The Guilt Will Kill You

This is a story I did not complete in time for CAW #20 on the Sex Stories forum. For lack of a better explanation, let’s say it’s loosely based on “Little Red Riding Hood”. The main female character’s name was inspired by Sergei Prokofiev’s “Peter and the Wolf”, which has nothing whatsoever to do with anything.

***

Not very long ago, not very far from here, a young woman struggled with her dirt bike in the woods.

“Please start,” she mumbled. “The last thing I want to do today is push you home.”

“Hey! You in the red hoodie!” an angry voice shouted. “Can’t you read?”

Startled, Pietra spun around to see a very large man striding toward her. His long bushy hair hung loose, blending into a huge graying beard. In old camo clothes, he was an intimidating figure.

“Um, can’t I read what?”

“The ‘no trespassing’ signs. This is private property. My private property. You come blasting through here on that damned noisy rice-burner of yours all the time.”

“I didn’t see any signs.”

“Bullshit. You couldn’t have missed them all. They’re everywhere.”

She mumbled, “They say, ‘No hunting’.”

“Aha! I thought you said you didn’t see my signs! They also say, ‘No trespassing’ and ‘No motor vehicles’, dammit!”

“Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe I saw ’em. But what’s the big deal? I’m just passing through.”

“The big deal is I posted my land because I do NOT want people ‘passing through’! Get out of here, and don’t come back!”

“My bike stalled. It’s been doing this lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

The man sighed. “So you can’t leave. That’s just great.”

“Do you know anything about … what is this thing … a Honda?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” he grumbled. “Let me push it to my shed so I can work on it. Hopefully I can get you going and out of here.” He grabbed the bike and pushed into the underbrush.

“Sweet! Thanks!” she said, picking her way along behind him. “I’m Pietra Stevens. Who are you?”

“Harold Wolf, if you must know. They call me ‘Wolfie’.”

“Everyone calls me ‘Lil’ Red’ ‘cuz I’m short and, well, look at my hair.”

“Cute,” Wolfie said in a tone that showed he didn’t mean it. He led her to a clearing, a large old shed at one edge. “Make yourself useful. Hold your damn bike up while I open the door.” He grabbed the handle of the overhead door with one big paw and lifted it easily.

“Whoa, dude,” Pietra exclaimed. “Nice shop! Are you some kind of mechanic?”

“When I need to be.” He lifted the motorcycle onto a stand and inspected it, picking at the mess of dirt and bits of leaves around the engine. “Do you ever wash this thing? Clean the air filter or spark plug? Do any maintenance?”

“I had a guy put air in the tires once, but other than that, no.”

“Why not?”

“Machines aren’t my thing, ya know? They’re just supposed to be there and do their job.”

“Typical chick,” he growled quietly. He blew the dirt off with an airgun and began disassembling parts around the motor.

“Hey, I’m a musician, okay? That’s what’s important to me.”

“Musician? Surprised you can hear, riding this stupid thing around.”

“It’s not that loud, Wolfie.”

“It certainly is. Sounds like a damn chainsaw on steroids. And where’s your helmet?”

“I don’t wear one.”

He looked up from his work. “Why not? Don’t be an idiot and tell me it messes up your hair. My bass player, Duke, wouldn’t wear a brain-bucket because of helmet-head. His hair didn’t look that damn good when he went off his chopper and split his skull open.”

“If I did a lot of road riding, maybe I’d get a helmet.”

“Oh, sure, of course,” he sneered. “Road riding is different. We go faster, we carry passengers, and our bikes are heavy if they fall on us, right? But a road biker doesn’t have tree limbs to bash in his brains. No rocks and mud kicked in his face by the guy in front of him.”

“I don’t get stuff kicked in my face. I ride alone.”

“That’s real smart,” he scolded. He worked in silence for a few minutes and then stood and wiped his hands. “All right. That’s as good as I can make it without new parts. Now, I’ll put things back together. We’ll see if this little toy fires up.”

“You’re good. I bet they’d charge me a lot to do that in town.”

“The price I’m charging is you staying off my land.”

“I don’t get it. Why is your privacy so important?”

