9 comments/ 79401 views/ 17 favorites Jazz By: Colleen Thomas "Come on Jazz, I'm serious." "Get out," the short black woman said, throwing her hands up. "Why not?" Regina whined. "You're serious." Jasmine said incredulously. "Yes, I'm serious," the tall blonde earnestly replied. 'Dr. Ethridge to the ballistics lab, please' the PA announced, interrupting them. Regina almost jumped out of her chair. She started for the exit to at a gallop, but halted and hurried back to the table. "Sorry, Skolefi case. Just think about it will you?" "I think you're off your nut." "Damnit, enough insults. Seriously, just consider it. Please?" "Get your ass to the lab. I'll see you after work," Jazz said dismissively. The tall blonde frowned, but then hurried off. Jasmine Carter sat and stared at what was left of her mostly unpalatable lunch. She was a short woman, thick but not fat, with a big ass and massive chest. Her skin was like burnished coal; so black it almost appeared blue at times. Intelligent brown eyes highlighted a face that even her mother would be hard pressed to call pretty. Her nose was flat, having been broken several times and her lips too wide. A long scar ran from her eye, across her cheek and down off her chin. A memento from the last domestic dispute she and her partner had answered. Her partner hadn't faired so well, they buried him three days later. When it had healed, she had requested a transfer to the state crime lab, where her background in police methodology had combined with her love of science to make her one of the state's finest crime scene investigators. She had taken the long and painful way to get here, to what most considered a plumb job. Her friend Regina Ethridge had taken the exact opposite route. She had graduated with a degree in microbiology, and minors in metallurgy, forensic science and criminal justice. The daughter of a decorated veteran, she had found no resistance to landing a job here right out of college. She was brilliant, intuitive and made up for her lack of street knowledge with boundless energy, tenacity and a mind that was like a sponge, absorbing all information and able to retrieve any of it at a moment's notice. She also had movie star good looks and was extremely naïve. She was married to Steve Ethridge, a detective with APD. Jazz knew him vaguely, a charmer with good looks and a soft-spoken manner. She knew a lot more about Steve and Gina's sex life than she cared to, but that was natural with best friends. No doubt the tall blonde knew more about Jazz's private life than she was comfortable with at times. At least, that was what Jazz had always assumed. Shaking her head, she got up and went to her office. A manila envelope sat on her desk and she opened it with a nail file, while checking her voice mail. The envelope contained eight by ten glossies of a crime scene. The girl in the photos had been shot twice in the chest, and the house had been ransacked. Local police thought it might be a robbery gone bad, but had decided to ask her to look it over. Jazz shoved Regina and her weirdness out of her mind and began going over the pictures and police report with a magnifying glass. "You going to stay here all night?" Regina asked. Jazz looked up suddenly, her face showing total confusion. "Damnit, what time is it?" she asked. It had happened again, it almost always did. She got so lost in what she was doing that she simply phased out and lost all track of time. "It's five forty-five, silly," Regina said with a chuckle. "I'll meet you down in the garage, just have to make a phone call," Jazz said, looking up the code and dialing it in. "Gilespe? Yeah, Carter, state crime lab. Better grab the boyfriend, this isn't a robbery gone bad, it's a murder, pure and simple." Jazz Jazz picked up a pair of nipple clamps, the way Gina had blushed at the comment made Jazz think she might like those. She also got a feather, paddle, pleasure belt and other minor nick knacks. When Ty returned, Jazz had her fit Gina for a pair of 5-inch stilettos with locking ankle straps and a bondage corset. Her friend didn't protest once and was terribly quiet and withdrawn on the ride home. "Talk to me Gina," Jazz said as she got onto 95 and headed home. "I don't know what to say." "What are you thinking? Feeling? Was that too much for you?" "I don't know. I feel...all fluttery inside. I...I nearly came when you made me show that woman my tits. It was humiliating...but arousing too? I'm not making any sense at all am I?" Jazz chuckled and pulled over to the side of the road. She reached into the back seat and rummaged around in one of the bags before finding what she wanted. She tore off the packaging and handed the case, which looked like a large jewelry box to Gina. "What's this?" "Open it and find out." She did so, staring in confusion at the two large golden balls sitting on their velvet bed. She looked up at Jazz questioningly. "Ben-wa balls," the black woman said with a toothy smile. "What are they for?" "You put 'em in your pussy," she replied, enjoying the deep blush that came over Gina's face and neck. