Rock Hard

“Your new intern, Jonna, is here,” Holly informed me. “She’s waiting in your office.”

“Oh, what’s she like?”

“Other than delicious?” Holly wiggled her eyebrows at me.

“Yes, other than that,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, knowing she was kidding again.

“Seems eager. Certainly looks the part. Going by her application, she should at least be trainable.”

My heart skipped a bit. I didn’t think she meant it that way, but Holly’s mention of ‘trainable’ raised an instant attention in both my mind and my pants.

“Well, I’d better go say hello.”

Moving swiftly, I opened the door, not giving much forewarning of my arrival. The poor darling seemed startled, though Holly hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d described Jonna as ‘delicious.’ Instead, she had merely been speaking the empirical truth, even for a straight girl.

From her cherry red Converse sneakers to her white blond ponytail, she was the picture of perfection. The kind of girl they wrote poems and songs about.

“She Walks in Beauty” started running through my own mind, followed closely by “Jolene,” which reached almost the same level of exaltation, if you listened closely.

My eyes were drawn immediately to her chest. Partly by the sweet, lush fullness of her perky young breasts, but then to the iconic Autumn Corrosion T-shirt from our ‘98 tour. She must have gotten it online or somewhere. There was no way she was old enough to have been there.

I tore my eyes away from her ample breasts and couldn’t help letting them linger on the rest of her body, which was perfectly full of curves and just my type. I really wanted to squeeze her plump ass, and let my hands trail down her hourglass figure.

I felt like a dirty old man, despite only being 40. The age gap between us was rather large— more than two decades. I wasn’t old enough to be her father. But that didn’t stop me from having dirty, dirty thoughts about what I wanted to do to her.

In a weird way, though, it also caused me to feel like an echoing chasm every time I looked into her innocent eyes, though. They were full of both hope and wonder.

“Right,” I said, remembering myself. “Where would you like to start?”

Chapter Three - Jonna

I couldn’t speak. There were words in my head, but none of them would come out of my mouth. Seth was actually right there, talking right to me. I couldn’t believe it.

I thought for a second he’d been checking out my tits, but I couldn’t quite be sure. Maybe he was just staring at the shirt I was wearing, since it was relevant, and all of that.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked him.

“Where would you like to start?” he repeated patiently.

“What needs to be done?”

“Good answer,” he said, with a sly wink. “The exact tasks can change by the day at this job. You’ll be by my side through most of it, watching and helping when needed. It might sound easy but it can be a real boot camp. The skills needed are varied and can change at a moment’s notice. It can be a challenge. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Yes,” I said, almost sure I believed it.

“Good. If you do well, there could be a more permanent job in it for you.”

My hopes stayed resolutely earthbound, despite wanting to take wing. Gritty realism—not youthful optimism— was my best bet for success.

“I’ve got some demos to listen to; we could start with that,” he suggested, and I nodded my agreement.

For a brief, beautiful instant, it looked like he was going to have me sit on his lap. It was the only way we could both listen to the headphones, since there was only one chair— at least until he unplugged the headphones, the CD player already on speakers, and rolled over his desk chair for me.

My disappointment run out of town with pitch forks and torches, I sat on the office chair, next to the main one at the listening station. I was still very much at the ready for whatever might come. After taking a CD case from the pile in front of the player, Seth put it in.

While we waited for the first song to cue up, he got a Moleskine and fountain pen from the desk before settling into the other chair. His pen was poised at the ready when the onslaught began.

It was maybe a minute before he switched to the next track, a frown etched onto his face. There was little improvement, the entire demo a write-off by the second of the four tracks.

“That’s a no,” Seth said, starting a new pile in front of the player.

I nodded in agreement once again, hoping that my face didn’t show the disgust I felt at hearing that demo. He showed me his notebook, which had the names of all the bands in the pile for that day.