Lebpreciation

Trunk

For E.

TRUNK

Song: Trunk, by Kings of Leon

Chapter 13

Spring quickly morphed into a hot, dry, humid summer.
For Memorial Day, everyone made their way to Oklahoma, for the annual Followill family reunion.
Caleb insisted that she come along—as the official girlfriend. She tried to refuse at first. Not that she objected to being the “official girlfriend”—whatever that meant—but she was apprehensive about not being able to fit in with the massive, rambunctious clan. Her own family was big enough, but the Followills dwarfed her relations in sheer size and the level of utter madness.
At last, they compromised. She agreed to go to the reunion, if Caleb agreed to meet her parents and siblings. So, one Sunday, after church, the two of them arrived to her parents’ home in Caleb’s truck. She decided against coming in his fine Lexus—it would have looked odd, and caused too many questions. He looked prim, and as proper as he could, in tapered, but not skintight trousers, a nice shirt, and with his hair tucked behind his ears. Her mother behaved well, but was lukewarm towards him, but her father found a kindred spirit in Caleb, and they grilled together, talking football, travels and 70s rock.
All in all, it was not a disaster, especially when they managed to avoid a lot of talk about his lifestyle and in general, him being in the band. The fact that he was in the band with his bothers and cousin, and that their mother cut their hair and sewed their clothes placated her parents quite a bit. They imagined something along the lines of the Everly Brothers. She did not try to dissuade them.
A week later, the lot of them drove to Oklahoma. They took two trucks, Jared, Alisa and Matt in one, and Caleb, she, Nathan, Jessie, and Nacho in another. At rest stops, they shuffled the people around, and it made for a fun trip. Jared babbled incessantly about everything under the sun, Nathan joked, and she at last got to talk to Matt, who turned out to be not at all quiet, and very funny.

Soft slithering of lips on her bare leg woke her up.
They were given a barn to sleep in, due to the lack of space. The rest of the family slept in tiny houses that were scattered all over the property, and in trailers, and in tents. Eating was done in the main house, that belonged to Grandma and Grandpa Followill.

She liked the barn. It was large, and they had to climb a wooden ladder to get to the top. There, they slept in the piles of hay, upon sleeping bags. The place made for some funny and uncomfortable situations. The other day, it suddenly rained in the middle of the afternoon. Boozy, after an entire morning of drinking, they stumbled back to the barn, and climbed to their spot, falling asleep. Less than an hour later, a muffled noise woke them up. Caleb squeezed her mouth with his hand and rolled over her, his body shaking with silent laughter. She couldn’t see anything, and nodded vigorously, letting him know that she would remain quiet. Following his gaze, the two of them crawled on their bellies to the edge and peered down. There, in the murky darkness, with dust and hay swirling in the muted rays of golden sunshine, they saw one of Caleb’s cousins and his girlfriend. Wet from the rain, they tore each other’s clothes off and after wringing them out and scattering their jeans and shirts over the piles of hay to dry they fell upon the dirt floor and began making noisy love.
Caleb’s face stretched in a mischievous grin, the eyes sparkled like aquamarines, the skin sun kissed and the freckles more apparent than usual. His hair was lighter, bleached by the relentless sun. She slapped his shoulder lightly, urging him not to look, but he shook his head and giggled, muffling the sound in her shoulder.
“Look at them go!” he muttered in her ear.
“Will you stop it? It’s your cousin!” she hissed.
He shrugged,
“Yeah…but she isn’t!”
They watched for a few moments longer, and then he turned her on her back and looked her over, his eyes suddenly darker, his face hungry, the smell of hay mingling with that of alcohol and his skin. She bit his neck when he slid into her, in one warm, blinding instance.
“So much for being discreet,” he smiled, wrapping one arm around her, and rubbing his neck, where she had bit him. “You think this hickey will fool anyone?”
She laughed against him, soothing the pain of her teeth with her lips.
“I guess you’ll just have to wear a turtleneck…”
“Even better! Turtleneck, on a farm, in Oklahoma! My dad will think that I went all gay down in Europe.”
“I can reassure him,” she murmured gently in his ear, grasping his back with her strong hands. His narrow hips moved against hers, hip bones smashing into each other. And at once, the heated frenzy overtook them, instantly. There were times when it was a prolonged, and torturously extended experience, exhaustive and obliterating in its physical and emotional intensity. But there were times like these, all heat and grabbing and grasping and thrusting and smashing, bodies, pelvises, limbs, tongues, hair tangled and amalgamated into one.
Luckily for them, just as she thought that she could not hold off any longer, when screams half-suffocated her, the couple downstairs gathered their clothes and scurried out of the barn, apparently fearing discovery. As soon as the door closed behind them, she allowed her the release of a deep, eager moan.
“Oh my G-d!” she cried, as he rained kisses over her lips and her face, her breath coming in deep gasps.
“Oh, close fucking call,” he moaned, thrusting hard, bringing her to and quickly taking over the barrier of pleasure, that both of them craved so desperately.

