VERY loosely based on things that happened …

You might have called us a garage band, except that none of us had a garage and we weren’t much of a band. We were just a group of very bored junior high guys with no talent and big aspirations that we each knew would never come true. We were all in a similar situation to one degree or another. We were all stuck in a nothing, dead end town, we were all relatively poor, we all lived on the poor side of town, and we were all misfits.

Small town people, especially people our age, were very clique-ish. There were the society people, the jocks, the ropers, the dopers, the intellectuals, the band dweebs, and so on. Our little gang was a clique of our own, because we weren’t accepted by any other clique, and really didn’t want to be.

We started practicing in Kevin and Johnny’s basement one afternoon, and sort of expanded things from there. Johnny was the only one in the group with any real talent. He was both a band dweeb and an intellectual. He played drums with the band, and was really pretty good. He could read music pretty well, and was something of an electrical genius.

Kevin was Johnny’s older brother. To this day, Kevin is something of an enigma. Kevin didn’t fit in anywhere, not even with the rest of the misfits. Kevin was very nearsighted, almost to the point of being legally blind. He had very thick glasses that he seldom wore, electing instead to go for the “cool” and wear Ray-Ban Wayfarer’s day and night. Naturally, that didn’t help his already bad vision at all. Those Ray-Bans were one of Kevin’s two trademarks. He was also never seen without his black leather jacket. The rest of Kevin’s wardrobe was always interesting. I guess the best way to imagine it would be to think of it as if Stevie Wonder selected his own wardrobe and dressed himself. Nothing ever matched. Kevin was an expert on absolutely everything. All you had to do was ask him. He was an expert pool player, expert artist, expert bass guitar player, and expert anything else you might want to mention. At least he thought so. The reality, of course, was different.

I played keyboards. I had no musical training whatsoever, and played entirely by ear. I had an old upright piano at home that I bought fourth-hand from a church. It was much too heavy to move, so I also had a portable Hammond organ and a Moog synthesizer, both of which I had bought from a pawnshop. I wasn’t great on them, but at least I was almost passable.

Bill Pothorst was our lead guitar player. He was another self-taught musician. He had lots of style and flash, but no real talent. To top off our merry little band, we had Allan Robertson. He played trombone and clarinet. Okay … I know. Those are not typical rock band instruments, but we were not a typical rock band. Besides, Allan had access to a van, and the only way that we had access to Allan’s van was to have him in the band. We all traded off on vocals and backup singing. Our sound was, well, decidedly different. Between Allan and 

Johnny, they had tweaked our amplifiers up to a point that was deafening. If we weren’t good, at least we could make up for it by being loud. We called ourselves The Psychedelic Affair.

We really weren’t good, and we certainly weren’t good enough to play anywhere in public. It was mainly just something to do for us, something to fight off some of the boredom. Something to dream about. It was Kevin who changed things. He was shooting off his mouth (as usual) to some people at the local Teen Club, a place set up downtown to keep kids off the street, and he volunteered us to play for a dance. It was a non-paid gig, which, coincidentally, was substantially more than we were worth.

To make matters worse, he conveniently ‘forgot’ to tell us about it, and we didn’t find out until Allan saw one of the signs announcing it posted downtown. We could have killed Kevin. Not only were we not good, we didn't even have a repertoire. We could play parts of about a dozen songs, none of them all the way through, and only some of them recognizable to anyone but us. We certainly didn't know enough songs to cover three, forty-five minute sets, which was what Kevin had set us up for.

Still, we were stuck. It was truly a no-win situation for us. The dance had already been advertised, and if we cancelled, we would look like major assholes. If we went through with it, well, we would look like major dip shits. We had a couple of weeks, so we decided to bust ass and try to do it. We rehearsed every free minute of every waking hour, including more than a couple of marathon sessions.  By the week of the dance, we had a solid hour of music down, some of it almost passable. It was half what we needed, but we planned on delaying between songs to stretch the time out, and on doing some encores in hopes that nobody would notice. That, combined with some solo work and some talk between songs just might get us through this.