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "Now, I'm guessing you're already wet, am I right?" Gina nodded hesitantly. "Good, hike up your skirt, and put your legs up on the dash," Jazz said as she took the case out of Gina's hands. Gina hesitantly complied and Jazz felt a lump in her throat. Gina's legs were long and toned, the kind of legs the short woman loved to imagine wrapped around her. Her white bikini panties were stretched tightly across her mound and Jazz hesitated just a moment before plucking one of the balls out. She caught the leg of the panties and pulled them aside, revealing Gina's trimmed blonde pubic triangle, thick lips and fleshy mound. Gina blushed scarlet, but made no move to stop her and Jazz pressed the ball to her entrance. It took a little doing, but it eventually slipped inside, producing a drawn out hiss from the tall woman. Jazz took the other ball and pushed it in also, then reluctantly released her grip and watched as the panties snapped back and covered the beautiful sight. Jazz reluctantly returned her eyes to the road and pulled back into the light traffic. The road wasn't in very good repair and Jazz made less effort than normal to miss the ruts and potholes. "How do they feel?" "Strange, like they are moving inside me," Gina said in a breathless voice. "Good, now listen to me," Jazz said, switching off the radio. "The biggest part of a sub's enjoyment is in the surrender. You need to recognize that, if you're going to be a good top. Showing Ty your tits turned you on. Letting me put those little balls in your pussy did too, don't bother trying to deny it, I can smell your cunt from here." Jazz said. As she suspected Gina jumped at the harsh word. "Humiliation is also a part of it. The degree each affects a given person is different, you have to feel your way into your sub's mind and decide what does it for them." Jazz, stopped speaking as she passed an eighteen-wheeler, concentrating solely on the road. Once she was back in a moderately open stretch she continued. "You get off on someone talking dirty to you, don't you slut?" "How did you know?" Gina asked after a few moments. "I pay attention to you, even when you don't think I am, I'm watching you. Topping someone is intuitive, but it isn't brain surgery. I said cunt and you reacted, isn't too far to make the connection. You're also a closet exhibitionist, but I doubt you even realized it. I've learned more about what turns you on in the last few hours than I have in the years we've been friends. Why? Because I'm trying to. It's like any relationship, you have to communicate, but a lot of communication from your sub is non vocal, remember that." "What else do you know about me, Jazz?" The black woman laughed and reached over to touch Gina's arm, without taking her eyes off the road. "A lot really. But, I'm not going to just tell you about it, I'm going to show you. So we'll let that one slide. Just remember this kid, the domme is the one who has the tough part in a relationship, not the sub. You're responsible for both of you enjoying it, whereas a sub only has to do what they're told. Steve wants to be topped, but what exactly does he want?" "I...I don't know, I guess?" "I didn't think you did. And he's not going to just tell you. I'm feeling my way into your head Gina. You're going to have to feel your way into his. Where that leads, I can't tell you, I don't know him and frankly, I don't want to know him." They were silent for a while, as Jazz negotiated the heavier traffic as they approached the city. Quick sidelong glances showed Gina was having problems. She was biting her lip, and had a death grip on the door handle. Her nipples were poking out and her face was flushed. Jazz could smell her arousal and felt a sympathetic twinge in her own pussy. Ben-wa's could be hellishly subtle if you didn't know what to expect. Jazz skipped her exit and took the bypass, getting off on the south side and eventually pulling into a badly deteriorated parking lot next to a large, nondescript building. "What's this place?" Gina asked quietly. Her nostrils were flaring and she seemed to be in a real state, which was what Jazz had hoped for. "Shell's Clit club, it's a lesbian hangout," Jazz said. "Oh Jazz, I can't go in there! What if someone sees me?" "Relax. How many out lesbians do you know, Gina?" "Just you," she replied, obviously puzzled. "Right. So if you see anyone in there you know, you'll know her secret too." "Jazz, I can't," she protested. "All right, I'll take you home," Jazz said easily, turning the ignition. "Wait! I'll go," Gina blurted out. "All right. That was your one slip Gina. Next time you hesitate or protest, I'm taking you home, understand?" "I understand Jazz," she nearly whispered. "Here are the rules. I'm going to go in first, you're to follow five minutes afterwards. You will take a seat at the bar and order a drink, something strong. Anyone asks you to dance, you will. Anyone offers to buy you a drink, you let them. You're to smile and flirt with anyone who flirts. If you get on the dance floor and someone gets handsy, you're to let them do as they please and pretend to like it, even if you don't. You can't say no tonight, unless someone tries to get you to go to the back room. Under no circumstances will you say yes and if they're riding you, I'll step in. Do you understand?" "You want me to act like a whore?" "No, a whore