After guiding Sonny through his first practice, I sent him home, reminding him to absorb as much as possible out of those Guitar Player articles. If he had any questions about something in them he was to ask me.

That night, I diddled myself thinking about how his magnificent cock felt inside me just hours earlier. He was going to be at work everyday through the weekend. Therefore, I would only see him when he came over to practice and would have to put a governor on my lust when he was here. Friday, he was at the door at 10 a.m. and dutifully carried out the lesson I set out for him. He split to go to work and I beat it for the beach in my blue bikini. I purchased some munchies at the convenience store near the strand as well as an orange juice and kicked back on the sand to work on my tan. A couple hours later, I returned home.

Saturday, Sonny and I followed the same routine and, once he departed, I drove to the beach again. As I walked down the sand next to the waterline in my yellow bikini, a mustachioed guy in his late 30's, I estimated, wearing sunglasses smiled at me as he jogged by. I smiled back and walked on. A minute later, he was back by my side asking me if I wanted to hang out at his beach house. I received that positively. His name was Warren and he was a middle manager for a major defense contractor. I picked his brain for a little bit as to what that job was like and then he moved in for the kill as we sat on the couch. Facially, he faintly reminded me of Jim, but he didn't quite have the same intense alpha male aura that Jim did. Nevertheless, he was still pretty hot and II was enjoying him kissing me and stripping my top off of me. He flicked his fingers across my nipples as our tongues waltzed around each other. He broke the kiss and asked how old I was. I told him I would be 18 in a week. That was good enough for him and he led me off to the bedroom, pulled my bikini bottoms off and went muff diving. His probing tongue soon transported me to heaven with several pleasantly jarring orgasms.

I would then notice another difference between Warren and Jim: Jim was endowed with 8.5 thick inches. Warren's was six average ones. But other than Jim making me feel more stuffed, the friction Warren provided by his invading soldier was still pretty stellar and he pounded it relentlessly into me. I left some pretty good scratches on his back as he brought me to orgasmic oblivion, my vaginal muscles caressing and massaging his fuck stick until he filled me to the brim with his spunk.

He got up to use the bathroom and then padded out to the kitchen, bringing back two glasses of wine. I reclined my head on his shoulder as we sat up in bed, him lightly playing with my left boob. "You're really stunning," he burbled. "Thanks baby," I said. "It's too bad you can't stay with me while I'm here," he lamented. "Your parents would probably freak out. "I don't live with my parents, sweety," I revealed. "I'm emancipated. However, I don't live around here and I have too much stuff to do with my band to spend the kind of time with you you're probably looking for." "Oh well," he sighed. He finished his glass of wine, took mine from me and put them on the nightstand. He kissed and nibbled my neck and then he encouraged me to rotate my body so that I was on my side and the entire upper half of it was draped across his lower chest. He held my shoulders with his left hand and secured my hips with his right as he continued kissing me.He slipped a couple of fingers inside of me and strummed my g spot, the cum he left inside me from our previous bout coating his digits while he stimulated me. He restoked the heat inside me and fingered me to a sweet, shuddering orgasm.   

I pulled away from him and scooted down the bed to access his dick with my mouth, lustily rubbing his semi-flaccid member with my lips until he was at full extension again. I straddled his body as I grabbed his spear and shepherded it to my opening. I sunk my hips and his penis slipped deep inside me. I shook and shimmied my hips to stir his prong within and quickly worked myself into a hot,  horny lather, his rhythm stick scratching my itch and giving rise to intense, prickly sensations that flared into a conflagration of pleasure, the sound of my screams and moans echoing off the wooden floor of the room until his balls reloaded and he squeezed off round after round of his hot, soupy juice at my cervix.

"Well, this has certainly been a pleasant day!" I giggled as I rolled off of him. He smiled wickedly and seconded my emotion. We rested for a bit and then I made my excuses and left.

