Misc. Erotica Rockstar Harem

I felt my back stiffen at his tone and was about to open my mouth and give the young ruffian a piece of my mind when Nancy gripped my elbow, her look warning me to silence. Dillon was frowning at the tall man, and it looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or impressed.

The tall man stepped from around the counter, pulling up a green bodied electric guitar and slinging the strap over his shoulder. He reached down and plugged it into a small amp and then stood with an arrogant stance as he stared daggers at Dillon.

My eardrums felt under assault when he started wailing on the strings. The man thrashed his head as he let loose with a guitar solo that sounded like a poor imitation of Mike McCready. It was better than I thought it would be, but he couldn’t maintain the tempo for long and before getting to a problematic bridge finished with a big flourish.

“Well, kid?” The man asked with a pugnacious attitude.

“I don’t want to offend you,” Dillon began with more than a little hesitation, causing the guy to snort in derision.

“Offend me? Get the fuck out of my store man, offend me… lady, if you have any sense in that vapid looking head of yours, you’ll teach this kid-.”

Dillon had never seemed the least bit threatening to me, but suddenly we were all too aware of his whipcord strength as he stepped before the bearded man and held up one finger in warning. His arm was corded in muscles and vascularity from hours and hours of hard work on his farm. I couldn’t see his expression, but from the reaction of the man, the warning was clear. The guy held up his arms and backed away slightly.

“Hey man, no fighting here,” the guy said with wary eyes, “you got beef, put it in the guitar.”

It didn’t make any sense whatsoever to me, and I tried not to show how pleased I was that Dillon had moved to defend my honor. The boy nodded and reached out, taking the guitar from the tall man and slipping it over his shoulder. I stepped around to get a better view of him, Nancy pressing herself to my side as she did the same. We were huddled near the side of the counter, hands clasped together, both nervous and anxious.

I was surprised to see fierce excitement on Dillon’s face, almost an animal thrill as he held the electric guitar. Grasping the neck, his smile turned almost feral when he heard the feedback from the amp and, without hesitation, slashed the strings with his fingers.

Nancy and I would debate after, if it were the shop owner who swore first or us, but one thing we both agreed on was he was the only one who cried. Dillon’s anger was channeled into the instrument, along with his curiosity, all funneled by his immeasurable talent.

His first slash of the guitar sent out a powerful wave of sound followed by quick hard, angry chung, chung, as he glanced at the neck, finding different cords and linking them. The anger bled into curiosity and the rock into a blues style with hard rock elements as he began to work vibrato into the notes. All of this registered only in the back of my mind, the rest of my being was lifted into soaring heavens of sound.

I wasn’t the only one transported by his magical music. The shop owner, at first amused and then annoyed, soon stared in awe at the kid who was obviously picking up an electric guitar for the first time and learning with a rapidity in front of him that seemed impossible.

The man turned to Nancy and me, with a questioning frown as if to ask if this was some kind of joke. But our attention was riveted on Dillon as he stood with one foot forward, rocking on his heels in time with the beat, head hanging down as he freestyled.

In total, it lasted maybe twenty seconds, but when Dillon ceased playing, the echo of those notes seemed to hang in the air. I closed my eyes, trying to memorize them, cursing myself for not recording it.

“Now this is crazy,” came a familiar voice from just behind me, surprising me for the second time that day, “a rock star in our little mall? Who is he?” The last was whispered, and from her excited and slightly vapid tone, I knew who it was immediately.

“Dr. Lansing?” I asked in shock, turning to see the pretty little blonde in yoga pants and a pink sports top right behind me.

The woman started to speak, but I’d stopped paying attention to her. Behind Nancy and me, the small music store and wide walkway outside was filled with roughly three dozen people, all staring at Dillon as if spellbound, faces open and almost wild with joy. I feared if I’d looked in a mirror a few moments before I’d have looked exactly like that.

