Hidden Secrets

Two young adults, friendship, romance, and hidden secrets

Chapter 1

Sasha Richards was glad this day was over. As the owner and sole-instructor at The Studio -- Sasha Richards Pilates, she had put in a long day. She had taught two classes each of beginners, intermediates, and advanced, and in between classes, she had caught up on office work and billing. Her final task of the day, after the last of her students had left, was to run the big mop over the dark wood floors of the main room, clean the walls of mirrors at the front and sides of the room, straighten her reception area, and lock the front door. Just before she left, she gathered her laundry together; she always changed her workout clothes halfway through her day and took a quick shower, so she could feel fresh for her afternoon and evening classes.

Getting into her vintage VW 'Beetle,' with its faded blue exterior, she quickly drove the five miles to the apartment she shared with her boyfriend Matthew. Sasha parked her car in the rear parking lot and climbed the stairs to the second-floor entrance, inserted her key, and pushed the door open. As she entered the living space, her arms filled with her personal items, she turned to close the door and suddenly froze as the sight she had just seen sank into her consciousness. The room was entirely void of all furniture and the walls were bare. Sasha, assuming she had entered the wrong apartment, glanced at the number on the front door. No, she was in the right apartment, but something was very wrong.

Still holding her belongings, she walked down the empty hallway, past the bathroom and entered their bedroom. All the furniture was gone; all that remained were the impressions on the carpet. In the closet, she found several clear plastic storage bins, filled with what she assumed were her clothes. Hanging from the rod was her only dress, a slinky black number that showed off her body to the max and made her feel exceptionally sexy. On top of one of the bins, folded neatly was her quilted blanket and what she assumed was her pillow.

She turned from the closet, left the bedroom, and headed for the kitchen. As she walked, she could feel the heat of her anger beginning to rise. This was no robbery as she had first thought. 'The bastard dumped me.'

In the kitchen, she tossed her things on the counter next to the sink. Sasha opened each of the cabinets and drawers. He had left behind anything that had been previously opened, but had taken all of the rest, including all of the pots and pans, the small appliances, and the dishware and utensils. When she reached the refrigerator, she found a note taped to the door.

'Dear Sasha,

Sorry to break the news to you this way, but I didn't want to have a confrontation with you. I left you whatever I felt belonged to you. As you can see, it wasn't much. That was the problem; I was tired of supporting you. I let you follow your dream for three years, but your studio is never going to make a profit and I felt I was being used. I have taken a new sales position with another company, which has required me to relocate to another state. Don't try to find me or contact me. I have already changed my mailing address with any company that I would like to continue corresponding with, so I have not given my new address to the post office. All the bills are being paid online and they too have my new email address. I notified the landlord that I am not renewing my lease; therefore, you have until the end of the month to find a new place to live. Please leave your key on the kitchen counter. The landlord will be coming in on the first of next month to spackle and repaint the apartment. I have sent them pictures of the inside of the apartment, to prove what the condition of the apartment was when I left, so don't try get back at me by trashing the place. I also gave them your studio address and contact information.

Notwithstanding the financial aspects of our relationship, I have totally enjoyed our time together. You are a very sexy woman and should have no problem finding someone with whom to start a new relationship.

No hard feelings; take care.

Matt

Ps. I really enjoyed that thing you can do, crossing your legs behind your head! It was better than anything I've seen on the internet.'

"You fucking bastard. If you were here, I'd cross your legs behind your head" she fumed as she tore the note off the door, crumbled it into a ball, and tossed it across the room.

As she stood shaking with anger, she flashed back to that night less than a month ago. They had just returned home after a very pleasant dinner and a couple of after dinner drinks at their favorite tavern. Matt had led her into the bedroom and had removed her clothes.

"Sasha, how flexible are you? I was surfing the net today and came across a video of a young woman who could lick her own pussy. Do you think that's possible? I've seen videos of guys who can suck their own cocks and even cum in their own mouths, but they have a definite advantage having an erection of six or seven inches."