gets paid for it, you're giving it away," Jazz said with an evil grin. She paid at the door and sauntered in, enjoying the loud music, buzz of a hundred conversations and the smoky smell. She hadn't been out to a club in ages and chided herself for not taking the time. She really did love clubbing. Jazz got a beer at the bar, and then found a booth with a good view of both the bar and the dance floor. She sipped the beer contemplatively and waited for Gina to show. Almost five minutes to the second later Gina came in and made her way to the bar. She was walking gingerly and Jazz smiled, imagining her discomfort at learning the Ben-was really went to work when she moved. In less than two minutes a short butch approached her. Jazz watched with some amusement as Gina let the small girl lead her to the dance floor. To her surprise, Gina could dance. Her face also showed she was hot and ready, the Ben-wa balls were obviously doing their job. When the butch turned her around and began to grind her hips into Gina's ass, Jazz almost intervened. Gina looked so distraught and mortified, but soon she was working her hips back and doing a damn hot bump and grind. Successive partners kissed her, felt her up, and dry humped her on the floor. Jazz drank plenty and just watched, enjoying the obvious conflicting emotions in her friend. When she felt sure Gina was in a sexual state that would make the rest of the evening work out how she wanted Jazz sauntered up to the bar, grabbed her elbow and guided her out to the car. "How ya feeling?" Jazz asked after they were on the road. "I've never been this horny in all my life, these things are incredible," Gina gushed. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed. She looked totally fuckable, that kind of look a girl got when you knew she was ready for sex. Jazz smiled and tromped down on the accelerator. Jazz "Damn girl, you are some kinda muff diver," Jazz exclaimed while fanning herself. Gina looked beautiful, her eyes closed, a blush on her cheeks and Jazz's juices making her lips and chin glisten in the wan light. She wanted nothing so much as to release her and just hold her. To thank her for such a lovely orgasm, but she knew that would be out of bounds. This wasn't about Gina becoming her lover, as much as she wished it was. It was about Gina learning the ropes and now wasn't the time to show tenderness. Jazz sauntered over to her toy box and pulled out her harness. She stepped into it and buckled it tight. Next she rummaged around the many dildos that she owned. The one she chose was flesh colored, neither the largest in her collection nor the smallest. It was very short, only about five inches long, but also very fat. Not knowing anything about Gina's abilities and comfort zone, Jazz picked one she could be fairly certain would not go too deep and cause pain, but would also give a good fuck. She pressed the base to the stud on her harness and pushed until the vacuum lock sealed with a series of audible clicks. When she turned back, she realized this wasn't going to be easy. Her feelings for Gina were stronger than she wanted to admit and while it was part and parcel of the games, humiliation had never been something Jazz really enjoyed. Still, she needed to give Gina a taste of it and that was getting harder with each moment she spent with the pretty blonde. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. "Well, you look like you could use a good fucking," Jazz said as she crawled onto the bed between Gina's long legs. Jazz gripped the dildo in her hand and began to stroke it slowly up and down Gina's slit. Her pussy was an angry shade of pink and in short order the head of Jazz's cock was glistening with her juices. Gina was pressing her hips up, trying to sustain the contact as much as her bonds would allow. "How bout it slut? Is that little pussy of yours ready to be filled?" Gina groaned and continued to buck her hips. "Answer me!" Jazz demanded, pulling the dildo back. "Yes! Please Jazz," she begged. "Please what?" "Please..." "Please what? Please fuck me? Please stuff your cock in my cunt? What Gina?" "Fuck me," she gasped when Jazz returned the toy to her pussy. Jazz could have gone a lot further. She had often made Trish revile and debase herself, but that was what she enjoyed. Jazz had no inkling if Gina was enjoying it and frankly, she didn't care now. She just didn't have the desire to make Gina do it without knowing in advance she wanted it. Jazz let the head settle at Gina's entrance and applied pressure with her hips. She watched as it opened and expanded Gina's tunnel. Gina was making the most incredibly erotic noises and Jazz felt the tension in her body rising. This was going to take an effort of will, she decided. Closing out the sights, smells and feelings she began to mechanically work her hips. The sight of Gina's pink lips spread wide and grasping her cock as it sawed in and out was too much. Jazz had to close her eyes and concentrate on something else. As usual, work came to the fore and soon she was deeply engrossed in speculation about the killer and his motives. Gina was moaning, crying out in broken sentences and babbling incoherently. Jazz was still thinking about work when Gina's voice finally penetrated. "Jazz, please, Please stop," she begged. Jazz looked down to see Gina cringing. Not in pain, well, not really, but in that super sensitive state where any stimulation walked the razor's edge between pain and pleasure. Her pussy was deep red, covered in white cream where Jazz's motion had whipped the blonde's juices. Her pubes were matted and the muscles beneath her skin were twitching. Jazz pulled out, cursing herself for having missed the blonde's orgasms. She had wanted to get her mind away from there to prolong Gina's pleasure, but she cursed herself for having drifted too far. Nothing made her feel good about herself like making her girl come and she had missed it. 