Free Pushing Limits by Kali Cross Page B

mirrors, Amber.”  Turning the key, he revs
the engine, the roar of the engine is deafening at first, but when he lets the
throttle out, the engine purrs to a soft rumbling.
    “Impressive machine,” I shout into his ear.
    Shaking his head, he smiles and pulls out onto the street.
    Great!  He saw me lick my lips after they grazed his neck. 
Well, la-di-da, if he kisses me like that again, I’ll lick him from head to
toe.  The thought makes me wet, again.  Shit !
    ***
    Tommy pulls up to the record store.  As we walk inside, a choir
sings the hallelujah chorus in my head.  Rows and rows of vinyl records
fill the aisles.  I am in heaven. 
    I graze through the stacks, checking out the selection.  Man, I
could spend hours in this place.  I wonder if Elise remembered to send my
record player when she packed my room up.  My mom hates my vinyl. 
I’m sure this was the perfect opportunity to dump them all into the trash. 
Pulling my phone out, I text Elise to make sure she grabbed my records.
    A few people are browsing in the store, an older couple in their fifties
or sixties so we have the store to ourselves.  The woman running the
counter is older, and friendly.  She greets us warmly when we walk
in.  Wearing a tie dye shirt and jeans, the prayer beads around her wrist
make sense....must be a Buddhist. 
    I feel like a kid in a candy store.  The collection is extensive,
especially the older stuff.  I browse around the punk section looking for anything
by the Sex Pistols.  Deep in thought, a voice behind me whispers, “Never
figured you for a Sex Pistols fan.  I’m surprised you know who they are.”
    I laugh saying, “Look who’s talking, country boy.”
    His blue eyes sparkling, mouth curved in a whimsical grin, looking
oh-so-fucking hot in a t-shirt and jeans.  I am finding it harder and
harder not to jump his bones.  “So, where did you hear your first vinyl?”
Tommy says.  His voice is a soft sexy rumble, and it’s a hard to
concentrate.
    “My girlfriend in Chicago turned me on to vinyl.  The sound that
comes from the original vinyl totally puts an overly produced, synthetic CD to
shame.  I like to listen to music in its traditional format.  It
seems more pure, ya know?  It’s closer to the original sound that the
engineers and artists intended.  A CD of an older record is a
bastardization of the original recording anyway.  Music from instruments
is totally analog.  A CD is sampling of those tones with an approximation
of the sample to form a digital reproduction.  The sound of the vinyl as
the record plays on the turntable, the cackle of the needle against the vinyl,
the purity of the sound...it’s beautiful.”  I shrug with a slow smile.
    “Wow, I think that is the most I have heard you say all morning.” His smile
lights up his whole face.
    “Yeah, I guess it takes me a while to warm up to people.”
    How fucking embarrassing!  I am such a tool .
    “What bands are you interested in?” he asks.
    “I like Blondie, the Sex Pistols, the Dead Kennedys, most of the 70’s and
early 80s punk rock…The Who, Zeppelin, Foreigner, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bob Segar,
old rock and roll.  I like old blues, too...Muddy Waters, Bo Diddley , Sippie Wallace, Robert
Johnson, Bonnie Raitt, Billie Holiday, Ray Charles, the real influential
artists.  The old stuff shows where music came from, and where it’s
going.  I don’t listen only to older stuff.  I like a mix.  Kid
Rock is totally underappreciated as a musician.  Metallica...well, they’re
gods.  Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and Loretta Lynn are all great
wordsmiths.  I dig on Jason Aldean and Eric
Church.  I love everything that P !nk puts
out.....I’m sorry...you probably didn’t want a dissertation on the
question.”  I find myself smiling. 
    Why am I bearing my soul to this guy...well, my musical soul, anyways.   He’s probably bored.  
    “That’s an eclectic mix.”  He leans down, capturing my chin and
raising my