Odessa's Stories

Message From Odessa

Dear Readers,

If you've read Jezebel Jorge's Ring Dreams series, you might perhaps remember a character named Odessa. Those stories were conceived and written before I introduced myself to Jezebel and informed her that I am her Spirit Guide.

That's right, I was once a real person who walked among the living. I was born on a full moon Samhain in 1944 and succumbed to a horrible death in August of 1985. When Jezebel was writing her first story she happened to stumble across my tombstone in a cemetery in Raleigh, North Carolina. She saw my name and instantly knew that Odessa was the perfect name for the ghost in her Ring Dreams series.

The whole Ring Dreams series is fiction. I fed Jezebel little tidbits of my previous life, some of which did work their way into these hot witchy tales. An example of this would be William Fletcher. William is the embodiment of the two men I loved most. You're going to be introduced to both these men as my real story unfolds.

Amalie really was my daughter. As in Shattered, she was raped and impregnated, possibly due to my irresponsible parenting. I suffered a mental breakdown over the loss of my Beloved that horrid January. The rest of the story–Rowan's birth, the Daltons, the Fletchers, Paul Bryson. That is all total and complete fiction.

Little did Jezebel know that I would appear to her in March of 2011 and slowly begin to tell her my real story. Names have been changed to protect those I loved and their loved ones, as well as the not so innocent. You know, that whole liability thing. Some of you may not believe in ghosts. That is your choice. But, I am determined to have my true story told.

I'm going to regale you with what will most likely be a three part full length trilogy. Along the way we're going to drop in some juicy little tidbits as hot and quick reads. These stories won't be told in chronological order. Channeling a spirit doesn't work that way. Just consider it random little doses of naughty fun.

So, sit back, get comfortable, pour a glass of your favorite adult libation, and most importantly, believe as thy will...

Odessa

The Lady Is A Tramp

Roger, darling. The dark haired woman air kissed both of Roger's cheeks before taking an uninvited seat across from us. So good to see you.

I dug my nails into Roger's thigh and he reached for my hand under the table. Despite his touch, I squirmed uncomfortably, feeling the death of the poor cows who's skin covered the booth we'd taken in a back corner of the Déjà Vu Supper Club.

You could have named dropped and gotten yourself a better table. Her too red lips formed a smile that didn't quite reach her heavily lined eyes.

We're good here. Roger entwined his fingers around mine. How's the old man?

Still breathing, unfortunately. She leaned over, offering Roger a view of her enormous breasts spilling over the top of a corseted dressed that barely skimmed her nipples.

Katie and her husband own the joint, Roger said, his blue eyes lingering too long on her cleavage.

How's Terri? she asked, making it clear Roger had frequented this place with his wife.

I'm sure she's having a blast spending my money in Philly. He flashed her an equally fake smile before turning his attention back to me. This is Odessa, my lady friend I've been telling you about.

You're right, she is stunning. The woman never took her eyes off Roger, and just as if I wasn't even there, she added, A little young for you, but quite striking.

Thank you, Roger answered in my behalf.

Much to my relief our tuxedoed waiter arrived with our dinner. Surely, this Katie would now leave us alone to enjoy our meal in peace.

Michael, she said, Please bring us a bottle of Dom Perignon, and put it on the house tab.

Yes, Mrs. Hirsch, he said, presenting me with my salad and then setting a plate in front of her before serving Roger his filet mignon.

I hope you don't mind if I join you, Katie stated rather than asked.

Not if there's champagne involved. Roger didn't met her intense gaze. Instead he turned his attention to the waiter. Could you bring some orange juice?

Yes, sir, the waiter said. Is there anything else I can get for you?

Roger glanced at my Spinach salad. Strawberries. Do you have some fresh strawberries?

Certainly, sir. The waiter nodded, backing away from the table.

I let Roger pour raspberry vinaigrette dressing over my salad, loving how he always took such good care of me and remembered how much I liked strawberries with my salads.

Is that all you're having? Katie waved a disgusting forkful of almost bloody steak.

She's a vegetarian, Roger said. Dess won't even kiss me with meat on my breath.

Katie laughed. A woman refusing to kiss Roger Rohde?

Roger offered me a bite of his baked potato, carefully using a spoon not contaminated from making contacting the meat on his plate. She has my toothbrush and breath mints in her purse.

Why, Roger, I do believe this little one has you whipped, Katie said before popping a chuck of steak into her mouth.

Indeed, she does. Roger took the pitcher of orange juice, pouring it into my champagne flute to mix up my favorite drink.

Mimosa after breakfast. Katie shook her head, her long black curls shimmering as she laughed. Are you sure she's legal?

My sexy little witch turned twenty-one on Halloween, Roger lied so glibly I almost believed him.

