Three hours later, we were back up. We showered together and Derekdrove the two of us into London proper, whereupon I pissed off forthe nearest taxi to go to Harrod's and then walk around the area it was in. There were some great hole in the wall record shops and I ran mycredit card up buying remasters of old rockabilly and blues stuff. Too bad it was all on LP since compact disks hadn't been inventedyet, weighing me down. I later hopped another taxi to take me to Derek's work, where Iwas supposed to meet him for lunch. I hugged and kissed him and thenhe told me his bosses wanted to meet me after the dust up with thepunk band the other night. I was introduced to the other staffwriters as well as the editors. They were curious as to what recordsI had picked up and we went through them. Some of the writers wereastonishingly fluent in the history of much of it.
"So I hear you're quite the little player," editor Gerry MacKinnon,in a somewhat patronizing tone, remarked. "Yeah, I've been known tothrow down a riff or two, " I giggled. "Well, let's see what you cando," he commanded. MacKinnon told one of his underlings to bring mean amp and a guitar, which turned out to be a Vox AC30 that appearedto have been originally built back in the paleolithic age, it was sobeat up, and a Gibson SG that had also been well banged around on. Ituned it up. , but it was evident that the thing was shot. "I hate totell you this, guys, but this thing is unplayable.
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It needs arefretting job, the neck is warped and the tone knob for the frontpickup is dead. Have any of you actually been trying to play thispiece of shit?' "You're not dodging playing for us are you love?"Gerry accused. "Tell ya what, sweety, come over to Derek's houseSaturday and we'll have ourselves a nice little dinner party. ThenI'll do my band's set for you. I can't sing for shit, though, so itwill be all instrumental. How's that?" "Sounds delightful!," hereacted.
"So tell us more about yourself, dear," Gerry desired. "Well, Ispeak six languages fluently, I'm a high school graduate and I'vebeen playing guitar for six years," I propounded. "What languagesare those?" Gerry cross examined. "Japanese, Chinese, Korean,Spanish, Portuguese and English," I informed him. "Hmmmm. . . . .
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" hemuttered, eyeing me suspiciously. He picked up his phone. "Hello,Asako? Yeah, this is Gerry MacKinnon. How are you love? I'm glad tohear that. Would you mind doing me a favor? Yeah, I have a girl herewho says she can speak Japanese and I was wondering if you can testher for me. Thank you darling. " He handed me the phone. "Moshi moshi(hello?---note that this phrase is only used for phone calls andthat is it)," I began. I talked to her for about five minutes. Itturns out that Asako was a former editor in chief for one of Japan'smost prominent music magazines and was now freelancing due to afascination with British rock. In fact, she would later write a wellreceived book about it. I said I hope we could meet soon and thensaid goodbye. I handed the phone back to Gerry. "Hello Asako. So howdid she do? Wonderful.
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Thank you so much love. See you out on thetiles. " He turned to me. "She said you sounded Japanese to her. Letme call a friend in Spain so I can see if your Spanish is on thesame level. " We went through the same kind of song and dance withhis acquaintance in Ibiza, where he liked to holiday, and gotlargely the same feedback, though the pal indicated my Spanish wasmore Mexican style. "Well, I am from California," I justified.
In the wake of the tete a tete with Gerry, Derek was not pleased. "What was that bollocks about throwing a dinner party at my house?You did that without asking me first. " "Don't worry sweety, you'regolden. Nothing pleases men more than two things: pussy and gettingsome food down 'em. Only you're getting the first, but they willlove the second. So be a good lad and drive me to the supermarket sothat I can begin getting ready for it. " "How do you know so muchBritish usage?' he inquired. "Been reading the British rock pressfor a few years, honey," I revealed.