“Because … because it is. Look, Red. The world is a crazy place. I don’t fit there anymore. I had my fun, but that’s in the past. I like being alone now. Try to understand.”

“Shutting yourself away from everyone is kinda sad.”

He thought for a moment. “Not if I don’t let it be. I write better music now than I ever did. That makes me happy.”

“What kind of music?”

He smiled for the first time. “Hard to describe. I like a little of everything except that club music rap crap. I listen to the classics like Mozart, Chopin, and Bach, guys like Johnny Cash, The Beach Boys, and Otis Redding, and bands like Rob Zombie, Static-X, and Tool. Then I write what I feel.”

“You write on a real musical score?”

“Of course. Then I record it.”

“Cool! What instrument do you play?”

“Guitar, keyboard, some brass, and I’m teaching myself the flute. The rest I do with my computer.”

“Wow! Where do you do this?”

“Here. I built a studio. It’s soundproof, but on nice afternoons I like to sit on my porch to read or write. Your damn bike interrupts me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have, but that’s why I like people to stay away.”

“Makes sense,” she agreed. “I used to enjoy performing in public, but when I write or practice I need to be alone.”

“You sing?”

“Vocals and guitar, mainly. In high school I was in a band. We played at dances and free concerts and stuff, but that kinda ended when we graduated. Now, I write and sing with my girlfriend at her place. She plays drums. That’s where I go when I cut through here.”

“Bands,” he chuckled. “In school I had a greaser tribute band, but we split up after graduation, too. Then I started playing clubs with a couple guys. Got a good manager. Recorded a little, did a few festivals, opened for name acts at decent venues. Made okay money. Fun stuff. Then Duke got killed. I bought the drinks that night. Way too many. It all ended on that road. Now, I’m here.”

“That sucks, Wolfie, but you didn’t kill him.”

“Everyone said that, but the thrill was gone. It was time to move on. That part of my life was over when I cried at the funeral.”

“You could still play,” she said.

“I do, but only for myself. No one wants to hear my crap these days. I’m yesterday’s news.”

“Don’t say that. If you have talent, you should share it. Maybe you’d do okay with a new band.”

“No, Red. That’s behind me. I’m no performer anymore.”

“You just need someone to build a fire under your butt. You should come and watch us sometime, if I can get Lisa to agree. It’s just her on drums and me on guitar, but we both sing okay.”

“I’m fine here. Let’s see if your toy works.” He wheeled it out of the shed. It came to life immediately and settled into a healthy idle.

“Wolfie, that’s great! It sounds smoother than it did when I got it! If you’re as good with music as you are with bikes, you should be playing where people can hear you.”

“Go see your friend, Red.”

***

“Your bike stalled again?” Lisa asked when Pietra arrived.

“Yeah, but some dude fixed it. He took stuff off and cleaned it or something. It runs great now.”

“Who was he?”

“His name’s Harold Wolf. Calls himself Wolfie. He writes music.”

“Harold Wolf? THE Harold Wolf? You met Wolfie? Red, you’re so lucky!”

“I am? Why?”

“Pietra, c’mon! Harry Wolf! He had a band called “Hairy Wolves”. They were all big guys with long hair and beards like outlaw bikers. Harry sang and played lead. Don’t you remember them?”

“Not sure,” Pietra said.

“Really? They were sort of a metal niche act, but they were really good. Their bass player died when he wrecked his motorcycle, and then the band split up. That was about five years ago.”

“Oh, wait. Didn’t they do a song called ‘Full Moon Love’?”

“Their hit single,” Lisa agreed. “Wow. Cool. How did you meet him?”

“He has this place in the middle of nowhere in the woods near the trail I ride to get here.”

“I never would have guessed. He dropped out of sight when the band broke up. What’s he like?”

Pietra thought for a moment. “He’s a loner. Apparently doesn’t go out, just like you. Still writes music and plays in his studio at home, but that’s it.”

“Was he nice?”

“Not at first. He was pissed off because I was on his land. My bike wouldn’t start, so he pushed it into his shop and fixed it. He seems okay. The bass player’s death hurt him. He withdrew from the world and became a hermit. He’s kinda cool, but he’s gotta be lonely.”

“Real shaggy beast, as I remember, but built.”

