Thanks to Vishnu, the tunes just kept coming into my head and I wrote two more after Desiree departed and recorded rough arrangements of them.

The next day at school, Desiree was with her friends and I just walked right up to her and gave her a hug before introducing myself to everybody else. My eyes were immediately captured by this little hispanic chick, Marta Salgado, who was about 5'2" and 100 pounds with nice C cups and slim legs. She made googley eyes at me, too, but so did the other girls. So when the bell rang and everybody went their separate ways, I told her I wanted to have dinner with her at my place Friday night. She accepted and I started thinking about what I was going to make for her. I went to the store after school to get what I needed for it and then jammed the rest of the night away.

Friday, I picked her up at six and brought her to my house. Now the thing about hispanic chicks is that they're really bubbly, super nice and exceedingly cute. She loved the fact that I cooked for her, liked it even more that it was delicious and dug it when I brought my acoustic guitar out and sang her a couple of Bruce Springsteen songs, "Thunder Road" and "Badlands." We kibitzed for a while and then I started kissing her. She wouldn't let me get any farther than that, though. That was fine. It was still a fun night and I didn't spend any real money on her.

Saturday and Sunday, I devoted myself to music, learning and writing songs and ordering cds. Monday, I took my Taylor acoustic to school and, when I went out to lunch, I sat on the grass near the quad while leaning against a tree and started playing for myself. Within about five minutes, the girls in the new clique I had begun hanging out with flocked around me. They wanted me to play them something, so I did Fleetwood Mac's "Never Going Back Again." One of the girls, Trish Martin, actually asked me if I wrote it. What a dummy! So I introduced the next song, Jim Croce's "Operator." I decided to do something they probably actually knew, Green Day's "Good Riddance." Dire Straits' "Sultans of Swing" was next on my hit parade and I followed that with Dylan's "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" and Cat Stevens' "Peace Train." My throat was drying up by then, so I went into Mason Williams' "Classical Gas" and was rocking away on that until the bell rang.

When I got home, I put ads on some musician's sites and in Music Connection seeking people to play in my band, which I decided to call Red Sentinel. I just hoped I wasn't going to have to sift through a passel of incompetents, flakes and druggies to find people who I could work with.

Tuesday was interesting. I was coming out of gym class and walking across the quad when I saw this lanky strawberry blonde who was wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt staring at me. "Oh, I'll have a bit of that," I thought to myself. The thing was I didn't have to approach her, she was walking up to me! Cool! I thought this would be the easiest pull ever!  "Hey, you're the bloke with the Les Paul, ain't ya?" "Yep, guilty!" I confessed. She was speaking with a British accent and I was impressed that she knew what model of guitar I was playing. "Are you in a band?" "Nah. I just moved here and I'm actually looking for people to play with," I answered. "What kind of music are you into?" "Well, the material I write is mostly neo-classical metal." "Oh, you mean like Nightwish?" "I love Nightwish, but it's a little more intricate than what they do. It's more like Stratovarius with a bit of a chamber music influence." "I think I might quite fancy that," she enthused. "Would you like to have a bit of a jam?" This last question really threw me. First, I wasn't expecting her to be a musician and, secondly, if she sucked it was going to bite to tell her that since I really wanted to invade her panties. Facially, she had a little bit of a Shirley Manson thing going on. "What do you play?" I inquired. "Strats," she averred, though that wasn't what I intended to ask her. So she was obviously a guitarist.

I was running out of time to get to class. We exchanged cellphone numbers and agreed to meet in the quad after school. That would give me more of a basis to determine whether Valerie, that was her name, would mesh with me or I would have to send her off. So I sat on a planter after sixth period ended waiting for her. A couple minutes later, she strolled up to me. I told her to have a seat. "Tell me about yourself," I directed. Her parents were from Birmingham, England, but her dad moved to London to work for British Airways. Six years ago, he decided to pull up stakes and move his family to Southern California to work for Southwest since it was a chance to enjoy the California lifestyle.

Her father had been a mad Iron Maiden fan and met his wife at one of their shows when he was in college. Therefore, Valerie got exposed to a lot of that band's music growing up. However, what got her playing guitar wasn't Maiden, but Kelly Johnson, the late guitarist of the all female band Girlschool. "My dad was gutted when she died of spinal cancer because he had been a fan of her band back in the 1980's. I didn't know who she was, so I looked Girlschool up on You Tube and I was knocked for six by the ferocity of her playing. It also demonstrated to me that the girls could keep up with the lads musically and so I asked dad to get me a guitar. I had lessons for a couple of years and then taught myself ever since," she disclosed. She graduated from a Squier to a used black Fender Strat and then her dad bought her a white Jeff Beck signature model Strat and a Marshall 50 watt half stack. "He's quite chuffed to see me playing music he likes and not going for the typical stuff girls listen to these days," she giggled. "He calls me his little rockstar."

