Out Ta Get Me

There was something about him, maybe the way he played guitar, or his wild, 'bad boy' image. Maybe it was his excessive drinking that turned me on, or perhaps the cigarette that always hung loosely from his lips... not to mention that wonderful, wild enormous mane of his. That fateful day, the day we met is one that I won't soon forget... I had it all perfectly planned out.

I woke up extra early that morning and began to ready myself. Today was the day. I would finally get to meet him. Shivers ran through my body at the idea that I would be in his presence... face-to-face. I was so nervous that I could barely cake on the sufficient eyeliner and mascara ('I have to get this just right!' I thought, blood running cold).

Carefully, I dressed so as not to tear my brand new stockings, and I wore 'The Suit'... the sleek black sexy suit--something great always happened when I wore it... There was no other choice. So, I slid into the fitting skirt which landed perfectly above the knees and zipped up my jacket up the front. Then I put the finishing touches on my hair... It had to have enough body without being overly 'big' (Big hair had so gone out of style... except for HIS). I sprayed on some sexy smelling cologne, last minute make-up check and I was on my way.

How I was supposed to get any work done on a day like this was beyond me. My concentration was shot and I was only counting the minutes until he arrived. Everyone in the office was giving me Hell about my outfit... "Woooooo Jackie, aren't you sharp today?" and "Aaaahhhh who are you all dressed up for??" with a wink and a smile... I didn't care, I rather enjoyed the thought myself.

The time was creeping by as slow as molasses...

"He's here!" someone stoutly informed me.

Immediately, I stiffened up in a rush of panic. 'Oh God-this is it! Breathe deep Jackie, remain calm and smooth!'

He slinked into the radio station with the kind of walk that just shouted 'he didn't give a damn', glasses on, hair flowing... I smiled and watched with blood rushing as he passed my desk. First he went to the back to prepare, he was going to meet and greet, sign some autographs and then go On Air with the DJ for his interview. Later that night he was scheduled to play with his band at our Radio Station's birthday bash, but for now-he was mine.

When he had gotten settled in, I made my way back to the production room where he was waiting and although it was early, there were already a few people lined up to get his autograph and meet him. 'That's o.k., I can wait for you Slash my love.' I giggled to myself silently.

He sat there like the badass he was on the desk in his torn-up blue jeans, jeans that you just knew had seen many better days... his shirt sported the slogan "Only Users Lose Drugs". ('That's so hot' I thought.) I listened to him talk, as he made his acquaintances and signed shirts and breasts [so many enormous breasts (that's for you guys)]. The only two items that he had with him were his cigarette (still dangling erotically from his full lips), and his fifth of whiskey which he sipped straight from the bottle, still securely intact in the brown paper sack.

"That's what I love about Memphis!" He proclaimed, "It's the one of the only places I've seen where they have stores that sell nothing but liquor!"

Then it was my turn. My blood was rushing to my head... Oh my God. Me! Meeting Slash! This is it... I stepped forward and smiled shyly... not knowing exactly what to say.

"Hey." ('Hey?? What's up with that?? Can I be a bigger geek?? How is this going to land me in his hotel room tonight?? Hey!?!? Oh you're smooth Jackie'). Nevertheless, I hand him my t-shirt, the t-shirt the radio station gave us all that sported the logo and the birthday celebration design. He takes the shirt out of my hands. ('Dear God I just handed Slash a T-shirt! I can die and go to Heaven now... or Hell, wherever I'm going... no, scratch that God, not just yet').

"Mind if I use your back??" he uttered so velvety (or was that his smoker's voice?).

('Mind? Do I MIND? Use MY BACK?? Oh Slash, you can use anything of mine you want to use! It's allll yours!!')... **clearing throat**

"Ummm not at all!" I reply steadily. I turn in front of him, and move backwards towards him sliding my ample rear in between his legs ('His legs!! Oh God Slash's legs... where these legs must have been! My ass! Between Slash's LEGS!!' I mentally slap myself). I stuck it out blatantly and bent over so he could have a smooth surface with which to sign my t-shirt. I moved my long wavy hair out of his way.

He began to write, and I could feel the movement of the Sharpie through my clothing.... Oh how great it felt, I could sit here and let him write on my back forever! I was so close I could smell the smoke all over his clothing, and the vapors from his whiskey breath... I didn't care... ('Go ahead and write an entire novel Slash, I have no place to be.')

"Alright... cool! Thanks!" he muttered through the cigarette, and he gave me a suave musician-nod.

I floated forward, said "Thank you", then smiled, continuing to float all the way back to my desk... Oh what a glorious day... Slash, I met him... He signed my back.


Then I finally unfolded my shirt and read his words.

He signed it:

"To Jackie-Rock & Fuckin Roll! -Slash"

Rock On Slash...