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Description
I'd been playing twelve-string guitar and singing for about three years and knew a bunch of songs by the Beatles, John Prine, Dylan and the like. Having had musical training since fourth grade when I started the clarinet, the guitar came fairly easy. I loved the full sound of twelve strings and their ability to provide an almost orchestral accompaniment to my voice. I'd only had one real gig thus far, at a pizza place in X, but I'd also haunted the best folk clubs and even knee-shakingly struggled my way through a few open mike appearances. Playing and singing quickly became my main preoccupation in life besides getting laid and I began to write my own material.

There didn't seem to be much going on in Y for the kind of music I played. By the fall of 1974 heavy metal, country rock and disco foreshadowings had pretty much taken over the scene. There was a significant folk contingent in town but they were mostly into bluegrass and traditional stuff. A few auditions at local bars brought forth no gig fruit and it wasn't until I saw an 8½ X 11 photocopied flier at the record store that I realized there might be hope. It was for an actual coffeehouse, held in the old Masonic Temple on Saturday nights. I screwed up my courage and showed up at the appointed hour and a rakish blond dude, strikingly handsome and a bit arrogant, arrived. Billy let me in and we climbed the stairs to a big, empty, ornate ballroom. Gradually more people filtered in, most with guitar cases and a beautiful and friendly, short, dark-haired girl set up a coffeemaker and the joint was in business.

The guitar players and singers were actually pretty good. My nerves dissipated and I enjoyed listening to everybody as well as stumbling through a few of my own tunes. The gang accepted me charitably if not enthusiastically, the pretty girl smiled at me and they invited me to come back the following week with my guitar.

I became a regular at the coffeehouse although the enterprise was modest and tenuous at best. Sometimes twenty five people would show up, sometimes less than half that, but people brought their own liquid refreshment in paper bags and a well-lubricated time was usually had by all. I made a desultory pass or two at Jeanie, the coffee girl, but she was quite a few notches out of my league. I got more attention from another girl named Andrea who took an obsessive shine to me, even to the point of grabbing at me while we were whooping it up dancing on tables one night. She was dumpy and her music cloying so I did my best to hold her at bay. There was also a boisterous chick named Angie who liked nothing better then to drink beer, smoke cigarettes and listen to me play and sing. She was possibly attached to Billy or reluctant to accept my overtures for unknown reasons. Nevertheless we became fast friends and I spent quite a few beer sipping afternoons into evenings over at her house, practicing my chops for her and her sister and her chubby best friend and whoever else of her many friends filtered in and out.

A basement edition of the coffeehouse complete with furnace boilers and and water pipes for a backdrop was the scene for my first date with Jill. On the way there I bought a quart of beer and Jill greatly appreciated this as she was a budding alcoholic but only eighteen years old. Afterwards we went back to my house and she sat in a big easy chair with me at her feet while we shot the breeze.

"I knew I'd go to bed with you when you bought that Chagall," she told me. She also revealed that she believed herself to have a nice ass. Later we adjourned to the bedroom and I discovered she was right about that. I kissed her beer-scented mouth, pulled off her clothes and kissed her non-beer scented lips and we made sweet love. The next morning her sobriety and Catholic guilt descended on us and filled the room with a presence dark and foreboding. I tried to pry out of her what the problem was but she wouldn't talk.

"Just tell me what's the matter," I begged her, but it was no go. Later at brunch with Dwayne and Jerry she nervously made polite conversation while chomping at the bit to get the hell out of there.

Description
I'd been playing twelve-string guitar and singing for about three years and knew a bunch of songs by the Beatles, John Prine, Dylan and the like. Having had musical training since fourth grade when I started the clarinet, the guitar came fairly easy. I loved the full sound of twelve strings and their ability to provide an almost orchestral accompaniment to my voice. I'd only had one real gig thus far, at a pizza place in X, but I'd also haunted the best folk clubs and even knee-shakingly struggled my way through a few open mike appearances. Playing and singing quickly became my main preoccupation in life besides getting laid and I began to write my own material.

There didn't seem to be much going on in Y for the kind of music I played. By the fall of 1974 heavy metal, country rock and disco foreshadowings had pretty much taken over the scene. There was a significant folk contingent in town but they were mostly into bluegrass and traditional stuff. A few auditions at local bars brought forth no gig fruit and it wasn't until I saw an 8½ X 11 photocopied flier at the record store that I realized there might be hope. It was for an actual coffeehouse, held in the old Masonic Temple on Saturday nights. I screwed up my courage and showed up at the appointed hour and a rakish blond dude, strikingly handsome and a bit arrogant, arrived. Billy let me in and we climbed the stairs to a big, empty, ornate ballroom. Gradually more people filtered in, most with guitar cases and a beautiful and friendly, short, dark-haired girl set up a coffeemaker and the joint was in business.

The guitar players and singers were actually pretty good. My nerves dissipated and I enjoyed listening to everybody as well as stumbling through a few of my own tunes. The gang accepted me charitably if not enthusiastically, the pretty girl smiled at me and they invited me to come back the following week with my guitar.

I became a regular at the coffeehouse although the enterprise was modest and tenuous at best. Sometimes twenty five people would show up, sometimes less than half that, but people brought their own liquid refreshment in paper bags and a well-lubricated time was usually had by all. I made a desultory pass or two at Jeanie, the coffee girl, but she was quite a few notches out of my league. I got more attention from another girl named Andrea who took an obsessive shine to me, even to the point of grabbing at me while we were whooping it up dancing on tables one night. She was dumpy and her music cloying so I did my best to hold her at bay. There was also a boisterous chick named Angie who liked nothing better then to drink beer, smoke cigarettes and listen to me play and sing. She was possibly attached to Billy or reluctant to accept my overtures for unknown reasons. Nevertheless we became fast friends and I spent quite a few beer sipping afternoons into evenings over at her house, practicing my chops for her and her sister and her chubby best friend and whoever else of her many friends filtered in and out.

A basement edition of the coffeehouse complete with furnace boilers and and water pipes for a backdrop was the scene for my first date with Jill. On the way there I bought a quart of beer and Jill greatly appreciated this as she was a budding alcoholic but only eighteen years old. Afterwards we went back to my house and she sat in a big easy chair with me at her feet while we shot the breeze.

"I knew I'd go to bed with you when you bought that Chagall," she told me. She also revealed that she believed herself to have a nice ass. Later we adjourned to the bedroom and I discovered she was right about that. I kissed her beer-scented mouth, pulled off her clothes and kissed her non-beer scented lips and we made sweet love. The next morning her sobriety and Catholic guilt descended on us and filled the room with a presence dark and foreboding. I tried to pry out of her what the problem was but she wouldn't talk.

"Just tell me what's the matter," I begged her, but it was no go. Later at brunch with Dwayne and Jerry she nervously made polite conversation while chomping at the bit to get the hell out of there.