He hadn't known I was only sixteen the first time he'd bedded me. By the time I'd confessed my true age. I had him so pussy whipped he decided to cover his indiscretion by conveniently tacking on an extra two years. He'd made me eighteen then, as I legally was now.

Witch? Katie's disdain made me want to cast a not so nice spell on her. You sure do know how to pick them.

She eyed the emerald pentacle dangling on a silver chain above my barely there breasts. Roger had dressed me in a shimmery black evening dress that clung to my body like a second skin. The slit up the front coupled with silver high heels did wonders for my legs, but not a lot for my complete lack of womanly curves.

I tugged on the necklace, my birthday present from Roger. He took her comment in stride, pouring me another mimosa.

So, tell me Roger, does your red haired little witch have enough hocus pocus to counter Terri's mojo? Katie laughed like we were all full of shit.

Dess has me right where she wants me, he said, flashing his most beautiful smile.

Katie sliced into her steak and the bloody meat made the bile rise in my throat. After carefully chewing her way though an enormous bite of dead cow she looked at me. You know his wife is some kind of Puerto Rican Voo Doo Priestess?

No she's not, Roger quickly countered.

It's her mother, I blurted out. Her mother is the one with the power.

Roger's mouth dropped open in astonishment, How did you?

Carmella's mother knows her. Now it was my turn to laugh. All good witches make it a point to study their enemies and Puerto Rican Voo Doo is quite tame to what the Merci's learned in Haiti.

This one's got spunk. Katie raised her glass in a mock toast. I do believe the great Roger Rohde has finally met his match.

With that said, Katie finished off her drink and bide us a much appreciated adieu. This time keeping her red lips a safe distance from Roger's mouth.

I apologize for the intrusion, Roger said, his eye's still following Katie's sashaying ass.

Yeah right. I emptied my own glass trying to regain my composure. It didn't take a witch's intuition to know Roger and Katie had some kind of history.

She was my high school sweetheart, Roger said, refilling my glass.

You used to fuck her?

Dess, darling, that word is not appropriate outside our boudoir.

Cut the crap. I stabbed a cucumber, not daring to meet his eyes. From the way my flesh burned hot with anger I knew my face had to be as red as my hair.

You're so cute when you get all jealous. He cupped my chin, forcing me to look at him. I've not been intimate with Katie since I was a cop back in Camden, long before I started wrestling.

Before I was even born, I snapped at him, knowing that despite being the world heavyweight wrestling champion he was very insecure about growing old. At the rate he kept knocking years off his real age he'd be younger than me before he ever lost that precious gold belt of his.

You don't have to go rubbing it in. He ran a hand through my hair and playfully tugged on my earring. Those emeralds make your eyes sparkle.

I don't think you look anywhere close to forty-one.

It wasn't as if I had to lie because Roger had the face of an angel and a body chiseled from granite. So blond, bronzed, and buff that women swooned every time he set foot in the wrestling ring. His looks were so intimidatingly handsome I sometimes wondered what he ever saw in the likes of me.

Flattery will get you everywhere. He leaned in to kiss me and all my anger melted into his mouth.

There's nowhere else I want to be other than right here with you.

I want to take you to the club downstairs and show off my girl. He kissed me again with his own brand of sweet persuasion. All the boys are here tonight and I want them to see the champ out on the town with the prettiest girl in the world.

2

I don't know about this. I clung to Roger's arm as he led me down the winding staircase to the exclusive members only area of the club.

It'll be fun. He wrapped his arm around my waist and I curled my body into his wishing I had one of my snakes to cuddle with for protection.

My idea of fun would be getting you back in bed, I whispered in his ear.

We've got plenty of time for that, he replied, pausing to nibble on my neck.

Instead of guiding me toward a private booth in the back, Roger let the scantily clad cocktail waitress lead us to a table right in front of a stage that provided the room's only backlighting. I blinked in astonishment, completely taken aback by a woman dancing a slow striptease.

I'll have a seven and seven, Roger told the waitress. My lady friend would like a mimosa.

No, I'll have a martini, I said, remembering a starlet sipping that more sophisticated drink in the last Frank Sinatra movie I'd seen with my sister.

Make that Cherry Bomb for the lady. Roger flashed her that dazzling smile.

His subconscious flirting made me edge my seat as close to his as I could get without sitting in his lap. By the time the waitress returned with our drinks the woman on stage had shimmied down to a bright red satin thong that reminded me of Katie's crimson lipstick. I looked around the dimly lit room glad that I didn't see her lurking amidst the shadows.

Isn't this illegal? I asked Roger, not at all happy with the way he seemed so at ease in such a strange place.

That's why it's members only. He calmed me with a kiss. Katie's husband is, how shall I say, connected.

A mobster? I gasped, thinking how awful it would be to have to call my sister in North Carolina to bail me out of jail.