We got to the teen club at two in the afternoon, even though we weren’t supposed to start playing until nine that night. Allen parked the van in the alley and we unloaded and setup our equipment on the stage. We checked and double-checked everything, then we played our entire repertoire, trying to stretch it out as long as possible. This was our last chance to rehearse. We timed our performance, and managed to get just over an hour out of it. We would have to stretch it even more somehow. We all left the club, agreeing to meet back there at eight o’clock. I was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

When I got back to the club, I went to the back entrance as we had agreed. Allen was already there with the van. I don’t know how he managed it, but he had an ice chest full of beer, and was sitting there drinking one. I chugged two in rapid succession, which calmed my nerves a little. While we were waiting for the other guys to show up, Allen and I went in the back door of the club to take a peek. They were playing records while waiting for us to start. The place was already packed. My nervousness came back with a vengeance. We went back the van, and found that the other guys were there.

I still wasn’t feeling too good about this, but at this point, there was nothing we could do but do it. We delayed until five minutes after nine to go in, because we all knew that every minute we could kill would be of help to us. We waited in the wings while the teen club manager introduced us. That killed another minute or so. We hit the stage while the audience was still applauding, and kicked off our intro number. We actually sounded pretty good, well; maybe it was the beer I had drunk in the alley that made us sound good. Anyway, the first song went over pretty well, and before the second one, Bill Pothorst introduced all the members of the band. I spent the time surveying the audience. All in all, not a bad crowd. Several very cute girls there, even a few that I have never seen before, which was unusual in a town of this size. Most of them I recognized.

The first set went pretty well. I knew we were still heading for trouble, though, because we were playing too many songs too fast, and weren’t taking enough time between them. There was no way we could do two more sets at the pace we were going. During the break, we all went out to the alley where the van was and drank a couple of beers each. I mentioned my concerns to them, but they didn’t seem to be too worried about it. They went back inside because they wanted to mingle with the crowd some. I elected to stay outside and drink another beer. I figured I would need it before this night was over. I was standing at the back of the van with both van doors open, and was reaching in to grab the ice chest to get another beer when I heard someone come up behind me. I turned to see who it was, thinking it was one of the guys who had come back out. It wasn’t.

It was one of the girls I had noticed in the audience. I had noticed her for a few reasons, one because I didn’t recognize her, two because I had not seen her dance with anyone, three because I had noticed her noticing me, and four, because she was really pretty. She was a brunette, about five-foot-five or so. She was very curvy, but didn't have a large build at all. I figured her for about eighteen. She was wearing a tie-died tank top and a black mini skirt. She spoke before I could.

“Hi, Spangles!”, she said, “My name is Cynthia. I wanted to tell you that I think you are very talented on the keyboards.” “Thanks,” I replied, “You’re not from around here, are you? I don't remember seeing you around, and I would have surely noticed someone as pretty as you.”  I have to admit here that it was the beer talking there. I was not the type to come on that strong with a girl. Hell, normally I wouldn't even talk to the ones I knew, let alone do anything like that. “No, I’m not from here. I’m just in town visiting my cousin Colleen.” She replied. “Do you really think I’m pretty?” she asked.

“Yes,” I responded, “If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t have said it.” She moved over closer to me, and got between the van and me. We were shielded from both sides by the van doors. “You’re kinda cute yourself,” she said, “cute and talented.” Feeling pretty brave now (the beer again …), I placed my arms around her and pulled her close to me. There was no resistance to that, so I leaned over and kissed her. Her response was warm and passionate, and I started getting hard immediately. I didn’t have much time left before the next set was supposed to start, but I didn’t want to quit what was happening here. I broke that kiss and she took the initiative and kissed me the second time. I was certainly encouraged, so I took the opportunity to place a hand on her breast through her tank top. She didn’t resist at all, and in fact started kissing me even harder.