She stretched and jerked her leg away, as his lips tickled her skin.
“What time is it?” she whined. “Why are you up?”
“Ready to start drinking!” Caleb announced proudly.
“The bottle won’t run away from you. Sleep,” she squinted at him.
Naked, he stretched over her legs, his cheek resting on her hip. It was hot in the barn, even at night and little beads of sweat bathed his forehead and made his collarbone sleek. She drew her fingers over his sharp jaw and he popped her index finger in his mouth, sucking softly.
His look was full of that which frightened and excited her, the look of hungry, deep, gentle, ethereal, profound, soaring love. She knew that no one would ever look at her like this. No one had either. She cupped his massive shoulder in her hand and gingerly drew him upwards. The need to feel the weight of his body against hers, the familiar scratchiness of the hair on his belly, the warmth of his lips, the base need of wanting him inside of her were irresistible.
He moved slowly, kissing his way through her body, placing his lips over her hip and her belly and arm, until he reached her breast and pressed his stubble-covered cheek into its softness. She held him there, stroking the fine hair.
“I didn’t want to waste time on sleeping,” he confessed, kissing her lips lovingly. “Always feels like I have little time with you. Never enough time.”
With practiced assurance, he pinned her down and towered over her expectant form. Her breasts fell and rose rapidly. The sight of him naked—as many times as she’s seen him—never failed to excite her. And then the careful parting of her thighs, his warm hand slipping between her legs, the rough palm smoothing over the inside of her thighs, teasing the sensitive skin, his touch forcing her hips to rise and meet his hand.
“Let’s not leave here,” he proposed, as she kissed his face, holding onto him, savouring his scent and the methodical, steady rubbing of his fingers inside of her. His voice was hoarse, his breath hot, his body tight and tense, like a string. “I’ll start preaching…take over where my dad left off…and you’ll have my babies…”
“Barefoot and pregnant?” she smiled.
“You can sing in the church choir!” he allowed with a wide grin. “You sing very well.”
“Ah, thank you. Suppose Nate and I can be the back up band to your preaching. Jared would never agree to the lifestyle. He is smart and will go to college and become a doctor!”
“Yeah, a gynecologist,” huffed Caleb.
“We need those too,” she shrugged.
“And Matt?”
“Matt will be like a restaurant manager or something. Or a wise investor. And he wouldn’t have to do anything at all. Face it, it’s going to be Nate, Nacho, you and I, in that church band.”
“Sounds good.”
Carefully, she moved from under him and pushed him down. He sprawled on the sleeping bag, arms and legs spread wide apart. On all fours, she stooped over him, her long hair draping both of their bodies. Tenderly licking the firm ridges of his stomach, she made her way upwards, sliding her tongue over the tanned, salty skin, burying her lips in the coarse hair of his body. Caleb’s hard arms circled her waist and he sat up, pushing her down, to meet his hard member.
“Oh, G-d,” he groaned. “Nothing could ever be this good! Unbelievable…”
She pressed his face to her breast and he impatiently flipped her back down, and ground deeply into her. The way he moulded into her, not just comfortable, perfected fit of his sex in hers, but the melding of bones and muscles and limbs, always made her think that he was made especially for her. There was something beautiful and mesmerizing about him dancing on her flesh, the touch of his hands on her body, the caresses, the softness of his lips on her mouth and her neck and her nipples, the hard, ardent pushing of his pelvis into her.
She gave in to the pure, unadulterated pleasure of just being with him, eyes closed, her sex bursting with pleasure, her lips filled with his mouth, tongue licking. The hay crackled softly beneath their moving, gyrating bodies, and she shuddered when Caleb licked the sheen of sweat that covered her chest. His cross bounced upon her breasts, twisting and dangling atop of her nipples.
“Come with me,” he murmured, slipping his hand inside of her. She buckled against him, this one touch sending her over the edge almost instantly. But he coaxed the pleasure gradually, with his member and his hands and his lips, bringing her just to the doorstep and pulling back, toying with her deliciously, making her moan and scream, enjoying every grab and shudder that she displayed.
…After, they ran to the creek naked. Caleb dragged her out of the barn, not bothering to find their scattered clothes. The sun was just rising and everyone was still asleep. The water was warm and they swam for a good forty minutes, hearing cow bells in the distance and watching the sun rays colour the tops of trees around them.
“Hey you two, probably scared all the fish!”
Nathan’s mocking voice interrupted their warm, passionate embrace.
“Here I thought I was gonna have a moment’s peace! With just me, my fishing rod and my bottles…But no, of course you beat me to it!”
“We’ll leave you to enjoy your rod and your fish,” she laughed.
“Hey,” called out Caleb sternly, “avert your eyes, you pervert! This is my girlfriend! Naked!”
Nathan t’sked.
“She sure is. If you don’t want other men to see your girlfriend naked, how ‘bout putting a bathing suit on!”

