Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 I was teaching music outside of Philadelphia.  An elderly Korean woman had
a music school in a two story building in a busy urban strip mall.  I was a
drummer and a pianist, but a year of teaching kids had led to remembering
the guitar playing of my youth so I also taught beginning guitar.

   The studio owner had a niece named Laura.  She was 15 years old and
miserable.  An accomplished flautist and pianist, it had been decided by
the adults that she would also learn guitar.  One of the tricks to teaching
kids music is to be nice to them and, as I was the only adult in her life
that didn't berate her for not mastering calculus in 9th grade, I became
more a confidant than a teacher.  That she had zero interest in guitar and
only a passing interest in popular music didn't help the lessons either.



   There were armies of kids taking music and really long days, three or
four a week.  The money was okay enough that I kept going back but it was a
grind.  I enjoyed talking to her about her disdain for pop culture and
sometimes issues she had with the more popular girls in school that
occasionally paid attention to her because it was a break from the monotony
of beginners.  She ended up bringing in pop songs when she realized that I
was going to insist she at least focus on the guitar for the hour lesson a
week.  One of them was some mediocre pop punk girl sneering that she wasn't
interested romantically.



   "She's just not that into you," I commented offhand and noticed she
blushed from head to toe.



   Sometimes the day ran late and she was usually the last lesson.  About 5
lessons in I arrived in the afternoon and she was the one who buzzed me in.
Her aunt, it seems, had left her in charge for a moment.  That was fine but
Laura was wearing a short skirt instead of her corporate ripped suburban
jeans and she was sitting in the easy chair with her legs wide open.  I
could see quite plainly her white panties.



   "My aunt will be back in time to pay you," she said all business,
turning back to her phone.  I could tell as I turned to walk in the studio
she had just realized that her legs were open and she closed them.  But I
had already looked away and it didn't bring out the dirty old 23 year old
man in me at all.



   That night she was the last lesson and impossibly bored by then,
condemned to spend the entire day at her aunt's studio because she wasn't
allowed to do important stuff like hang out and look cool at the mall or
watch TV.  I imagined her texting all day until no one texted her back and
I felt sorry for her.  She actually paid attention to the lesson which was
unusual.



   A week and an endless parade of little kids playing scales on the piano
later it was raining and the sun was already down.  I knew I had one more
lesson to go but the door didn't open so I tried and failed to amuse myself
playing stride piano.  Through the door I heard heated voices in Korean, an
argument which rose and then stopped.  The door opened and Laura barged in,
looking every bit like an annoyed, defeated teenager.  She pouted, stomped,
took out the school's guitar and sat dutifully in the student chair.  She
was wearing her short skirt and as close as she could get to thigh high
boots.  Her aunt walked in the room with my pay envelope.



   "She needs to grow up.  Take some responsibility." My standard response
would have been "as do I" but it didn't seem appropriate so I just said
"Thank you," as I took the envelope, and "Tomorrow at 3?"



   "3 o'clock," the aunt barked and practically slamed the door on the way
out.  I turned to Laura who was obviously holding back tears.



   "Do you think that's a yes?  I should be here at 3?" The only humane
thing to do was change the subject with a stupid joke.  And fail in this
case.



   "She is so annoying.  She agrees with my mother!" She spat that out like
it was disgusting.



   "They are sisters, no?" Obtuse is sometimes the best defense.



   "Yes you idiot," I was shocked.



   "You've never called me an idiot before.  I'm truly flattered." She
snarled at me as I was the only target available.



   "I want to have a party, but they say no parties.  Jesus doesn't like
parties?!" They were Evangelical, they went to church as often as commuters
go to the gas station.



   "I honestly don't know what the bible says about parties," She knew I
wasn't religious, unless you included Stevie Wonder or Micheal Jordan.



   "It's my birthday!" Now she was near tears.



   "Your birthday?  When?"



   "Four days.  I'm going to be 16.  But I'll spend it doing homework." Her
face was twisted but I felt the heat go out of her and resignation sink in.



   "Could be worse," I said.  "Guitar lesson."



   "That would be worse.  That would be jail." I chuckled.  She was back to
bantering.



   "Well let's get this sentence started.  No parole" I took the guitar and
started showing her a different major scale position.  She robotically
followed along for a while and then the brat came back.



   "Suppose I just smash this guitar?!"



   "Well I'd be against that."



   "It wouldn't be your fault."



   "No but I'd be against it.  It's a guitar."



   "So what?" She said and theatrically got out of her seat, raising the
cheap steel string guitar as if she was going to smash it.



   "Hold on there sister," I said and got up.  We faced off, a wicked grin
on her face.  At least she was having fun.  She raised the guitar some more
and I tried to take it from her.  This started us wrestling and her free
hand reached up but I stopped her with my free hand.  Our fingers
intertwined and we rocked back and forth for a moment.  I noticed she
blushed and her hand got hot.  For a moment we weren't wrestling with the
guitar, we were holding hands.  She had no way to defuse this so she
stumbled backwards into her chair and almost fell.  I had the guitar now
and I steadied her with the hand I was holding.  She breathed in and out
for a moment.



   "Thanks," she said.  "I almost fell over."



