Heather Brown - Blow girl

With Katrina's kind words, the unpleasant images of my life back in the city faded before the picture of her strong, loving body, and the memory of her sweet sticky cunt in my face and her lips and tongue on mine, and I knew that I could go on. She kissed me tenderly on the lips, and as I returned the kiss I knew that everything was going to be all right.

The road back from the cabin to the main highway was about thirty miles long and full of curves. After about ten miles the sky suddenly became filled with dark clouds. Soon after Katrina observed, "It looks like rain," the water began to come down in sheets.

"Maybe we ought to pull over," I suggested as large rain drops furiously pelted her little Volkswagen.

"No, that's all right," she said. "I've been over this road enough times to be familiar with it. We'll be all right," and she looked, over at the radio dial and began tuning it with one hand while steering the car with other.

I guess Katrina was looking at the radio dial as we entered the curve and never saw the logging truck that came steaming around the corner toward us out of the rainy mist. The last thing I remember was the windshield jumping toward me and the explosion of breaking glass as I seemed to be hurled into another world with the sound of Katrina's screaming echoing in my ears.

When I woke up I was in what was obviously a hospital bed. I put my hand up to my face and felt bandages all over it. I screamed.

A doctor and a nurse rushed into the room.

"My face! My face!" I cried. "What's wrong with my face?"

The elderly white-haired doctor leaned down toward me and said softly, "I'm afraid you've been in a bad accident. Your car ran off the road and you went through the windshield."

Suddenly the haunting memory of Katrina's screams filled my consciousness. "Katrina!" I gasped. "Where's Katrina? Is she..?"

"Yes," he said gently, "I'm afraid she didn't make it."

I let out a long moan and lapsed into unconsciousness.

When I had gone through the windshield, even though my face had been severely cut, it had probably saved my life because I was thrown clear of the wreckage. However, a tree stump had stopped my flight, breaking bones in both of my legs, my right hip, my collarbone, and several ribs. There were no internal injuries, but my broken bones would take a long time to heal, including at least three months in the hospital.

Fortunately the cuts in my face weren't too deep and face wasn't scarred. But my heart and soul were. The injuries were bad enough, but nothing alongside the anguish I felt knowing that Katrina, the one true love of my life, was gone almost immediately after coming into it. In my sorrow I made the decision that to keep the memory of Katrina alive in me, I would use the name she had given me, Honeysuckle. The way I felt it was more of a name to me than the one given to me by my mother, since Katrina had loved me and Margot had always just tolerated me. When the hospital attempted to identify me I told them my first name was Honeysuckle. The nurse cocked her eyebrow in surprise when I said it, but said nothing other than, "That's a very unusual name." Later, however, when my medical records from home arrived at the hospital they listed my first name as Janis, a discrepancy which the head nurse quickly noticed and confronted me with.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but my name is Honeysuckle, and I insist you have me listed as that."

"But your medical records clearly list your first name as Janis," she said.

"It was Janis," I explained, "but I've changed it since then."

"Well, unless you have legal proof that it's been changed," she said firmly, "you're Janis."

"Please, please," I begged, "you don't know how important this is to me. Please, my name is Honeysuckle!"

"Well, if it's that important to you," the head nurse said thoughtfully, "maybe we can work something out. It's important for you to be in good mental health if you're going to recover physically. If it'll make you feel better, I'll tell you what. We'll have to leave Janis on the chart, but we'll add the notation that you like to be called Honeysuckle. How's that?"

"Oh, thank you, thank you," I said gratefully. I wound up spending four months in the main hospital, and then I was transferred to a halfway facility so I could receive physical therapy to regain the use of my legs. It was like learning to walk all over again. The bills for all this must have been enormous, but, fortunately, I had hospital coverage from my job, and, for once, I was glad I had worked in that warehouse. However, I knew that when I got better I couldn't be going back because there were just too many painful memories associated with it. I knew I'd never be able to concentrate on my work there, remembering Katrina by my side.

While I was in treatment I celebrated my seventeenth birthday. The day was on my chart and I was pleasantly surprised when the therapy staff surprised me with a birthday cake. The cake had twenty-one candles on it because I had added four extra years on my age to get my job and my medical records had been assembled and transferred through the insurance company which covered the warehouse. It was really more appropriate that way because I actually felt as though I were twenty-one, officially an adult, now starting on the most crucial phase of my life.

It was around this time that I met Tom, who was to have an important bearing on my decision as to what to do with my life.

Tom came into the physical therapy unit about a month after I did at a time when I was already showing marked improvement and getting around increasingly more. He hadn't been hurt nearly as badly as I had, although we had a lot in common. Mainly, he was also from the city and had been on vacation in the mountains and had been involved in an automobile accident. He was an interesting-looking man in his early twenties. He wasn't really handsome but he was very attractive, and from his first day in the unit every woman patient and nurse was taken with him. Charm plus personality, that was Tom. And it was me he singled out to make friends with almost from the first day he appeared in the unit.

I was sitting down reading a book when he wheeled up to me and said, "What's a nice girl like you doing in a joint like this?"

I laughed and pointed to the walking cast I was still wearing, and said, "What's a lousy joint like this doing in a girl like me?"

He thought that was pretty funny, and we became friendly right away. However, I made sure that our conversations didn't go too far beyond the joking stage. I purposely kept him at a distance because I didn't want to get involved with anybody at that point. I felt I was too insecure to risk another romance with either a man or a woman.

However, I had to admit to myself that after months without sex, now that I was getting physically better my sexual urges were coming back. Frequently during the night I would find myself dreaming of sex. The lovers in my dreams seemed to be of both sexes simultaneously, or, frequently, a man would start to fuck me and then turn into a woman, or vice versa. In one dream I was sucking the clitoris of a lover that vaguely seemed to me to be Katrina. Then, suddenly, as I kissed the pink glistening nub, it grew into an enormous cock, about the size of Red's, that brutally forced its way into my mouth and started choking me. I awoke gasping for breath, a sharp, tingling sensation between my legs. Putting my hand to my crotch I quickly discovered that my cunt was wringing wet. My touch on my pussy excited me even more, and before I knew it I was rubbing my clitoris, and then finger-fucking myself.

The hair on my cunt had long since grown back and I could feel it matted from my juices as I worked my finger up my hole and circulated the palm of my hand over my clitoris and the moist folds of my juicy cunt. I pushed my finger, then two, then three, in and out of my cunt at an accelerating speed, lifting my ass from the sheets and arching my back and spreading try legs to accommodate my pumping.