Caleb retained his crown, as the champion stump thrower later that evening. The anatomically correct “Stump Woman” was draped in a skirt, to preserve her decency, before she was uncovered for the all-important contest. For a while, it was between Nacho and Jared, until Caleb gained the upper hand. At last, Nacho fell by the way side, and the two brothers battled for supremacy.
Alisa and she were standing and yelling like mad women, jumping and cheering their men on. When Caleb finally won, Jared stumbled away, pissed off and refused to talk to anyone for the rest of the evening.
“Sorest fucking loser,” gloated Caleb, shaking his head.
She didn’t remind him that in fact, he was the sorest loser she’s ever met. And if he had lost, there would be either WWIII or a massive, brawling hissy fit.
But he reveled in his victory and she was proud of him, because it meant so much to him.

The culmination of the weekend took place on the veranda, at Leon’s house.
The boys put on their new record. It was going to be called “Because Of the Times”. It was still in the works, and most of spring was taken up by the recording sessions, the taunting of the lovely Faith Hill, who was recording her album in the same studio, drinking and writing of songs.
Grandma Followill was a surprise. She sternly forbade everyone from moving, talking, whispering, or making any gestures or sounds, while the record played. After the 9th and last song was finished, she burst into tears. And then, just about everyone was crying and hugging, because it was so beautiful.

