When I approached the bar manager at the Lakeshore Tavern about starting an open mic night he readily agreed. The Lakeshore Tavern has been a musician/songwriter haven since the early seventies Paul Butterfield got his start there. So I was tasked with putting together a house band and playing host for the evening of performers. I printed flyers, found a drummer, Keith. a thirty-six year old fireman eager to live out his rock and roll fantasy. The bass player, Beth, was a grad student at Depaul my alma mater, she is twenty-four with short blond hair, green eyes, five-four, tattoo and pierced.
We jammed together a few times before the big night to get the feel of each other. The sound was tight and the chemistry was good. As the first night approached Beth and I started hanging out together, jamming or just talking, she became a regular visitor to my apartment, hanging out. I enjoy her company, so young, so free, I missed my college innocent years before life became real.
She was over on Wednesday night, laying on the couch facing each other, strumming and playing with our acoustic guitars, singing folk songs. She was dressed in ripped jeans a Depaul university T-shirt, with no bra on her small breast. her nipples poking at the fabric. Beth's barefoot tapping mine as we played music a growing dampness gathering in my black lace panties.
Taking I break, I got up to retrieve us some more beers, Beth said she was headed to the bathroom. Returning to the couch I sipped my beer waiting for her return. When I heard her first moans it took a minute to realize they were moans of delight. The sound was intoxicating to my ears as I stood almost in a trance and walked down the hall to investigate. Reaching the doorway to my bedroom I saw Beth naked on my king size bed.
