itchin’ my sticks

The hot wax melts slowly along the iron, dripping serendipitously onto the fiberglass.
The motion turns me on, hands move slowly as I caress back and forth, covering every inch.High fuel energy drinks and road food accompany me in good spirits as we travel up, higher and higher.

High clouds wisp along the blueness, the sun rising over the mountains on this sublime warm winter’s day.
I’m itchin’ to get my sticks out.

Not too icy, not too mushy.
Just right, as Goldilocks would proclaim.
You got that right.

What more can you say, except that in Utah, it’s where it’s at.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?