"RACK HOUSE NUMBER TWELVE"
(Guest Appearance by lilscarlett)
"Beep, beep, beep, moan and woosh." My day was starting just like any other, with a tarped truckload of Iowa corn backing over the grated underground storage tank where every bottle of our world-famous bourbon begins. As the Assistant Distiller, it's my job to oversee all aspects of production. I handed off a quart size Mason jar full of grain to Ronnie, a good Ol' Boy, from the heart of the Bluegrass, so the moisture content could be checked, while some of the best-looking corn I had ever seen and smelled, waited patiently in the back of the trailer.
An hour or so later, while I was sitting at my desk catching up on some invoices, the sweet scent of expensive perfume flooded my nostrils. It was a familiar scent, but one I hadn't enjoyed in a very long time. I sat with my back pointed toward the doorway, trying to remember just where I had breathed it last.
"It looks like you've done pretty well for yourself plow boy," said a woman's voice softly, the sound also hauntingly familiar.
I turned slowly towards the door and smiled. Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms folded beneath her breasts, was a very beautiful dark auburn-haired girl in a strapless floral print dress and red high heels. I recognized her instantly, it was Scarlett, a girl I always considered "the one that got away." The Kentucky sunrise backlit her sexy silhouette through her thin summer dress as she stood in the doorway to my office, seductively rubbing the back of her left calve against the front of her right.
Even in the harsh lighting of a Commonwealth morning, I recognized her. I stood up slowly and smiled, then walked over to her. I leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek before I spoke. She and I were supposed to go out on a date our final week of college, but she stood me up. I sat alone at a little Italian restaurant outside of Boulder for more than an hour waiting for her. She never showed up, so I went back to the dorm, jacked off and started packing. I never heard from her at all. I've spent the last seven years wondering what happened.
"You are just as pretty as I remember," I told her softly with a smile; quickly soaking in the sight of her angelic frame.
"It's been a long time," she purred, as I reached for her hand to bring her into my office. You've done well for yourself," she added, looking around the room.
"What about you? What are you doing now, how did you get here?" I asked, bombarding her with questions, my stomach fluttering nervously. My palms sweating as if I had seen a ghost.
"I'm the CFO for a medium sized Oil Company based in Houston," she told me. "I'm here because my boss, the company president asked me to accompany a group of investors on a team building trip," she added.
We talked and reminisced for almost an hour. Her group was scheduled to take a tour of the facility around 10:15 A.M. Both of us were avoiding the elephant in the room, sidestepping the awkward topic of the date we never took. She lifted a weathered-looking wooden frame off my desk and smiled. One by one she named all our school friends in the picture. The photo was taken during the fall of our senior year; we were all tailgating at the homecoming football game. It was a simpler, happier time for all of us.
I told her it was nice seeing her again, and that I would try to catch up with her group at some point during their tour. She smiled and told me she'd like that. For some silly assed reason, I told her that if she was interested, I would give her a much more informative personal tour after hours. She smiled at me again and said that she would like that even more. I sat mesmerized as she stood up slowly, and strutted toward the door, her hips swaying silently, her heels clicking softly.
She smiled at me as she left the room, lingering in the doorway like she had more to say, making sure that I saw her hesitation. I went back to work, but I couldn't seem to get her out of my head. Unable to focus, I decided to take a walk around the grounds, maybe catch up with Scarlett's tour group if I was lucky. I caught up with them in the print shack, the small one room building where all the labels for our different bottles and brands are printed. It was a small group, maybe a dozen people. Scarlett slipped to the back of the group, and we walked together.
Before the tour wrapped, she asked me if I knew where a Texas girl could get a really good cheeseburger. I told her yes, it wasn't a fancy place, but the food was great. She handed me a hotel business card, and asked me if I minded picking her up out front around 7 P.M. I hesitated, remembering the last time we made plans. She saw the reluctance on my face and placed her hand softly on my shoulder.
"C'mon, it will be fun. I'm already starving, and I have a lot of making up to do," she said. "Don't make me beg Uhl. I can't change the past," she said, softly with a seductive smile. "What do you drive?" she asked, folding her arms beneath her tits again.
"A maroon Chevy, 4X4 diesel Crew Cab, with a 4" lift kit, and black and chrome wheels" I told her, with a reluctant sigh, hoping that lightening wouldn't strike twice.
"Great!" She replied. "Then I will see you to tonight?" she asked, walking away briskly, almost sideways, trying to catch up with her group of investors.
I nodded softly and smiled; she smiled back, then turned away. "What am I doing" I thought to myself. This bitch broke my heart once and I just gave her the opportunity to do it again. "I have to be fucking crazy," I whispered to myself, returning to my office, making plans once again to be with a woman that I just didn't think was interested. I left work early that day, went home, shaved my face, my cock, and balls, and showered. Instead of dress slacks and a polo from the closet, I pulled a freshly laundered pair of faded blue jeans and a sleeveless flannel shirt from the dryer.
My wardrobe "audible" was complete when I took the new stars and stripes dew rag from the corner post at the foot of the bed and slipped on my black leather riding boots, the ones with the chrome rings on the sides. The pair were sitting next to the dresser. No boxers tonight, I like the way the soft denim rubs against my freshly shaven cock and balls, and besides, they would just be in the way if things go the way I hope they will.
I went through the kitchen, let the dog out into my fenced backyard for a few hours, then grabbed my keys from the bottom of the letter holder on the wall, not the truck keys, but the key to my Softail. It was mint green and black with sparkling gold accent lines, lots of chrome and a slightly modified Thunder Cloud exhaust. It was an attention getter, and it sounded like thunder as it motored down the highway.
As I rolled up in front of the hotel, Scarlett was outside waiting near the door. She was looking down the road expecting to see my truck when I rolled up in front of her, and gave the throttle a little twist, letting the rpm's drop before I lowered my sunglasses. The look on her face was priceless.
"Uhl? I thought you said, you drive a Truck!" She stammered, clearly caught by surprise.
"I do," I told her, hitting the kill switch, grinning, as the big iron horse fell silent "You asked me what I drive, not what I ride," I winked mischievously.
She walked over slowly shaking her head, probably a little scared. She was wearing a cropped, thin pink cotton tank top (No bra), a belly-button dangle that matched her long dangly earrings, a short, faded denim skirt, cross trainer shoes and ruffled ankle socks.
"I'm, I'm not climbing on that big thing," she stuttered nervously.
