Thursday, I had my guitar with me again and, from the same spot as the preceding day, I launched into Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now." "What's that song you're playing," a girl about 20 feet away inquired. I told her. "Never heard of her," she said of Mitchell. "This is a really famous song," I instructed. I went back to the top and began singing it. "Sing louder!" a boy shouted. So I did. When I finished that tune, I went into Cat Stevens' "Moon Shadow." I took a slide out of my purse upon concluding that composition and launched into "One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer." That elicited hoots of recognition and a group of guys banded together to raggedly sing the chorus. That made me laugh. I completely changed the tone when I sang a version of Heart's "Love Alive" and shifted into Metallica's "The Unforgiven."

A couple guys came up to me asking if I could play electric, too. "Yeah, but I'm still waiting for some of my equipment to arrive from where I used to live," I lied. "What do you usually play? one wondered. "It's all over the map, from folk to thrash," I stated. "Awesome," he enthused. I did the intro from Metallica's "One" and then a little Children of Bodom. "Fuck, that's killer!" he averred. "Thanks sweety," I chirped.

I didn't bring my guitar Friday and some people expressed disappointment. "I just wasn't in the mood," I explained, which was the truth. I did, though, get invited to a party that night, which I had to take a cab to. I wore a white tank top with a scooped neck that showed a lot of cleavage, blue shorts and open toed flats. I basically looked like a Hooters girl. I had some pleasant conversations with a few guys and even some of the girls, who were all part of the popular clique. I had a couple of beers but refused the blunts that were being passed around since they were just going to be too strong for me to take. Overall, the party was pretty lame. I may have looked like a bimbo, but inside it didn't take me that long to get bored. Also, the music wasn't too hot, to understate things quite a bit. I eventually said I had to get home before my parents would notice me being gone, called another taxi and left. The irony of any so-called "popular" crowd is that they are usually the biggest lamers on campus and are often little more than enforcers of conformity.

Saturday, I wore the same outfit as Friday, except with a bikini underneath, and jumped on the bus to the beach because it was so warm. I asked a guy who was near me on the sand to spread suntan oil on me, which he was quick to agree to. I offered to do the same for him and he was good with that, too, as one would imagine. When I did his chest, I sat with  my camel toe right on his the hard on protruding against his trunks and rocked my hips very slightly to tease him. I got up with a giggle, thanked him and went back to my towel.

A couple hours later, he was gone after I had taken a dip in the cold water. However, when I walked to the bus stop to go home, he was there waiting for the same bus. The bus was packed and he, his buddy and I had to stand for a while. I pushed my breasts against his body to give him a bit of a thrill as I violated his space. His face was just inches from mine and I hugged him when I lost my balance a couple of times. The ridership eventually thinned out and everybody was able to have a seat, which ended my fun with him. We reached the transportation center, from where we would have to transfer. We continued to flirt until his bus came. I gave him a hug and said goodbye. A few minutes later, I boarded the bus I needed to take home.

Sunday, I put on a yellow one piece mini dress and flip flops and went to the mall. Out of my peripheral vision I could see men turning their heads to look at me as I passed by them. Knowing that so many guys wanted to bone me made me wet while I shopped. I wondered how many of them knew I was just 14. Before I got back on the bus to my house, I ate some admittedly bad but filling chain Chinese fast food in the food court. A guy in his 30's subsequently made a pass at me. When I said I was only a high school freshman he backed off immediately and apologized. "It's okay baby. I know I look older than I am," I excused.

Monday, I went into first period and greeted the guy who sat behind me by asking him how his weekend was. I intended to make a concerted effort to be nice to everybody just to see what would come of it and to prevent me from garnering a reputation as being stuck up. During lunch, a couple of the guys who I met at the party walked up to me as I played my acoustic guitar and chatted me up. Neither of them asked me out. I think they lost their nerve.

The girls from the popular clique who were in my classes played up to me Tuesday, though, asking me to hang out with them at one girl's house after school. "You really matured early," Andrea Mullen commented. "You could easily pass for being in college," she estimated. I thanked her for the compliment and countered that she was cute, too. We engaged in girl talk for a couple of hours while a really annoying Top 40 station played in the background. Fuck, how do they listen to that shit?