Shhh. Roger laughed, pulling me into his lap. All the boys come here when we're in town working the Garden.

Well, I don't like it. Not one bit. I took a big sip of my drink, at least finding the fruity cocktail to my liking.

Roger, good to see you. There was no mistaking the Southern drawl of one Graham Edwards.

Much to my chagrin, he would decide to help himself to my chair without waiting for an invitation. I buried my head against Roger's chest, trying to keep my heart from leaping out my throat and exploding all over the table.

The two of them exchanged pleasantries about tomorrow night's wrestling matches at the Garden, before Graham asked, Who's your friend?

I couldn't believe that Graham could act like we'd never met. Not after the way he'd fucked me silly less than a month ago.

Graham works out of the Florida office, Roger said with such disdain that you would have thought Tampa was on the south side of hell. I believe you've met Odessa on one of my Carolina loops.

Nice to see you again, Odessa, Graham said, as cool as he could be.

Hi, I turned to him, and the bastard kissed my hand, sending a wave of heat through my body to where I couldn't help but squirm on Roger's lap.

It had all started out innocent enough. I'd gotten angry about Roger not taking me to Chicago with him and Graham had been in the right place at the right time to exact my own brand of revenge.

Trying not to think about Graham, I leaned against Roger's chest and whispered in his ear, I want to go back to the hotel and make mad love to you.

What? He acted like he hadn't heard me, but the gleam in his brilliant blue eyes told me otherwise.

I ran a still tingling hand through his perfectly coiffed blond locks. Roger, please.

My little nymphet, he said, shaking his head. We have all the time in the world for such proclivity.

Not if he found out about Graham we didn't. It wasn't that I loved Graham. There had never been any love making on those nights I'd spend in his motel room. It had been pure animalistic sex. The kind of sex that left me sore and battered and begging for more. Sex so memorable that my panties clung moist against my aching flesh.

I'll take a Jack, straight up, Graham said to the waitress. You want another drink, Dess?

It's Odessa, Roger beat me to the punch. Yes, bring us another round.

How was I supposed to have known Graham had his own plane? I'd never expected him to start scheduling bookings in the Carolinas every time Roger was up north or off in California or Ohio or some other place I'd gotten left behind. My guilt left me squirming around in Roger's lap, trying to keep my legs as far away from Graham as possible. A nearly impossible feat when you're 5'10" and all legs in three inch heels.

Check out the ass on that one. Graham leered at the backside of our waitress after she'd deposited our drinks.

I've got all the ass I can handle right here. Roger nuzzled on my neck, teasing me with all lips and no teeth.

Luckily, Graham kept quiet, giving me a sly wink and a smile.

Although they had once wrestled as brothers, I thought the similarities stopped with their slicked back bleached blond hair, blue eyes, and dimpled smiles. Graham had this rough around the edges sex appeal, like he wasn't afraid of getting down and dirty to get his way. In the ring or in a place like this, no one fucked with Graham. Or Roger either for that matter. It was different how Roger controlled people with his elegance and charm. Graham just threw down with a ruthless intimidation.

This outta be good. Graham pointed to where Katie had taken over the stage. Her elaborate and violently offensive red costume looked to be held together with feathers.

The old broad only gets up there and shakes her tail feathers when you're in the house. Roger gave Graham a knowing look. When are you going to convince her to retire to Florida?

And risk being offed by her old man? I don't think so. Graham gulped downed his drink, a sure sign something was getting to him. Katie's a New Yorker through and through. She might not be too fond of her husband, but she sure does love his cash.

You can take the girl out of Jersey, but you can't take Jersey out of a girl. Roger took a sip of his drink. She's just a chick from Camden who put out for the right people.

Both Roger, and now Graham. Never mind what Roger said. I could tell by the way he watched her prance around the stage that he'd been one of the right people she'd been putting out for. I also had a feeling it hadn't been as long ago as he tried to insist.

Damn, if that don't get a man going nothing will, Graham said, his eyes glued to the stage.

Roger was almost as bad, especially when the feathers started dropping and Katie stripped down to a skirt that barely covered her coochie. And blessed Goddess...

She's wearing python pumps! I trembled with outrageous disgust over the horror of the poor snake who'd given his or her life to cover that floozy's feet.

Ain't no one but you looking at her feet, Graham said, ogling her huge and now fully exposed breasts.

I don't understand how anyone can sexually objectify a woman who supports the murder of exotic snakes.

Relax, Dess. Roger tightened his grip around my waist. I can assure you Katie didn't kill any snakes. I doubt she's ever been anywhere more exotic than the Jersey shore.

As if any of that made it right to wear a dead animal on her feet.

Hate to break it to ya, hon, Graham added. Your boy Roger wears kangaroo skin wrestling boots. How about that poor critter being killed just for some fancy wrestling gear?