At first, Sasha was taken aback by his question. She had known for some time that while he was working from home, he sometimes took a break and watched porn videos. In fact, she had even watched a few with him as well, as a sort of pre-foreplay to get them in the mood. This was something she had never even considered before.

"I don't think it's possible for a normal woman. A woman would have to have an unusually long neck; her spine would have to be abnormally flexible as well. What you probably saw was two young women with the same coloring and the same general build, strategically posed so you could only see the lower half of one girl and the upper half of the other."

"You're probably right; but it was really kinky. Why don't we try it now just to prove the point? You have a long neck, and I know you are really flexible. If you can't do it or get really close, no one can."

After four glasses of wine, two with dinner and two more at the bar, her judgement was not what it normally would be.

"OK, let's try it; just don't try to help me. I'll know my breaking point, you won't, and I don't want to end up in a wheelchair."

She climbed onto their bed, laid on her back and, after a few deep breaths, put her arms together in front of her and curled herself up into a ball. With her elbows resting on the backs of her knees, she lifted her head, and placed one leg behind her head and then the other. With her feet locked behind her head, Matt moved one pillow under her feet and head, and the other pillow under her ass. Then he knelt on the bed, where her legs would normally have been and gazed down upon her clean-shaven pussy and her totally exposed asshole.

"How do you feel? Are you comfortable? Can you move any closer?"

"I'm okay, but I don't think I can move much closer. There is no way I could lick myself. I think we've proved that what you saw was probably faked. Why don't you move so I can get out of this position, and we can have some fun?"

Instead of moving, Matt leaned forward, brought his mouth down to her exposed sex and began to lick up one side and down the other of her outer lips. Sasha watched in fascination as he attacked her pussy with fervor. She had never actually seen his tongue licking her before. Soon she forgot about the position she was in and reveled in the feelings he was giving her. Her first orgasm came out of nowhere. She felt the warmth surge throughout her body.

Matt, the aroma of her arousal invading his senses, found her extended clit, and circled it with his tongue. For his efforts, he was rewarded with a new helping of her lubricating juices. By this time, she was beginning to pant and moan with desire. She needed him inside her; and she needed him now. And yet, he did not enter her. She always knew he had a kinky side to his personality. It came to the forefront moments later when she felt his tongue slowly caressing her ass. Her body was on fire. She would have done almost anything for him. For a moment, she feared that he was going to fuck her ass, then at the last moment, he moved up over her body, grabbed hold of the top of the headboard and slowly entered her soaking wet pussy.

She watched as the head of his cock slowly parted her lips and disappeared into her damp heat. In and out his cock traveled, bringing her ever closer to another earth-shaking climax. It was like watching one of his porn videos, only this time they were the stars of the video as well as the live audience. How long it went on she never knew. The pressure was building, and when her body could no longer withstand it, her climax exploded within her, sending shockwaves through her body. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened in a silent scream as the feelings overwhelmed her.

Then she felt it. First one splat onto her cheek, the next into her mouth, the third and fourth onto her forehead and the next one into her right eye.

She opened her left eye, in time to see the head of his cock just inches from her face and caught a glimpse of his face before the final spurt of his ejaculation landed on her left eye.

"Get off me you bastard. You did that on purpose. Get off me. Ouch it stings, it hurts like hell, I've got to wash my face."

She untangled herself, rolled out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and slammed the door and locked it behind her.

"Sasha, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. It slipped out and before I could do anything about it, it was all over. I'm sorry, are you alright?"

When she finally calmed down enough to control herself. She opened the door and marched past him still naked, put on a nightshirt and panties, climbed into bed, and turned away from his side of the bed.

She got up the next morning, dressed, and went to work. She did not hear from him for the rest of the day. However, when she got home, there was a dozen red roses in a vase on the kitchen table, with a note of apology and his pledge of his never-ending love for her.

