My college education had come to a screeching halt. I dropped out of the school of music at the Ohio State University after not quite two years; my dreams of becoming a concert pianist had evaporated. I still lived at home with my parents, even though I'd turned twenty-one. I had no money, and no real plans, I'd even been replaced as keyboardist in rock band by a guy who was terrible. But my rock star dreams remained alive, rock's an easier play than classical music. For fun, if I didn't have a date, I'd go out, probably go to the Al Rosa Villa, find some music, and maybe I'd find a friend. It was a cold December in Columbus, Ohio, and my life had settled into repetitive routine.
Let me describe myself. Let me say that I am a thin, healthy, intelligent woman, moderately attractive but certainly not flawless. I am about 5'5, blond, maybe 115 pounds. Now I am not going to win any pageants, but I'll take whatever steps I can take to improve my appearance and to be the center of attention. That's what I want, and that's what I have wanted since I was a child with a crooked leg wearing a corrective leg brace.
After dropping out of Ohio State, I took a job in the Sears warehouse, a job where I packed boxes for minimum wage. Sears warehouse was located on Columbus' west side outerbelt, and I worked there for over a year. Other than teaching piano at Pontones' music store in Grove City, it was the first real job I had. And my parents insisted that I pay them rent. Staying with them was a lot cheaper than an apartment, but I hated working at Sears. The place was full of creeps who traded their paychecks for bags of weed every Friday, creeps who probably still work there.
One guy at Sears laid claim to me. I am not kidding, he claimed me as his. He was an obnoxious, ugly black guy, about 6 feet tall, who weighed at least 250 pounds. I tried wearing the most unattractive clothes as possible; hats, no makeup, I couldn't shake him. He'd tell his friends, out loud and in front of me, "blondie is mine." He'd say stuff like, "hey pussy, when are you going for the real thing," and "I can't wait for you to suck my cock, you know you'll love it, white girl." None of this was fun. Maybe he kept other ass holes from harassing me, but that was not worth it. I was scared, really scared, of this guy.
He cornered me one work day down at the end of a long aisle, out of sight and sound from the other workers. In a flash he had his hand over my mouth, and his other hand on my boobs. As fear froze me, he unbuttoned my blouse. His black hand went under my bra, and he squeezed me hard.
"This is it, blondie. You going to give it up, or are we going to fight about it?"
"Ok, Ok," I mumbled threw his hand. "Let me breath."
He reached his hand down to my jeans, and tried to unfasten them. To pull my tight jeans down required both of his hands. As he moved, I moved. One hard elbow thrust to his smoke filled lungs dislodged his hold, and I was off. There was no way that overweight slob was going to catch me. I ran down the aisle, I ran out from the Sears warehouse, I ran to my car, and I drove away. I have not been back since. Sears mailed me my last paycheck.
For me, going to the Al Rosa Villa rock music club was a kick. The Catulla family owned the place, and Rick Catulla had an eye for attractive women. So, it was free admission, free drinks, always fun. Those were my short skirt, no underwear days, as that was the style for the gals at Al Rosa. Getting on and off those bar stools was a major way to tease and to get attention. When I made eye contact with some guy, I would take a long neck beer bottle and run my tongue around the top. And I would make sure to stretch my legs and give away glimpses of my pussy.
One night there were two guys there, they were each dark haired and might have been Greek. They looked enough alike to have been brothers. After we downed a few drinks together, we went outside to smoke pot. Now I don't care much for pot, but I was in the mood for other things. So I hung on one of the guys and put my arm around the other. We found a dark spot outside, in the parking lot past the security lights. The spot was shaded by a large delivery van. We leaned on each other in the shadows near the van. I started kissing them, one and then the other. I was between them as they were feeling my boobs and my ass.
I dropped each of my hands to each of their crotches. With my left hand, I unzipped one guy's pants, and managed to get his penis out. With my right hand, I rubbed the crotch of the other guy. In the gravel lot, I knelt down and took the first guy's dick in my mouth with his friend standing next to him. I was sucking his uncut cock and rubbing the crotch of his friend. What I had in mind was to take both of their cocks in my mouth at once - something I've never done. It was hard to concentrate on getting the other guy's cock out, while I continued to suck his friend. Looking back, I should have told them that I wanted to suck both their cocks at the same time, sometimes you need to say what you want. Then the second guy, he went behind me. He got down on his knees, and pulled up my skirt, exposing my bare pussy. He started finger fucking my vagina and I felt him pushing my legs open. Then I felt him begin to press his penis into me. That was not what I had in mind, not at all.
"Oh no!" I shouted at him. "You're not going to fuck me!"
"You bet I am," the guy shouted back, "you cock teasing slut. We'll be taking turns fucking you while you suck our dicks."
"Back off!" I screamed, and I got up. Some couples standing nearby heard me and came over, and when they did, the first two guys took off. What a shame. I would have gladly sucked each of them dry, but I am not and have never been an easy lay. That's just me.
It was around that time when I met Jim Rieces, who was a pretty hot guitar player. He was small and thin, only 5'7, with long curly blond hair. And he was eighteen, three years younger than I was. I could show him the ropes, I thought, teach him the truth. A big plus for Jim was that he had a fantastic huge cock, his skinny little body made it seem even bigger. When I tried to take his hard prick all the way in my mouth, my jaw got sore.
