Forever {Dennis Wilson}

Time

A/N: I really hope I don't start to get writer's block after this chapter. My biggest enemy!
I got some inspiration for a small part of this chapter from Denny's song "Time", from his album, Pacific Ocean Blue.

I'm the kind of guy
Who loves to mess around
Know a lot of women
But they don't fill my heart

As always, I hope you enjoy and please let me know your thoughts!
xoxo KC

December 27, 1964

Between touring, studio sessions, and my current squeeze, I quickly put Grace in the back of mind after the night of the Christmas concert. Of course, I didn't really have time to think of much else. What can I say?

However, the one thing that I could make time for was one of my first loves: surfing. I grabbed a bar of wax and my board—a beautiful light yellow with two blue stripes down the middle—and placed them in the passenger side of my car.

I couldn't hide the grin on my face as I had the top down on the Stingray, the cool breeze and sunshine hitting my cheeks as I sped down the highway. Once I turned onto Manhattan Beach Boulevard, there was a clear view of the pier.

I found a parking spot and hopped out, carefully pulling my surfboard from the car.

A few girls in brightly colored swimsuits caught my eye as I made my way to the shore. I gave them a little smile, flipping my hair out of my eyes. One of the girls looked to her friend and gasped, although it wasn't my intent to make her react in such a way.

I had a weird almost overwhelming effect on girls, in contrast to my brothers. I still had vivid memories of girls rushing the stage to get to me after Beach Boys concerts—way back in the earlier days of touring.

There were times like that, and even now, when I wished that I could attract less female attention.

I arrived home hours later after a good surf session, my hair generously salted from the Pacific and yellow surfboard in tow.

Carl was hidden away in his room, strumming the strings of his Fender Jaguar and working on a vocal part for a future album.

Girl don't tell me you'll write-ite-ite
Girl don't tell me you'll write-ite-ite
Girl don't tell me you'll write me again this time

"Hey! Sounds good!," I called out over Carl's honeyed voice.

As I walked by his door, he abruptly stopped playing.

"Denny! Come back here," he called out.

I came back to my brother's room, then flashed a cheesy grin. "You rang?"

"No, your girl rang," Carl sighed, tossing me a notepad with a phone number on it.

"My girl?"

"Sally, I think?," Carl scratched his head. "I forgot. I just wanted her off the phone. Super annoying chick." He rolled his eyes as he began tuning the guitar strings.

"Oh! Shit, yeah. Sarah," I smacked my forehead with my palm. "I have dinner with her tonight."

"Aww," Carl smirked.

"With her parents."

"Oh. Well, you must really like her a lot to agree to that," he scoffed.

Like I said before, I attract a lot of female attention. And my brother Brian's most recent marriage started to make me think a lot about the future. More specifically, the future Mrs. Dennis Wilson.