The Next Caruso

I originally wrote this story in 2013 when I thought the minimum age was 16. In no state in the U.S. is the age of consent higher than 16, and in many it is lower. However, I do not own this site and I must abide by the rules established by the owners. Therefore, I have rewritten the story so that both Rob and Steffi are 18 when they meet and first have sexual relations.

There are three parts to this story. The third has been posted, but I am deleting and reposting in the hope that all three parts will be together. For reasons I will never understand my 150 stories are scattered willy-nilly throughout my list rather than being arranged either alphabetically or by posting date. I would think that any database could be sorted in one of those two ways. Enjoy the story. Senorlongo


INTRODUCTION

I was three when I started singing in church and even though I couldn’t read the words I could remember enough from week to week to sing right along with the adults. By five I was leading the youth choir, singing loud and clear during services and practicing almost daily at home during the week.

At seven I was encouraged to audition for the faculty at a major school of music in Manhattan and found myself on an early morning train from my home in Pelham for the twenty minute ride to Grand Central Station in Manhattan and from there a subway to Lincoln Center for the short walk to the auditorium.

I was asked to sing two songs; I chose ‘Danny, Boy” and “Oh Holy Night,” singing both a cappella. I especially loved “Oh Holy Night.” It’s so hard to sing well and I could really show off my power and range—seven years old and I already had an ego! The judges must have liked it because they offered me a scholarship. From then on I spent every Saturday during the school year taking voice lessons, learning how to breathe and enunciate, the importance of good posture, and how to sing from my diaphragm rather than my mouth. It took me less than two years to be able to hold a note for more than two minutes.

I gave my first professional concert when I was thirteen—a combination of rock tunes and old fashioned folk songs from the fifties and sixties. I was able to earn more than $40,000 that first year and even more the following year when I was a high school freshman. I hit the big time my senior year when I was featured on a PBS special. After that I was in high demand.

I learned to play several instruments, but other than the acoustic guitar, my choices were considered, well…bizarre. I loved the idea of the harp. It was surprisingly similar to the guitar, but the tone of the notes was different…richer and earthier. My girlfriend had an orgasm every time I played a glissando. It was actually funny watching her writhe on the couch or floor while I strummed. One of the great things about the glissando—it could go on forever. Sometimes I tortured her by continuing for several minutes. She ruined more skirts that way. My other choice was the mandolin. It was also similar to the guitar, but much smaller, making the notes much higher and the tone tinnier. I loved the way it sounded.

The people at the music school were disappointed when I selected a small university in the greater Boston area. Truthfully, I was tired of taking voice lessons. I wanted a well-rounded education, including some courses in business administration and finance which I hoped would help me to manage the money I expected to earn in my singing career.
Knowing that I still had to practice daily I bought an old house in Medford near the university, remodeling a large porch in the rear into a soundproof studio. I hired a local couple, Joe and Carla Romeo, to handle the cleaning, yard maintenance, and cooking. All this work was finished over the summer. I was ready on both my educational and occupational fronts by the time school began.


CHAPTER 1

I was finalizing a contract with a big-time Boston orchestra, sitting in the business office and leafing through page after page. I’d done this before and my agent had already approved the agreement so this was more a formality than anything else. I was only half listening when the secretary walked in. “Stan, I’ve got another request from the music department at Malden High School. They’d like a musician and a singer, if possible.”

I looked up. “Malden? Isn’t that near where I’m going to school? I’d be happy to do it if a Thursday is okay. That’s the only day I don’t have any classes.”

“That’s awfully good of you to volunteer, Robert. Most of the orchestra members hate these high school requests. Gwen, check with the school and if Thursday is good for them we’ll happily send Robert out there. We’ll cover your gas and lunch, but I’m afraid I can’t pay you for it.”

“That’s okay. Think you could transport a harp to the school for me? I’ll bet most of the kids have never really heard one.” I signed the contract and left. They knew where to find me.