It had been a while since I had a serious boyfriend. My last boyfriend was a bass player named Rick who was in a band with me. I played keyboards and some saxophone. I sucked Rick's cock when they let me in the band, after our first practice. He was tall, nearly 6 feet, had long dark hair and went about 190 pounds. Rick was weird. I didn't love him, but I let him fuck me the day after I turned 18. He was 24 at the time. He was not only my first real fuck - yes I held out that long - he was also the first guy who tied me up. Once at a party at his apartment he tied me nude to his bed, spread eagled. Rick tied me with Velcro strips and bungee cords. And then he brought another couple into the bedroom to see how he tied me up. What a thrill that was. When Rick said it was Ok, the guy and gal each groped me and finger fucked me as I squirmed and moaned. As they fingered me, they told Rick what a nice young cunt he'd found. Rick agreed, and he took his pants off. The couple continued watching as Rick got on top of me. He put his hard cock in me and fucked me deep. The couple leaned in close and to see Rick screwing me. I wasn't yet much of a fuck, though the excitement of being tied, and watched, drove me wild. After a few minutes, Rick pulled out and shot his sperm across my boobs. And Rick would not let the other guy follow up fuck me, he told him to fuck his own girlfriend.
But a few weeks later, things go out of hand. Rick would walk around his apartment in his underwear, with his loaded pistol and gun belt strapped to his side. He was so self conscious of getting fat - or so he said - that he stopped having sex with me. We split up. I quit his band, too, and started a new group with Jim Rieces.
Jim was Ok, and we made love a few times. He was my second real fuck; I have never counted the blowjobs. But Jim was more like a friend. Or a child. While he possessed a disproportionately large cock, he rarely used it, at least on me. When we had a gig, we would do our makeup together, we even traded jeans. My plan was that our band would make it, really make it, in rock music. We'd go to England, like Akron's Crisey Hyne or Jimi Hendrix, we'd get discovered. England has, for generations, been a proving ground for many American stars, including Bob Dylan and Paul Simon.
At the time, really hot chicks were fronting national bands, and those bands were packing the shows. Chicks like Suzie Creamcheese, gals who would do their stage outfits entirely in whipped cream, or wear see through negligees and underwear onstage. Some even played nude. Nudity gets attention. Jim and I thought that I could pull that look off on stage, so that's the direction our band took. Practices were always fun. I played one gig in a shaving cream bikini, but I did wear small white panties underneath. Another one of our stage routines had me standing, playing keyboards. My stage outfit was heels, black thigh highs, black lace panties and a man's skinny white sleeveless tee shirt. Jim would come up from behind and bump my butt as he played a guitar lead, and run his guitar neck between my legs and on my crotch. Those performances were really exciting, I'd get all wet and even once had an orgasm on stage. Being the absolute center of attention, in front of a large crowd, was a fantastic kick. If the crowd screamed for it, I'd pull up the shirt and let them see my boobs, and I'd lower my panties, for a quick flash, too.
Later, we did get to England and lived there for a while. Jim and I never found a single gig, we couldn't find any musicians interested in playing with us. The music scene in London at the time was all about gay guys. Bands like Queen were on top. To pay the bills, I ended up working in an office for 'assurances' and Jim worked in a pub. I loved England, I still have the map of the London underground on my wall, but we certainly did not get discovered. So we went home.
Home to where I knew everyone in the rock and roll business, home to Columbus, Ohio. Most of the contacts, and my own ambitions, came from my older brother Mark. Mark had been extremely successful as a rock guitarist, his heavy metal band 'The Godz' had a recording contract and a following. Any music club I visited, once they saw my name, I was in.
Mark played guitar with wealthy rock stars. He toured with Bob Seger, and remains a member of the Silver Bullet Band. On the side, he played with his own band in local clubs around town and at the Al Rosa. His band was called 'Rosie' and they were always one step away from that major break.
My brother's band 'Rosie' had a standing Tuesday night gig at a club on West Henderson Road. I really liked Rosie, I'd known all the band guys for years. The front man Karl Schieler was cool, he gave great vocals and could play guitar when he needed to play. At the time, I had a mild crush on him. His wife Karen told someone special to me that she caught me giving Karl a blowjob, but that's not true. Not me, Karen. And Rosie's drummer, Rick Hall, he had a 'ladies man' reputation. He wasn't tall, but he had a trim muscular build and kept himself in shape. Rick was this older guy who was always working on his college degree, he was thirty-seven and still going to Ohio State. I doubt if he ever graduated. My brother and Rick had a standing feud, in fact they hated each other. Mark had taken a girlfriend away from Rick, a girl who was more impressed by Mark's celebrity status than by Rick's reputation.
One Tuesday night, I was out drinking, drinking a lot and watching Rosie play. It was free vodka for me and a good place to be seen. Rick Hall saw that I was alone and he talked to me on the band's breaks. The Tuesday gigs didn't play late, only till eleven. Rick asked if I wanted to do something after the gig. He made sure to ask me that in the presence of my brother, and I said "yeah, sure." My brother gave me a disgusting look but I didn't care.
I started my car and I followed Rick. Instead of another bar, as he had hinted, Rick drove straight to his apartment, which was near Henderson Road. Actually, he was living with a woman, a fat woman named Carolyn, who had a good job. I knew her. She was supporting him, the perennial student / rock musician, but she was apparently out of town that night.
We walked into their kitchen and Rick poured us each vodka, straight up. Few words were said. He moved and I followed him to the bedroom. Carolyn's clothes were hanging on chairs, her shoes were strewn on the floor. Rick sat on the edge of the bed as I looked around at the mess. He turned on the jazz radio station and vintage Miles Davis softly crossed the room. I breathed in. The room had the scent of a woman, but not the scent of me.
"Take off your clothes, Sheryl," Rick said.
