The day after Halloween would change my life as Melody forever. Once we tore our equipment down and stowed it in my house, it still took me until 5 a.m. to get to sleep. I slumbered like a rock..I woke up at just short of two in the afternoon, groomed myself and made a very late breakfast. It was while I was eating it that Derek called. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I assumed he would have moved on a while ago. "Hello?" "Hello love, it's Derek," he began. "Oh my God sweety, how are you?" I blurted. "Oh, so you remember me then do you?" he laughed. In a flirty tone, I countered, "how could I forget?" We talked about how the band was doing, what was going on with him and the state of the world. I notified him that I was 19 now. "You're rather clever for being so young," he complimented. He was 28. "Well, now that your band is inactive for the present, why don't you come to England and see me?" he pleaded. "You can stay at my place while you're here," he elaborated.

"Derek, there is something I have to tell you before we make any plans in that direction," I averred. "You're not going to tell me that you have a boyfriend now, are you?" "No, I don't. But you should know that I can't have kids because of a congenital uterine defect. So if that's a problem we can end this conversation right here," I proclaimed. "Oh. That isn't a problem to me," he stated. "I'm not really into kids anyway. I don't know if you want a serious relationship with me or not, but I thought it would only be fair to inform you in advance so you won't be wasting your time," I reasoned. "I can't be bothered about children, love, so will you come?" "Sure Derek. I'll make plans and call you. Give me your home phone number." He expressed delight that I was going to cross the pond and relayed his number. We ended the call a couple minutes later.

The following day, I walked into a travel agent's office to organize my trip. I booked it in first class because I could afford it and would depart exactly two weeks hence on November 16th and stay for a month. I got back to Derek a few hours later and he was pretty stoked. I had already let Jessica in on it. I also recommended that if I end up being gone any longer than a month I wouldn't be hurt if they look for another guitarist or carry on without me.

Between then and my departure date, I woodsheded like mad, learning tons of songs, including tunes off of Tom Petty's debut effort that was released a week before I went to England. When I wasn't doing that, I reconnected with Sonny and Liz and gave both intensive lessons.

On the 16th, Jessica drove me to LAX. I loaded down my suitcase with clothes, including a couple of stage outfits just in case. I brought my Les Paul, too, as carry on luggage. The flight was more congenial than any other airline experience I had in my life. But it seemed to take forever. Finally, the plane descended into Heathrow and Derek and I found each other. He embraced and kissed me and we exited the airport in his car. "Are you thinking about seeking a gig while you're here?" he asked when he saw my guitar. "If it happens, great, but whatever transpires, I gotta maintain my chops," I explained. "Have you dated a musician before?" I interrogated. "No. It's not that I would never fancy one, but the opportunity has never presented itself," he posited. "I suppose it would be weird, though. Imagine if another writer slated my girlfriend or wife's performance and then I saw him in the pub or at a venue. Should I punch him? It could be a bit sticky for someone who's in my line of work." "Well, you'll never have to punch anyone out for me. I can do it myself," I bragged. "Oooh, beautiful and deadly," he chuckled. That's me," I giggled.

He pulled up in front of a small house in the London suburbs and showed me in. It was 11 a.m., but I was hungry, tired and wanted a shower. He led me to his guest room and I left my suitcase in a corner, though I opened it and left it that way for easy access. "What would you like to do for lunch Melody?' he solicited. "I"m open to anything from fish and chips to Indian takeaway," I retorted. "Well, fish and chips it is, then" he chimed in and we went down to a local pub and chowed down on that while drinking pints of Guinness. "Is this your main hangout?" I wanted to know. "Yeah. I'm gone a lot, so it's nice when I can come back to it," he noted. "It's like a second home."

When we returned to his place, we camped in front of the tv. I kicked my shoes off, laid my head in his lap and basically passed out from the jet lag. He woke me up at seven and asked me about dinner. I sat up and apologized for dozing off on him like that and advised him that anything was fine. He went out and picked up some curry and I devoured that like a hungry dog. It was a real battle staying up after that through no fault of Derek's. Finally, 11 p.m. rolled around and we called it a night. I took a shower and went to bed, sleeping alone.

I rose at 5 a.m., took care of my grooming and got dressed. I wanted to surprise him with breakfast, but his refrigerator was pretty barren, as were his cupboards. He was up not long after that. I hugged and kissed him good morning. Then I asked him about his diet, which mainly consisted, according to him, of a lot of pub and stall food. "Sorry to nag you sweety, but you know that shit isn't good for you," I lectured. "Drop me off at the local supermarket and I'll buy some stuff so you can start eating real meals," I requested. He laughed. "The supermarket isn't within walking distance, dear." "Well, we can go after you come home from work," I proposed. "Sorry again sunshine, but I have to cover a club gig tonight. I'll be gone all day." "That sucks," I remarked.