A soft, balmy night descended on Tennessee.
Cicadas screamed in the darkness, and a light wind swept over tree branches. She sat outside, on the back porch, swaying in a swing. They’ve been back for about a month.
Caleb had called earlier, saying that he wanted to grill out tonight. His voice betrayed unhappiness, but she didn’t pry, knowing that he would tell her what bothered him when he was ready. Since he was going to grill, all she had to prepare were the fixins’—mashed potatoes, bacon, a bowl of crumbled blue cheese, and potato salad.
“Hey babe,” he appeared suddenly on the porch, holding two beers in one hand. He handed her one and sat down on a whicker lounge. She smiled and took a sip. His face was grim and drawn, and the way he gulped the beer indicated that he was not in the best of moods.
“Come,” he extended his arm and she slipped off the swing and reaching him in one stride, she landed on his lap. His temples were covered with tiny beads of sweat and she pressed her lips to the side of his face, lightly tracing the tip of her tongue along his cheekbone. The thick, beefy arms closed around her and he reached for her lips, kissing her slowly, savouring the taste of beer and lime on her tongue, while rearranging her so she could straddle him.
She held his neck, rubbing it gently, feeling him swell against her groin.
He pulled away and cupped her face in his hand.
“Well, that’s better,” he muttered.
She smiled and placed kisses on his freckled nose.
“So…what did you do?” she asked at last.
“Me? Why do you immediately assume that I did something?” he exclaimed defensively.
“You didn’t?” she raised one eyebrow.
“Whatever,” he threw, “we got into it with Angelo…and then the boys took his side,”
“Aha, so I was correct,” she chuckled.
“You aren’t correct. He was wrong, and I was right!”
She stroked his head and nodded.
“Poor Angelo. Placating you every day, stroking your ego…enormous ego! Trying to have you put out amazing music. That’s one job I wouldn’t want to have.”
He knew that she was joking, but he suggested never the less,
“Why don’t you then go to Angelo? Comfort him? Since he has to placate this asshole singer.”
“But I love the asshole singer,” she argued softly. “And I am always on his side, probably foolishly. Yet what can I do? But it’s probably tough for Angelo to deal with your diva behavior…”
“Fuck, yeah, I am a diva!” he muttered, shaking his head.
She laughed and kissed his lips.
“My diva,” she repeated.
“Yeah, I’ve got a helluva woman here! Sure doesn’t believe in “standing by her man”.”
“That’s all I do is stand by my man. You are a handful, Caleb Followill, if you haven’t realised that already.”
In one motion, he turned her swiftly and she was on her back, spread across the lounge, while he towered over her. His intense blue eyes shone with clarity that she didn’t quite remember seeing before. He was completely sober, a little angry, but not with her, and she felt an almost physical sensation of desire and emotion emanate from him and wash over her. She was bathed with his scent and unable to help herself, she dragged her tongue over the protruding vein on his arm, tasting the salt of his sweat and the pulsating blood beneath the skin. Her breasts rose and fell, but he didn’t kiss her, but only watched her intently, assessing something.
“Caleb,” she whispered, “what is it?”
“I wrote a song for you today,” he said suddenly.
“A song? For me?” she pulled back, mildly astonished. He never wrote songs for her before, and always said that their relationship was separate from his songwriting. As far as she knew, “Arizona” was the only song that was influenced by her, but even that was about some lovely brothel whore, who reminded Caleb of her.
“Yes. Well,” he thought, “maybe not for you. I wrote it more for me. But…it’s definitely about you.”
“Can I hear it?” she asked, stroking his arm, her heart beating loudly.
“It’s not a good song,” he admitted darkly. “I don’t even want you to know which one it is.”
“What are you talking about?” she climbed from underneath him and sat up. He took her in his arms, and his stubble-covered cheek rested against her neck, as he breathed in steadily. “It’s a song about how I feel for you. About you…But it’s not beautiful. It’s not like you at all. It’s all about me and my emotions, and when I hear it back, it scares me. Because you are the only thing that is clean and pure and untarnished in my life. Yet I wrote such a creepy, hard song about my love for you.”
She pressed her forehead to his, while he stroked her body gently, but urgently, as if trying to keep her from walking away from him.
She was surprised at the addition of a new song. He hadn’t mentioned anything about writing more, and she figured that the album was pretty much completed by this time.
“What is it called at least?”
He thought a while before he answered,
“Trunk.”
“Trunk?” she repeated, confused. “It’s not about the size of my ass, is it?”
Caleb began to laugh loudly. She laughed as well and kissed him, while he slapped her bottom and said,
“Nothing wrong with your ass, girl. Maybe I should write a song about it! And the things I like to do with it.”
She chuckled and ran her tongue around his ear, biting softly on the bump, as he stroked her bottom and murmured,
“You’ve just made me think of so many things I’d like to do to you…’
“And they involve my trunk?”
“Definitely. But among other things.”
He began to kiss her, his mouth possessing hers completely, his hand working on unbuttoning her shirt, as his fingers stroked the warm, moist place between her breasts. He pushed her back on the lounge and stretched over her curved body, as his other hand slipped between her thighs, caressing the smooth skin next to her warm sex that began to leak its heady juice.
“Caleb,” she breathed, as the heaviness of his body pressed her deeper into the lounge and he drew his fingers over her lips, studying her face. “You are always here to patch me up,” he said. “It doesn’t matter how fucked up I am. I can…I have you, right?”
She smiled and cupped his face in her hands, nodded and whispered,
“You’ll always have me…And don’t you dare go into the “I don’t deserve” you mode.”
A sad smile passed his lips and he said,
“I know that I don’t deserve you, but I have to have you. You’ve always been mine. Only mine, from the beginning.”
“You are the only one I’ve ever loved,” she agreed.
“The only one I know who’s only had me.”
“Only you.”
He paused and then dipped his head and kissed her mouth with slow, loving kisses. Back and forth, he kissed her, his scratchy cheek grazing her cheek, his eyes open, and one hand parting her shirt to reveal her breasts.
She liked it when they were outside, exposed to the possibility of discovery, yet protected by the darkness of the night, where only the stars and the moon were their companions. The cicadas finally ceased their noise, and the evening air swayed with silence and fragrant warmth.
She took his hand and kissed his knuckles slowly, pressing her lips to his fist and his fingers.
“The song is about me loving you,” he said clearly, his voice quiet, the Southern drawl suddenly more pronounced. It happened when he was most comfortable, at peace with his thoughts and emotions. “It’s about how much I feel for you. What you mean to me,”
“But it sounds beautiful,”
“I love you too much to ever let you go. You have to know that. Because if you are gone, so is me. You keep me sane and in line. And if I don’t have you, if I don’t know that no matter where the hell I am in the world, I have you waiting here for me, then why the fuck am I living?
“All I know is that I aint ever performing this song live. It’s for you. Just for you, as a gift. I wont share it with anyone.”
He swallowed and added,
“The man in the song…he is driving, in the desert, and he has her in the trunk. If he couldn’t have her, no one could.
“You understand?”
She didn’t say anything for a while.
He broke the silence and pressed,
“Will you now tell me that you won’t ever leave me? But not out of fear, but out of love. Knowing what I just told you? Knowing the man in front of you has these thoughts in his mind.”
“Are you the driver?’ she asked slowly.
“No,” he shook his head, “but it’s not impossible for me to be him.”
“I know what you are, Caleb, and I love you. That’s all. You don’t have to be anything else.”

*** As far as I know, “Trunk” has never been performed live.
Kolluvah