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I think all, or at least most, musicians suffer the same fate. We earn a little from gigging when we can, but for most of us, other forms of employment are needed to make ends meet. Sure, there are musicians with roadies and record contracts. But most of us supplement our musical addiction with side jobs. In my case I supplement the paltry income from my band gigs with a part-time job in an electronics store. In addition, I offer guitar lessons when and where I can. Somehow, I manage to piece together enough scratch to keep my head above water.
While I get most of my teaching gigs through a local music store, others occasionally come by word of mouth, as was the case in this story I am about to tell you. The owner of the store franchise where I worked, Celeste, knew that I taught guitar and asked me about my availability on Thursday afternoons to give lessons to her daughter.
While I didn’t want to waste my time with a young spoiled rich girl, I couldn’t exactly turn down my boss. Apparently, she had given her daughter a Christmas gift of eight one-hour lessons and was now actively trying to find someone to follow through on her promise. Her daughter, Kim, or “Kimmie” as she referred to her, was a sophomore at the state university in town and had a hole in her schedule on Thursdays – an afternoon that I did not work. So, to keep the peace and earn a little extra, I agreed to an eight week package deal and Celeste paid me half in advance, with the other half to come after the two month stint was complete.
Now I shouldn’t have a preconceived notion of any particular student, but I had had a few college students in the past and had found them unfocused and unreliable. At 33 I didn’t have the patience I’d had in my early years of teaching. Celeste persuaded me, however, that her 19 year-old daughter was very eager to learn guitar and had a wonderful voice to boot. And she suggested that the lessons be at her house, even though her daughter was living in a dorm on campus. That way she could be in the background and make sure her daughter was taking advantage of this opportunity.
I reluctantly agreed and we set the date for the first lesson. It was already late March, so our agreement would run for two months, taking out one week when Kim would be on Spring Break. I arrived the following Thursday, eager to get things underway.
I usually like to feel a new student out at the first lesson – get a sense for what they might know already, if anything, and what they were hoping to get out of the sessions. I also like to get a bead on their taste in music and what kind of genre they’re interested in exploring – folk, rock, country – whatever it might be. Every student comes with a little bias.
I tended to downplay my rock and roll looks when I was at my day job. I usually wore a tie and tied my long dark brown hair back in a ponytail. I kept my beard short and my one tattoo covered. But once I was in music mode I let my hair down, literally, and dressed the part in tee shirt and denim, as I did on this particular day. At 6-2 I wore the lean and lanky thing pretty well. My Italian heritage and dark skin had always been a draw to the fairer sex. Strap on a guitar and, well…
I arrived at Celeste’s house that first Thursday, not really thinking much one way or the other about the young woman I was about to meet. Celeste lived in a very nice neighborhood, not too far from campus, and met me at the door after I rung the bell. She was all smiles and greeted me warmly, thanking me for taking on this little project. She shook my hand and asked me to follow her into the kitchen.
“Well, look at you,” she exclaimed as she looked back at me over her shoulder. “My top salesman has transformed himself into a rock and roll star. Kimmie will love it.”
“Gotta look the part, you know,” I replied, rather sheepishly.
Now, Celeste is in her late forties and a rather nice looking tall blond. I had heard through the grapevine that she was married to a tall Dutch man, as their surname indicated. Still, I was unprepared for the sight of the young lady who stood smiling in the kitchen as I entered. She was tall – probably 5′-10″ – and had long light blond hair that was tied up in a clip of some sort. Her skin was pale and luminescent and she had a kind of Icelandic glow. Her pale blue eyes sparkled as she held out her hand to greet me.
“Hi. I’m Kimmie,” she stated, as I felt her eye me from top to bottom. She extended her hand and we shook. Her grip was firm and her slender hand fit into mine perfectly. Our handshake lasted just a tad longer than it should have.
I couldn’t help but smile at my good fortune as I kept my eyes on hers, figuring I could check out her body later. She was dressed in very tight jeans, but the large college sweat shirt hung loose and hid the curves of her upper body.
“Randy,” I replied. “Glad to meet you.”
There was an awkward moment as Celeste continued to hover, but once she realized she was bahis firmaları no longer needed, she gracefully departed into another part of the house and left Kim and I alone.