“Yeah, he’s got this whole mountain man thing going on. He scared me at first, but he’s really cute in a Sasquatch kind of way.”

“Cute?” Lisa leered.

“More like hot, if you like the rugged bad boy look, but nothing happened. He’s a nice guy. Just screwed up. All I saw was his workshop, and you can’t even see that from the path I use. It’s pretty well hidden, and he has ‘No Trespassing’ signs everywhere. He doesn’t want anyone around. No clue what the rest of his place looks like.”

On the way home after dinner with Lisa, Pietra watched for Wolfie’s signs and took the long path around his property. When she got near the end of the woods, she saw him and stopped. “Hi! See? I stayed off your land.”

“Thanks. I heard your damn toy motorcycle anyway, so I came out to ask you some questions.”

“Like what?”

“What kind of singer are you? Do you have any training? How big is your range? What style of music do you do best?”

“Hmm. My only training was some free lessons at the store where I got my first guitar as a kid. I did musicals and the band stuff in school. Always recorded myself and listened to try to improve. Technically, I’m a first alto, but I can hit most notes, and I have perfect pitch. I’m best with modern country and rock. Screamer metal is okay, but right now my thing is ballads. Why?”

“A couple of my new songs need vocals. I sing okay for a lot of what I write, but my voice is more of a growl. That doesn’t work for some music. You have a great speaking voice, so I thought maybe you singing melody to my background track could help.”

She laughed. “You want me to sing Hairy Wolves music?”

“Oh, you know about that. Why didn’t you say something this morning?”

“I didn’t know who you were this morning. Lisa told me.”

“Lisa? The girl you visit when you roar through my woods? You told her about me?”

“She’s cool.”

“No, dammit. This is not cool. I should have put razor wire around my land. I told you, I value my privacy.”

“Wolfie, it’s fine. I told her not to say anything. We’re very close, and I trust her. She’s weird too. She knows what secrets are.”

“I sure as hell hope so. Being alone is the way I like it.”

“If you want to be alone, how can I sing for you? Maybe we could do something online, but I don’t have good equipment.”

He scowled. “Guess you’ll have to come here.”

“When?”

“Do you work?”

“I have an office job, so I’m available evenings and weekends.”

“I’ll tie a white cloth around a tree on the right side of the path near where you broke down. Tomorrow is Sunday. Be there at one.” He disappeared back into the trees.

***

The next afternoon, Pietra found the white cloth and Wolfie waiting for her.

“Right on time. At least you have that going for you, Red. It’s too steep to ride your bike down to my studio, so we’ll stow it here.” He opened the door to his shed and pushed the bike inside. “Follow me.”

They picked their way through the underbrush on what appeared to be a deer path. Soon, they came to a steep slope with crude steps made of native rock. At the bottom was a well-hidden door.

“You should feel honored. You’re the first person to see the inside of my place.”

The rustic door opened into a small modern room furnished in glass and leather. Shelves filled with books, albums, and CDs lined one wall. He opened the door at the far end. “My inner sanctum. This is where I hide from the world when I want to be serious about music.”

“Dude, you have everything in here! I’ve seen pro studios that weren’t this well-equipped!”

“If I had stayed in the industry, I would have built one hell of a band studio. I knew a guy. We were working on a plan to start small professional studios geared toward young, unknown talent. There are a lot of garage bands out there that need a chance.”

“I guess that’s what Lisa and I are,” Pietra said. “A garage band — really a garage duo.”

“Why don’t you girls do more with your talent?”

“Why don’t you?”

He scowled, went to the console, and turned it on. “Take these headphones and find a seat. This is one of the songs I’m working on.”

She looped her long red hair behind her ears and put the headphones on. She closed her eyes as the music played.

When it ended, he asked, “What do you think?”

“Wolfie, you laid down all those tracks yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Mixed the sound?

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s brilliant! Dude, it’s like … I don’t know what. Will you play it again?”

He did, and she listened carefully. “I can’t classify it, but I wanna hear more, if this is what you’re into these days.”

“Red, do you think you can sing with it?”

“Did you write lyrics?”

“Here.” He handed her a paper.

