I was killing it in school and I loved American Literature. My teacher Ms. Struble had Farrah hair, big tits and was awesome. I always ripped through my assigned books and crushed my tests. I loved to read and I loved her. There was this one girl in my class that was named Lisa that was super hot. She sat a few rows back from me and I would always sit sideways in my seat to check out her sweet legs while reading ” A Bell for Adano.”
I was in class one day, just staring at Ms. Struble’s sumptuous tits and she stopped and looked me in the eye and said, “Watch it,” It was an incredible moment in my teenage life. I was in a class I loved, and in class with a hot teacher that just recognized that I was admiring her beautiful bosom.
My mom thought I had stolen someone else’s report card they were so good. School was easy and I liked learning when I got older. I was getting second honors. All A’s and B’s. I’m sure my father was happy he could focus on his life and not worry about me.
My friend Jim and I somehow met this kid Chris and he was a bass player.
Here’s the thing. He’s from money. His family owns a motel at 26th and Surf avenues. Jim and I need to see how hungry these money people are.
We go to the motel. Jim and I. My new friend. My ONLY friend. My comrade. We get there and Chris’ dad is there. He’s this little mealy-mouthed wimpy bespectacled guy.
The place stinks. It’s a smell neither of us has ever smelled before. It is a musky canine smell. Not wet dog, but diseased wet dog. Like cheesy sock and dog ass smell in the lobby of this motel.
Who the fuck stays here?
Chris’ mother comes out and she is wearing a bikini. She is easily 180 pounds and is sloshing out of this tiny bathing suit. I can stand the evil but I’m actually surprised Jim isn’t retching at this point. Two stinky Irish Setters bound into the room and we are both ready to vomit. Chris’ mom’s cellulite is quivering through the lobby. I want to die.
Jim holds strong and Chris comes out. He wants to be a part of our band. I’m desperate at this point and will take anyone so we say yes to him.
I remember Chris calling me and telling me how I needed to have the heat on if he was going to come to my shitty shed and play.
All I can see is his pink Rickenbacker bass and his serial killer face. I hated him.
What has happened to me? I love Jim as a friend. But this just isn’t working. I think Jim and I click as friends for sure and as musicians, yes. But I can’t do this. We don’t even have a drummer!
But Jim and I were working so hard on building something….
I was in art major class. I was chatting with some kid named Ron and he told me he knew of a band that was established that was looking for a rhythm guitarist with some creativity
I told him to hook it up.
I loved Jim, but fame was calling and back then I was selfish asshole. So I told Ron to intro me to this band. I needed to get going with my musical career.
It’s funny when you’re young how selfish you are. I should never have abandoned Jim. But I did. Just like every girl I ever met.
I was a vacuous piece of shit and I may still be that guy.
No. I know I’m not based on all the time I’ve put in with people
But just know that back then I was a heartless, “Madonna-like” opportunist that just wanted to further my musical career and would forsake a friendship for that silly dream.
I told Jim we were done. I was joining another band. I still wanted to be friends with him but was playing in an established act.
My only friend in Wildwood I abandoned in my pursuit of rock and roll.
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