Thursday was fine with the teacher so I made arrangements to spend the entire day there the third week of September. I rose early, ate a big breakfast courtesy of Mrs. Romeo and carried my guitar/mandolin backpack out to my car. I arrived at the school just after 8:00, walking directly to the main office. “Hi, I’m Robert Kerwood to see Mrs….” I pulled the paper from my pocket, “okay…Mrs. Sherman.”

“Steffi, your musician is here. Just go with Steffi, Mr. Kerwood, and welcome to Malden High School.” I thanked her and turned to see my guide. Whoa! She was really cute and even hotter.

“Wow, are you really Mr. Kerwood? When we saw that harp yesterday all of us figured you’d be like ninety.”

“Yup, that’s me…eighteen going on ninety.” I grinned as she laughed heartily.

“Boy, are the girls going to be surprised. C’mon, Mr. Kerwood.”

“I think things will be a lot better if you’ll just call me Rob. You make me sound like I AM ninety.”

“Okay, Rob,” she said as she led me down the crowded hallway. We were barely twenty feet down the hallway when she asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

“I think you just did, but I’ll bet I know what you want to ask—why the harp?”

“Yeah…that seems like an old person’s instrument.”

“Let me ask you a question. Why do guys my age do anything?”

She laughed. “That’s easy…for girls.”

“Right, and that’s why I play the harp. I had a girlfriend the last couple of years and I could give her an orgasm every time just by playing a glissando.”

“What’s that—a gli-what?”

“Glissando—it’s when you glide from one pitch to another up and down the scales. You can do it on a piano and even a violin, but nothing sounds like a harp, plus some ethnic music, like Irish, use a harp extensively. I’ll show you once we get to the classroom.”

“Gee, I hope I don’t have an orgasm…not in class.”

“I hope you do. You’ll be a harp fan for life.” I chuckled at her embarrassment as we resumed our way down the crowded hallway. We made a left and proceeded to the back of the building. We walked through what I recognized as a soundproof door, even though none of them quite made the grade. Steffi introduced me to her teacher, “Mrs. Sherman, this is Rob Kerwood.” I extended my hand as she did a double take.

“You can’t be…you’re supposed to be from the orchestra.”

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m not a regular employee, but I’ve signed on to do four sets of concerts this year. I just happened to be in Stan’s office when your request came in so I volunteered…and here I am. Oh, good…there’s my harp. Did they tune it when they dropped it off?” She shrugged her shoulders so I pulled up a chair and played a few notes, grimacing almost immediately. I pulled a set of tuning forks from my backpack and set about tuning up. It didn’t take long—not much longer than I’d usually spend on my guitar or mandolin. I had just finished tuning when I began to play—nothing special–just a few exercises. Looking right at Steffi I began my first glissando. Over and over the strings my fingers flew. Mrs. Sherman was looking at me so she didn’t see Steffi trembling. She shook wildly when she finally came. I shot her a smile when I noticed the wet spot on her crotch. Again, she reddened with embarrassment.

The classes were pretty easy and a lot of fun. I introduced myself, telling something about my history and training at Julliard. Then I showed the class my instruments and explained how they fit into certain types of music before playing several songs to demonstrate. Everything went smoothly and according to plan until fourth period when one of the boys, a recent transfer from New York, remembered my high school basketball career. It turned out that I had scored fifty against his brother. I would have enjoyed reliving my basketball days, but that’s not why I was here. “I don’t want to get off topic so let’s get back to the music…the reason I’m here today.” After that period Mrs. Sherman told me it was time for lunch. I was invited to join her in the teacher’s cafeteria, but I declined, commenting that I’d feel more comfortable with the kids. In fact, I kind of had a lunch date with Steffi.

I met her at the lunch line and we walked together to get our trays. I had a couple of tacos and some chocolate milk, a combination that raised her eyebrows; Steffi had a grilled chicken breast and a salad with water. I paid for both, asking the cashier for a receipt after being sure to tell her I was not a student. She led me to a table with three other girls, all seniors like Steffi.

