked up, the leaves of a palm tree raking the clear blue sky as a breeze pressed off the water. My short crop of brown hair was tousled by the wind, the feeling reminding me of when my mother ruffled it when she hugged me.

A lone surfer rode a small wave, flopping off the board and quickly being submerged in the water. It was hypnotizing and the sounds and scenery lulled me into a false meditation.

I closed my eyes, taking a lung full of the salty air and smiling to myself. I only had three more months until I could escape from the shifting existence I inhabited. My mother had a mantra she used to say when life was becoming too unpredictable and she was fearful. “Al hombre osado, la foruna le da la mano,” I whispered to myself. It meant that ones who act boldly are more likely to succeed. To the daring man, fortune gives him the hand. I repeated it four times, such as my mother had when she was overthinking a decision to move on to another job. It calmed me in times of distress. I wasn’t particularly distressed but the future concerned me. When I did reach legal adulthood, where the hell was I going to go? I knew I didn’t want to stay in California. I’d only ever been to the three west coast states with my mother and I couldn’t see myself staying in the area if I didn’t have to. I repeated my mantra, brows furrowed and lips a tight line as I searched myself for what I wanted.

“We speak English here in America. Why don’t you go back to Mexico?” a gruff voice shouted at me, snapping me from my false serenity. I looked up to see the owner of the voice, a pasty boy of roughly sixteen standing over me, another equally scrawny boy behind him.

“Excuse me?” I asked, bringing my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun. I stood and brushed the sand from my shorts. I was actually surprised he didn’t say ‘Murica and I tried not to chuckle at my internal thought.

Scrawny boy

took a step back and puffed out his chest. “You heard me. If you want to speak Spanish, you should get the hell out of here and go back to Mexico.”

I crinkled my face at him. “I was born in San Diego. I’ve never even been to Mexico,” I averred while gritting my teeth, my hand clenching into a fist at my side. I was sick and tired of being judged for existing and I was ready to fuck this kid up, regardless if it lead to jail time or not. Fighting had always been the answer at that point in my life and, even after landing myself in the hospital with the last fight I instigated, I wasn’t ready to back down from one with the idiot in front of me.

Although I was quite petite in stature, I could still fuck somebody up. Cowering in the face of adversary had done nothing for me in the past. I shifted a foot back, readying myself to throw a nose breaking strike to his face upon his response.

That is, until my eyes caught sight of a Goddess emerging from the water behind Scrawny Boys


. She was tall, having at least four inches on me and her blue bikini showcased tight muscles expanding over her entire torso and everywhere else for that matter. Her long blond dreadlocks showered the sand in seawater as she shook her head and she tucked her surfboard under her arm as she strode toward us.

“Doesn’t matter where you were born,” Scrawny Boy

said, causing me to rip my gaze away from the woman just in time to see him spit in the sand. How attractive. I tightened my fist again and was about to throw my punch when she spoke.

“Leave her alone, shit canlı bahis siteleri heads,” the woman with the surfboard called as she approached, eyeing the two guys. I tried to keep myself from drooling as I took in her appearance. Beads of water cascaded over her taut abdomen and her thighs. The muscles in the arm holding her surfboard rippled as she shoved the tip of her board into the sand, hand meeting her hip. Water droplets ran down her elegant neck, threading down between the slight cleavage of her perk breasts.

“Go to hell,” Scrawny Boy


I lifted my eyes from her chest, mentally berating myself for being such a perv. Warm hazel eyes met mine and I saw her lips curl slightly before she set her gaze back on the assholes harassing me. Her skin held a beautiful bronze tan that couldn’t have been solely from the sun and I was transfixed by her beauty, the tiny stud in her nose shimmering in the sunlight. “Hey, Tommy, you little twat waffle, shouldn’t you be home washing your mama’s colostomy bag? I thought Thursdays were your day,” the surf Goddess retorted.

Scrawny boy

scowled. “Fuck you, Jules.”

She grinned, a blond eyebrow lifting with arrogance. “Oh, you wish, Tommy. You wish. Now get the fuck out of here.” Scrawny boys took off, muttering something obscene under their breaths.

Once they were trudging down the sidewalk, I couldn’t help but laugh at her insult. “Twat waffle?”

She looked at me and smirked with a shrug of her shoulders. “It struck a chord, didn’t it? I’m Juliet. I swear most people around here are decent, with the exception of those fuckers,” she claimed, extending her hand.

I reached out and shook her offered hand.

“Thanks. I’m Jo. Honestly, I was about to kick his ass.” Her hand held mine a little longer than normal handshakes permitted but, fuck, I wasn’t complaining. She was gorgeous and could probably tell I was a few months short of not being jailbait when she finally let go. Juliet tugged the surfboard from its spot it in the sand and tucked it beneath her arm again.

“It’s nice to meet you. Those pendejos aren’t worth it. Tommy is a little shit head who likes to talk a lot of trash and wouldn’t last two seconds in a real fight.” She smiled and I couldn’t stop staring at her. “Sorry, but I’ve got to run. If you ever want some surfing lessons, I come down here at least four times a week. Or, if you just want some tips on coming up with insults on the fly, that works too. Hasta luego, pequeña,” she said with a wink before she walked up the sidewalk toward the parking lot.

Shortly after she left, I plopped back down in the sand and realized how grateful I was for her intervening. If she hadn’t, I know I would’ve kicked the ‘twat waffle’s’ ass and, with such a short time before I turned eighteen, probably be tried as an adult if he called the cops. I sighed deeply, sitting back in the warm sand as the sun began its descent. I thought about all the places my mom and I lived and finally realized Washington state was where we were happiest. She made the best money and she was always lighthearted up in the Pacific Northwest. Three months later, I hopped a train with cash I’d saved up from my various jobs and headed to the emerald city.

As I thought about the cute blond who gave me my wallet, I wished I could thank Juliet for saving me from making a monumental mistake. Those idiots weren’t worth me going to jail for, even though I would’ve enjoyed kicking their asses. It wouldn’t cure them of their intolerance toward Spanish speakers and immigrants in general. That had to happen on a different level or platform. Not the other end of my fist. In hindsight, I should’ve went back to that beach to find her and thank her but I was too chicken shit back then. I had the confidence to pick a fight with a grown man but not to ask a pretty girl on a date. That confidence came later.

I threw on a cute band tee that hugged my breasts and a pair of Bermuda shorts before heading to the bathroom to do my hair. I stared into the mirror as I styled my short chestnut hair into a cute little faux hawk. “Jo, you ready?” I heard Alejandro call from down the hall.

“Dude, it’s not even six o’clock yet,” I called out. I could hear him talking on the phone as he made his way up the stairs.

“We’re stopping to have dinner with Ana at her majesty’s favorite vegan place,” he whispered, covering the receiver of the phone with his hand. I nodded and turned back to the mirror, fixing an unruly hair before washing the styling product off my hands.


I was a far cry from where I’d once been in my life, shortly after my mother was detained. My recollection of the day she didn’t come home is a little fuzzy but I think I was about eleven years old. I say ‘home’ loosely. We never truly had a home. School had been rough that day and we’d only been in Anaheim, California for maybe a month. My Mama was working for a well off family as a housekeeper and she was making a decent living, enough that we could afford a motel room to ourselves. I caught the bus from downtown and when I got back to our room, she was gone. I waited, hoping maybe she just picked up more hours or had missed her bus. It was the next morning when child protective services came banging on the door.

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