Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Music and performing music has been a part of my life for a long time,
particularly playing guitar and singing, although I'm neither a viruoso at
neither.  I've played all kinds of music in all kinds of bands.  For about
five years I played guitar with a girl named Leah who had placed an ad in a
music board online for a guitarist for a progressive artsy folk rock duo.
It was a good combination of playing and singing for me, and Leah was very
friendly and we got along really well.  Not to mention she had a killer
body, which was usually not apparent under the usually loose fitting
clothing she wore when we rehearsed.  Of course when we played out it was a
completely different story, with tight fitting...  well...  everything.

   She wrote most of our lyrical material and we found that my approach to
writing a melody and singing harmony matched her lyrical stylings
perfectly. Which was why it was so frustrating when about three years into
our partnership she brought me an absolutely pristine lyric that I couldn't
wait to sink my teeth into, but which resulted in a song that neither of us
could actually sing.  It made for a rough few rehearsals, and did not make
either of us want to get together each week.  So the day when I took an
accidental nap in the late afternoon and was awakened by an angry call from
Leah asking why the hell I wasn't at her place to rehearse, I knew the
evening would be particularly unpleasant.  I jumped out of bed, took a
quick shower, and threw on sweats and a sweatshirt.  I was in so much of a
hurry that I didn't even bother with underwear, although it wasn't the
first time I had gone to rehearsal commando.

   When I got to her place, instead of playing a few of our staples first
to warm up, she said, "We gotta get this thing figured out, I'm sick of
it!" Referring, of course, to the new song.  I was in no mood to disagree,
so we started working.  Nothing we tried worked, singing slowly, changing
keys, humming.  We were extremely frustrated not only with the song, but
with each other, but I knew if we could figure it out it would be a real
crowd pleaser.  So I suggested we try it one more time.

   The easy stuff came first, but we were used to doing well on that, and
as we approached the more difficult sections I could tell we were both
expecting the worst.  But the first few notes were spot on, and after that
it was like we broke through all the frustration and it was absolutely
perfect.  As we sang even more intensely, emboldened by our success,
something unexpected occurred; I could feel myself becoming aroused simply
by the sounds of our voices, and it wasn't long before, to my horror, I
felt my penis growing inside my sweatpants.  That had never happened
before, but the sound of our two voices intertwined was really getting me
turned on.  Not having underwear on made hiding my arousal a losing
proposition no matter how I adjusted my body, and soon the bulge from my
erection was more than obvious even though I had a very average sized cock.
Leah was seated on the piano bench to my left as we played, and out of the
corner of my eye I saw her do a double take in the direction of my crotch,
which was about at eye level to her as I was standing playing my guitar.

   Eventually we finished the song and I just started straight ahead,
silent, not sure what in the world to do.  "That was really good.  I think
we nailed it," she finally said, snickering.  She turned her body so she
was facing me and said, "I see you must have enjoyed that as well."
"Heheh..." I awkwardly said.  "Don't worry about it, I get turned on when
we sing all the time.  At first when we met I was offended that you never
seemed to get a boner when we played, but then I just figured you must be a
eunuch or something." "What?" I said, now as confused as ever.  "Sure, all
the guys I used to play with would get a hardon when we rehearsed.  That's
why I started wearing all these baggy clothes.  It made me uncomfortable.
But then when you didn't get erect I actually felt a little offended.  Of
course then I realized that was silly and just got over it.  But I guess
I'm glad to see you can get it up."

   All this talk about my penis was not helping my uncomfortable situation
at all, and although the music had ended, the throbbing just kept getting
worse.  "Come here," she said.  I took a step forward and in one swift move
she grabbed the waistband of my sweatpants and pulled them down.  The
combination of the surprise and the friction of the waistband on my penis
was too much, and without warning I was suddenly in the midst of an
incredibly intense orgasm.  Three long shots of semen flew out of my dick
and landed on Leah, spanning her hair, forehead, the bridge of her nose and
her lips.  She didn't flinch.  "Nice," she said after the assault was
finished and she had licked the cum from her lips.  She put my cock in her
mouth and nursed on it for a while while I moaned like an idiot with my
guitar still hanging around my neck.  The cum from her hair was getting
wiped all over my guitar and at the sight of it I got turned on enough to
release some more ejaculate into her gently sucking mouth.

   Looking up she said, "Come on, Paul, let's fuck." And with that we went
to the bedroom and I finally got to see her in all of her glory, 34D cups,
hips and an ass to die for, and a lovely shaved pussy.

   For the next few years together, we had a fantastic pre-show ritual that
I'll let you imagine.  Getting an erection when we performed that song on
stage was something I and any crowd enjoyed as well.  Eventually we drifted
artistically and stopped playing together, but I will always remember my
time with Leah and the rehearsal that started it all.