Guitar Lessons - Sex Stories

Guitar Lessons

... uncontrollably lust-filled loins, I replied “A couple of years!” “And who was that on the vocals?” I told her. She said “I’ve never heard of them. Mario always plays Sinatra, Al Martino, Dean Martin.” “It’s a different kind of music,” I said, “Not quite as refined. A lot of the current stuff has some social overtones, definitely not establishment stuff.” Looking wistfully at the trees, she said, “I wish I could play like that.” “It’s really easy.” I replied, “It just takes a little practice.” “Would you teach me?” she said with a smile. How could I say no? “Where are my manners?” I blurted out, standing up and offering her my seat, while praying that she didn’t notice the tent in my jeans. I handed her my guitar, moved behind her and said, “Put your fingers here, here, and here and strum with your other hand.” She did as instructed, smiled again, and looked up at me. “There you go! You’ve learned your first chord!” She stood, trying to hand me back the guitar. “That was nice, but I have to go get the chores done. It’s Mario’s poker night, and the house needs to be spotless. Thank you for the lesson.” Not accepting the guitar back, I said, “Keep it! I’m getting a new one, and you need something to practice with.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah! Go ahead!” “Only if you come over at seven. Mario’s poker buddies will be in the basement, and you can show me more. I’ll pay you for the lessons.” “Deal!” I said standing up and offering her my hand, totally forgetting the tent pole on my ...

... pants until it was too late. I know she noticed! She had to! She smiled and said, “See you at seven,” and walked away, swinging that delightful ass as she sauntered home. The rest of the day was a blur. Seven o’clock came and I rang their doorbell. Toni answered the door and ushered me into the living room. The chairs there were a little too plush to comfortably play, so I suggested using a chair from the dining room. She sat, guitar in her lap and I helped her place her hands on the fret so she could strum some chords. I seemed to work best for me if I stood behind her, which gave me a pleasant view down her blouse, as well as ease of access to her hands for placement purposes. I also hid my raging stiffy. After about an hour, I said “You seem to be picking this up quickly,” knowing that compliments were a great motivator. She handed me a ten dollar bill and said, “Next Saturday? Unless you have a hot date.” “Not much chance of that!” I replied, heading home for the first of many sessions with my right hand in the privacy of my bedroom, my head filled with visions of what this gorgeous woman might look like naked. Early spring turned to late spring which turned to early summer. The lessons progressed. She had a talent for music, and we both had fun, playing simple duets, or it would be me playing and her just listening. She seemed genuinely happy and I turned a tidy profit. A week or so after the Fourth of July, I stopped in for our usual Saturday evening lesson, but something ...