Misc. Erotica Rockstar Harem

I was back on the road a few minutes later, the butterflies back, but confident that I was doing the right thing. The cookie-cutter houses faded, and I was out in the country, narrow roads choked with brush, sagging power lines, and potholes so deep I had to slow down and go around most of them.

The farms along Lowe Road were disorganized, overgrown and chock-full of old rusty equipment. Each house looked progressively more dilapidated the farther I drove until I finally hit the dead end and pulled off onto a narrow dirt driveway.

The fencing was surprisingly straight and well maintained along the driveway and leading out into the small farm. There weren’t the piles of rusting out equipment or old cars littering the yard, as I’d seen on many of the farms around here. Instead, it was a neat and ordered little farm. The house was another matter, its paint was chipping, revealing dry grey timbers beneath and dull single pane windows that looked like they’d been installed a century before.

The porch looked like it had been replaced recently, the new wood was square and shone with a beautiful finish. I stepped out of my SUV and turned towards the house, taking in a deep breath before I went to walk up.

“You found me,” a voice said from behind, startling me, turning around I found the young man from earlier standing in the shade of the barn. He glanced up the road and back, “They going to arrest me?”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, “why would anyone arrest you?”

“I didn’t take anything,” he said defensively, “and I didn’t break-in. Someone left the door open.”

“I’m not here about that, Dillon,” I said reassuringly, “and you’re not in trouble at all. Forgive me for intruding on you, it was rude of me, but I didn’t know your number to call ahead. I’m Amanda, or Mandy, if you like. I teach music lessons at the church.”

“Oh?” The young man’s face hidden beneath his shaggy hair and dirty features lifted, bright blue eyes flashing out with interest and intensity that sent a shiver through to my core.

“Yes,” I said, my voice more than a touch breathless, “I heard you playing… I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

“Sorry,” He said with a frown, rubbing the back of his head with one hand as he walked over, “I know it sounded bad. Two of the strings were really loose.”

“It sounded magical,” I said, and he must have sensed my sincerity for he blushed, shuffling from foot to foot and peeking up at me again with those intensely blue eyes. Then his words registered, and I tiled my head, “Have you never tuned an instrument before?”

“Tuned?”

“Have they taught you nothing about music in school?” I asked in shock.

“I graduated last year,” Dillon said with a laugh, “But when I was in school, they barely taught us history.”

“You’ll need to learn,” I said, shaking my head and walking around the car to the passenger door. I noticed the young man’s gaze lingering on my body as I did and felt flattered, despite being old enough to be his mom.

“Why?” Dillon asked as he walked out from the barn's shadow, head tilted in curiosity, eyes bouncing between my large breasts and face, almost like he was unaware of it.

“Because you’re going to need to learn if you want to keep your guitar in tune.” Pulling the acoustic guitar out of the backseat as I spoke and lifting it to show him.

“For me?” Dillon said, and the desperate desire in his voice filled me with happiness to hear, then he looked at me in curiosity, “Why? I don’t even know you… Heather and I have never even spoken.”

“I got it because the music I heard you playing today was a gift to this world,” I said, “and it would be a sin if you weren’t allowed to make music simply because you didn’t have an instrument.” Blushing, I glanced down, “Sorry, I hope I haven’t offended you. That wasn’t my intention, I just…” glancing up I locked onto his blue eyes, feeling a shiver of something powerful pass down my spine, “I need to hear you play again, and a used guitar from a pawn shop is small enough price to pay for the experience.”

“You really liked it?” He asked, a fragile but hopeful smile finding its way onto his lips, white teeth peeking through.

“No,” I said, shaking my head and smiling, “I loved it. Not just your playing, but your voice as well. I never heard another like it… where did you learn to sing?”

“My mother,” he said sadly, then I saw him shrug as if pushing the emotions aside before walking over.

I held out the guitar and was surprised that he did not stink of sour sweat and armpits as I’d feared. He was covered in dirt, dust, and mud from working and paused just before taking up the instrument, blushing he looked around and nodded to the house.

“Let me clean up,” he said, heading over.

“Is your father here?”

“No,” Dillon said, as he ran up the new porch and inside, calling out over running water, “He’s a long-haul trucker and is gone for weeks at a time. He’ll be home in a couple.”

I glanced around the yard and frowned. My father had been a trucker, and I remember a lot more spare tires, old parts, and hydraulic lifts for fixing engines than I saw here. In fact, I saw no evidence that a trucker lived there at all, but was pulled out of my musings when the screen door slammed open, and Dillon stepped out.

He’d cleaned his face and neck as well as his hands, and my breath caught in my throat upon seeing him for the first time. I wouldn’t say he is conventionally handsome, like Brad Pitt or Leo, but there was a strength to him, a self-possession far beyond his years and a boyish innocence that melted something inside me.

“I’m not sure I’m deserving of such generosity,” Dillon said, a catch in his throat as I stepped up to hand him the guitar, “How can I ever repay you?”

“Could you play the song from earlier?” I asked, surprising myself with the question.

“I don’t know,” he said with a curious frown and sat down on the porch’s step, settling the guitar in his lap, “It wasn’t really anything… Just a melody that’s been playing over and over again in my head for weeks now.”

“Please?” I asked, feeling like a schoolgirl as I sat opposite him on the step, clasping my hands around my bent knees.

Dillon blushed and ducked his head, reaching up to clasp one hand around the neck, he gave it an experimental strum. Nodding in pleasure, he plucked each cord in turn, turning his head to judge the tone by ear. I was shocked at the skill and even more so when he frowned at the third cord when it rang just a hair out of tune.

“The nob at the top,” I said, pointing and slipping my phone into my other hand and keying the camera app, “if you turn it to the right… yea, like that. Make sure you give it a pluck as you turn it to judge when it comes into tune.”

Dillon nodded in thanks as he adjusted the tuning key, nodding in pleasure when the right note rang out. Again, he did it all by sound and touch, showing a natural talent I’d never seen in a musician. I hit record on the app capturing Dillon in the middle of the frame, seated on the porch, the sun reflecting off the guitar as he began to play. My musings were dashed aside when he struck the first chord of his song.

“Mhmm, hmm, hmm, Mmmhmm,” his deep voice hummed along with the slow strumming, and some magic hidden in the notes snatched me away from this world and took me along with him.

“Life… a dull and yellow dream;”

“Until the light showed up for me when she came to hear me sing;”

“Heavens knows I’m lost at sea;”

“Hunting for love in my new golden dream.”​