They were all attractive girls with trim athletic bodies, but I thought Steffi was the class of the group–in my opinion anyway. Her shiny dark brown hair was long and pulled back into a ponytail. She was tall, maybe five feet nine or ten with an athletic build—slender with some serious muscle tone that I could see from her sleeveless top and tight shorts. Her breasts were on the smallish side, probably a B-cup that matched her body well. Facially, she appeared to have clear olive toned skin and dark brown eyes. Her lips were full; I could imagine them wrapped around my cock.
I could tell from the star around her neck that she was Jewish. That didn’t bother me—my last girlfriend was Jewish, too.

I recognized two of the girls from the morning’s classes and soon learned they were all in chorus. Mrs. Sherman was obviously a very popular teacher. I returned to the music class and finished the day. Steffi met me there at the close of school and helped me get my stuff out to the car. “Can I give you a lift home? I’d like to talk with you a bit.”

“Sure, sounds great,” she said as she hopped into the passenger seat of my eight year old Subaru.

“I’d love to see you again. Are you dating anyone?”

“No…I was, but I broke it off last month. He was a juvenile. All he wanted was sex.”

“Gee, sounds kind of like me.”

She laughed, “No, trust me…nothing like you. You probably know what you’re doing. He was selfish…always thinking about himself…never about me.”

“Correction…nothing like me. You already have one courtesy of me, don’t you?”

“Oh God, that was so embarrassing. I’m so glad Mrs. Sherman was looking at you. I was tingling for the entire class. Just thinking about it will probably make me wet.”

“I hope so. I’d like to take you out tomorrow night if you’re not busy, but I should tell you…I’m not Jewish. I know some parents are really strict about that.”

“Not mine…we haven’t been to temple in…well, since Rosh Hashanah almost a year ago. I almost never date Jewish guys. Most of them are too nerdy.”

We chatted as she gave me directions. It was only a short five-minute drive. She invited me in to meet her mother. We talked for a few minutes, mostly about my singing career. She even asked me to dinner, but I had to decline. I had a load of homework and I had yet to practice for my first concert.

“How do they figure out what you’ll sing, Rob?” It was Steffi’s mother who asked.

“They send me a load of songs, maybe fifty or more. I look them over, try singing them, and weed them down to about two dozen or so because the orchestra will always play a bunch of instrumentals. Sometimes I make a few suggestions, too. Then I send the list back and the orchestra practices the ones the director likes. They’re real pros so it doesn’t take them too long. I’ll go in a few days before the concert to practice together. It’s important to get the tempo and timing right. By then I’ll know the songs by heart. Then all I have to do is step out onto the stage before about a thousand total strangers and perform.” I said good-bye and left, Steffi walking with me to the car. I was surprised when she kissed me. She wrapped her arms around my body and thrust her tongue deeply into my mouth.

I responded once I had recovered from the shock, placing my hands firmly onto her ass, pulling her pussy into my crotch. I was sure she could feel my growing erection, but she didn’t pull away. In fact, she rubbed her cunt up and down my rod, promising me something very interesting and appealing in the future. Finally, we broke the kiss and I told her I’d see her tomorrow around seven. I’d take her to dinner and then maybe to a movie. That may have been the plan, but it didn’t happen—not even close.


CHAPTER 2

I knocked at seven sharp; the door was answered by her brother. He introduced himself as Jeremy and invited me in. Steffi walked down the stairs about five minutes later. She was a vision in a gold sleeveless top and skintight black Capri’s. She wore gold open-toe sandals that exactly matched her top. Her outfit made me think that her parents were probably loaded; I was right. She introduced me to her father, Dr. Neil Goldwasser, an oral surgeon. I learned later that he maintained three very successful offices.

I grew up in a single parent family.