Watching you
Watching me
I see you through dark eyes
When I least expect it
There you are
Watching me.

The Wrong Vision M.S. 1993

My first few days of guitar ownership were probably not like a lot of guitarist experience. Instead of picking the thing up and learning to play it at any cost I left it standing in place against the bookshelf, still zipped in its soft cover. It wasn’t overly large but I tell you it loomed over the room like it had a power over me, more power than the devil’s lettuce, more power than the alcohol and even more power that my father when I lived at home. I guess it’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it before but it was such a power I could not bring myself to touch the it.

While I was at work in the evening hours I thought about it, while I was at home awake, I thought about it and while I was asleep I dreamed about it. But the strangest thing was I remember nothing of the dreams, only that they involved the guitar.

I remember on the third day coming home from another gig with Cold Chisel, after seeing Ian make that lump of wood of his sing, scream and talk to the audience, and wondering if I was loosing my mind. As usual one of the first things I did on that day was head into my room looking for the bottle of Jack to polish off the night. I’d had a few beers in the truck on the way back to the warehouse but I was far from drunk and Jack Daniels and a spliff was my wind down of choice.

When I walked to my room Andrea was laying on the bed naked, legs spread and her hand was slowly moving between her legs. I figured she had heard Steve’s van pulling up, which if you heard the way it sounded with the hole in the muffler you’d have agreed, and she was offering me a bit of a surprise. Of course I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Andrea and I enjoyed a fairly active sex life for two people that rarely saw each other and spent a lot of what time they did spend together drunk or stoned, so being offered sex was not something I was going to pass up.

I watched Andrea do her own thing for a few minutes while I had a smoke and worked on the bottle of Jack that I hadn’t finished the night before. I’m only going on hindsight here but thinking about it I’m sure Andrea got more active with what she was doing the longer I took, it was almost like I was at a peep show and she knew I was there but couldn’t see me. The strange thing was that I while I was turned on I wasn’t excited.

But like drugs and alcohol sex had sort of become our thing too. Like I’ve said before Andrea taught me to love, and taught me how to please a woman but there was also more than a few times where sex between the two of us was more of an automatic thing than it was love making. This morning, after three days of being mesmerised by this thing in a soft case leaning against the bookshelf, was one of those automatic days.

After butting out my smoke in the ashtray I undressed, climbed onto the bed between Andrea’s spread legs, pushed myself inside her and lowered my lips to hers. Although it doesn’t sound much like it there was passion, there was heat, there was lust and there was fevered sexual tension released between us as she held me close to her and the two of us went through the motions.

I was at a point where I was close to believing I was enjoying myself when I propped myself up on my knees, held Andrea’s legs against my chest, lifting her arse off the sheet and continued thrusting. I looked down at Andrea and could tell she was enjoying herself, then I made the mistake of looking over at the guitar against the bookshelf. It was only a single glance but that glance was enough.

Now imagining someone else while you have sex is apparently something many people do, there is lots of reasons for it happening and they aren’t all wrong, but that single image of the guitar did something to me I can not explain.

When I turned back to look at Andrea laying on the bed enjoying herself all I could see was that sunburst orange Stratocaster. I stopped thrusting instantly, I wasn’t game to look down lower than where her face should have been. I closed my eyes and opened them again, I still only saw that guitar. I closed them again, this time when I opened them Andrea’s face was on the end of the guitar neck.

I quickly rolled off Andrea hoping that getting the guitar out of even my peripheral vision was enough to stop the images. Andrea thought it was part of the game and just as quickly climbed on top of me and resumed the love making. She was getting wild, getting rough and with each second getting more excited.

Before I knew it I was laying on that bed, an almost non-moving passenger watching as I was fucked by a guitar with the face of my girl friend at the end of the fret board, the tits of my girlfriend strangely hanging from either side of the fret board and a sunburst orange body.

I don’t know how long it was between that moment and the final release but for me the time was spent with my eyes closed just hoping the ride would end. When it finally did I remember opening my eyes only a second or two after we both orgasmed and the image I’d had during sex had thankfully disappeared and all I could see was Andrea, naked and sitting on top of me.

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