Page 202 of Savior
“So, who had the absolutely amazing taste in music?” I ask, removing record after record of oldies music from the fifties and sixties.
“That would be my mother.” Dean replies. “She’d play them nonstop whenever we were up here. Said they reminded her of her childhood and my grandparents.”
“Ritchie Valens, Dion and the Belmonts, The Platters, Elvis, The Drifters....” I flip through the records, trying to imagine a young Dean and his mother listening to this music together. Did she dance with him? “Roy Orbison, Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs. I think I would have loved her.” I say, glancing up at him to find his handsome face wearing a smile of his own.
“She’d have loved you, too… And this thing looks like all it needed was a good dusting. I don’t see why it won’t work.” He takes a swig of his beer before he picks up the old record player and carries it into the room with me. Placing it down on a small table against the wall, he plugs it into the socket. “So, what’s it gonna be?” he turns to look down at me as I hold up the album to Dirty Dancing, pressing my lips together and rolling them in.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Mickey.” I tease him.
“That’s really the one you want?”
“Just a few songs from it. Then Elvis. Then Dion. Then Ritchie Valens and so on and so forth! Until neither one of us can dance anymore!” I smirk at him. “At least not… vertically.”
“Dance?”
“Yes, Dream Lover. You’re going to dance with me! And you’re going to enjoy yourself. Let the magic of the music do its job.”
Dean takes the record from me, shaking his head as he slides it out of its sleeve and sets it up to play. I cross my fingers and hope it works. The crackling sound of the spinning record resonates through the speaker of the old Victrola. When I hear, In The Still Of The Night, by The Five Satins begin to play, I open my eyes just as Dean turns back around to face me.
“Alright, Earth Angel. Come on.” He says, stepping back to me as I grab his offered hand. He hoists me to my feet, pulling me against his body, and we sway slowly together to the first of many songs.
“You know, part of the reason you’re the romantic you are, is because of this very music your mother fortunately forced you to listen to growing up.” Vanna says, matter-of-factly.
We’ve burned through several records consisting of tunes by all of her favorites. And I’m almost through nursing my fourth or fifth beer, feeling buzzed, and needing to take a piss.
“You think so?” I spin her around and pull her back to me again as we dance to The Best of Elvis Presley. It’s Now Or Never, is the last track on this record, and then I’m at least calling a time out to take a leak.
“I do.” She says with conviction, a smile pulling at her lips. “Would you like another beer?”
“Are you trying to get me plastered? If you keep plying me with alcohol, you’re going to foil your own devious little plans, Kitten. I’m either going to have a hard time getting it up, or getting it down.”
“What are we at, now?” she giggles, brushing up against me suggestively.
“If I stop now, probably the latter.”
“Good.” She whispers, scraping that bottom lip between her teeth.
I shake my head at her, setting the beer down on the table beside the loveseat. I try not to look at it. “I’m afraid I have to break the seal now, doll.”
“Okay.” She says, releasing my hand. I give her a little wink as I make my way to the bathroom.
When I return, Vanna’s switched the record to another Best of the Oldie’s collection, and Ritchie Valens song, Donna, is playing now.
“Oh, Vanna...” I teasingly sing her name instead. “Are you ready to take this little dance party to the bedroom?” I watch as she moves her body, slow and seductively to the song.
“Not yet.” She smiles at me, moving away from the record player, further into the living room until she’s dancing in front of the fireplace. She motions with her finger for me to join her again. “Come on, Dean. Don’t tell me your pregnant Old Lady is out doing you in the stamina department.” She taunts me.
I playfully scowl at her as I cross the cabin, making my way back to her. She moves to dance against me, creating friction between us in very deliberate places.
“I see we’ve made it back around to dancing dirty.” I joke.
“That is the plan.” She teases me back, suddenly spinning around to shove me backwards onto the loveseat. Before I can jump up, Vanna is straddling my lap. Her hot little mouth takes mine in a crushing kiss, just as the record skips to Chantilly Lace by The Big Bopper.
“Vanna…” I try to protest against her lips. I really don’t want to be on this fucking couch. I want to burn the fucking thing. Toss it off the goddamned mountain. The vibration of her moan against my lips stirs masculine urges inside of me, and I succumb to her as she grinds herself in my lap. “Fuck.” She kisses me again, teasing my cock for the duration of the playful song until the music switches once again to something slower. Stand By Me, by Ben E. King.
She pulls back from our heated kiss, pressing her forehead to mine as we catch our breath.
