I Wanna Learn a Love Song

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Full of happy things.
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BigGuy33
BigGuy33
3,060 Followers

Harry Forster Chapin (December 7, 1942 – July 16, 1981) was an American singer-songwriter best known for his folk rock songs including "Taxi", "W*O*L*D", and the No. 1 hit "Cat's in the Cradle". His creations, at one point dubbed 'story songs', were inspired by events either in his own life or by stories he was told while on the road.

This story is a conversion of one of those songs into story format, with some embellishments added by me. Bear in mind that these songs were written in and take place in the 70's and I was only a kid. I have stayed within the plotline of the song so if you are familiar with it and are hoping for more then you will be disappointed. If some of the lines seem oddly worded I suggest looking up the song lyrics. I probably took that line from the song.

This is a quick one.

<><><><><>

I WANNA LEARN A LOVE SONG

Full of happy things.

<><><><><>

I stepped off of bus number 7 and began the 3 block walk to the house. I didn't own a car; hell, I could barely afford food most of the time so a car was nothing more than a pipe dream. I didn't have much in the way of an education. My parents moved the summer after sixth grade and never bothered to enroll me in a new school. They were very much into the lifestyle of the sixties and figured I could get a better education from daily life in the real world than I could from any school. That didn't really work out.

So here I am, now 19 years old and living on the streets with no marketable skills and only an old acoustic guitar and a few changes of clothes among my worldly possessions. The clothes I carry around in my backpack; the guitar is slung over my shoulder.

I'm average in height, about 5'9", and decidedly skinnier than I should be. Again, that's more about lack of food than anything else.

When it comes to smarts I'm probably about average there as well. I could probably make something of myself but I don't have much drive. I learned that from my parents as well.

Most days you find me on a street corner playing some tunes and trying to live on whatever donations the kind folks of the world decide to toss my way, and it's usually about enough to survive but nowhere near enough to get me out of the life I live. But a couple of weeks ago this lady stopped by where I was playing and listened for about 30 minutes. She tipped me five dollars and then asked if I could teach her to play guitar. I explained that I could but it would take a long time, and I was surprised when she was agreeable to it and offered to pay me ten dollars each week, plus bus fare, for a 1 hour lesson.

So that brings us to me walking the three blocks over to a very nice house in an upscale subdivision. This is the kind of place that vagrants like me are usually run out of, and the first time I was here someone did call the fuzz on me. I explained why I was there and they took me to Miss Betty's house and she confirmed why I was there. Since then I've not had any problems but I have no doubt people are watching me the whole time and ready to call the police.

Miss Betty's a real nice lady. She's in her early thirties (I didn't ask exactly and she didn't volunteer it) with curly blonde hair and a plump body. She tends to wear loose-fitting housecoats around the house, at least when I'm there, so I can't tell you much more than that.

We'd been doing this now for several weeks, months even, and it was pretty much the same every week. She'd meet me at the door and offer me something to eat or drink. Sometimes I accepted a snack but I didn't want to push her generosity, so usually I just took a glass of water.

Her husband was some sort of property developer; a Concrete Castle King is what we called them on the streets, because they built things and drove us poor folks away to increase their property values. They'd been married for seven years and had two small children.

Miss Betty always had me come over at the same time and on the same day every week, and I eventually realized she was trying to keep herself busy while her husband played cards and drank with his friends in their den, and while the children were having their weekly visit with one of the sets of grandparents.

The first time I went I asked her what she wanted to learn so I could teach her what she wanted to know. I still remember her answer even to this day.

"I wanna learn a love song," she said. "I wanna learn something full of...happy things. I wanna learn to play the guitar so I can hear my beautiful children sing."

I tried to teach her a few simple chords but nothing too complex. She picked those up okay so we tried to learn an easy melody, but I could tell her heart wasn't really in it. I got the sense that she was a very lonely woman and was willing to pay for my company more than anything else.

We spent a lot of time just talking. She always asked me about my life, both when I was little and now that I'm on the streets. I had a whole backlog of hobo stories and I regaled her with one after the other. We talked about the dreams we each had when we were younger, and she tried to get me to keep chasing mine. I promised I would but they were empty promises. I knew I'd never be anything in life and didn't figure there was much cause for trying.

