I returned home, took a shower, brushed that evil taste out of my mouth, made dinner and then jammed through the night. I didn't get to bed until 5 a.m. and didn't awaken until two in the afternoon. I watched some ESPN, made a couple more You Tube videos and later forced myself to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. When you're an adult, because you have a car, you can be a nightperson and still have a social life. But not when you're 14 and all you have is a bicycle, the bus or your own two feet.

Monday, I had to take two buses to get to this one major guitar store. I was there mainly to show off and, after a while, these two guys in their mid-20's started following me around and watched me play seven or eight songs. It was getting nearly time for the next bus to arrive or I would have to wait another hour, so I put this Ibanez Prestige I was playing at the time back on the wall and began to head for the door. As I am just getting outside, they chased me down. When I heard their footsteps behind me, I stopped and got my body in a position so that I would be able to kick both of them in the head if I needed to. "Hey, you're totally amazing!" one of them said. Warily, I thanked him for the compliment. "Are you in a band?" he continued. "Not at the moment." "You want to jam with us?" Right that second, I saw my bus down the block. "Hey look, my bus is coming. Give me your number and I'll call you back," I instructed. I got the one guy's number, entered it into my cellphone and, less than a minute later, was on the bus for home.

I took a shower, changed into a blue jean skirt and a white t-shirt and then called the number of the guy who I met earlier that day. "Hello?" "Hi. Is this Mike?" "Yes it is. Who's this?" "This is Misty. I met you earlier today at the guitar shop." "Oh hey Misty. I'm glad you called me back." "So tell me about your band," I requested. "Well, we're melodic without being too wimpy. To be honest, though, we've had a few personnel changes over the last couple of years and we're still kinda groping for a direction." "Yeah, it sucks when you can't find good band chemistry." 'Ain't that the truth. Anyway Misty, where do you come from musically?" "I tend to like more classically influenced stuff. Yngwie, Deep Purple, Dio, Blind Guardian, Stratovarius, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, UFO, Accept, etc." "Very cool. Well look, why don't you come down to our rehearsal studio and see if you're a good fit with the rest of the band?" "There's kind of a problem with that," I sheepishly informed him." "Oh shit, what's that?" "I'm only 14, so I have to take the bus and I'll only be able to bring my Strat and a combo amp with me." "You play and look like that and you're still only 14?" "Yeah, but I'll be 15 in September," I added hopefully. "Fuck!" he shouted into whatever room he was in. "Sorry,"I said.

"Look Misty, you're one of the best guitar players I have ever heard and you would definitely be the best one I ever played with, not to mention the hottest. So I'm just frustrated about how everything has been going south on me the last year or so." "Well, I have a rehearsal room in my house. For now, though, how about I go down, see if our musical leanings are a match and if I like what I see we can rehearse at my house with my full backline." "You have a full backline and a rehearsal studio in your house?" he interrogated incredulously. "Yeah. I have three Marshall JVM 800 stacks, two Mesa Boogie Dual Rectifier stacks and a shitload of guitars, effects and other shit." I elucidated. "You must be rich," he guessed. "Mike, I've said this before, but there are four things you never ask a woman about: her age, her weight, her money or whether she came." "I need to remember that," he laughed. "Yes you do," I affirmed in a flirty way.

A couple of days later, I lugged my guitar and that heavy ass (at least when you're a girl) Marshall combo amp on and off of two buses and down a street while dressed in black leather from head to toe on a hot late June day. Mike was waiting for me outside and graciously hauled my amp the last few yards into the rehearsal studio. "You look fucking devastating, Misty," he praised. "Thanks sweety." I told them to just play one of their songs and then I would try playing it with them afterward. So that is what we did and they were blown away I could learn what songs they had so quickly..

But there were two problems: first, the songs just weren't very good; secondly, the singer was suspect. They asked me to join and I issued a positive response to the offer. I subsequently asked Mike to take me home and he fulfilled that request. "Mike, let's be honest: you're never going to get anywhere with your present singer and the songs definitely aren't going to cut it, " I assessed as we cruised down the 5 freeway. "For the time being, the best thing to do would be to fire the singer and have me sing," I pointed out. "Fuck, Misty, you've just joined the band and now you want me to can the singer and rewrite our songs? Isn't that kind of arrogant on your part?" "When we get home, Mike, I'll show you my vocal chops. And by the way, I also play keyboards, though I don't have much in the way of that because I mostly play guitar. That can be easily rectified, though."

After he pulled up in my driveway, we went upstairs to my music room. I switched on the small PA system I had as well as my guitar amp. Once my amp was warmed up, I went into Heart's "Barracuda," then Deep Purple's "Burn" and, aside from my guitar work, I put on a hell of a vocal display. "Okay, we'll fire our singer," he relented. 'I knew you'd come around to my point of view," I calculated. "Shit Misty, I don't know if I should be excited or afraid bringing you into the band," he averred anxiously. "Mike, I don/t want to get into any power struggles. Ultimately, we should make this band about the songs and the fan experience and not our egos." "Yeah, I think we can agree on that."

I worked on tearing those tracks down that night and reconstructing them in a way that would be exciting to the ear. I came up with some good ideas in parts, but couldn't quite finish them off as a completely satisfying product. I finally went to bed around 3  a.m.  When I got up in the morning, I ordered a bunch of keyboard equipment online.