She read the words twice. “Wow. I can so hear this in my head. I totally get it.”

“Will you sing for me?”

“I’ll try.”

He played his song again. She stood and moved slightly to the rhythm of the intro, then sang the first verse in a clear, sweet voice. The melody she chose complemented the instrumental tracks well.

Wolfie stopped the music. “Great voice, but your delivery should be bluesier, a little dirtier.”

“Not yet. The lyrics and bass line don’t call for that until after the break. I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Really? You think that’s the best approach, huh? Prove it. Take it from the top.”

The music started again, and again Pietra’s lithe form swayed slightly as she sang. Her movements stopped during the break as she hummed an aria over the melody of the horn track. Then things changed. She dropped to the bottom of her range for the second verse, her delivery louder and a little dark. By the third verse her voice dripped passion. She strutted as she sang, moving back and forth as though on a small stage.

When she was done, he grinned and applauded softly. “I wrote it, but I never thought of it sounding that way. Needs some work, but I like it.”

“Really?” she squealed. “I was kinda winging it. Like doing karaoke with a song you don’t know.”

“Your singing style is honest. That’s what this song needs. I’d like you to practice with me.”

“Cool! Singing with a celebrity old head sounds like fun.”

“Old head? My beard started turning gray when I hit thirty.”

“How old are you now?”

“Thirty-five. Not that damn old.”

“You’re the same age as Lisa. I call her Granny.”

He smirked. “You wear a red hoodie and ride through the woods to visit someone you call Granny.”

Pietra chuckled. “She’s going gray, refuses to dye it, and she’s like ten years older than me, so yeah.”

“You should take her baskets of food.”

“I know, right? But she’s a much better cook than I am. It’s too far to walk, and my car’s a piece of crap, so I usually ride my motorcycle. Can’t carry much, though. I keep one of my guitars at her place.”

“What type of guitar do you like to play?”

“Depends on the style of the song.”

He opened the door to a closet lined with guitars. “I’m going to remove the lead guitar track. I want to hear you play.”

“Should I sing too?”

“If you can.”

She examined a few of the instruments, strumming them and listening to their raw sound. “The first verse should have an acoustic lead, so this guitar will be great, but that one’s better for what I’d do plugged in.”

“Bring them out here.” He got his own guitar. “Tune yours first.”

She experimented with both instruments, making fine adjustments to suit her ear. After a few practice riffs and chords, she nodded. “These are great. Let’s do this.”

Wolfie readied his own instrument. “You lead. I’ll follow.”

They played and sang for hours. Finally, she said, “My fingers are done for the day.”

“That’s okay, Red. I didn’t mean to keep you this long.”

“No, it’s fine. We were awesome together.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You’re too serious, Wolfie. Too hard on yourself. It was a fun jam session.”

“True. I haven’t played with a live human in years. You’re good with a guitar.”

“Thanks. You’ve got some moves on you yourself. I’d love to watch you play the rest of the tracks.”

He chuckled. “Today was the first time I picked up an instrument with someone in the room for a long time.”

“It shouldn’t be the last. I need to get going, but we should do this again.”

He walked her to the shed. “Promise you won’t tell a soul about this.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Good. Next Saturday, maybe ten? I’ll make lunch.”

“Great! I’ll be here.”

***

“What did you do yesterday?” Lisa asked when they took a break from working on their latest song.

“Not much. Went on a ride. Kinda hung out.”

“With Harry Wolf?

“How did you know?”

“There’s something different in your vocal delivery today. I kinda like it.”

“I had fun. We sang and played some tunes together. I could learn a lot from him.”

Lisa opened her laptop. “I did a little searching and found a live version of ‘Full Moon Love’. Wanna hear it?”

“Sure.”

When the song ended, Pietra laughed. “That sure was Wolfie on lead vocal.”

“Yeah. The base player sang back-up. They sounded great together.”

“That was Duke, the guy who died.”

“This recording was made the night of the accident,” Lisa said. “The girl on the back was killed too. The reports said he was drunk.”

“He was. Wolfie bought the drinks that night after the show.”

“He told you that?”

“He blames himself for Duke’s death. That’s why he went into hiding.”

Lisa mused, “For their time, they were cutting edge.