She told me about her life as well. She loved her husband but he spent most of his time with his business associates. She was left to raise the children and he was the breadwinner. This was not an uncommon attitude in this day and age. She was lonely most of the time and when she mentioned to her husband he brushed her off, explaining that his job was to provide for the family, not to take care of the children and certainly not to keep a grown woman company. He was doing his part and expected her to do hers.

Some days we didn't do anything but talk while I strummed my guitar, but most of the time she just wanted to listen to me play my guitar. I was always scared to be too loud, what with her husband right in the next room. I got the feeling he was a very dominant man, maybe even abusive, and I didn't want to be the one that set him off.

I tried on numerous occasions to get her to try and learn but she'd resist me.

"I wanna hear you sing and play. Maybe I'll get a chance to learn that love song before you go away, but right now I'd rather just listen to you."

And so that's what we did every week; some combination of talking and my playing. This went on for several weeks and I didn't have to even be particularly observant to notice that this was the highlight of her week. At first I would sit on the couch and she would sit on a nearby chair, but as the weeks passed and she became more comfortable with me she started sitting next to me on the couch.

I really liked when she did that. I could smell the pretty perfume she wore and I would sometimes get lost in her soulful, deep blue eyes. She was one of the prettiest women I had ever seen, and I've seen plenty walking past me on the streets, but she tended to do just about everything she could to minimize it. It was a shame, really.

In my mind I knew that she was more than 10 years older than me, but that didn't really matter to how I felt in my heart. I began having feelings for her in spite of myself. It was ridiculous, of course, but you can't help how you feel. Late at night as I tried to fall asleep at the shelter or in whatever alley I took refuge, I would sometimes imagine that I hit it big as a musician and I took her away from her miserable, lonely life.

But reality always intruded on my fantasy. I knew I was nothing more to her than a diversion from her life. She was certainly well provided for financially and she did love her husband despite the way he treated her. No, it would all just remain pie in the sky.

So here I am, knocking on her door yet one more time. At first I figured everything was the same but I quickly realized one very large difference: no sound from the den. None at all.

If she realized that I was aware of that she didn't mention anything, and she offered me something to eat and drink just as she always did. With the husband out of the house I felt just a little bolder and asked for a sandwich plus my usual water. Her smile said she was pleased that I had asked, and she went to the kitchen to make it.

We talked while I ate. I consciously avoided asking about her husband and she never brought it up. The mood in the room was definitely lighter with him gone and I didn't plan to ruin a good thing.

Finally she asked me to play some music and I just started playing. Normally I would try to get her to pick up the guitar and try but today was different and I didn't bother this time. After each song we talked a little bit more while I decided what song to play next, and then I played that one as well. With the house empty I really let my inhibitions go, singing louder and really getting into the music.

At some point my voice started to give out, and a glance at the clock showed I had been singing and playing and talking for nearly five hours. At no point did her husband make an appearance.

I put the guitar down in exhaustion and couldn't even bring myself to talk. My voice was tired and worn out. Miss Betty seemed anxious, like she had something she wanted to say but she just stayed quiet. The silence, as they say, was deafening.

By this point Betty was sitting right next to me, her leg up against mine. I don't think she had ever sat this close to me and the feel of her body against mine, even though we were both fully clothed, sent tingles throughout my body. I've mentioned how beautiful her eyes were but I had never seen them this close. They were so expressive, and it was those eyes more than anything else that seemed to be trying to say something to me. I was actually getting a little uncomfortable; I could definitely feel my heartbeat and I could swear I heard hers as well.

I looked into her eyes and felt myself being drawn in. There was something about the way she was looking at me; an intensity that she had, that kept me from looking away. I felt like I needed to run and hide but there simply was nowhere to go even if I could've somehow pulled myself away from her.

I guess my eyes said something to her as well, or maybe she was just tired of waiting for me to do something, because after a few minutes she simply stood up. She began undoing the snaps on the front of her housecoat and it took only a few seconds for to be aware that she was naked underneath.

By the time she was halfway done I could see the sides of her bare, heavy breasts. They were large and hung fairly low. I'd had some experience with girls but they were all closer to my age, and most of them were on the thin side as well so their breasts were small and still stood pretty high. Miss Betty's were the largest I had ever seen, at least in person, and they hung down. Don't think they weren't beautiful though, because they were.

