•••••••••••••••••••••••Requests Open!••••••••••••••••••••••••
Will update upon receiving requests. Check chapter cleverly titled "⭐️Requests Open!⭐️" for more details (it's the 10th chapter!)
You can never have too many classic rock one shots, can y...
Muse: English Television, Radio, Film, and Theater Actress Stephanie Beacham Musician: Jamaican Singer/ Songwriter and member of Bob Marley and the Wailers, Bob Marley Time: Early Seventies
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[Features Recreational Drug Usage]
Skin hot to the touch and peachy tan. She fantasied about how she'd look when she applied her pale pink lipstick; all the rage. Her frilly, delicately colored sundress danced in the gentle daytime breeze — the day that had begun to melt into evening about a half hour ago.
Her just-below-half-empty Red Strike was still ice cold, the red and white label starting to peel and the cap lost somewhere in the beige sand. Loraine silently hoped no one would step on it and get hurt, as she was barefooted herself. She brought the brown glass bottle to her lips, drinking it more like water than like beer.
"Ya know ya can' truly enjoy the beach full of all that liquor." As Loraine turned swiftly to identify the sudden voice, her golden hair curled in the soft breeze. Hazel eyes found a young man treading towards her with acoustic guitar in hand and a friendly smile on his boyish features. She observed that her body, that had previously tensed, relaxed immediately upon seeing him.
She smiled at him, not replying to his statement. His handsome face twisted in comical exasperation when she took another healthy swig, playful smile on her lips.
"'Ow ya can appreciate eart' creations if ya drunk?" He laughed as he finally reached her, standing the slightest bit taller than the girl.
"Everything is beautiful when you're drunk. It's divine." Loraine spoke with her lips against the bronze bottle, unintentionally making a quiet jug-blowing sound whenever she pronounced her consonants.
"Ah, ya English?" He asked, letting the body of his acoustic rest just above the sand as his hand held it by the neck.
"How could you tell?" She joked in her light English accent. Loraine found herself inexplicably smitten in the man's presence. He laughed in response to her remark, eyes closed and face turned up to the sky.
"Mi know sup'm fi relax ya betta den alcohol." He gave a juvenile smirk and raise of his eyebrows before continuing. "Ya'a cigarette smoker?"
"I'm a Newport girl." Her hand lowered into the contents of her fawn-colored crocheted tote bag, pulling out the teal and white flip-top box of smokes. The man didn't so much as glance at them, leer never leaving his mug.
"Mi know another kinda cigarette — relax ya body, good for ya soul." This intrigued Loraine; posh English girl visiting Jamaica on holiday. In only six more days she'd have to return to Cambridge University, so she wanted to have some fun before then.
This young man seemed like fun.
"What's the brand called?" She questioned, uninterested fingers dropping the Newports back into her loosely knit bag. There was the gentle thump of the package landing on her discarded sandals as she looked back over to meet his gaze. He chuckled again, shaking his head of thick coils.