“So, where shall we do this?” I inquired, already a little embarrassed at how my question might be taken.
“There’s a den on the far side of the house. Let’s go down there where we’ll have a little privacy,” she smiled. Sounded good to me. Following her through the hall and living room gave me a chance to check out her exquisite form and posture. She waved me into the study and I eyed a Taylor dreadnaught sitting in a guitar stand.
“Nice,” I stated, putting my guitar case down and picking up her guitar. I took off my hat, sat down on a chair and ripped off a couple riffs. I wasn’t trying to show off, but, well, maybe I was a little bit.
“So my Mom says you play in bands around town?” she inquired.
“Yeah. I’ve been part of the local scene since I graduated from college. Can’t seem to give it up quite yet,” I offered. “And I figure I’ll keep going as long as it’s fun.”
“Cool. Guess I’ll have to come check you out sometime,” she said, with a grin. I played a few more quick riffs to check out the action and the sound.
“Wow. That guitar has never sounded like that,” she laughed.
“Well, maybe it will soon.” I stated. “It’s a sweet guitar. How long have you had it?” I inquired.
“My parents gave it to me two years ago for graduation and, well, I just haven’t had the time to focus on learning chords and stuff. So, as Mom probably told you, they offered me some lessons for Christmas and, well, here you are,” she giggled.
“Yes,” I said, putting the guitar back in the stand. “Here I am. So, let’s get started,” I suggested, as I took my coat off and opened my case. And so we did.
For the next hour we got comfortable with one another and I found out how much she knew about chords and music theory. Surprisingly, she knew a little more than I had expected, so I was encouraged that, should she be serious about practicing between lessons, this eight week program might yield some results. I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I still prefer a student who is somewhat inspired to learn. And Kim appeared to have a little more focus than most of the college students I’d had the misfortune of teaching.
We settled into an easy rapport and I was pleased to see that she not only knew a few chord progressions, but could actually play and sing a song or two. What struck me most at that first lesson, however, was what a nice voice she had. Celeste had mentioned that, but what mother didn’t think their daughter or son had a nice voice? I was quite pleasantly surprised.
More importantly, I could tell she was really into this. She wasn’t just taking lessons to appease her mother. It was clear from the beginning that she wanted to learn and loved music. Suddenly my eight week gig wasn’t looking so bad after all.
By the end of the hour I had a pretty good idea of her skill level and I gave her some suggestions on songs to learn for our next lesson. She didn’t seem ready to have the lesson end and I was certainly enjoying the moment, and the view.
“Is there some simple song we could sing together before you go?” she asked with a smile that would melt lead.
“Well, how about something really basic. Peter, Paul and Mary – someone way before your time – did a Bob Dylan song called “Blowin’ in the Wind”. Are you familiar with it?”
“Sure,” she replied, happily. “Go for it.”
I began, she followed along, and before long we were sharing a two part harmony that sounded, well, incredible, to be quite honest. She was a natural at harmonizing and we were both smiling widely as we sang. As we finished, there was the sound of clapping coming from the next room.
“Bravo,” cried Celeste.
“Mo-om,” Kim yelled back – saying her mother’s name like it had two syllables. She shook her head and looked at me. “She’s so nosy,” she declared.
“I am not,” Celeste yelled back. “You guys sound great.”
Kim rolled her eyes and looked back at me. “Thank you, Randy. This is going to be fun. See you next week?”
“Of course,” I replied, taking that as a cue that it was time to go. I packed up, said my goodbyes, and headed home – very pleased with my new student.
As the next few weeks flew by I became more and more enamored of my newest protégé. She was a quick study and it was obvious that she was practicing between lessons, as her technique and sound approved appreciably each and every week. I noted such to her a few weeks in.
“Well, when I should be studying and doing homework, I’m playing the guitar instead. So, you’re actually a bad influence, mister,” she joked.
But it was our vocal interactions that were really exciting. Every song I pulled out, she was able to harmonize. Or if I played a song that she could sing, I would sing along with her. Neither of us could keep the smiles off our faces. And when we really kaçak iddaa hit one out of the park, we’d hear clapping from another room, as Celeste was never far away. She wanted to make sure her investment was paying dividends. Anyone with ears could tell, it was.