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Derek ferried me to the supermarket on the way home from his job andwe loaded up on food, seasoning and other ingredients, a dozenbottles of wine and much needed housecleaning supplies. Then we turnedaround andvisited a department store to buy nice dishes, glasses and flatware,all on my dime. This was going to have to be buffet style becausehis living room was too small to feed 70 people at a table. Thekitchen was also very limited. All I had to do, though, was a fewthings well and not spread myself too thin. I started by cleaningthe downstairs and the bathrooms thoroughly. That took a bit oftime. Then I made three chocolate cheesecakes and three regularones. By the time I had crammed them into the refrigerator, which Ihad also cleaned out, to set, it was 4 a. m. on Friday morning. Iwent tosleep and rose at 1 p. m. and did some more prep work, choppingvegetables and making up spring rolls to be fried up later.
Themeat, which was sliced steak strips, would all have to be done in atwo hour windowt he day of the party.
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Somehow, everything went off without a lot of trouble and Derek'scoworkers didn't leave a morsel unconsumed. I went to the bathroomand cleaned myself up before I came back down, plugged in andserenaded all and sundry for two and a half hours. The materialranged from Al Stewart and Fleetwood Mac to Led Zeppelin and TedNugent. Of course, I finished it with "Doctor Doctor. " During myrendition of "Burn," I stretched it out to toss in a bunch ofhyperspeed licks that would later be made famous by YngwieMalmsteen. I posed, preened and showboated up a storn. "Fuck Derek,where did you find this girl and are there any more like her?" oneof his fellow writers, Dick Wellington, enthused. One of the staffeven asserted that, "it isn't a question whether or not she's thebest rock guitarist in the country right now, but how much better isshe than everyone else. " I think that was going badly overboard. Imean, Jeff Beck was still walking the earth at thatmoment.
The comprehensive result of the festivities was that everybodyenjoyed themselves immensely. I didn't get to bed, though, untilafter 2 a. m. after I had cleaned everything up and showered. Derekdidn't lift a finger to help me with the pile of dishes, glasses andother instruments of food preparation.
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I didn't complain about itbecause men are what they are. However, what bothered me about it was that it was an open questionas to whether Derek was engaging in a bit of passive-aggressivenonsense as a way of sending a tacit message to not do this again. He was already asleep by the time I stepped out of the shower, sorather than risking disturbing him, I slept alone in the guest room. Was I mad? Yeah, especially after I pleased his bosses for him.
When I got up at just before noon, I thanked Derek for helping meclean up after the party and for waiting up for me in bed. Heriposted with thanking me for allowing his refuge to be invaded bydozens of his coworkers. I apologized for overstepping my bounds,but that what I did was also an act of self defense that woulddirectly benefit him. "Couldn't you have found another way to dothat?" he shot back with a sour expression. "Listen Derek, I don't like doling out ultimatumsto men because that sucks. But I do like to cook for people and showoff what I can do on guitar. It is part of who I am. Now you caneither make room for it or I can pack up and return to Americatomorrow. "
Then I added, "look sweety, I'm not much of a drinker. I actuallyhate alcohol. But I'm not going to go passive-aggressive (he didn'tknow what I meant by that and I had to explain it to him later) onyou about you wanting to go down the pub for a knees up every nowand again.
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That kind of social behavior is part and parcel of yourculture and I have to acknowledge it. When we make choices in ourlives there is always something that accompanies that decision. Sowhat is it going to be Derek?" I asked with formative tears in my eyes. "I'msorry darling, I was being rash. But so were you," he blamed. "Youhave a point, Derek," I retorted. "I should have asked you first. But let's talk about our points of contention and not just shut theother person out in hopes that minds will get read. " "Quite right,"he agreed. "I was hoping to do something that would make us bothlook good and I think I did that. But I didn't set out to violateyour space. " "Look love, the thing I hate most about women is thatthey have a tendency to go the bridge too far. They take over yourlife and then get pushed out of shape when you call them on it. "
"Derek, if I didn't captain my band, we wouldn't even have had aband. I've been on my own since I was 18 and have always had to takethe bull by the horns.
