This is a continuation of the Salt & Vinegar series.
As with the previous chapters, this is a stand-alone story. However, I recommend reading at least the previous two chapters for context. You may also wish to read earlier ones to get up to speed with the story so far.
Enjoy.
----------
LENA
Justine had a goofy grin on her face and was literally doing a little happy dance on the sidewalk.
"What are you, a fucking grade schooler?"
She laughed. It was music to my soul.
It was a bright October Saturday morning. Still warm but with that hint of cool which reminds you it's Fall. I'd proposed a shopping trip to Jus during breakfast. She'd eyed me curiously.
"Someone has a birthday coming up. Thought we might go look for a present."
"Oh! Hey, you're right. That'd be fun."
So, we'd caught the Muni down Market Street and got off at the Van Ness Avenue junction. I'd led her into the side streets.
"Hmm, not seeing the shops, babe", she'd said. "This isn't one of those 'lure-me-into-a-back-alley-and-have-your-way-with-me' things, is it?"
She'd sounded hopeful. Not a bad, fucking idea actually. Stop it, Lena!
The last weeks had been hell. To be fair, it was a hell of my own making and I had no one else to blame. I'd let my hunger get the better of me in a night of degenerate sex and I'd not been paying enough attention to Justine. Oh, I'd been playing her plenty of fucking attention; just too caught up in lust to see what she'd allowed me to do to her until it was too late. She'd become my Sub and, by mutual agreement, she was now trying to rewrite the paradigm. I was helping as much as I could; that is, if 'help' included no support that could be considered an emotional crutch, no intimacy and - worst of all - no fucking sex!
I was mad for it. I hadn't had this much of a dry spell since her hospitalization. At least then I'd been able to touch her, care for her, show her how much I loved her even if I couldn't have her. Now, any of that was just going to undo all the hard work she'd been putting in re-establishing her emotional independence. It was a very delicate balance. She needed to know that I loved her, I just couldn't show it or let her feel it in any way which reinforced the dormant SM bond.
I got relief through masturbation, but it wasn't the same. I had to do it quietly and secretly. It would hurt Jus if she knew I was doing it without her. The brief relief was always tempered by frustration and guilt. In the old days (hah!) - months that felt like years ago - I would have had a fling with a casual acquaintance or two to keep me going. But no more: I'd proposed to her and I took that promise seriously. What I really wanted was Jus and I couldn't have her. I couldn't let myself have her. I'd already betrayed her trust badly.
Justine had been doing alright. She'd been performing well at work, perhaps throwing herself into it as a distraction. At home we'd settled into a slightly awkward, but fairly functional, 'friend' relationship. We were polite to each other, we did things together, we chatted, laughed and joked. Just every so often she held her arms out for a hug and would catch herself. She'd occasionally tell me she was going to touch me and then she'd give me a quick embrace and walk away. Those moments were hard on her, but overall she was making progress and I was confident she would overcome this. So, I'd decided a change of scene and a gift - after all her birthday was coming up - was in order. The birthday was an excuse to give her something she didn't see directly as a reward from her Dom.
The shop front was small and gritty. Dull grey paint poorly finished and patchy. A quietly rusting grill over the single window, defaced with graffiti tags. An unimposing store sign fastened to the wall beneath. Bits of it had been taped over and wording modified by hand. I'd been told this place was the real deal. The outside certainly didn't impress.
But Justine was giddy with excitement.
"Oh, Lena! Really!? Yes!"
We walked through the door into the 'Room of Requirement' - if Harry Potter had been a fucking guitar nerd. The floor - what could be seen of it - was raw concrete, covered in places with aging mats and carpet offcuts. A veritable maze of amplifiers and guitar cases. The smell of dust and electronics with a faint overlay of light oil and varnish. The walls were covered in a variety of shelves, old posters and hanging instruments. Steel strings glinted in the flickering fluorescent light. Crimson clashed with mustard and lime and cobalt, silvers and gaudy golds amidst other muted tones of timber and neutrals.
So, this was guitar nirvana?
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JUSTINE
Oh. My. God.
Lena, you gorgeous girl. How had she known? Of course, she had. She knew me better than I knew myself.
I'd picked up my old guitar back home and she'd seen how happy it made me to play for her. To sing to her. To pour my thoughts and feelings and love into music. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed my instrument until I'd held it and felt the familiar weight, the smoothness of its worn neck and the mellow ring of its tone. Fingers on the fretboard and the bite of the strings. Music requires sacrifice. Countless hours of practice. My fingers had bled on that neck and the wood had absorbed a little of my soul.
Your first instrument is like your first love. You can never replace it. It forms the foundation and basis of comparison for everything that comes after. I looked around the store and I knew I was ready. Oh, I was so ready!
I walked through the crazy aisles of piled equipment. Every step revealed something different. Not always new; some of this gear was seriously old. But it was all good stuff. It had been tended and cared for. Not like the shiny, sales-driven displays of the higher end stores, but in a way which showed appreciation for its value and paid homage to its heritage.
"Need a hand?"
I was staring up at a beautiful Stratocaster, faint crazing in the lacquer on its sunburst finish.
"Is that a '64 L-series?" I breathed.
"Nah, it's a Custom Shop special. Only a year old. They did some for the 50
th
anniversary. Not bad though. Pretty pricy."
"Can I play it?"
The sales assistant looked at me dubiously. I could see what he was thinking. Girl in her twenties, red hair in a pony. Glasses. Gamer t-shirt and sneakers. Fan girl. Brother probably plays.
"We generally don't let customers play the expensive stuff unless they want to buy it. You interested? It's about four gees."
"The fuck!?" I heard Lena mutter behind me. I wasn't sure if she was reacting to the price or the attitude.
"Oh. No, that's probably out of our range. Can I try something else though? A Player maybe?"
"Sure, no problems. You want a Strat? A Tele?"
"One of each?"
"Alright. Some amps and gear up the back if you want to give 'em a go. Kit and keyboard too. I'll bring 'em up for you."
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LENA
It was like another language. I guess it's the same with anything. Justine has no fucking clue either when I start talking cameras and photography. I understood condescension when I heard it though. I wanted to hit the fucking guy when he brushed Jus off, but she didn't seem to mind.
He brought up a couple of guitars. One in a sunburst which looked a bit like the one he'd told her she couldn't touch. The other in a god-awful creamy butterscotch. He asked if she wanted him to tune them. She smiled sweetly and said she'd be fine thanks. He grunted.
He watched as she plugged the sunburst one in. She twisted the pegs until it was tuned to her satisfaction and then fiddled with a board on the floor which had a bank of pedal switches and shit on it. She adjusted some knobs on the amp and flicked the switch. His expression was politely bored.
The sound was not at all what I expected. Chucka, chucka. Then her foot pressed a pedal on the board and it sounded for all the fucking world like a duck quacking. I glanced over at the sales assistant thinking to see him sniggering. His eyes had widened, and he had a look of surprise on his face. Yeah, I was surprised too. Then Jus glanced up at me from under her lashes and dropped in the distortion.
Holy fuck!
The sound hit me like a wall and I felt it blow through me. Her fingers worked the fretboard like she owned it and it was part of her. She wasn't just good, she was really,
really
