From a series of guitar-based stories, this one addresses the late-night hook-up, a visitation of the warmest kind – enjoy

by David Cain

Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I get up and play scales on my guitar. I play an unamplified hardbody, so the notes sound strange but soft, so I don’t bother anyone. I play in the dark until I get bored enough to fall asleep. I lay down the guitar and slide into bed. Like counting sheep but it works on my muscle memory. I can’t sleep and scales just keep getting easier.

So it was two-thirty in the morning and I couldn’t sleep so I picked up my guitar and started playing down the neck. I’d reached B when my door pushed open. I didn’t stop playing but turned my neck to see. A woman in a t-shirt stood in my doorway, barely illuminated by a streak of light coming through my window.

“Did I wake you?” I whispered.

“No,” she said. “I never went to sleep.”


“My own fault, really,” she said, leaning against the door jamb. “I’m the one who came home with Rock.”

“He’s asleep?”

“Passed out. I touched his dick and bam, he spewed and fell asleep. I knew he was too drunk to screw but I thought I might get one in before he lost it.”

“I’ll keep it down,” I offered, for no real reason.

“Can I come in?” she asked, coming in and sitting on the floor. My scales turned melodic, self-consciously. No one wants to listen to someone play scales.

“You’re good,” she said. I’m sure I blushed.

“I just play when I can’t sleep. Might as well practice.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not a bit.”

“Would it help if I sucked you off? I mean, bam, Rock went down like a, well, rock.”

“Excuse me?” I asked although I don’t know why.

“I mean, I’d rather fuck, that’s what I came here for, but I don’t really know you well enough to ask if you’d fuck me, so a blow job seems more in line with where we are, socially, I mean.”

“You want to screw?”

“You have something better to do?”

“I can practice tomorrow,” I said, putting aside my guitar. The woman crawled into my bed. “What about Rock?” I asked, feeling like I shouldn’t be stealing my roommates potential girlfriend.

“I don’t think he counts at all,” she said. He couldn’t even stay awake long enough to get his dick sucked.” She pulled off her t-shirt and I stared at her tits while she watched my hardened cock spring to action. Her tongue and lips and mouth and face suddenly began a furious dance of delight upon me. I twitched and tensed and feared for a moment that I would join Rock in the ranks of premature ejaculators. I held back and relaxed to enjoy the energized lust that hummed my prick. I feared for my control again but she soon quit the suck to climb atop my thickened staff. She rode and rode and bounced and bounced and I held her hips and squeezed her boobies and she moaned and squealed and I came and came and came. We collapsed in a flurry of orgasm and satisfaction and exhaustion.

And I soon fell fast asleep.

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, fiction, literature, music, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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