She undid the last snap and the housecoat fell to the floor. She had a thick, dark blonde bush (this was the seventies after all, and natural was the thing) and those magnificent tits were topped by two large, dark circles with long, protruding nipples. I could hear her breathing get heavier as her arousal began in increase, and my body responded in kind.

She got on her knees in front of me and undid my jeans. I still hadn't said a word for fear of ruining the moment so I just sat back and let he do whatever she wanted. She pulled my fully erect shaft from my waistband, and then looked me in the eyes and smiled.

She looked me directly in the eyes as she ran her hand the full length of my engorged penis. Up and down she went, smoothly and firmly, but her eyes never left mine. It took almost no time for her to draw me out, and I blew a heavy load all over her hand and my shirt.

She wordlessly took my hands and stood me up. She took my shirt off over my head and then pushed my jeans to the ground, helping me to step out of them. She took my hand and led me down the hall until we reached what was clearly the master bedroom. We continued through and went into the bathroom, where Betty opened the shower door and turned on the water.

Once it was heated and I had removed my socks I stepped into the shower and enjoyed the feeling of the spray rinsing layer after layer of filth from my body. God, I swear I'd never been so clean! She lathered up a bar of soap and washed every inch of my body, paying special attention to my newly erect manhood. She even washed my hair for me.

I had never experienced anything like this before. The times I had been with other girls was really just a physical need, a way to get each other off. But this was already so much more. I realized I had feelings for this woman. Was it love, as in true freakin' love? I don't know for sure but it seemed like it at the time. I felt like I was working in a Hollywood movie, or living out a good/bad dream.

When I was clean she handed me the soap and lifted her hair off of her neck. This was all done wordlessly; she easily communicated exactly what she wanted. I lathered the soap and began washing. I started with her smooth shoulders. They were so soft, not hard like the girls I knew. Miss Betty had clearly lived a sheltered life in many ways, with exposure to the harshness of the outside world something that other people experienced.

I lathered her arms and then she lifted them over her head, allowing me to wash her underarms and then her magnificent breasts. I had actually expected to run into hair under her arms, or at least some stubble (again, like I would have with the girls I normally spent time with) but she was as smooth as if she had just shaved there, and I reasoned that she probably had.

I was actually standing behind her as I continued to lather her body, covering her belly with suds before moving below her waist and into the lush forest of hair between her thighs. My erection was so hard it was on the verge of being painful, so her pussy was simply as far as I went.

I did wash her thoroughly, but more as an excuse to keep my hands between her legs than anything else. I had no doubt that she was perfectly clean when I had arrived several hours earlier, so this was nothing more than a refresher.

I had been fortunate enough in the past to have girls take the time to let me know what felt good so I knew what to do. I quickly found her clit and began gently rubbing it. Betty moaned and reached her hand behind her to grasp why throbbing member. I was glad she had already gotten me off once so now I could make it last.

I slid two fingers up into her wet hole while continuing to stimulate her nub with my thumb. It was at this point that the first words since Betty had removed her smock were spoken.

"God yes, that feels so good. God, yes."

I was pinching her nipple in my left hand while the fingers on my right hand, my strumming hand, played her like, well, like a guitar. It was just seconds later that her body convulsed in orgasm and I found myself having to hold her up so she wouldn't slip and fall.

When she was finally recovered from that she turned off the water and we stepped out of the shower. We dried off thoroughly, taking our time to do it right, and then she led me out to her bed. I got the feeling that she was typically submissive to her husband, and I realized it was her intention to be the dominant one with me. Not in an abusive way, but simply that she intended to control things.

She shoved me on to the bed and took my rigid cock in her mouth. Other girls had done this before but it was nothing compared to the talent Betty displayed now. She licked and sucked and it was practically a near-death experience it felt so good. I presumed that her husband expected it to be done and done well or she would be punished, and I was enjoying the fruits of her education today.

She stopped before I came, instead choosing to climb on top of me and impale herself on me. Sliding inside her was like sitting in a new leather seat for the first time. The pleasure of it is indescribable. I gripped her round hips and held on as she moved up and down and back and forth.

"Oh God, fuck me, yes, fuck me!"

The exclamations of desire were vastly outside Betty's personality, at least the one she had shown to me all this time, and I found it to be outrageously arousing. She pinned my wrists to the bed and gazed deep into my eyes while she undulated her body to gain the maximum pleasure. She kept a running commentary as she did so, never breaking eye contact. She whispered to me over and over again.