She knew now it was all a bunch of lies. She could see clearly now that final moment just before she was temporarily blinded by his cum, he was smiling down at her, as he disrespected her!

She allowed her anger to build until, after a few minutes, she exploded.

"You fucking bastard. You think you've won; you think I can't make it without you. I've got news for you; I will survive. In fact, I will thrive!

Just like an over inflated balloon, it reaches a point where it can't handle any more air, bursts, and very little remains. Sasha returned to her bedroom, prepared a bed for herself using her quilt folded in half and her pillow, stripped, and naked, crawled between the fold of the quilt, and reviewed her situation. All remnants of her anger had completed disappeared.

'At this point, I can't afford to rent another apartment, and I won't ever move in with anyone ever again. I don't want to jeopardize my studio, but I have no choice, I'll have to live in my office. I've already got a convertible sofa thanks to that yard sale we went to a year ago. I'll have to move it behind my desk, so I can open it at night. I have a microwave, a refrigerator, and a coffee machine I can use for my meals. I'm so glad that I spent that fit-out money I received from the landlord when I signed my lease, to renovate the men's bathroom by removing the urinal and installing a private shower and floor drain. Now all I have to do is get my clothes and things into the studio without the landlord seeing me and keep a low profile around there. I can make this work.'

Chapter 2

Enrique 'Rick' Hernandez drove his Ford F150 through the nearly empty parking lots. He always enjoyed this time of the morning. The sun was barely peeking over the eastern horizon; the cool of the night air had not yet yielded to the oppressive heat that would soon dominate the rest of the day and even hours later into the evening. He drove along the store fronts, stopping at each trash receptacle, checking the level of the accumulated trash. If necessary, he removed the trash bag, tied it off, and replaced it with a new one, tossing the filled bag in the bed of his truck before heading to the next one. As he pulled up in front of The Studio he knew what he would find, so he already had a replacement bag in hand. As he removed the used bag, he checked its contents. Sure enough, there were at least two white kitchen bags full of garbage, along with the occasional Starbuck's coffee cup and the remnants of a fast-food meal or two.

He laughed to himself. He knew the owner of The Studio, Sasha Richards had to be frugal with her money. Most of the other stores had their own trash dumpsters in the back of the building; in fact, it was a requirement in their lease to arrange for the dispose of their own garbage. He sealed the bag, tossed it into the back of the truck and as he was about to get into the driver's seat, he glanced around the large parking lot. There, far away from the stores, was her faded blue VW Beetle. After stopping several more times, he left the parking lot by the side exit, crossed the street, and entered the next shopping center.

His uncle's company, Glendale Building Services, Inc. had the contract for the maintenance of six shopping centers on this side of Bell Road and five on the opposite side of the road. Before crossing over to the other side of the road, Rick stopped at the company's dumpster, unloaded the back of the truck, and continued his task until it was complete.

He then reviewed his work orders for the day, prioritized them in order of importance, and set about completing his tasks for the day. When he was satisfied that all were complete, he packed up his tools and headed back to his office. His office was located on the top floor of the four-story office building located behind the shopping center, which included The Studio. He parked his truck in the back of the building and after entering the building, chose to use the stairs rather than the elevator. He greeted the receptionist, picked up his messages and proceeded quickly to his corner office. The nameplate read Rick Hernandez, President. Upon entering his office, his eyes focused upon the large flowchart, which was mounted directly behind his desk. At the top in bold letters was the name of the parent company: Miguel Hernandez Land Management and Development Company. Below the name hung four subsidiary companies. Glendale Management Company, Glendale Construction Company, Glendale Realtors, Inc., and Glendale Building Services, Inc.

Rick picked up his gym bag and hurried into his private bathroom. His business casual clothes and his current favorite suit hung in the adjoining closet. After a quick shower, he dressed in a golf shirt and coordinating slacks, and then settled in behind his large desk. After reviewing his messages, returning any required calls, he checked in with his administrative assistant. He asked her to contact the heads of each of the company's subsidiaries and inform them that their weekly 4:00 meeting was still on.