Snakes are way cuter than kangaroos, I said, and much more intelligent.

Roger tipped up his chin and gave Graham his best wrestling villain sneer. Maybe someday you'll be able to afford to splurge to a pair of top notch boots.

Katie finally ended her dance to a series of wolf whistles and a standing ovation from Graham and most every other man in the place. I ground my bottom into Roger's crotch to remind him that the only pussy he'd be getting this weekend was right there in his lap. It sickened me to watch that snake killing whore traipse across the stage, so shamelessly comfortable with her breasts on display.

She took the microphone and said, We've got a special guest here tonight with a voice sweeter than Sinatra.

My stomach lurched, knowing exactly who she was referring to.

The world heavyweight wrestling champion Roger Rohde is here, and trust me girls. She giggled. Not a good move for a woman her age. He's got mad skills outside of the ring as well. One of them being his amazing voice.

Roger, darling, she cooed into the microphone. Would you do the honors of serenading us with just one song.

Ever the show off, Roger dumped me in his chair and strutted toward the stage. He paused for a moment to speak with the piano player before stepping center stage to take the microphone from Katie.

I know the perfect song, Roger said, just as comfortable as if he was in a wresting ring in front of thousands of fans.

Roger's incredible voice filled the club. She gets too hungry, for dinner at eight. She loves the theater, but doesn't come late. She'd never bother, with people she'd hate. His eyes met Katie's and she beamed with satisfaction. That's why the lady is a tramp.

This time he winked at me as he sang the final line, repeating, That's why the lady is a tramp.

Thank you, ever so, Katie said in a horrible Marilyn Monroe impersonation, her breasts still out there for everyone to see.

She kissed him on the cheek and my blood boiled. If not for Graham's restraining hand on my arm I would have been up on that stage ready for an impromptu wrestling match.

I told you your boy wants to keep the title up here in New York, Graham said, edging uncomfortably too close. He's been hitting it with Katie ever since she was about your age. His breath burned hot against my ear. At least until I came along and took his top spot.

I knew he wasn't referring to their positions on tomorrow night's wrestling card.

Roger returned and with a deep bow presented me with a red rose. I threw my arms around his neck crushing the rose against his chest.

Get me out of here, I pleaded.

Aw, come on Dess, Graham drawled. Let me buy y'all another round.

I grabbed the rose from Roger frantically trying to smooth out the mangled petals as I blinked back tears. I want to go. Now.

3

I slammed the door to our hotel room shut and screamed at Roger, You're still fucking her, aren't you?

Katie? he actually had the nerve to laugh at me. You're jealous of some forty year old broad hooking up with the likes of Graham Edwards?

As if I wasn't already in a snit, thinking about Graham only made things worse. If there were any snakes within range of my screams they would have slithered over and bitten Roger in the ass.

I hate this horrible city. I yanked at my dress so hard one of the spaghetti straps broke. I hate having to get dressed up and act like your sleazy little Barbie doll.

Roger flipped on the TV. I don't find your potty mouth very attractive.

Fuck you! I stood between him and the TV. Take me to Central Park now. I need to summon a snake to take care of that nasty slut.

I stripped out of my dress and tossed a shoe across the room, aggravated that he seemed to be getting aroused by my anger. I didn't like the way he looked at me so I reached for one of his shirts. Before I could start on the buttons, he grabbed me, pulling me against his chest.

If you'll calm down and be a good little girl, I might consider taking you to the Bronx Zoo tomorrow. He tried kissing his way down my neck, but it wasn't helping any. Then you can talk to all the snakes you want.

I'll scream so loud I'll shatter the glass and set them free. I pulled away from him. I don't want to visit any imprisoned snakes. I want a big fat rattler baring her fangs and ready to strike.

You and those damn snakes. His smirk set me on edge. I'm surprised you didn't try to sneak one on the plane.

I would have if I'd thought of it. I collapsed on the bed giving in to my tears. I don't like it here.

Well, you're going to have to get used to New York because we're going to be living here after I drop the strap.

No, you'll come work in the Carolinas, I insisted.

Not happening. He shook his head. I took you to Déjà Vu because I was thinking Katie might offer you a job.

You have got to be kidding me. I grabbing at a pillow, stunned that he would even consider whoring me out in such a disgusting manner. I'm not going to be a stripper.

It's called burlesque. He corrected me. There's a huge difference in dancing burlesque and stripping.

Well, you could have fooled me, the way Katie flaunted her breasts. And don't even get me started on the way you and Graham stared at them.

Roger's brow furrowed. Why do you care about Graham looking at Katie's tits?

I don't, I lied, defiantly jutting my lip and taking a deep breath to try to keep from sobbing. You're the one I care about.

"It's been a good twenty years since I got up close and personal with Katie's