'One more performance,' she told herself. Just one, then she would take it easy on Gina and explain what she was doing and why. "I'm not done yet Gina. So if I stop, you'll have to offer me something else." "Anything, just please," Gina begged. Jazz hopped off the bed and while Gina rode out the after shocks, she changed dildos. She then undid Gina's restraints, rolled the pliant blonde over onto all fours and refastened the slips to her arms. Jazz crawled back between her legs and slapped her ass. "On your knees!" she commanded. Gina rose to all fours immediately and Jazz stroked the new toy up and down her slick pussy, getting it wet with her juices. This toy was far different than the first, long and slim, its end was tapered to a point. At it's widest, it was no bigger around than a D battery. Jazz thrust it into Gina's wet pussy causing the blonde to groan, but after a few stabs she withdrew and placed the slick head on Gina's rosebud. As Jazz carefully put her weight behind it, the tapered head began to penetrate the tight ring of muscles. Gina seemed to realize suddenly what was happening and started. "Jazz?" she cried. "Shut up. Just shut up and relax. You don't want me fucking that little pussy, so I'm going to ream this hot little ass," Jazz said as harshly as she could. Jazz expected more protest. In fact she had resigned herself to being talked out of it. The short woman loved anal, but she knew most girls had problems with it. She could tell Gina had never tried it, she was so tense her whole body seemed stiff. When she didn't protest Jazz stroked Gina's back with her nails. "I want you to totally relax Gina. If you tense, it's going to hurt and I'm not into hurting people." As she watched, Gina's body slowly relaxed. She could tell Gina was still nervous, but she seemed to be making every effort to follow Jazz's wishes. Normally such submission thrilled her, but in Gina's case it just troubled her even more. Jazz was now dead certain Gina was, herself, a bottom. Only a bottom gave in like that and only one who really loved the feeling did so with the small sigh of contentment Gina evidenced. Jazz shrugged off her concerns and pried Gina's soft, satiny half moons apart. She watched with growing lust as the thin dildo slowly disappeared into Gina's quivering bottom. Gina moaned and whimpered, tensing often and at one point lunging forward in her bonds to escape the pressure. Jazz held her firmly and continued to apply pressure with her hips, until the final third of the long toy slid into Gina's bowels. "There we go, not so bad is it?" the black woman coed. "N...no." "Ready for some good old fashioned ass fucking?" When Gina didn't reply Jazz slapped her ass, leaving a red print of her hand on the pale skin. "Yes!" she yelped. "Yes what?" "Yes, I'm ready for some ass fucking," Gina cried. "Beg for it, slut," Jazz demanded. "Jazz, please fuck me. I need it. Please?" The surrender in that voice, which should have caused her such elation brought only worry. Thrusting it aside, Jazz pulled back slowly and then thrust forward. Gina yelped, but Jazz didn't hesitate. She drew back and thrust again. In short order the thin toy was sliding in and out of Gina with long, deep strokes. Gina was moaning and groaning and the whole thing was so hot Jazz realized she was going to come again. She hadn't planned on it, that was just the way it was. She lay across Gina's back and unclipped her right hand. "Play with yourself," she demanded as she seized Gina's ample hips and began to really plunge the dildo into the blonde. Gina's hand snaked between her legs and was soon vigorously stroking her pussy. Jazz bit her lip to keep from coming first. "Come!" she demanded. A few more strokes and Gina did, wailing like a banshee. The sound mingled with Jazz's hoarse bark as her orgasm hit. "Oh god, Oh god, Oh god...Jesus Mary and Joseph," Gina babbled. Despite her orgasm, the words clicked something in Jazz's head. The tiny, almost inconsequential fact that tied all of the cases together. Along with the physical joy came the mental release, she had a starting place. She called in after releasing Gina and helping her to the tub. As eager as she was to get on with the investigation, she was more than happy to have Gina here. The weekend was grand and Gina turned out to be an enthusiastic, if somewhat inexperienced lover. What she lacked in technique, she made up for in ardor and before she took her home, Jazz had the unmitigated pleasure of fucking the blonde's ass on the living room floor at Gina's instigation and not