From that day on, whenever they saw me, they would gather around me. I wondered if they were using me as boy bait. Then guys they knew would come around and inevitably try to peer down my top. I expected it, so I didn't mind. I snuck looks at their crotches in an attempt to guess what they might be packing. Thus, through very little effort of my own, I became a member of the popular clique.

There was a huge pile of musical gear on my doorstep when I came home from my tete a tete with the popular girls. I dragged it all in and spent the ensuing hours moving and arranging it. That tuckered me out enough that I actually ordered delivery pizza for dinner as an expedient. I jammed for a little while on my new guitars and amps and went to bed.

I got invited to another party Friday and mingled a little bit before calling a cab and splitting again because of sheer boredom. When Andrea asked why I left both parties less than two hours in I had to tell her the truth: they were snoozefests. None of the people there had anything remotely interesting to say, imho. "Are you serious?" she asked, incredulous. "I'm very serious, Andrea. I would rather be hit over the head repeatedly with the business end of a railroad spike than spend any more time hanging out with those people." That offended her because those were her friends who wanted to cozy up to me, too. Suffice to say that I wasn't invited to any other parties and that was fine with me.

In fact, I commenced actively avoiding that crowd by stationing myself at a different area on campus before school and during lunch while I played my guitar. Stan Baumgartner, a diminutive nerd with a beard and black horn rimmed glasses passed me on the way to God only knows where and interrogated me as to why I wasn't "hanging out with the rah rahs like usual?"  I made a gesture as if I was going to vomit. "That honeymoon sure was short," he laughed. "It was all a question off content, Stan. I was seeking it and they didn't have it." He looked at me quizzically, as if someone who had my physical appearance wasn't supposed to say something like that. "That sucks, Misty, but I'm not really surprised." he sympathized. "Yeah, it kinda demonstrates what Sartre wrote about in 'No Exit'," I elaborated. He stared at me funny again, chuckled and told me to "have fun" before heading to his destination.

I kept on seeking to be nice to everyone even though I was now estranged from the popular clique. Occasionally, one of them would walk up to me and ask where I've been and I just told them that I had personal issues to work out and needed some solitary contemplation time. I didn't want to say that I found them to be the sort of over valued mediocrities that inhabited Sinclair Lewis' "Babbit." They couldn't help it.They were born to be bland and blindered.

Before the end of September, I created a You Tube channel and set up my music room so that I could record videos in it. I debuted with a version of Van  Halen's cover of a blues song called, "Ice Cream Man," doing both the acoustic bit and then the electric rave up after it as well as the vocal while attired in black leather and mirrored sunglasses. A few hours later, I performed a rendition of Yngwie Malmsteen's "Rising Force." The responses by the site's viewership were extremely laudatory.

God, even after only a month it was so hard to just sit in those hard seats all day five days a week and not do rip jobs on the whole exercise. I kept my mouth shut and acted dumber than I really was so that the boys wouldn't think I was a raving bitch. What made it even worse was that I couldn't have a car since I was just 14 and therefore unable to go anywhere that wasn't within walking distance or a bus destination unless I took a cab, a limo, cadged a ride with someone I knew or hitchhiked. Now THAT is a panoply of sucky choices.

I began to get cabin fever and so the first Saturday in October, I took a little battery powered Electro-Harmonix headphone amp hooked up to a Fulltone Plimsoul distortion box  (which can also run on a battery) and my Gibson Explorer and went to a local park, where I camped out under a large shade tree and played to myself while people watched. After a while, I don't know how long it was, I noticed this guy who was old enough to be my grandfather gazing at me while he walked his dog. He must have been in his mid to late 50's. More time passed and then he walked up to me. "Hey, nice guitar!" he complimented as he tried to keep his cocker spaniel from licking me to death. "I have one, too," he claimed. I thanked him for the praise and asked about his gear. The discussion that arose out of that impressed him enough, I guess, to want to hear me play. I handed him my headphones and pulled a slide out of the pocket of my shorts  and started in on "Freebird." He actually sat there and listened to me pull off the whole what, 11 minutes (?) opus. "Man, you can really rock that thing!" he bubbled. He then told me that he and some buddies get together on occasion to jam to classic rock songs. I smiled and indicated that I loved that stuff and didn't really care for the music of my own era (well, in my 14 year old guise) very much. "Yeah, I see kids saying that a lot when I watch You Tube," he revealed. He asked me if I wanted to come over and jam. "Don't worry, my wife's there," he reassured me. That was good because he wasn't my type.