Saturday, we had a band meeting and we let our singer go. Also, just for a fresh start, the band's name was changed from Broken Babylon to Vicious Sun. At my behest, we trademarked the name and we had a local artist design a logo, which we also trademarked and copyrighted. The next thing we needed to do was write songs, something that would take us months to do before we had a strong enough selection to take in front of audiences. I also had a conversation with Mike about incorporating the band at some point for tax and other reasons.

Anyway, this is what took up all my time the remainder of the summer, hashing out songs, jamming and getting used to playing keyboards. When my sophomore year of high school commenced and I turned 15 in the bargain, I received overtures from the reconstituted popular clique (the seniors who populated it last year graduated) and, when I wasn't preoccupied by my band, I hung out with some of them. AFAIK, none of them knew about my adventures with Kevin's friends nor about being double teamed while I was high on weed. Ms. DeSantis pleaded with me again to try out for the cheerleading squad, but I had to tell her I was just too busy with my band. She attempted to impress on me how being a cheerleader would result in me garnering more attention and that it would look good when I applied to college as an extracurricular activity, which made me laugh. "What are you so amused about?" she wondered. "You have no idea how much work it takes to keep a band going and make it viable. Cheerleading is about as artistic as making a baloney sandwich and requires very little thinking or talent, not to mention the business smarts you better have in music or you will get screwed. Plus how many millionaire cheerleaders are there? None, at least for their cheerleading."

The quarterback of the football team asked me out after meeting me at a party. He took me to the usual dinner and a movie and I wouldn't let him touch me, which was hilarious, at least to me. Then I ignored his calls when he endeavored to take me out  again. Even though I became part of the popular crowd, I was still nice to everybody, including the nerds, goths, punks and stoners and was often touchy feely with them while the jocks got zero love from me. Some of the popular kids were perturbed about me not being that available and a couple even asked if my band was a fictional entity since we hadn't begun playing out yet.

It came to a head when I started seeing this goth kid, Randy Schleuter. We met when we were in the same biology class together. In fact, he sat next to me and our relationship was ignited by me just asking him how his weekend was. Our musical interests were completely different, aside from a mutual respect for David Bowie, Japanese visual kei bands and Marilyn Manson as well as a fascination with BDSM. But I was interested in the way his mind worked and we shared a lot of the same sense of humor. Of course,  at 15, he didn't have a car or much money, so initially i went over to his house to hang out with him. His parents might have been relieved to see him with a normal looking girl and not one of the all in black crowd, but his friends were understandably suspicious at first and one of them attempted to get my goat by needling me and taking the mickey. I just ignored her. Mind you, it wasn't that I was hanging out with them everyday, but at least a couple of days a week.

Then I invited him over to my house and played him a bunch of Bowie, X Japan and T. Rex material. In between that stuff we joked around. He started asking me about  my personal life, including whether I was seeing anyone. I said that I wasn't into relationships at the moment due to how busy I was with the band. "So I'm not into Mr. Right at the moment, but Mr. Right Now," I giggled. He used that as a jumping off point for some wry sexual innuendo. The subtext of it, though, was that he wanted to fuck me, that much was for sure. I had him lay his head in my lap while I sat on the couch. I undid the buttons on his shirt and ran my hand up and down his chest. There was on obvious bulge in his leather pants, as I expected. He grabbed my righthand and kissed it. I leaned my head down and kissed him softly on the lips. He hooked his arm around my neck and we continued kissing. I was becoming wet and the smooching became more heated. I was waiting for him to make a move on my tits, but that didn't materialize.

I decided to move things forward. "Hey sweety, my bed would be a lot more comfortable, I suggested. "I'm sure it would," he snarkily grinned. I got up and helped him off the couch and, my hand in his, led him upstairs to my bedroom, which was unremarkable except for some reproductions of Japanese art works on the wall. "Oh, I'm disappointed," he cracked. "This isn't very metal at all." I did a bad imitation of Linda Blair saying, "your mother sucks cocks in hell!" from the exorcist and followed it up with, "is that satanic enough for you?" "No, no, I don't think Anton (Lavey, the leader of the Church of Satan) would be pleased at all," he needled. Well, if I can't please Anton, I can please you," I riposted and went to my knees and undid his pants. "Ooh, you dirty little girl," he kidded as I pulled his cock out. I was stunned at the size of it. He was at least eight inches and I couldn't get my fingers around it. "This is your first blowjob ever, isn't it?' I wondered insistently. 'Yeah." "So how does it feel to get it from one of the popular girls?" "Well, I don't know yet. Why don't you get on it and I'll let you know afterward," he grinned. "Yes Master," I joshed and enclosed my mouth around his rigid spear and pushed my lips down his shaft while my tongue tantalized his cockhead. "Oh yes, that's a good girl," he sighed. I bobbed my head up and down trying to get all of his dick into my mouth and I was barely able to. "Oh fuck Misty," he moaned, as my throat muscles caressed his manhood. His breathing went more and more to hell with each pass of my lips and tongue down his length. When he got right to the edge, I pulled back and sucked as hard as I could, causing his body to jerk and his penis to spurt great globs of his cum into my yapper as he grunted in ecstasy.