August 1969

Chapter 8

Bobby has his arm slung around my shoulder as we walk through the wild crowd. We weren't ready to face our sisters, so we decided to take a longer way back, giving us time to talk.

Woodstock is like nothing I have ever experienced, I thought I was buzzing with excitement after Bobby's heartfelt confession, but the crowd has every fiber of my body vibrating on a new wavelength. The main acts have yet to start, but the atmosphere is filled with groovy beats and sounds that people are playing enthusiastically.

As we walk past a guy relaxing on a chair with a sign selling acid for a dollar, I nudge my hip into Bobby and ask, "Have you ever done acid?"

He looks to the ground with a smile, his dirty blonde hair falling down his forehead. He flicks his head to the side just as the loose locks reach his eyes, and the small action has me biting my lower lip. "I have."

My mouth falls to the ground, and my feet no longer know how to function. I playfully slap Bobby's shoulder, and when he looks at me, he's trying his hardest not to laugh. "Robert Dean Walker!"

"Yes, Gwendolyn Marie Harris?"

The name sounds like an insult coming from him and nowhere near as magical as his nickname for me. My nose scrunches, and I shake my head from side to side. "Gross."

Bobby's laugh is contagious, and I join him with my own set of giggles. Shivers travel down my neck when he takes a piece of my loose hair and tucks it behind my ear. "Yeah, that felt weird to say. I actually think that is the first time I have ever called you Gwendolyn."

I rise on my toes and place a kiss on Bobby's cheek. The light scruff scratching against my lips is new, but there is something raw and primal about it that has me wanting more. "Well, I happen to love that you call me Winnie, so don't stop."

Bobby stays planted in his spot as if he is made of stone. "I'm sorry, was that too forward?"

Bobby clears his throat and shakes his head. "Not at all." He searches for my hand, and our fingers, like magnets, instantaneously link together. "I just think I needed a moment to realize that this is really happening, you know?"

"It's okay. At least you didn't run off into a sea of people," I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

Just as Bobby opens his mouth, someone bumps into my back, causing me to stumble. Thankfully, Bobby's quick reflexes prevent me from falling to the ground. My hands find their way to his chest, his rapid pulse vibrating through my fingertips and straight to my heart.

God, he is pretty.

When I turn around, a young man stands with his hands in surrender. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay? I was talking to my friend and wasn't watching where I was going."

The guy's long hair is pulled back while walking around without a shirt and pants that hang incredibly low on his hips. My eyes wander down his chiseled chest, and I silently pray that Bobby does not see me openly checking out this stranger. "Uh, yeah. I'm okay. Where's the fire?"

Pointing towards the stage, the guy says, "Heard they will get started soon. My friends and I are truckin' through to get closer to the stage." The guy reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small brown bag, and hands it to me. "To say I'm sorry."

Bobby's arm around my waist tightens, but I ignore his silent protest and pull apart the top seams of the package. When I open it up, a familiar herbal, skunky odor of pot tickles my nose. "I can't take this."

I hand back the generous gift, but the guy again holds his hands up. "A sign of my deepest apologies, please take it. I'm here to spread love, not hurt. I shall give you one of my most valuable possessions as my penance."

This must be some good stuff because this guy is standing before me with eyes as red as his bandana and a goofy smile to match. "But what about you?"

"Nah, Man. You keep it." His words come out mellow and smooth. "I have more than enough to share."

"Righteous, man, thank you," I say, holding the bag up like a first-place trophy. "I'll see you around."

We say our goodbyes, and I yelp when Bobby pulls my back toward his chest. Every crease and crevice grinds against my skin, causing my heart to thump wildly. When he fans his fingers on my stomach beneath my shirt, pulling me in closer, my whole body roars to life like a Chevy stingray. Bobby's lips hit the outer part of my ear, and my head tilts to the side, soundlessly begging to see how his mouth would feel against my neck.

"Winnie?" Unable to form a coherent thought, a moan falls from parted lips. "Why do random people keep giving you pot?"

"I dunno."

"You need to be careful." My whole body becomes engulfed in fiery passion when Bobby gently kisses along the skin where my shoulder meets the base of my neck. "Promise me."

Lord, give me strength.

When Bobby begins to trail his fingers along my exposed skin, I lean further into him, anchoring myself to him as my body relaxes and my legs weaken. "Okay."

Bobby's touch, and the steady beat of drums banging around us, transports me to a new dimension. The palm of my hand stretches against him while my free arm raises, and I tangle my fingers in his loose tendrils of hair.

The guttural groan that vibrates from Bobby's chest transfers to my deepest parts, desperate need threading its way throughout the fibers of my body. My want for this man grows each time his lips meet my sensitive skin.

Music continues to fill the air, surrounding us with steady beats and melodic guitar riffs that amplify my carnal desire to have Bobby satisfy my hunger.

It's been so long since I've felt this way.

My hips begin to sway, rubbing against Bobby's impressive length as he continues to pepper kisses along my shoulder.

Time stands still as our bodies move in perfect unison to the lilting rhythms of music. We continue to sway back and forth, and I have never felt so wonderfully alive. The thousands of people around us fade away, and only Bobby and I remain.

The loud thuds of someone tapping on the microphone causes our intimate moment to halt.

My body still hums in fluttering beats, and the only words I can make out are, "Starting soon." I should be ecstatic that the artists will perform shortly, but I'm left empty, yearning to return to Bobby's arms.

Bobby turns me around, his chest rapidly rising and falling. His Adam's apple bobs, and he says, "That was—"

"Transcendental."

"Yeah," Bobby smiles with a nod of his head. He cups my cheek, brushing his thumb against my flushed skin. "We should head back."

He doesn't wait for an answer before lacing our fingers together and guiding me back to our tents. He expertly weaves through the mass of people, and I'm grateful because I'm still floating on cloud nine, waiting for my feet to land back on the ground.