I followed him, his name was Jerry, and his super cute mutt to his house three blocks away. When he pushed the door open, he shouted to his wife that he brought somebody home to jam with. She came out and I said hi. Then we went into a back bedroom that used to be his daughter's but was now his music/media space. He had a Fender Super Sonic 2x12 combo amp, a Marshall combo and several guitars, including an ebony colored Explorer. He let me plug into the Marshall and tweak the settings while he inserted one end of his guitar cable into his Explorer and the other into his powered pedal board, which ran, into the Fender. He kicked on his pedal board and asked what else I knew. I asked if he could do Kansas' "Carry on Wayward  Son." He said he could and we did a pretty okay run through it.

We kept at it for a couple of hours before he got tired. It was a lot of fun and he was astonished by the level of my technical skill. I gave him my number in case he wanted to have me over for another jam.

Three days later, he called me and invited me over to his place again the following Saturday to play with his buddies. I called a cab on the appointed day and loaded a Marshall half stack, my Flying V and my Strat along with my pedal board into it and, minutes later, Jerry helped me hump it into his music room. With him were three of his friends, a bassist, a drummer and a guitarist  The bassist was actually the 16 year old son of the guitarist. His name was Damien and he was cute! Jerry got some Budweisers for everybody, including me, and away we went. We jammed on everything from the Beatles to Iron Maiden and it was a ball.

When we had enough, we sat around chatting. Damien sat next to me and we had our own little conversation. He went to a private high school on the other side of town and said he thought I was amazing. I asked him if he wanted to come over to my place sometime and we could play in my music room. I also lied and said that my parents weren't home that much because they had both gotten laid off from their regular jobs and each was now working two part time gigs to keep hearth and home together. He said he would come over Tuesday after school. I informed him that I would make him dinner so that he didn't have to go home for it and we could spend the whole night jamming together. He really liked that idea and his dad was okay with it.

Sunday, I cut some new You Tube videos. The number of my subscribers was continuing to grow, too, which made me feel good. I tried to be nice to all the commenters, even the trolls, so that they would like me more. Then I turned my attention to learning a bunch of Rush songs and worked on those well into the evening.

Monday,  I focused on adding a bunch of Stratovarius tunes to my repetoire. I decided I was going to teach Damien "Twilight Symphony." So by the time he showed up Tuesday, I was definitely ready to rock. We did a couple of Maiden tracks and then I told him I wanted to teach him something. After just a couple of hours and with me occasionally showing him on bass, he pretty much had it down. By then, it was getting close to dinner time, so I put my Strat down to begin preparing it. While we ate, we were flirting with each other.

When we finished, I told him to have a seat on the livingroom couch and watch tv while I did the dishes. When I finished with that chore, I dropped myself in right next to him and we flirted some more. He then went for it and kissed me, which evolved into heated making out. My top and bra mysteriously got lost in the meantime and he was soon sucking on my thick nipples while I had pulled his cock out and was stroking it. Damien was lanky and close to six feet and I could tell his dick was as long in its own way as his body. I leaned down and sandwiched his baby maker between my lips and bobbed my head up and down, provoking him to squirt his pent up load into my yapper.

He went to his knees on the floor, pulled my skirt and panties off and licked my hairless snatch to several orgasms. He was hard again and was obviously intent on fucking me now. I asked him if he would think I was a slut if I let him. He reassured me he wouldn't and then spiked me with his weapon. He split my uprights with conviction with his 7.5 incher and caused my vaginal muscles to convulse only minutes later as my legs rested on his shoulders. His cock constantly burrowing into me, I was sent on a trip to the state of delirium as it slipped in and out of me before he spooged my cervix with his sperm filled goo.

I quickly got up to go to the bathroom to wipe his cum off of my crotch so that it wouldn't leak all over my couch. I put my panties back on when I returned and we cuddled and kissed for a while before he went home.