Written: August 7, 2009
(Suggested Listening: Beast of Burden by The Rolling Stones)
One thing you don't know about Buffy is that she has a total soft spot for some old school rock and roll. Forget about Britney Spears, the Pussycat Dolls, Lady Gaga and all those other garbage CDs she keeps in her car. What really makes her feel at home are the classics that she keeps set aside for when she's cleanin' the house or just tryin' to be chill.
It's her private music collection that she was always too embarrassed to let anyone know about but couldn't keep a secret once we moved in with each other a couple years back. She didn't tell me straight out about it either; I came home early from work one day to find her folding clothes in the laundry room and singing along to The Joker by Steve Miller Band.
You're the cutest thing that I ever did see
Damn right she was the cutest thing. And damn right did I love her peach!
I just stood there and watched until she noticed me and got all embarrassed and flustered. Was one of those moments that made me fall even more in love with her. I pulled her into my arms and hugged the hell outta her 'til she finally broke down and confessed her classic rock love with her face buried against my shoulder.
She said that when she was little, she used to sit on the concrete steps near their garage with her favorite doll Caroline and watch her Dad work on his old cars for hours at a time. He'd rock the classics: Lynyrd Skynyrd, Tom Petty, The Eagles, Aerosmith, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, and her personal favorite - The Rolling Stones. He'd sing along to the tunes from under the hood of '67 Chevelle SS and B would just sit there thinkin' he was the coolest guy on the planet.
She told me once that when she was little, she was one of those little girls that wanted to marry her Dad. Of course she figured out that was all kindsa wrong and decided instead to marry someone just like him; fun, caring, and the kinda guy that would drive old cars and listen to classic rock no matter how much his friends would pick on him. Hank was her hero back then and she was a total Daddy's Girl too.
Too bad he turned out to be such a douche.
The fucker actually tried to come around a couple years ago thinking everything would be cool. Even brought a big pink teddy bear with him too. Better believe I wasn't havin' any of that. Didn't matter what I thought though; B sent him packin' with his stupid pink bear in tow. Best part? When he was just about to pull away, B threw her arm around me and yelled that she didn't want a boy like 'Daddy' anymore cos I took care of everything she needed.
He gave me a dirty look so I flipped him off, grabbed B in my arms, and kissed her long and good. He pealed outta the driveway and we ain't heard from him again. It's better this way though. We're happy and B don't need some kinda second-rate Dad in her life.
Fuck, he ain't even second rate. Seventh rate. Eleventh even.
Still, she can't change the fact that she grew up on that kinda music and now it holds a special place in her heart. She doesn't like people to know about it because she doesn't wanna get picked on. And hey, it brings back good memories for her. How could I pick on her when it makes her so happy?
I'm pretty used to it now. In fact, I kinda like it even. Don't get me wrong; she drives me crazy with Britney and Christina and Beyonce and Rihanna too. I gave up the remote control to the radio ages ago. She used to issue me challenges to see who'd get control of the remote. Arm wrestling, sprinting contests, even no holds barred sparring matches. Crazy thing though? I'd rather let her win and see her be happy than watch her lose and have to settle for something that doesn't make her smile from the inside out.
Needless to say, I'm the biggest sap in the world when it comes to my girl and honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. In fact, I can't seem to get home from Xander's apartment quick enough. It's Sunday afternoon and that means one thing to me: B's at home in our kitchen, listenin' to some Rolling Stones and tryin' to figure out if her recipe book is somehow defective.
For the record, the book is fine. B's cooking skills have yet to get better with time but ya gotta give the girl an E for effort.
When I see our house in the distance, I can feel the tingling at the base of my spine and the old familiar hum throughout my body. She probably feels it too but hopefully she's distracted by the music. I pull quietly into the driveway and slip out of the car without slammin' the door. If I'm quiet, I might catch me a little show.
I can hear the music streaming out the kitchen and living room windows as I make my way to the front door. The door is unlocked so I slip inside as quietly as I can and take my boots off, placing them to the side just like B likes. No way am I fightin' that battle again.
As I make my way to the kitchen, I can't help but smirk. I was right; nothin' but the Rolling Stones will do for B when she's got the house to herself. I can hear her singing along to Beast of Burden and I can't wait to get my first peek of her around the corner.
Like I figured, she's oblivious to the fact that I'm home and standing here watching her right now. The kitchen's a complete disaster, mixing bowls and spoons and beaters all over the place. Shit, if that was my mess I'd be gettin' threats that I'd be sleepin' on the couch unless it was all cleaned up in ten minutes.
Looks like she's takin' a break now cos she's diggin' into a huge bowl of Frosted Flakes. It's her favorite cereal ever. I swear to god, I think she bought stock in the company that makes it and everything.
Stifling my chuckle, I tilt my head to the side just enough to catch a glimpse of her naked legs behind the breakfast bar. Haha, that's my girl. She's standing around eating cereal wearing nothing but my Jane's Addiction shirt, some cute boishorts, and the most ridiculous pair of fuzzy pink socks I've ever seen.
God am I turned on right now.
I'll never be your beast of burden
Now that's what I'm talkin' about Mick. Just watchin' B dance around in her undies . . . well, damn. No way can I resist her. As fun as it is watchin' her? I need to be touchin' her right now.
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, girls
I creep into the kitchen and get right up behind her before snaking my arms around her stomach and pulling her back against me. She smells like sunshine and honey . . . and faintly like some kind of pickle or something.
Yeah, no way am I eatin' whatever the hell she's making.
I hear the telltale clink of the ceramic cereal bowl against the countertop before I feel her nestle back against me and put her arms over mine. As if on cue, she tilts her head to the side so I can kiss the spot right between her shoulder and neck. It's her sweet spot.
"Mmm," she sighs appreciatively.
"Can I have this dance, pretty lady?"
"You get all my dances."
We start to move to the music together, her body snug against mine and letting me lead. It's only a few moments before she tilts her head back and we're kissing hot and heavy. She's tryin' to turn around in my arms but I'm so wrapped up in kissin' her that I just can't seem to let go.
Before I know it, we're scrambling up to our bedroom, the music from the kitchen following us up the steps. I push Buffy up against our dresser and lift her up on it, smirking when I remember she's not wearing pants. Nothing like easy access to make a perv happy.
So ya see, it all works out in the end. B has a weakness for classic rock and I have a weakness for pretty girls. If her music gets her dancing around half naked? Well, let's just say you won't be gettin' any complaints from me.
Just so happens I've got the prettiest girl in the world. Couldn't get any luckier if I tried.