Good Vibrations

WARNING : SOME ADULT CONTENT

Music is in my soul. It’s been part for of my life as long as I can remember. My parents are professional musicians, my sister a soprano with the Northern Opera Company and while I have never reached their dizzy heights, I love to play my bass guitar. I’ve never had the persistence or patience to learn properly, much to my family’s annoyance, I don’t play for anyone other than myself. In fact, my family don’t even know I own a guitar. It hides in the spare room at the very back of the wardrobe, nestled behind an assortment of old duvets and battered pillows. I do however, bring it out a number of times every week.

Although I don’t possess the musical acumen of my parents or sister, I do excel in dance. It was whilst on my way to rehearsals that I saw the guitar in a music shop window. I was instantly captivated by the glistening chrome and rich deep colour of the body, the long, straight neck and taught strings. As I admired the instrument, a delicious idea began to form. The more I thought about it, the stronger my urge to own it became. I checked my purse to make sure I had my MasterCard with me, went in and paid for it and the amp.

As I left the shop, proudly carrying my new toy, I called the studio; said I’d twisted my ankle and wouldn’t be able to get to the rehearsal. Having assured the receptionist it was a temporary injury and would be healed in a day or so, I hurried home, eager to put my idea to the test.

I threw my bag on the hall table, switched off my mobile and closed the blinds in the living room. I sat on the sofa, inhaling the scent of the varnish, admiring every millimetre of the shiny body, stroking, caressing the strings.

Unable to resist any longer, I plugged in the amp, attached the guitar and started to strum, slowly, enjoying the noise. Not for the first time, I was glad my parents' success had provided our family with an isolated, rambling home!

I stripped off my clothes; my naked reflection shimmered in the guitar. I chewed my bottom lip in eager anticipation. I made sure the instrument was secure in the stand and leaned my buttocks on the headstock, testing it for stability. The machine heads bit delightfully into my soft flesh.

The heat that had begun to build from the moment I’d set eyes on the guitar, overflowed and warm, sticky liquid started to run down my inner thigh. I reached behind me and plucked one string. The sound filled the room and ricocheted off the walls.

Realising there was more to be had, I slid down the shaft so my back was to the back of the neck. I spread my legs and with my left hand cupping my folds and the index finger stroking my swollen, sensitive nub and my right hand on the strings, I began to strum in earnest.

It was a noise not a tune, but it was deep and loud and thrilling. My hands worked in unison, one plucking the strings, the other fondling and tweaking my slippery, throbbing clit.

Each note, each stroke, sent exquisite vibrations shooting from my finger tips to my core, while my left hand dipped in and out of my hot velvety tunnel. My nipples were aching to be touched, but I was in no mood to take the attention away from between my legs and I certainly wasn’t going to stop twanging the guitar!

I abandoned myself completely to the music and the vibration as my fingers flicked and plunged inside me. My toes curled as the wonderful, familiar feeling of ecstasy flooded my soul. My back arched and legs spasmed convulsively as the trickle between my legs became a torrent, as my self induced orgasm reached a crescendo.

Since that first experiment with my guitar, I have had lots more practice and although my musical talents are still abysmal, I have improved my technique. I’ve added a dildo to my playing. I don’t need a traditional vibrator, after all, I can create all the vibrations I need. I’ve got very adept at matching the rhythm on the guitar with thrusting the imitation phallus hard and fast into my body.

I’ve also discovered that the experience is heightened when I sit on the sofa. The fragrance of the polish adds another dimension, as does the feel of the soft, supple leather against my naked buttocks.

Who knows, one day I may just take up guitar lessons, once I can trust myself not to come when the instructor or I play even a single note! For now though, I am happy to pluck and simply make a noise. After all, why try to fix something that’s not broke?

Dianne Horsfield

Oct 2010