"Can you take me with you?" I implored. "We can go to the gig together, but I can't take you to work with me," He said. "I know that," I countered. "I can wander around London while you're at the office and then we can go to the show together, if that's okay with you. I don't want to be in your way, though, so if you say no I won't be mad," I insisted. "Well, the gig itself is going to be pretty nasty for a girl like you," he thought out loud. "The toilets are horrible, too." "I've seen my share of gross toilets, sweety. And by the gig being nasty,  you mean all the spitting?" "Yeah, stupid bastards." "Well, I'll just stand toward the back and hopefully avoid the worst of it." "Okay love, but be careful. London isn't a lot of fun these days." "Yeah, I've seen the news," I lied.

We set off for central London and took an hour getting there because of the lethargic traffic. We dismounted the wheels in a car park (parking lot) and I walked with him up to the front door of the building he worked in. I wandered all over the area over the ensuing four hours before I met Derek for lunch. We went down to another pub with his pal Brendan. I told Derek that I had found a half stack I wanted to buy in a guitar shop in the area before we went to the punk show. Derek was afraid it would get nicked (stolen) while we were gone, but I told him not to worry about it. I knew Vishnu wouldn't allow it to happen.

I did a bunch of miscellaneous shopping after lunch and stashed the haul in Derek's trunk along with the amp head I purchased. The speaker cabinet I had to leave in the back seat. We took the tube to the venue and Derek told a little white lie to get me into the club with him, where he interviewed the band he was writing about, The Borstal Faction ("Borstal" is slang for "prison"). The club itself was basically a concrete box with a bar at the back of it. It wasn't exactly the (L.A.) Roxy in terms of elegance. It was a three band bill and the first two were dreadful and would ultimately be here today gone later today. The headliner was, to put it charitably, ramshackle. It was pretty obvious that while they were garnering some preliminary attention, their songwriting was somewhat ragged and betrayed an amateurish awkwardness to it.

Oh, and I only got hit twice, that I know of, by flying spittle. Thank God for small favors, huh?

We went backstage, such as it was (it made the cramped backstage area of the Whisky on the Sunset Strip seem positively palatial by comparison) and Derek introduced me to the band. "Cor, she's a nice bit, (translation: fuck, she's a nice piece of ass)," the bassist, Ian, blurted. I walked over and picked up one of guitarist Richard's axes, cranked the practice amp that was there while they looked at me like, "what the fuck?" "Hey you lot, you need to fix some of your songs," I began, talking about how the chord progression of their set's first song didn't resolve properly." "So now we're supposed to take directions from some chinky boiler ("boiler" = "slut') then?" Richard snarled. I took the guitar off, walked over to him and punched him in the nose, breaking it. Blood came gushing out of his schnozz. The other band members thought it was hilarious. Derek was mortified. I picked the guitar back up and played through the song my way. "Fuck me, that sounds brilliant!" the singer, Jack Auf (cute stage name there, dude. Sheesh!). And I did that with another half dozen of their compositions. The other people milling around, including other writers, had their jaws on the filthy bare floor. "So you're going to want to take some of our money now are ya?" Jack wondered. "Fuck no, dude. I don't need it.. Just remember what I  taught you," I commanded.

Of course, everyone now wanted to know who I was, but I told them to fuck off. Derek wanted to interview me, but I warned him that if what happened got out it could badly undermine the band's credibility and I wasn't going to do that to them. So what the scribes mostly wrote about was Richard getting his nose altered by the "oriental girlfriend" of a writer. Yes, that description is considered racist by Asian-Americans "You weren't kidding, love. You really can handle yourself," Derek praised. By the way, that wouldn't be the only time Richard and my paths would cross unpleasantly

We got back to Derek's at 3 a.m. and went to bed. He asked me to sleep with him and, of course, I assented to that. My sleepwear was just a plain white bra and cotton panties. I was being intentionally provocative. He cuddled me and I fell asleep, only to be awakened a few minutes later by the sensation of Derek undoing my bra and slipping his hands u
nder the cups to fondle me. I rolled over to face him and, after tossing the bra aside.started kissing him. His hard on was pressing against my abdomen through his pajama bottoms. I slipped my hand down the front of them and played with his engorged dipstick. He reciprocated by groping my wet cunt. "Sweety," I whispered, it's late and we have to get up in not too long. How about we get right to the main event and skip the foreplay?" I cooed. "You're reading my mind, sweetheart," he chuckled. He pulled my panties off and did the same with his pajamas and speared me with his dick, which felt wonderful. I wrapped my legs around the middle of his back as I took his ramrod time after time inside me. I soon went off like the Fourth of July, digging my nails into his biceps as he pumped his root into my furrow over and over. It was over 15 minutes later, but I had three orgasms and his cum inside me and was very satisfied with that.