During the next kiss, I decided to step things up a little, and dropped my hand from her breast to her crotch, and was doing my best to feel her up through her skirt.  Again, no resistance. I was hard as the proverbial rock by now. I guided her backwards a little and sat her down on the back of the van. I knew I had to get her skirt higher if I was going to get to finger her any at all, and that seemed to be the best way to do it. I started kissing her again, and while I had her occupied with that, I managed to get my hand under her skirt. Surprisingly (to me, at least), she actually opened her legs some to give me access. I took advantage of it immediately, of course, and was soon rubbing her through the thin material of her panties. She was kissing me harder than ever and moaning softly. I was so hard at this point that it was actually painful.

When we broke that kiss, she looked at me and said “Do you want to do it with me?” “What??” I said, not thinking that I had heard her right. “Do you want to do it with me?” she asked

again. “Yes.” Was my reply. How could I have possible said anything else at that point. She stood up and started removing her panties. “Do you have any protection?” she asked, “I don’t want to get pregnant.” She laid her panties on the ice chest and sat back down on the back of the van. Protection? My mind actually went blank for a moment, and then I realized that I did indeed have some. I had a single condom that I had been carrying in my wallet for what seemed like forever. None of the girls I had been with up to that point had ever asked about it, so I had mostly forgotten about it. I dug it out quickly, opened my pants, ripped open the package, and rolled it on over my painfully hard dick. She was watching carefully to make sure I did it. Once it was on, she opened her legs as wide as she could and flipped her skirt up. I was more than ready.

I took a couple of steps forward with my dick leading the way. She reached down and guided me to her entrance. She was extremely wet, and I slid inside her easily. It took me a couple of strokes to bottom out inside her. She moaned softly when I did. She was very tight, but was definitely not a virgin. I began to thrust in her, and she matched me stroke for stroke. I knew I had to hurry before someone came out looking for me. I knew I would be hurrying anyway, because I really needed to come. She felt tremendous, even with the rubber on.

I began to quicken my pace, pumping into her harder and faster. She continued to match me. The come was boiling in my balls, and knew I wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Suddenly, the sensation changed. It was hotter, wetter, and felt a thousand times better. I began to screw her even harder and faster. I felt my first shot begin its journey through my dick, and it exploded into her with the force of a fire hose. I paused for a moment with my dick bottomed out in her, then started pumping again. Each stroke coaxed more come out of me, until there was none left inside me and my knees were weak and shaking. I was literally and figuratively drained.

I paused for a moment, keeping my dick inside her until it was too soft to remain. When it slid out, I noticed that the rubber was not there. It took me a moment to figure out what had happened, but I suspected that it had come off while I was screwing her, and that is why the feeling changed. I had shot my load inside her virtually unprotected. The rubber had to be still inside her. There was no place else it could be. I 

stepped back and went through the motions of taking a rubber off, even though it was no longer there. I knew that eventually she would figure out what had happened, but I didn’t want to spend any time right now trying to explain it. I heard the back door of the club open, and though someone was coming out. Instead, I heard Johnny yelling at me to get back in there. I hollered back that I was on my way, and he closed the door. “Cynthia,” I said, “I have to get back inside.”

“Right behind you.” She said, getting up. I closed and locked the van doors and we went back inside. I went up on stage, and she went back out to the audience. I noticed that she didn't appear back out there immediately. I figured she had delayed a little bit so it wouldn't look suspicious.

The next set went pretty good, but by the end of it we were running out of music to play.  I kept an eye on Cynthia the whole time, and noticed that she was watching me a lot, too. She never did dance with anyone, even though she was asked several times. It made me hard just looking at her and knowing that she was full of my come, and that the rubber was still someplace somewhere deep inside her. I knew that I had forced it pretty deep in her with my pounding. I was wondering if there was any chance that I had made her pregnant under those circumstances. I had no idea. I also wondered how long it would be before she discovered the rubber and figured out what had happened.

I talked to her again the next band break, and she let on like nothing had happened. I made my way back out to the van where the guys were drinking a beer, and of course, I caught some hell about the panties they had found on the ice chest. I took their ribbing, and of course, took the panties, too. I kept them for a souvenir. We had just started out third set, which, since we had no more songs to play, was a repeat of our first set, when the police showed up. They said there had been some noise complaints, and shut us down. The audience was not happy, but we were thrilled. I never saw Cynthia again, but I have often wondered about her.