Dillon was just noticing the large crowd that had gathered, and instead of being anxious or frightened, as I feared he might, he stood even straighter, head tilting back and his eyes taking on that flashing power I’d seen a few times now. There was a collective sigh from those who’d gathered, causing a chill to run down my spine.

“Who are you?!” One girl called from the back, pushing forward, her eyes slightly wild, grin almost feral, “Can I have an autograph!”

“Me too!” Cried a woman in her middle years from nearby, pushing forward, “Do you have an album? iTunes? FACEBOOK?!”

“Can I get a selfie?”

“Will you play another song?!”

“Play more!”

The crowd started to press in, and I grew alarmed, when someone shoved me into the counter hard, I began to become scared. Cries from all around turned to screams of excitement and joy, but it was all chaos, and I felt Nancy pulled out of my hand, bodies pressing in all around as the crowd swarmed forward.

I couldn’t see anything over all the people now pressing me in, and when someone grabbed me around the waist I tried to fight them off, but then saw it was Dr. Lansing and she was pulling me to the side of the shop where Nancy waved me into a dark space. Scrambling through pressing bodies, we slipped in, and the Dr. threw the door closed, cutting off the sounds of the crowd.

“Dude, you can fucking shred!” The shop owner's voice drew us around the corner of a narrow hallway and into a surprisingly large space. One wall was thick glass with a bank of electronic equipment set on a low desk before the glass wall and large cabinets along another.

Dillon was straightening his shirt and pants, which looked like they’d been nearly ripped off him. His searching eyes found us, and relief flooded his face when he saw that we were safe. Pushing aside the store owner, he drew Nancy and me into a big hug, both of us sighing in pleasure as we wrapped our arms around his waist. If we’d been alone, we might have gotten up to something wicked, as his music was still working its magic within us.

Remembering where we were suddenly, I stepped back, my cheeks blushing a deep shade of red when I glanced at the doctor. She was looking from Nancy and me, to Dillon with raised eyebrows and a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Honestly, man, I’ve never heard anything like that,” there was a pounding on the door, and a couple people could be heard faintly shouting.

“I’m sorry about your shop,” Dillon said, glancing at the door, “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

“It was my fault,” the guy said with a sheepish shrug, “I’m a fucking asshole. I’m Matt, nice to meet you dude,” when Dillon glanced at a particularly loud pounding, Matt waved it away, “Don’t worry about that, I’ve made sure my studio is bulletproof. They’ll wander away in a few.”

“You have a studio?” Nancy asked with keep interest as she extricated herself from Dillon’s arm.

“State of the art,” Matt said with a knowing smile, “I’m willing to rent it out too,” he eyed Dillon up and down, “If you’ve got tracks to lay down kid, I’ll engineer it for free. We could make something magical.”

“Where is this place?” Dillon asked, looking around, “I’ve never seen it in the mall.”

“I rented the space next door and boarded it up,” the guy said with a grin, “I make more renting the wall as advertising than I do in my music shop. It’s kinda sad.”

“Then why do you have a secret studio?” I asked.

“It’s only secret to the plebes,” Matt said with that arrogant attitude of his again, “There is a back staircase that leads into the garage.”

“I think we’re going to need that to get back to our car,” Nancy said, reaching into her purse, she pulled out a business card and handed it to Matt, “I’m Dillon’s agent, he isn’t signed yet but execs are circling. If you’re serious about studio time, then we can hold rights to the masters if we lay them down quick.”

“We?” Matt said, licking his lips nervously.

“Producers typically get 15%?” Nancy said with a frown, “Of course Dillon retains the rights to approve whatever’s released under this name. If the production should prove less than excellent.”

“I get it,” Matt said with a frown, “If it sucks, you can burn the copies. It’s not going to suck though; I could make dog shit sound like Sinatra. It’s a deal. Follow me.”

He led us to the back of his storage room, where a narrow steel staircase led down to an emergency door that let out into the parking garage. With a final shake of Dillon’s hand, the tall man headed back in to check on his shop.​