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If you don't want to see me go overboardlike a lot of women do, and I will admit that is a fair charge, thenit is up to you to be the leader in this relationship. I'm notsaying boss me around, but what I am advocating is giving me a senseof things moving forward. " "Fair enough, love. " "So do youthink we understand each other better now, baby?" I quizzed. "Verymuch so, darling," he said.
I straddled his lap and put my arms around him. "Are you still gladyou met me?" I flirted. "Without a doubt, Melody.
You're a womanlike no other. " I stroked the back of his head as I tilted mine tokiss him. I hugged him tightly as his tongue plumbed the depthsof my mouth. My vagina felt warm and slick and I began to dry humpmy ass on his stiff cock over his pants. He slid his hands up theback of my shirt and unhooked my bra before those paws grabbed abig heapin' helpin' of my breasts. I so enjoyed the sensation of hishands rubbing against my nipples while we smooched heatedly. "Comeon darling, let's go to bed," he urged.
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I consented to that and,whenwe entered his bedroom, I went to my knees and pulled his zipperdown, followed by unfastening his pants. His seven inch cock poppedout and I lovingly stroked and squeezed it before circling the tipof my tongue around the head. "Oh fuck me," he blurted. I thenapplied short sucks to each side of his cock with my lips. "JesusChrist!" he moaned. I straightened up a little more on my kneesand dropped my tits around his dick, squeezing the soft globestogether to create friction on his warm, turgid weapon. He pressed itintomy sternum for added rubbing power while I rocked my bodyvertically. His precum leaked on to my chest and my tongue dartedagainst the tip of his glans every time it slid upward toward myhead. "Shit darling, oh oh ohhhh," he sighed while the pistoning ofhis cock through the vice of my flesh pillows continued to generatepleasure for him.
I released his penis from its mammary trap and shoved my mouth allthe way down on his spike in one go, the contractions of myesophagus aiming to expel what was invading it and tickling hisincreasingly sensitive sperm injector. I bobbed my head faster andfaster, subjecting his love gun to repeated heavy pressure. Hespooged my yapper with a healthy portion of mancream amid constricted sounding grunts.
"Fucking hell Melody, is there anything you're not a master of?" Thatwas a rhetorical question and I giggled to accept the kind remark in thespirit in which it was offered. I stood up and dropped myself into hisbed. I laid on my back so that my butt was on the edge of the bed andspread my legs.
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Now it was his turn to sink to his knees and he dug intomy pussy with his tongue to taste my lady juice. "You're deliciousdarling," he commented and went to work on my clit. The way he sucked onit made it seem as if my warm blood would all be drawn to that onelittle point on the head of said nubbin. It made me crazy horny. I bowedmy back as the first tingles of what would eventually bloom into myorgasm hit me. I emitted a series of machine gun gasps as I sensed theexpansion of the clit in his piehole, becoming awash in an intenseundertow of heat. He kept at it and I kept cumming, my pubic musclestrembling and my breathing devolving into a sustained series of hardpants. My voice was squeaking and squealing while I sought to notbroadcast my ecstasy to the neighbors.
I was pert near hyperventilating when he abandoned eating me and insteadcomforted his penis by inserting it into me. My pussy felt full as heentered me and withdrew dozens of times, my vaginal muscles clenchinghis little monster on the path of its travels between inner and outersexual space. "Oh fuck Derek, God damn, oh fuck," I insensibly mouthedwhile I focused on the unbelievably great bolts of pleasure hegenerated. He soon tripped my trigger, my pubic muscles tightly ringinghis schvanz as he carried me to the logical end of my orgasm. Like JohnHenry in the old folk song, he kept his hammer swinging away to rail mebetter than anything or anyone could, owning my gash with the fallout ofhis instinctive passion and porking me into the promised land time andagain until he painted my womb white with sperm.
We scooted over toward the headboard so we could relax and enjoy themellow high that good sex engenders. "If we're going to have sex likethat every time after we argue we need to get angry more often," hecracked.
I chuckled in acknowledging what he said and snuggled up tohim more tightly.
.