After our first big performance, we figured that we had managed to get through it more or less okay, and decided that maybe we were on to something. We worked on some more songs, and soon had enough that we could do a solid three hours of almost passable music. Once we had that down, we went looking for another gig. This wasn’t nearly as easy as it sounded. First, we were all underage, and couldn’t legally be in any bars or nightclubs. Second, the part of the country we were in only recognized two kinds of music - Country and Western. We played what we knew and liked, which was not Country or Western. Sure, we knew how, and played a lot of it in the past, but it was not our thing.

Our long-term goal was to turn this band into a way to get money, booze, and women — one or all or any combination of those things. If we could manage to get all three at one time, that would be all the better.

It happened that it was also Kevin who got us our second gig. He was a master at shooting off his mouth and getting us into things — usually to our detriment. This time, well, he kinda did it to us again. He set us up to play at the homecoming dance at a neighboring town. A small redneck town, much like the one we lived in, only even smaller and more redneck. Kids there actually came to our town for excitement. How sad is that?

It was an unpaid gig — not surprising since Kevin set it up, but it also didn’t provide us with either of the other two of our goals — no booze since it was a school function, and since it was a dance and most people would be on dates, most likely no available women, either. In towns like this, it was a fairly even match between guys and gals, so much so that if you wanted a new girlfriend, you usually had to fight somebody. This whole thing seemed to me to be pretty much a waste, but I didn’t say that at the time. I figured we could sneak in our own booze, and maybe, just maybe there would be some unaccompanied girls at the dance. I figured, though, that if there were any unaccompanied girls there, they would be unaccompanied for a reason — meaning that they couldn’t get a date. There were only a few reasons why a girl in a small town couldn’t get a date for a major event like this, and of course all of those same reasons were the ones that would probably make them of no interest to any of us anyway.

At least we could play music we liked, which was a good thing, and we were much more prepared for this gig than we had been for the first one. This town was close enough to get to easily, but still far enough away that no one there knew any of us, which was also good. It was a small school, and it had a combination lunchroom / auditorium in it. That is where the dance would be. We got there in the early afternoon and set up our equipment and ran some sound checks. As it is in most small towns, high school football is a big, big, big deal, and homecoming is an even bigger big deal. There was a homecoming parade that afternoon, which we attended. Mainly to get a look at the girls. We also went to the game that evening, as the dance wouldn’t start until at least an hour after the game and there was absolutely nothing else to do in the meantime. Everybody in town was at the game, or so it seemed. Most of the local businesses were even closed for the game. Basically, about 90 percent of the population was at the game, and the people who couldn’t make it there were no doubt listening to it on the radio.

As we were not ‘locals’ we stood out in the crowd — even with as many people as were there. Everybody in town knew everybody else in town, and they all knew we didn’t belong. It is a curious spot to be in, actually. The guys seemed to see us as a threat — outsiders there to take their women. Which, I guess in one respect, we were. We didn’t want to take their women, though. We just wanted to use them for a little while, then we would gladly give them back.

The girls saw us as something new and different. Not only someone from “outside”, which in itself was enough to make us cool, but we were members of a rock band on top of that, and that gave us some serious street cred with them here. We were wearing jeans and shirts — nothing fancy. We were dressed pretty much like everybody else. We wouldn’t put on our “stage clothes” until just before we went on stage. Still, I think at least some of the crowd, and especially a lot of the girls, had us pegged as being the band.

We pretty much stuck to ourselves at the game. I did sit for a while on the “home” team side. Front and center so I could watch the cheerleaders. The Pep Club was a couple of rows to my right. There were a few decent-looking girls in the Pep Club. The Cheerleaders all looked pretty good, but in most

small towns they are all dating football players, so about all you can do is look. The band was off to my left. A few decent-looking girls there, too, even though it was kinda hard to tell with the band uniforms.

