Play It Again
You Can Go Back
Even a quarter mile off, even before he recognized the shape, Bone knew the sound. It cut through the gooney weeds and rolled over the South Florida marsh with crystal clarity. Only a vintage Harley made that staccato rumble. Still in good shape, he noted as it turned onto the dirt path. It better be. He’d polished every chrome surface, rebuilt it from the bottom up. A piece of his soul thrummed in that machine.
A piece of his heart straddled it — another shape he recognized. Damn, she looked good in leather. Her vest was custom tailored — nothing off the rack would ever fit those curves — and her pants wrapped around her hips and long legs like they’d been sprayed on. She rolled to a stop, dismounted, and unleashed a riot of blonde curls from beneath her helmet. Same old Stitch. She stood in the dust cloud she’d kicked up, all black and shiny in the summer morning, looking like something out of a Super Bowl commercial.
She eyed him coolly. “Been a while, Bone.”
“Probably not long enough.”
She slowly shook her head. “Don’t suck so bad, so early.”
“You always brought out my best, Darling.”
“Like you have a best.”
Damn. And the day started out so peaceful.
“You here to give me back my bike?”
“Forget that.”
“Why then?”
“Maybe I missed you.”
“Put it on Facebook next time.”
“Asshole!” She paused. “You gonna hide in this swamp forever?”
“Only as long as it takes.”
“Long as what takes?”
“For no one to remember I’m here.”
She slowly approached. Her face showed a few lines. Finally. Couldn’t stay a little girl forever.
“I’ll know you’re here.”
“Guess I’ll need a bigger swamp.”
Another pause. “I’m putting a tour together.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Got some songs. I could use some more.”
He was already shaking his head.
“Oh, come on.”
“No!”
“Don’t be that way!”
“No!”
“It’d work. You know it would.”
Bone let his gaze settle on an old cypress out in the middle of the sawgrass. Dry reeds rustled in the hot breeze with crickets singing a steady backup. Close by, a mosquito buzzed like a face from a dream you can’t quite recall. He thought about crowds and lights, Marshalls cranked up to eleven, bottles of Jack Daniels empty before the second set, thought about drugs and fights and how they’d damn near killed each other.
He looked back at his shack. “Out here, I’m clean.”
“So am I.”
A dubious look from Bone.
“A year next month. How do you think I started writing again?”
Bone let himself look into her eyes and felt a blade slice through him. How’d he ever think he was done with her?
“Never needed drugs to make us crazy, Stitch.”
Closer now, inches from his face. He searched in vain for the familiar bullshit.
“I need you, Bone. I can’t go out there unless you’re playing behind me.”
He spat the dust from his mouth and started back inside.
“You got a guitar in there?”
“I got nine.”
“Can I play you something?”
He wanted her soon as she lost the vest. No woman warped a T-shirt like Stitch. Then she started singing and he knew he’d never refuse her anything. Didn’t mean he couldn’t bust her chops, though.
“Great hook. Shit verse. What’s this ‘bore us till the chorus’ crap?”
“So, show me different.”
“It’s called melody. Try using the whole damn scale. A couple more chords wouldn’t hurt, either.”
And they were back at it. Five hours later they’d finished two of the songs she’d brought with her and another they wrote on the spot.
“These really work,” he said, listening to what they’d recorded, letting their signature harmonies cast their spell.
“You sound surprised.”
“Like you said — been a while.” He touched her face. “Too long.”
She was trembling. “I lasted about a half-year after you split. One night I fucked the whole band. Roadies too. All night long. The next day I went straight to rehab. Seemed like a pretty decent bottom to me.”
“Since then?”
Stitch pressed his hand against her cheek. “Didn’t think I’d feel this again.”
What Bone heard in her voice was gratitude. He’d been working on that one himself for a while now. Hadn’t gotten it though, not until right now.
He reached for her nipples, pulled on them the way she liked. That hadn’t changed. She arched her back, shoved them at him. He pressed back. Hard. Like always, she pressed right back.
Any awkwardness from their separation had burned off with the music. Bone found himself back in a place that was familiar, yet utterly new.
His Swamp Rat lay on the coffee table. He pulled it from its sheath and sliced down the front of her T-shirt like it was soft butter. Now she rose up, leaned forward and let her tits hang free. Did she still like it nasty? He slapped her nipples a couple of times and she gasped, a deep, aching sound like a rusty spring uncoiling. Bone slapped them a few more times, then gripped hard and let his fingers sink deep into heaven. That set her writhing.
“Good to see you didn’t clean up everything.”
Stitch unzipped her pants and Bone had to help her peel them down her legs and work them over her feet. His Swamp Rat took care of her panties. He slipped a finger between her lips and then sat back and watched as she rocked herself against it, eyes closed, mouth parted, her mind in another universe.
He eased three fingers into her, curled them around and went after her G-spot. It was right where he remembered. As he pressed and rubbed, she fell forward against him. He kept working her, hard, the way she liked, slowly building the tension until finally the thin membrane of sanity shredded and she came apart. He let her run loose for a minute or so, digging deep into her wet flesh, stretching her, prompting yet another orgasmic wave. While she kept coming, he loosened the drawstring on his khakis and slid them down his legs. His cock was all too impatient. He let her come back down a bit, just enough that she allowed herself to be guided, and he led her to straddle him. She found his cock all on her own. She was slick and he split her like an archer. As always, it felt perfect. Nothing else compared.
She rode him for a while, aiming herself where he’d do the most good, her whole world down to the union of their flesh. When she came again, it exceeded anything before. Her energy rolled over him like a burning wind cauterizing old wounds, cleansing with flame. Bone quickly followed and emptied himself into her. When he finally softened and slipped out, their world had already transformed.
“So you coming with me?”
He looked around. Except for the guitars, there wasn’t a single thing he couldn’t walk away from.
“Hard to get nine guitars and an amp on a bike.”
“I got a guy with a truck waiting back at the motel. Ten minutes away.”
“Well, aren’t you sure of yourself.”
“No. Just hoping.”
He just stared at her, drowning in the beauty of her face and the raw honesty of her response. He’d need to get used to that.
“So. Are you? Coming with me?”
“Course I am.”
Stitch reached for her jacket and pulled out her phone. Bone snatched it from her hand.
“What…?” she said, concerned.
“In due time. We got some unfinished business, first.”
She looked confused, even frightened. Then he took her hand and placed it on his reawakened cock.
“Damn. Now I remember what I missed about you.”
As Bone slid back inside her, it was more than his cock that she wrapped in a protecting sheath. And as she once again floated off on the rhythms of their fucking, he paused a moment, thought about missed opportunities, wasted time, second chances, and how unlikely it was that two lost souls might find their way home.
But only for a moment. Then he fucked her senseless.