I thought that was pretty cool since I had been a fan of Kelly and Girlschool, too. I agreed to jam with Valerie. I told her she could use one of my Strats and a Marshall stack I had at my house. We took my car there and, after tuning up and waiting a few minutes for the power tubes in our amp heads to warm up, we went into Maiden's "Number of the Beast." I took the first solo and she performed the second and did a credible job. I urged her to be more aggressive. We then played "Wrathchild," also by Maiden and I had her do the lead breaks, which weren't that technically difficult. She wanted to do "Revelations." I was impressed by that because of the tempo and textural changes in the song. She took the Dave Murray part and I did Adrian Smith's. She had a couple slight muffs, but otherwise did pretty well.

Now it was time to  step it up a notch and I did the intro from Yngwie Malmsteen's "Far Beyond the Sun." "Woah, sorry, but I'm total crap when it comes to Yngwie stuff," she stated. "It's cool. If we form a band, you can do the rhythm guitar bits on the more difficult stuff," I consoled. We played a few more 80's metal tunes, including Metallica's "Seek and Destroy." I sat down with her and explained to her where she needed to improve and wrote out some exercises she could do to improve her speed and accuracy and so she could learn how to sweep pick. I also told her to learn Stratovarius' "Speed of Light" since it would really push her ability in the direction I wanted. However, I also figured it would take her a couple of months, best case scenario, for her to begin to get any kind of grasp on it and that was if she practiced for at least 4-5 hours a day. This would be a test of how much she wanted it. I also couldn't sleep with her because if she ended up in my band it would queer the whole relationship between us and the rest of the members.

Wednesday, I was hanging out in the aforementioned gym class before it started. I was talking to some guys I had gotten friendly with when I noticed a group of girls looking at me, giggling and averting their eyes whenever I caught them. I excused myself from the dude circle and walked over to where the chicks were. There were four of them and they were sophomores and freshmen. They were all flipping their hair back, holding my gaze when they talked and subconsciously smiling a lot, which meant that they were hooked. I had to go join my class a couple minutes later,  but I made a mental note to revisit them at a future point in time.

However, I did have somebody in my bed that night. Desiree had blabbed to the other girls about how good a cook I was and what a great time she had in the sack with me. That made Andrea Flett, a 5'7" brunette with pouty lips, a slim and nicely defined figure and large B's/small C cups rather interested in me. Thus, I invited her over for dinner, which she loved. Unfortunately, she wasn't that interesting as a person, only as a piece of ass. While we talked at my dining room table, I got up, went around to her side, picked her up and carried her to the sofa in the livingroom. That made her laugh and, as soon as I put her down, I was all over her, kissing and hugging her. She was responding nicely to that and I unzipped the back of the red wine colored one piece mini dress she was wearing and pulled  it down to her belly. I then disattached her bra, clasps and chucked that harness to the floor. She had her hands up my t-shirt and pulled it off of me. I resumed kissing her as the darkness of the encroaching evening was enveloping us, my mouth trailing down to her neck and, eventually, to her plump round tits. As I sucked on her reddish nipples, I slid my righthand up her right thigh and into her white lace panties, her wetness lubricating my hand as it rubbed her clit.

I slung her over my shoulder and hauled her upstairs to my bedroom. I gently lowered her on to the bed and yanked her shoes and dress off of her and did the same with her panties. I lost my shoes, socks, boxers and pants and proceeded to eat her pussy, my taste buds absorbing every last drop of juice I could elicit from her cunt before I concentrated on her clit, bestowing climax after climax on her. I jammed my dick into her without objection and she sighed contentedly as I did so. I didn't feel anything special here. This was just a fuck to me and I reamed her for my own pleasure. She was getting off on it, too, and she came with a vengeance when I started pounding it into her like a frenzied animal. My deep grunts and her higher pitched moans created a kind of obscene harmony while my trenching tool dug into her gash repeatedly, causing her to leave marks in my back and biceps with her fingernails. I inundated her love canal with my effluent and then,  my balls now vented, I wanted to kick her out of the house. Nonetheless, I cuddled her for a while and made rather forced conversation before I finally said that I had some music stuff to do before I went to bed.

The next morning before school, she was being a pain in the ass about it by asking me what we would do if she got pregnant. "You're not going to, Andrea. I knew a long time ago I didn't want kids, so I had a vasectomy." That lie cut that bit of drama off at the knees.

I met with Valerie at lunch to ask her how her playing was coming along. As I expected, the lessons and the song I had her take on were proving quite a challenge. I preached patience, that it would all come in due time as long as she practiced with correct technique. She also wanted to jam Saturday and I was definitely up for that.

Friday, though, I asked Desiree if she wanted to get together at my place again and she received the invitation positively. I drilled her silly that night after we ate dinner. Definitely a nice way to begin a weekend.