•••••••••••••••••••••••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: American Actress, Screenwriter and Singer/ Songwriter Karen Black Musician: English Multi-instrumentalist and Guitarist of Led Zeppelin, Jimmy Page Time: Mid to Late Seventies
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It was a joy to be back in Tennessee. The bold heat enveloped Rhoda and gave her its approval to dress in only the thinnest and shortest of sundresses. Her hair, now both shorter and blonder, danced in the gentle breeze of her ceiling fan as she lolled on the stuffy quilt of her queen sized bed.
She sighed heavily, dreading going on the date that her mother had arranged for her later that evening. It was nearing 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon; the sun was at its zenith and her bedroom was sweltering. This was the reason why she lay in nothing but her underwear, staring at her ceiling and bored stiff.
She eventually rose to skim through her wardrobe, the terribly fuzzy soap opera playing on her radio being interrupted by the creak of her brass bed frame. Her footsteps were heavy on the aging wood, the gust of air produced by her swinging open the armoire doors cooling her down.
As she flipped through her frilly clothes, the hangers scraped against the rack, creating a dreadful soundtrack for Rhoda to twist her face in disapproval to. She did occasionally take something out to hold to her chest, but she'd only end up groaning and tossing it over her shoulder.
Perhaps the months and months of touring were to blame, but the faux-blonde found herself incredibly bored after returning home. It wasn't that way when she was living in Memphis, but she'd moved away from the city and into the mountains with her grandmother. She thought that she'd enjoy the simplicity, but she was dead wrong.
Her mopey fashion show was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a crashing thump in the dirt. Rhoda hurried over to her bedroom window, her bare chest covered by the long mirror that leaned against it. The intrigued girl was greeted with the sight of a tall and slim man picking up a motorcycle. It was her grandmother's from the forties, a black '44 Harley Knucklhead. She presumed he'd knocked it over while sneaking around. He seemed rather frantic, flattening the dirt in an attempt to make it look like nothing had happened.
The reflection of the mirror illuminated Rhoda's face in an almost angelic way, something that the man who was dusting off the Harley wouldn't fail to notice upon seeing her.
"Hey, boy!" He whipped his head around, his face well obscured by long and damp black curls. She smirked at the wrinkle of his nose, which suggested that he was squinting in the blinding sunlight.
Whoever this guy was, he was clearly not concerned with dressing for the weather. He donned a white satin blazer with white flares and what appeared to be leather clogs. His only bonus was that he was shirtless underneath his jacket.
"Wait right there. Don't you dare move!" She shouted again, turning away from her window to rummage through the many discarded dresses on her moaning floor. After a quick panic, she settled on a flowy white sundress that came to rest just above her knees. She swung open her bedroom door, making a bee line for the staircase.
