Two electric guitars served me in my twenties. My mahogany Gibson SG features perfectly proportioned and exquisite curves, a classic tone with its own earthy character, and a thin, short-scale neck.

My slender fingers fit the close-set frets perfectly, resulting in a comfort I've never known on any other guitar. It seems to express whatever emotion I'm feeling while playing.

To non-players, my Ibanez Ex might appear similar. However, it's curves are much more sensual, with a thicker lower body, and horns that seem to reach out and caress my torso. The slightly longer scale and maple wood construction, gives it a beautiful clear tone that is shaped entirely by my fingers. A double-locking tremolo and three pickups with advanced electronics, makes it suitable for flashy playing, though large intervals can be difficult. The neutral yet appealing sound can be a bit sterile, but it was a perfect instrument for the eighties, when guitar gods ruled the music world.

I regularly played my Gibson over the last twenty years. The Ibanez rested in its case that whole time...

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Pipeline (Ventures Cover).
Performed by Spiceseeker, 1988.

My father nodded, which was as much conversational participation as one could expect, because only a narrow range of topics excited him. Mostly, his work as a scientist and his lifelong hobby of developing a betting system for the horse races. Without much enthusiasm, he would discuss other topics, such as his volunteer political work, and inexplicably, his moderate passion for professional basketball and football. Interpersonal relationships did little for him, but my visibly crumbling confidence seemed to fascinate him, in his low-key way.

Gwen helped my frail mother sit on the couch. Despite her flaws, the boisterous teen had a real sweetness that made her tolerable to me. She spoke to Mom. "Was Erica better looking than Grandma?"

My mother waved her hand in my general direction. "Gwen, Olivia looked amazing when Ray first introduced her to us, but Erica had youth on her side. She's around twenty years younger than Olivia."

Gwen considered it for a minute, and I hoped we were finished. No such luck. "Grandpa, I don't understand. If Erica was more beautiful, why didn't you marry her?"

From the mouths of babes...

I unconsciously adjusted my non-existent tie, a nervous habit from the restaurant manager days. With Erica on my mind, it seemed entirely appropriate. "Gwen, people seldom marry the most attractive person they were with. Beauty is very important, but other factors play a huge role when choosing a life partner. I'm sure Olivia was with better looking men than me."

I shot an inquisitive glance towards my sister-in-law, but Melanie laughed, "Not according to Olivia! However there was this one dreamboat from high school..."

"I'm going to marry the hottest boy in school." Gwen's certainty brought smiles to the whole room.

Sure, when he knocks you up...

As Olivia entered the room, my mother broke the awkward silence.
"You know, Gwen, Erica looked a lot like Olivia."

Oh God...

Olivia held up a halting finger, then poured a glass of wine and sat next to my father. He was very subtle, but no man could resist sneaking a peek at Olivia's spectacular bust, especially the awesome way it stretched her Christmas sweater. Even in her sixties, Olivia's figure still turned plenty of heads.

Powerless to prevent it in my mind, the score card filled itself out.

1991.
Olivia at forty one:

* Five foot eight.
* One hundred twenty five pounds.
* A breathtaking 37-24-37 figure.
* D cup breasts, surprisingly firm.
* Long, thin legs, not her best feature, but only because of her other assets.
* Eyes of the friendliest light blue.
* Thick, waist length, light blonde hair, with a life of its own.
* A witty, loving, and caring personality, enhanced by a healthy dose of charisma.
* My Celtic enchantress unintentionally became the center of attention wherever she went.

I cast a glance her way, and the corner of my mouth turned up.

Damn, over twenty years later, Olivia still stacks up really well. Ok, Erica, you're up...

To hide my face, I studied the guitar strings.

I shouldn't have these thoughts...

1985.
Erica at seventeen:

* Five feet nine.
* One hundred thirty pounds.
* A mouth watering 36-25-38 figure.
* Large C cup breasts, so high and firm, that she couldn't get a pencil to stay beneath them.
* Extra long legs with a ripe, sensual fullness to her thighs and ass. In the short skirts, high heel boots, and tight knit tube tops she loved to wear, Erica brought my desire to an unmatched level.
* Piercing deep blue eyes that slanted slightly, gave Erica a permanently sultry expression.
* Shoulder length, naturally platinum blonde, full bodied straight hair caught everyone's eyes and brought them to her gorgeous features. Olivia's pleasant face made up a decent part of her overall stunning look, but Erica's uniquely beautiful face was the headline of her appeal.
* A small, slightly upturned nose gave her otherwise perfect Tuetonic countenance a softer look than most Germanic lovelies. The approachability of Erica's beauty had immediately captivated me upon meeting her at work, and I knew within ten minutes, that I would be intimate with her.
* Her bold, confident personality was often a force of nature. Erica's unabashed love for me and her enthusiasm in demonstrating it sent me to a fantasy world.

Verdict: Erica closely won the beauty contest, but...

Erica peaked at eighteen. By the time she had enough of me, she had gained fifteen pounds. While still immensely appealing, she just wasn't the same. A few years later, a friend had told me she gained quite a bit more weight. She was well on her way to being fat at twenty-two.

...Olivia- checkmate!

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