I have always been a sucker for singing harmony with a female. For me, when the circumstances are right, it is like having sex with your vocal chords. When a male and female voice intertwine with skill and soul, there are few things more exhilarating – at least for me. What was so pleasant was that Kim seemed to be enjoying the whole thing as much as I was.
Each week we’d try some new songs, new chords, new progressions – and each week she was more than up to the task. As the weeks went by and March turned into April, the weather began to improve and Kim’s heavy winter sweatshirts and sweaters gave way to lighter garb. I’d been aware of her long smooth legs from the outset. But as the layers came off, her lovely slender body began to become unveiled as well.
Celeste approached me numerous times at work and thanked me for taking on her daughter. And she never failed to comment on how wonderful our voices sounded together. Yes, in fact, they did. I was very aware of that fact and pondered the many possibilities. Perhaps we could perform together sometime – an open mike, for example? Or maybe our working together would extend beyond eight lessons and become a steady and on-going thing? All of it was fun to contemplate.
As Kim and I began to get more comfortable with one another, some of our physical barriers began to break down. For instance, sometimes when she was having difficulty fingering a particular chord, I would sit closely to her side and reach my left hand around hers to show her how to curve her wrist and place her fingers on the frets. While it was all in the line of duty, the closeness was not lost on either of us. She seemed in no hurry to have me move away and I enjoyed being close enough to have her intoxicating scent muddle my brain. And I loved the innocent feel of our hands touching.
At the end of each lesson, Kim liked to find a song or two that she didn’t play on, but could sing along with me. This allowed us to try some more difficult arrangements and we began to trade ideas on songs that we might sound good on together. When we ended our lessons this way, Kim liked to put her guitar down and sit directly in front of me…close. Sometimes our legs touched, yet neither of us would move away. It was a subtle, but powerful, signal. We’d sit face to face and look into each other’s eyes as we sang. Her eyes sparkled with delight as our voices soared and our encores were often met with claps and whoops from some other part of the house. Kim would roll her eyes and the presence of her mother not far away would bring us back to reality.
Still, we enjoyed our little cocoon in her den and filled it with some very beautiful music. Kim wasn’t a particularly great guitar player, but she improved dramatically as each week passed. More importantly, we became increasingly comfortable singing together – our voices intertwining with melodic ease and a natural compatibility. I constantly complimented her vocal maturity and, while she scoffed at my praise, I could see how much it pleased her.
Sometimes we’d talk for a bit, once the guitars were put away. She was interested in my musical past; how I had come to the guitar and how I had learned to play and sing as I did. And I was interested in her story as well. As the weeks went by I found myself looking forward to our sessions and there was no doubt that I was becoming more and more attracted to her.
She was hard to resist. She had a friendly engaging personality, an easy-going manner, and a simple natural look that never ceased to take my breath away each time she’d answer the door with a smile on her face. I loved looking into her eyes as we played and sang together. Hers were large and deep blue; the kind of eyes one could get seriously lost in. She was not shy about eye contact, especially when we were harmonizing face to face. And, more than once, I found myself admiring the curve of her graceful neck, her beautiful full lips, and long silky blond hair.
Sometimes as I was leaving, Celeste would join us to talk. I found those moments rather awkward. Here I was talking to my boss with her beautiful young daughter, now my student, standing nearby looking so incredibly hot. Kim had that fair-skinned, innocent, blond thing going on. But there was a naughty twinkle in her eye that told me she’d be a different young woman when not under the shadow of her mother. Maybe I’d find out.
Our eight lessons were going to end up spanning ten weeks, as I had a gig one week and Kim went on Spring Break another. So it was early May and a beautiful afternoon as I arrived for our next to last lesson on that Thursday. Kim answered the door, as she usually did, with a warm hello and a huge smile. Usually Celeste would say hello as kaçak bahis I walked through the house to the den where we practiced. But on this particular day she wasn’t about. I assumed she was upstairs. I asked.