The home team won the game. Not that we cared. I personally found football to be incredibly boring, and had never watched an entire football game in my life. I never had the right level of intelligence to enjoy football. See, you had to be smart enough to understand the rules (which I was, but I didn’t care …) but still stupid enough to believe that the game was important. That wasn’t me.

We had just over an hour after the game before we needed to be at the school. I guess they wanted to give the kids time to go change clothes and get cleaned up before the dance. We drove around for a short while, then headed back to the school. We got dressed in our “stage clothes” and waited around in an unused room killing time until it was time to go on. Occasionally we looked out to see how the crowd was stacking up. The place was packed. There was a long table across the back of the room that had punch bowls and cookies on it. There were tables and chairs lining the walls of the room, and the area immediately in front of the stage had been cleared for a dance floor.

We had asked for the lights to be turned out or at least dimmed — most of them, at least — as we had a fairly decent lighting set up that we wanted to get full effect out of. We even had a fog machine. We wanted to rock this place. The chaperones, though, were less than thrilled with the idea of keeping the lights low. We finally compromised, and managed to get the dance floor and the area just beyond it fairly dark, while the back of the room and the stage were both lit pretty well.  Not the best situation, but doable, and it was all we were going to get under the circumstances.

We kicked off the first set with our ‘best’ song, which isn’t saying it was good — just that it was the one we happened to do best. We had people on the dance floor during the first song — something that is kinda rare. Usually it takes a few songs to get very many people up and dancing. I guess the kids in this town were so starved for entertainment of any kind they really got into it.

We had expected mostly couples to be there, but this was a small town and things don’t always work that way. There were several singles — more single guys than girls — and not all of the girls were wallflower types. Again, as is typical with small town dances like this, there were small groups of girls dancing by themselves and with each other. All the ‘cool people’ had dates, but it seemed that there were a lot of un-matched people there.

We played almost non-stop for 45 minutes, pausing once to introduce the band members and briefly between songs to set up for the next one. I was more than ready for the first break, even though Kevin had dominated most of the first set with lead guitar, which was typical of him.

We announced a 15-minute break, and we turned on some recorded music to keep the atmosphere going. We went outside to the van for a couple of quick beers before we started again. I left the guys at the van after a few minutes and headed back to the cafeteria. The beer I had drunk earlier was catching up with me, and I figured I had best make a pit stop before the next set started. Otherwise I would be in some serious trouble before the next break.

When I left the bathroom, I still had a few minutes, so I stepped back outside. Not enough time to go get another beer at the van, so I just stayed near the doorway. A girl was not far away, finishing up a cigarette. She was semi-hidden in the dark by a hedge, as smoking on school property was strictly forbidden. She tossed the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, then walked toward me. As she came into the light, I got a better look at her.

She was not a pretty girl. She could have been, with some decent makeup and some better clothes, but, as it was, it just wasn’t happening. She was dressed simply, a light blue blouse with a floral print and a long, button front, denim prairie skirt and cowboy boots. Her skirt had about 10 buttons on the front of it, and the bottom four were unbuttoned. If they had been buttoned, she would have had difficulty walking in it. It was apparent that she had a very nice build. Probably from working a lot — as opposed to working out a lot. The impression I had of her was that she was a hard-working farm girl. I thought that she probably had calluses on her hands, which I discovered later, she did. All in all, she was what we used to call a “butter face”. “Butter face”, as in “She’s a really nice girl with a nice body —- but her FACE …”

She spoke to me as she approached “You’re with the band, right?” “Yes,” I replied, “keyboards.”

“You’re really good.” she said. “Good looking, too. I bet you have a lot of groupies.”

“Nope,” I replied laughingly, “but I’m always on the lookout for a groupie or two. It would be nice to have one around sometimes. It might gain me some status with the rest of the guys in the band — I’d be the only one in the band to have a real, honest-to-goodness, groupie of my very own.”

“I might be interested in that position,” she replied, “where do I apply?”

“There are some pretty tough qualifications and some hard duties,” I said, “and of course there is a test.”

“Hard duties?” she asked, “Sounds like just what I am looking for.”

