Suzanna Danna

I’m working on about two multi-jilllion things right now, which is the perfect time for the writing bug to bite me in the tushie. The big scary white blank page has been haunting me for a while, yep… complete with cursor mocking me and everything. So I am going to put away these Banquet Event Orders for a conference I have on Monday. I am going to stop putting my packing list together; I am going to stop everything because of Pandora.

Yep. Music, my standard go to, has really thrown me for a doozie this afternoon. I’ve been quiet, working away, trying to make up for being out of the office at a meeting yesterday and having an appointment this morning. I turned on my Pandora Radio thingy (look, over there, on the right, scroll down… clickity clickity… you can listen too, if you wanna) and stopped about an hour in.

Journey’s Stone In Love came on. It’s not the whole song, because, um. I’m not that deep. But it is the way Steve Perry forces sex over the speakers with this two part phrase:

“Old dusty roads, led to the river, runnin' slow
She pulled me down, ooh, and in clover we'd go 'round”

One minute…. Six seconds in. Here. I, help you.

Dude.

Those few words smashed me flat back into my comfy office chair. I couldn’t concentrate on anything because I was sure if I moved or worked on anything, answered a call, you name it, I would have messed up something because my mind was not present.

Let me tell you where it was.

This mad sensory overload just came jumbling into my head.

Everything from the roads near where I live that weren’t anything but country lanes when I was in high school. Dusty, abandoned places to race around, drink beer and to have intense make out sessions that would erase time and space. Kind of like a worm hole. One minute, you* are tentatively leaning forward at the same time wondering if the other kisser is a head-righty, or head-lefty and will you mesh, the next, your shirt is untucked, your bra is undone, your zipper is part way down, your face is red from stubble (or force/duration… mrow) and somehow it is two hours past your curfew and you have kudzu in your hair. Dancing on a slow, saw dusted floor with a cowboy that smells like hay and Drakkar Noir, his hot hand pressed into the furrow in the small of your back. The smoke hangs heavy in the still air, a bead of sweat tickles down your neck and the faceless cowboy with a wry grin takes off his hat, leans over and licks it away. He dips you slowly then kisses you and you taste your own saltiness on his tongue. Walking through the hallways of school and being stopped and pressed back against your locker from chest to thigh by a smooth, maddening hottie whose ass you wouldn’t mind having lunch on. He kisses you like he is trying to crawl inside your soul. Perfect, bowtie pouting mouth. Sweet breath and as a bonus, the foresight to hold you by the shoulders should your knees give out on you. Dating? Nope, just kissing each other, because you are so fucking good at it.

Have you ever rolled around in hay, or grass, or clover, or in nature with a boy (girl, whatev)? Been pressed up against a tree, the bark pressing into your ass, your hair tangling in the rough texture? Have you ever pressed someone else into the soft earth by a stream (or not) and slowly worked your way down their body pulling small sounds of pleasure from them as you nibbled, suckled, kissed and blew cool air across their skin. Something about those two lines.

“Old dusty roads, led to the river, runnin' slow
She pulled me down, ooh, and in clover we'd go 'round”

Yeah, just something about those lines.

*And by you… I totally mean me.