The next morning, I  got a call in the middle of my lesson with Sonny. It was Randy Rhoads to tell me about a jam session at SIR (a rehearsal studio complex in Hollywood) he and some of the other players in that area were going to stage that night. Basically, it would be three fourths of the band that just became known as Quiet Riot plus Eddie Van Halen, Steve Plunkett (who was in an outfit called Wolfgang at the time---a much better group than his later aggregation, Autograph, in my estimation) and a few others. I asked if I could bring Joe and he said yes.

I finished with Sonny at just a little after noon and shooed him out the door. I dolled myself up all in white---leather halter top, mini skirt, thigh high stockings and platform heels. Joe, who had never heard of any of the people who were going to be there but who was just up for a jam, came over a couple of hours later and I made a quick early dinner before we loaded our guitars, amp heads and cabs into my car and drove to the site. We loaded our equipment in as we kibitzed with Randy and the other Quiet Riot guys. Eddie and Steve straggled in a little while later, as did some of the others. I told Joe that Randy was one of the greatest guitar players ever, which made Randy feel embarrassed. Joe and Randy were playing Les Pauls, Steve an Explorer, Eddie his chainsaw special, me a Strat and the rest were varied, including a Hamer and a B.C. Rich Mockingbird. There were also a couple cases of Heineken in bottles to keep us in a good mood.

We loosened up with a blues jam and, when it came my time to solo, I did a rip of Jeff Beck's "Scatterbrain," which inspired Eddie to just go off, as he flew up and down the fretboard mixing in weird little vibrato things that were just cool on ice. As the jam progressed, it inevitably became a headcutting contest and the level of musicianship on display was awesome. Steve's sense of humor was on exhibit, too, as he broke up the intensity of the battle of the fleet fingers with funny little guitar fills and remarks. Randy and I got into an exchange over part of the Billy Cobham composition I had mentioned earlier in this story I shoehorned into Beck's "I'm Down" that brought some exclamations of "Holy shit!" from the other players. One thing many don't know about Randy was that he could do jazz fusion up a treat when he was in the mood.

Eddie then showed off a song he had recently written called, "Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love" which gave me the opportunity to kind of ape his style (neither Eddie or I, though, were doing any tapping). He rolled his eyes, laughed and shook his head.

After three hours of this and all the beer having been consumed, we were done and everyone parted amid soul handshakes and hand slaps. One of the players I didn't know asked me out, but I turned him down. He then asked if I had a sister who played, too. That was pretty cool.

Afterward, Joe was in awe of what he had seen. "Eddie and Randy, those guys are monsters!" he commented. "Try to remember what happened tonight," I recommended to him. "It won't be long before you'll be bragging to all and sundry that you jammed once with Eddie Van Halen and Randy Rhoads. We'll probably be covering their songs at some point," I analyzed. "And what is scary is that Eddie has only given you the barest glimpse at what he can do," I elaborated. "That's hard to believe," Joe guessed.

Monday, Joe and I returned to Hollywood with Sonny in tow, only this time to make the rounds of the guitar shops there. We had Sonny play different guitars to see which ones felt best in his hands and so he could get an idea of whether he wanted to buy his first real axe new or used. He also got to hear a wider array of amps than the ones we in the band used.

After I dropped Joe back off at his place, Sonny and I went to my house, where I got to ride his big beautiful cock again. It's such an amazing feeling when my pussy is packed full of dick. When we were cuddling afterward, he informed me that he wanted to have longer practice sessions because the sooner that he got good at guitar and maybe make some money with it the quicker he could abandon his shitty job. I retorted that the desire is all well and good, but actually having the patience and focus to do it is a totally different thing. He swore he would do it, so I upped my lessons and practice sessions for him to three hours. To make it more fun, I decided after I had him do scale work with a metronome that I would begin teaching him songs chunk by chunk.

Tuesday, I had to work with Sonny in keeping his hands relaxed and not pressing too hard when fretting notes. Sometimes beginners have a tendency to almost try to strangle the neck of the guitar, which kills fluidity and increases fatigue. The last half hour, I taught him the first section from Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water." When the lesson was finished, I sucked Sonny off since that was all we had time for before he went to work.