I remained silent for a moment, thinking over her last comment. I had made that statement innocently, and was now wondering if she had taken it in a different way. If she had, I was fine with that. If she hadn’t, I needed to carefully word my next comment.

Before I could respond, she spoke again, “About that test — is it an oral test or a practical test?”

I was pretty sure where this was heading now. There was really no question left in my mind about it, so I responded. “Since this is a prestige position, it will require both an oral and a practical test. And you would have to pass both. And, of course, there would be a requirement for periodic re-testing.”

“Not a problem,” she said, “I do real good on tests. When can I start?”

My first inclination was to tell her ‘right now’, but I heard the band striking a few notes, which was my cue to get back inside. “Next band break.” I said. “I’ll be right here.” She replied.

She stayed near the front of the room during the next set, never really straying out of my line of sight. Even though she wasn’t all that good looking, her build was decent. I was 

We had expected mostly couples to be there, but this was a small town and things don’t always work that way. There were several singles — more single guys than girls — and not all of the girls were wallflower types. Again, as is typical with small town dances like this, there were small groups of girls dancing by themselves and with each other. All the ‘cool people’ had dates, but it seemed that there were a lot of un-matched people there.

We played almost non-stop for 45 minutes, pausing once to introduce the band members and briefly between songs to set up for the next one. I was more than ready for the first break, even though Kevin had dominated most of the first set with lead guitar, which was typical of him.

We announced a 15-minute break, and we turned on some recorded music to keep the atmosphere going. We went outside to the van for a couple of quick beers before we started again. I left the guys at the van after a few minutes and headed back to the cafeteria. The beer I had drunk earlier was catching up with me, and I figured I had best make a pit stop before the next set started. Otherwise I would be in some serious trouble before the next break.

When I left the bathroom, I still had a few minutes, so I stepped back outside. Not enough time to go get another beer at the van, so I just stayed near the doorway. A girl was not far away, finishing up a cigarette. She was semi-hidden in the dark by a hedge, as smoking on school property was strictly forbidden. She tossed the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, then walked toward me. As she came into the light, I got a better look at her.

She was not a pretty girl. She could have been, with some decent makeup and some better clothes, but, as it was, it just wasn’t happening. She was dressed simply, a light blue blouse with a floral print and a long, button front, denim prairie skirt and cowboy boots. Her skirt had about 10 buttons on the front of it, and the bottom four were unbuttoned. If they had been buttoned, she would have had difficulty walking in it. It was apparent that she had a very nice build. Probably from working a lot — as opposed to working out a lot. The impression I had of her was that she was a hard-working farm girl. I thought that she probably had calluses on her hands, which I discovered later, she did. All in all, she was what we used to call a “butter face”. “Butter face”, as in “She’s a really nice girl with a nice body —- but her FACE …”

She spoke to me as she approached “You’re with the band, right?” “Yes,” I replied, “keyboards.”

“You’re really good.” she said. “Good looking, too. I bet you have a lot of groupies.”

“Nope,” I replied laughingly, “but I’m always on the lookout for a groupie or two. It would be nice to have one around sometimes. It might gain me some status with the rest of the guys in the band — I’d be the only one in the band to have a real, honest-to-goodness, groupie of my very own.”

“I might be interested in that position,” she replied, “where do I apply?”

“There are some pretty tough qualifications and some hard duties,” I said, “and of course there is a test.”

“Hard duties?” she asked, “sounds like just what I am looking for.”

I remained silent for a moment, thinking over her last comment. I had made that statement innocently, and was now wondering if she had taken it in a different way. If she had, I was fine with that. If she hadn’t, I needed to carefully word my next comment.

Before I could respond, she spoke again, “About that test — is it an oral test or a practical test?”

I was pretty sure where this was heading now. There was really no question left in my mind about it, so I responded. “Since this is a prestige position, it will require both an oral and a practical test. And you would have to pass both. And, of course, there would be a requirement for periodic re-testing.”

“Not a problem,” she said, “I do real good on tests. When can I start?”

My first inclination was to tell her ‘right now’, but I heard the band striking a few notes, which was my cue to get back inside. “Next band break.” I said. “I’ll be right here.” She replied.