   She sat back in the chair and made as much of an effort as I'd seen to
actually play the guitar for the next few minutes, all the while asking
real music questions, her voice having dropped almost to a lower register.
She had insisted many lessons ago that she was going to learn finger style
so I had her using a stool to raise a leg to rest the guitar on.  She was
holding the guitar too far forward and it was making her wrist bend too
much.  I knelt down to adjust her hand and the guitar but her legs were too
tight.



   "Sit like this," I demonstrated, my foot borrowing her stool for a
moment.  She twisted her body awkwardly.



   "I just don't get it." I moved towards her and adjusted the guitar
again.



   "Slide your leg out." She did, but not enough.



   I'm not sure what made me think this was appropriate, or if I'd decided
to get inappropriate, but I reached in and moved her leg, my hand shifting
her from her inner thigh.  She inhaled sharply at my touch and her leg
spread.  Her breathing changed and she opened her leg wider.



   "My ...  uh ...  skirt's in the way," It wasn't, but she reached down
and hiked her skirt back.  Her legs were now spread and, beneath the
guitar, I could see the white of her panties.  She looked at me, equal
parts confused hunger and longing.  I stared into her eyes and smiled for a
moment.



   "That's better," I said.  "I knelt before her to adjust her hand,
caressing her arm as I did it.  Her shoulders were moving with her
breathing and she seemed to be pressing her teenage breasts forward.



   "This ...  feels better."



   "Try a note," I said, still kneeling in front of her.  She plucked a
note and started in on a scale.  I let my hand drift under her guitar,
touching the inside of her upper thigh, the skin halfway up from her knee.
She rocked her body slightly in the chair and hit another note.  I looked
in her eyes.  They were confused, pleading.  My hand started to drift up
her thigh and her eyes started to close.  I felt the beginning of her
panties and rubbed my finger along the edge.  Her breathing got heavier and
her eyes clenched shut.  I lightly drew my finger over her panties, feeling
the outline of the fur underneath.  She rocked her hips a little.  In a
moment of sanity I started to withdraw my hand.  Her eyes opened and looked
at me, surprised, scared.  The look turned to sadness as the electricity of
my hand receded.  I caressed her thigh again and relief returned to her
face along with a tension I knew to be lust.  She closed her eyes again.



   I moved back to the edge of her panties and began to explore where they
met her flesh, running my fingers under and up and down very slowly.  Her
breathing was hard and rhythmic now.  I gradually moved my finger over the
outside to the center and she spread her legs more, her body inviting me
seemingly unconsciously.  I flattened my hand out and pressed lightly down
on her warmth, feeling the outline of her teenage public hair beneath the
cloth.  Slowly I extended one finger, pushing her underwear into her public
hair.  I felt the soft resistance of the flesh underneath.



   I knew this was crazy but her closed eyes framed her face and she had a
strangely satisfied look, her breath was measured and it honestly felt
right, if entirely illegal in the state of New Jersey.  I tried to think it
through but she rocked her hips slightly, hungerly pushing into my hand.  I
pressed through the panties where I knew the top of her vagina would be and
realized she was very wet.  I applied more pressure, circling around and
she rocked her hips in approval and desire.  I drew my finger to the top of
her vagina and rubbed her teenage clitoris through the cloth.  She started
to breath arythmically and then twitched and shuddered, gasping.  Her body
shaking all over, I continued to rub as she reached orgasm, sweat breaking
out on her face and arms, her mouth opening, her hips rocking in
cooperation with my finger.



   After a moment she stopped and sat back.  With an inhale she opened her
eyes and looked at me with shock and surprise.



   "Uh ..." she said.



   "That's ...  " I couldn't think of what to say.  "One way to sit ...?"
She adjusted herself a purposefully calmed her breathing.  Putting down the
guitar she stood and left the room.



   I sat alone in the studio for what seemed like the beginning of 15 to 20
years.  The headlights from the road across the parking lot would
occasionally cast through the blinds and I thought that the room should be
dark for the full film noir effect of the stripes of light on the wall.  I
was waiting for the rhythmic red of the state troopers and preparing a
version of "it didn't happen I don't know what you're talking about"
knowing that it would have to be the acting performance of my life.  But
there were no cops and Laura returned to the room after about 10 minutes,
having obviously power washed her face.



   "Sorry," she said.  "I really had to go to the bathroom.  My aunt says
it's time to leave and we can cut the lesson short."



   "Okay," I said and stood up.  I looked directly at her with questions
written across my face.  Are you going to have me arrested was one of them,
but I said nothing.



   "I think I get it now," she said.  "The sitting I mean.  I'm going to
practice this time.  For real.  I promise."



   "Okay," I said, wordlessly thanking her for not freaking out.  "And
happy birthday."



   "Oh it won't be," she said good naturedly, sounding two years older than
45 minutes ago.  We moved into the office where her aunt was packing up.



   "I have to leave," the aunt said.  "Was she a good student?"



   "Yes," I said.  "She's naturally a good musician." Which was true,
though what she'd learned tonight was her first orgasm.  I waved goodbye
and moved out the door into the parking lot.  The dull glow of suburban
night driving stretched out in front of me and I drove home.