"Fuck me, baby. It feels so good. Don't stop. Don't stop. Fuck me, oh God, fuck me. Cum inside me, baby, cum inside me. I wanna feel it, I wanna feel it."

And feel it she did. Despite never wanting this to end I was helpless against her desire to get me off and I blew a load deep inside her. She never stopped moving and, just as I was about midway through mine, Betty came with an intensity I had never seen before. It was like a seizure but in a good way. Her whole body shook and I could feel it vibrating me to the core. It was the singular most incredible experience of my life.

She collapsed on top of me for a few minutes, to gather her strength and her wits, before sitting up and looking me in the eyes again. When this started it was pure unbridled lust but when I looked into her eyes I saw something more, though was unsure exactly what until later.

Betty and I spent the better part of the night fucking and then making love, the frenzy of our initial coupling eventually giving way to love and tenderness as we lay in bed together. She never mentioned her husband and I never asked. Silly, perhaps, but I figured she was the mature woman and I was the dopey kid, and I took her lead in that regard.

Some of the girls I had been with were truly beautiful and the object of desire by all those that saw them. Many of them probably could have been pinup models in that tinsel world of beauty and glamour had their lives turned out different. But none of them ever touched me the way Betty did. In that moment, after one night with this woman, I felt like I had grown up. It took another man's wife in the real world life to make this boy a man.

The next morning I assumed I was expected to leave so I began getting my things together. She watched me wordlessly, just as we had been last night, until I was fully packed, and then she finally spoke.

"I want to thank you," she said.

That seemed ridiculous to me. If anyone owed someone thanks it was from me to her. She had done so much for me, from giving me a steady if meager income and then of course what happened last night. I couldn't imagine what she was thanking me for, so I asked.

"Thank me for what, Betty."

"For teaching me a love song."

Of course I had never gotten her to play a song on the guitar, but I knew exactly what she meant. I simply smiled, then lifted my backpack and my guitar and headed for the door to begin the walk up to the bus stop, with the understanding that next week things would return to the way they had been for months. I got only a couple of steps down the walkway.

"My husband won't be back for another three days. You could stay with me for a couple more nights."

I guess you know I stayed.

<><><><><>

fin

BigGuy33
BigGuy33
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mfj77mfj774 months ago

Pretty good job adapting Harry Chapin's song. Would have liked you to add a little more meat but you did warn us in your intro that you didn't intend to add anything. My understanding of the song is that it was semi-biographical / true so more detail could be added.

Think the folks that didn't get the story are unfamiliar with the song. I just kept humming the tune as I read it.

Now, for a song that you really could add some meat to . . . Try Jim Croce's "Lover's Cross" which was also transformed for a woman by Melanie. Think you could really adapt that song to a story.

Keep up the good work.

AnonymousAnonymous6 months ago

Fantastic

AnonymousAnonymous9 months ago

@AngelRider - It's actually not that surprising and it's not sexism. It's simply a gender reality.

Most of the readers on this site and in this category are male. Male readers are more likely to identify with male characters than female characters. Therefore, ignoring everything else, stories with a male MC will rate higher than stories with a female MC on a male dominated site. Writers who accept that fare better than those that challenge it.

You can further extend this to understand why certain types of stories score lower than others. Willing cuckold stories tend to score lower than BTB stories because the average man is more likely to identify with a strong male character than a weak one.

You can even take this another step further. If you write the same story twice, telling it once from the perspective of the cuck and once from the perspective of the bull, you will find that the bull version will rate higher than cuck one. You can see this in other genres too. If you want to tell a story where the bad guy wins, write it from the bad guy's perspective and it will fare better than if told from the perspective of the victim or the cop who failed to stop them.

So, I must disagree with your claim of sexism and misogyny. As a counterpoint to your claim, I will point you to the plethora of Romance novels targeted at women. The main characters are almost exclusively women and you're more likely to find gang bangs than harems.

In conclusion, I'll just say: "It's called writing to your audience."

Calico75Calico759 months ago

I love Harry Chapin story songs. For years, I could sing most of them. You did justice to this one. I love it.

AngelRiderAngelRider9 months ago

Isn't it amusing how when the main character is helping a wife cheat, the story rarely falls below 4 but when the main character is a woman, the story will bomb.

Yeah, we don't have any sexism or misogyny on this site. No, none at all.

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