She stayed near the front of the room during the next set, never really straying out of my line of sight. Even though she wasn’t all that good looking, her build was decent. I was

already getting hard just thinking about what was going to happen during the next band break — well — what I hoped was going to happen during the next band break, anyway. I wasn’t really certain what would happen, but I had some good ideas about what I wanted to happen. I hadn’t even bothered to ask her name. I made a mental note to ask her when the next break came.

The next break didn’t come nearly soon enough for me. This was scheduled to be our last band break for the evening, and I wouldn’t have a whole lot of time. We usually played 45 minute-sets pretty much nonstop and then took a 15-minute break between sets. It wasn’t a whole lot of time. I was already headed off the stage before the last note of the song we had just played had stopped. I made a bee line for the door that led outside to where I had been talking to my potential groupie, and was disappointed when she wasn’t there. I looked around for a moment, wondering what had happened, when I heard a soft female voice calling me. “Spangles …” she said … “Over here. Hurry.” I looked for the source of the voice, and saw a partially opened door, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see her standing inside, holding the door open for me. “Hurry!” she said, “I don’t want to get caught!”

I sprinted across to the door and brushed past her to get inside. The lights were off in the room, and the only light was from the streetlights in the parking lot. She had led me into a classroom of some sort. I wasn’t readily able to tell what kind of class it might have been, but then again that wasn’t the top thing on my mind at the moment. She took my hand and led me to the far back corner of the room. She sat in a chair next to a desk and looked up at me. She said “Shall I start with the oral part of the examination?” “That would be fine,” I replied, “By all means, go right ahead.”

She pulled my zipper down and wasted no time at all seeking out and finding her goal, which, by the way, was already quite hard. She kissed the head a couple of times, made one slow pass from base to tip with her tongue, then took the full length in her mouth. She was very, very good at this. I could feel sperm bubbling in my balls wanting to be released within less than a minute. I was torn between letting her finish me the way she had started and asking her to move on to the “practical” part of the exam. I knew that if she kept up what she was doing, the option would not be an option any longer, as I would be blasting in her mouth.

I think she could sense that I was very close to erupting, as she slowed and stopped, looked up at me again, and said “Shall I continue the oral portion of the exam, or do you want to move on to the practical?” “I don’t have much time left,” I said, “so perhaps we should try a bit of the practical exam.” “I was hoping you would say that.” she replied. She stood up, unbuttoned several more buttons on her skirt, pulled her panties down and slid them over her boots. She then sat back on the edge of the desk and opened her legs. I stepped between them immediately, and she guided my rock hard dick to her waiting entrance. She was tremendously wet, and I slid into her to up to the hilt on the very first thrust. It was very, very hot inside her, almost uncomfortably so. I began to thrust in and out of her, and she did her best to match my rhythm. She wasn’t very tight, and she was so wet that there was not a lot of sensation for me, but as I was so close to cumming already it really didn’t matter. The pressure in my balls was intense, and within a couple of dozen strokes I was spraying my sperm deep inside her. Three, four, five shots went into her, followed by a couple of smaller spurts and dribbles. When I had finished, I backed away from her and started to fasten my pants. “That was great,” I said, “but I think you might need some refresher training.” “So, did I pass?” “Just barely,” I replied, “I think you could use some intense one-on-one tutoring.” “Anytime you’re ready,” she said, “anytime you’re ready.”

As she fastened her skirt again and started to move towards the door. I noticed that she hadn’t put her panties back on, so I took them and stuffed them in my pocket. A souvenir for me. We had just got outside the building and into the open area again when I heard the band strike the first few tune up notes. That was my signal to get back in there, and quick. I looked at her and said “I have to get back to the band.” “Okay,” she said, “since I’m your groupie in training now, I’ll make sure that I am at your next gig, and maybe we can slip away again.” “Count on it.“ I said, “Count on it.”

It wasn’t until we were well into playing our last set for the evening when I realized that I hadn’t even asked her name. Oh, well, maybe I’d find out next time.