Promptly at 4:00, all four vice presidents reported as scheduled. Each gave an update of the operating results for the week, including any problems that had come to light. As he looked around the conference table, he smiled to himself. This was truly a family operation. His two uncles on his mother's side ran the construction and building services divisions of the company, while his two cousins ran the real estate management and the real estate sales and rental operations.

At ten minutes to five o'clock, he adjourned the meeting and wished everyone a good evening and an even better weekend. After everyone had left for the evening, he sat back in his large leather chair, his mind drifting back over the history of the company.

It all started sometime around 1846. His fifth great grandfather on his father's side of the family had fled the area around Mexico City to escape the political and social unrest that threatened to erupt into a full-scale shooting war with the United States. Taking his share of the family's considerable wealth in gold, he resettled on land that the family owned north of the Rio Grande River, near the small town, which would eventually become Tucson, Arizona. Twelve years later that area, from the eastern border of California, across the future state of Arizona and part way across New Mexico, would be transferred from Mexico to the United States, in a transaction known as the Gadsden Purchase. With the stroke of a pen and the transfer of ten million dollars, the United States acquired a much-coveted railroad route around the mountains between the southeast and the Pacific Ocean and, almost overnight, tens of thousands of Mexican citizens became residents of the United States. His ancestor and his family were some of those new residents.

Over the next forty years, because of the civil war and the constant threat of surprise attacks by renegade Apache, the family migrated northward, finally settling in the region north and west of the small railroad town of Phoenix. Because they came from a long line of landowners, he purchased as much land as he could get his hands on in what would later become the City of Glendale. Much of the land was located about a mile from the Agua Fria River and Skunk Creek ran through the heart of his land holdings. The water only flowed above ground during the rainy season in Skunk Creek, but it served as an important resource, replenishing water in ponds and wells in the area. The Agua Fria River flowed much of the year until 1924 when it was dammed north of the tiny town of Peoria to form Lake Pleasant, which would later be expanded by pumping water into it from the Colorado River and would become an important part of the Central Arizona Water Conservation District, supplying water to the upper half of the Valley of the Sun.

By the time the ownership of the land had changed hands to Rick's grandfather, there was no longer enough water to sustain crops, therefore, he turned to raising cattle and horses. Then, in the early fifties, just as the cities of Phoenix, Scottsdale, Glendale, and Peoria began to experience a surge in population, the visionaries in power in the state and city governments met to determine how to manage the northern expansion of the four cities. An east-west grid system was established providing for nearly straight roads where the topography allowed, stretching from Scottsdale in the east, through Phoenix, Glendale, and Peoria and even west to Surprise and Goodyear.

When his grandfather received the notice that the state had authorized the cities to take part of his land for a right of way, effectively cutting most of his property into two parcels, one to the north of the road and one to the south, he was devastated at what he presumed would be the loss of a substantial portion of its value. It was Rick's father, Miguel, who saw the true value of their land as it was now situated. They now owned land fronting a major east-west access road. It would be even more valuable as commercial property than as residential property as he had originally envisioned. It was Miguel who built the first of the strip malls along Bell Road. When that one was complete, and fully rented, he started the next one, and so on, down both sides of Bell Road. When he ran out of open land, he petitioned the city fathers, to build single pad buildings, mostly suitable for chain restaurants or other small commercial enterprises, on the land closest to the road, which was previously mostly unused parking areas. It was a winning formula.

At the start of this process, he understood that the more he could control his costs, the more money he could make. With that in mind, he set up his own construction company. His wife, Helen, Rick's mother, came from a middle-class family. Both of her older brothers were tradesmen, one was a carpenter, the other a mason. Miguel hired both of them. They became the nucleus of his construction company. He set up her sister, who worked for a small real estate agency, as the sole rental agent for the buildings. He sent her to school so she could become a real estate broker. She hired several experienced agents and formed an agency that could handle not only his properties but could also generate outside revenue as well.