Kimmie always looked great when she answered the door. But today she looked particularly provocative. As I followed her through the house I realized why. She was wearing a tiny pair of impossibly tight denim shorts that crawled up her cute little butt and divided both cheeks so they twitched tightly as she walked in front of me. Adding to the scene were her shoes – a pair of high-heeled sandals that gave her whole body lift and accentuated the lean curvature of her beautiful legs. I felt like I was following a model down the runway. Perhaps she was walking with a little extra swing in her hips on this particular afternoon.
Her top was a cream colored silk shift that left several inches of her lower torso exposed. Aside from the thin straps of the top, I saw no evidence of a bra, unless it was a strapless one. But the way the silk lay on her lovely breasts and the way they moved ever so slightly hinted at her sexy top being the only thing she was wearing.
“Your Mom here today, Kim?” I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
“No!” she answered gladly and rather emphatically. “So there’ll be no bursts from the peanut gallery today,” she said with a laugh. “She had to work the late shift today, so she won’t be back until late,” Kim offered. “And, Randy – call me Kimmie. Please”
“Sure, Kimmie.” Her guitar was in the stand as I extracted mine from its case.
“Is your father about?” I asked, as I opened my guitar case, trying to appear nonchalant and casual.
“Oh, he never gets home til dinner time. But he’s traveling this week, anyway, so…it’s just the two of us,” she said quietly. I looked up at her and returned her smile. I’m not sure why I was so happy at this thought. Kim had never given the slightest hint at being interested in me. But it was certainly a nice situation, nevertheless.
“Well, that’s nice,” I said.
“Yes. It is.” She beamed. “Maybe we can play a little longer today…if you want.”
“Maybe we can,” I replied. “I’d like that.” She picked up her guitar and we went into lesson mode. Toward the end of the hour, Kim put her guitar down and looked at me.
“So, I learned that song you mentioned last time. “Love Hurts”. Can we try it?” she inquired expectantly.
“Of course,” I replied excitedly. “That’s a great song.”
Kimmie moved to put her guitar away and I took the opportunity to admire her body. Her legs looked so long and sexy as they emerged from the frayed edge of her painted on shorts. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the deep vee that cut between her legs, dividing her bubbly cheeks so perfectly. Her thighs and calves looked so incredibly smooth; I had an overwhelming desire to reach out and touch.
She was facing away from me and bending over as she closed her guitar case. I just gaped with a silly grin on my face. As she straightened up, and without moving her feet, she turned to look at me, twisting her body into profile. The way she was standing now stretched the silky top tautly against her left breast.
I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself. I gawked at her long lean body. I looked back up at her eyes as she stood there in profile, not moving. Then my gaze returned to her lovely bust. At that moment I could only see her left breast, but it was perfect. It wasn’t large – a nice full B cup – but its shape was slightly lifted by the tightness of the top stretched across her bust. A very stiff nipple poked upward through the creamy thin silk with some authority.
She only stood that way for a moment, but it seemed like an eternity. Then, not saying a word, she turned back toward me and rearranged her chair to face mine. She sat down and we looked into one another’s eyes as I searched for some meaning. Before the moment had a chance to resolve itself, she scooted forward a bit more, ready to begin.
“So,” she said. “Let’s sing.”
I began to strum. The tune is an old Gram Parsons song to me, though it had been written by Boudleaux Bryant. It was first covered by the Everly Brothers in the early sixties, followed by Roy Orbison and many others. Gram’s version from the early seventies has some of the most beautiful harmonies by Emmy Lou Harris. It’s always been one of my favorites, but very few female vocalists can do it justice. Something told me Kimmie was ready for the challenge. I began to strum the slow intro.
“Love hurts. Love scars. Love wounds and marks.”
We fell into the song like we’d sung it a hundred times.
“Any heart. Not tough. Or strong…enough.”
Her eyes were smiling as she looked in mine and we sang together.
“To take a lot of pain. Take a lot of pain. Love is like a cloud. Holds a lot of rain. Mmmmm. Oooh…oooh,…Love Hurts.”
Our legs touched as our harmony soared and we entered the second verse. Kimmie was on fire and I felt our voices weaving together as one. It was vocal sex – pure and simple.
“I’m young. I know. But even…so. I know a thing. Or two. I learned…from you.”
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