her own. Jazz Gina thought a while before answering. Jazz was used to the look. You could almost see the ideas being refined in the white-hot fire of her mind. "It's different, but I wouldn't say humiliating. I mean, I enjoy you talking dirty and even making me respond sometimes, but I'm not really into being demeaned. I found pleasure with you Jazz, bliss even. Sex has never been like that. It wasn't just being restrained or even having my secrets seemingly laid bare. Your hands are so loving. You make me tingle with just a look and when you touch me...I just seem to take flight." Jazz laughed. Gina seemed to realize the laugh wasn't dismissive or derisive, it was just a genuine expression of joy. "Does that mean I'm not wasting my time?" she asked hopefully. "Girl, I've been falling for you since you first brought this up that day in the lunchroom. I just never dared let myself believe you would feel the same way," Jazz declared passionately. "Well, you sure made this hard you stinker," Gina said. She laughed happily when Jazz enfolded the tall blonde in her arms and squeezed her tightly. Gina's head fell on her shoulder and for a long time they just held one another. It was comfortable and Jazz felt herself slipping into a lethargic bliss. That changed when Gina gently began to kiss and nibble on her neck and ear. "Mmmmm, what is my baby doing?" Jazz asked. "Trying to turn you on," came her whispered reply. "You always turn me on," Jazz said, stroking Gina's long tresses. "I hope so. I've been hot for you for weeks." "What do you want?" "I want you to fuck me Jazz," she said, licking her lips lasciviously. "Do tell," Jazz said, managing to keep a grin off her face. "Please?" When Jazz failed to respond Gina rose and removed her skirt. She wore a red garter belt and black stockings with a red thong. She slid the thong down her legs and tossed it to Jazz, then pushed the coffee table out of her way and got on all fours. She lowered her upper body to the floor and thrust her ass up. "Fuck my ass," she said in a seductive whisper. Jazz stood suddenly and scooped Gina up in her arms. They both laughed all the way to the bedroom. Jazz Blame it on mom. She was a jazz freak and I grew up hearing Billy Holiday, Anita O'Day, June Christie, Ella and Louis, you name it. "The cats" she called them. She knew all the words and she'd sing to the records, snapping her fingers, looking at herself in the mirror, moving her hips. I remember sitting on the floor, holding the record jackets, looking at the pictures on the front then up at mom singing to herself. She sang when she did dishes or was dusting around the house. I can still see her holding a dish and washing it over and over while she sang,"When you wish Upon a Star"or "Stormy Weather." I can still hear her sing,"it's raining all the time..." moving her head from side to side while I sat on the floor playing with my Raggedy Ann doll. I remember how she'd laugh at me when I came to her holding one of her Billy Holiday albums and I'd say, "Billy on. Billy on." She'd say,"Ginger, baby, you're going to be a jazz singer when you grow up." She'd put the record on and I'd sit on her lap and listen to Billy singing,"Strange Fruit" and "All of me, why not take all of me." The record was scratchy and worn out,but I could tell how much mom loved those records and so did I. Mom wanted to be a singer but got knocked up by some guy I never knew and had me. She worked at different jobs, dropping me off at Charlene's Day Care then picking me up on the way home. I remember Charlene—a big fat black woman. She laughed a lot—especially when she'd hear me sing jazz songs while I played. I'd sing "How High the Moon" or my favorite, "A Tisket a Tasket a little yellow basket." I sang it just like Ella and even did some scat singing—doowy-doowey, dee, dee, doo." Charlene would say,"Chile, where you learnin' dem songs?" The other kids in the group sang nursery rhymes and songs like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." I remember singing that song, but I'd jazz it up, standing in front of them, moving my hips from side to side like mom, and say,"sing it like this, "Twinkle...twinkle" and I'd snap my fingers and sing it fast, changing the notes so it had some feeling. I know mom wanted to be a jazz singer but had to work to put food on the table. That's when she'd say,"I'd be a jazz singer if I didn't have to put god damn food on the table." Her saying that made me feel sad and awful like it was my fault she couldn't be a singer. That's probably why she drank so much and would fall asleep drinking and smoking in her chair listening to Billy or Sarah. I used to see her when I woke up in the morning, sound asleep in the chair with the needle from the record player clicking and clicking. I'd turn it off and put the record back in the album then wake mom up and say it's time to get up and go to work. And I had to get to school—which I hated, by the way. The drinking got worse and she didn't sing like she used to. Her long brown hair was getting gray and she no longer wore colorful scarves around her neck or even seemed to care about her appearance. She'd come home from work and the first thing she'd do was pour a drink, take a gulp, let out a loud "ahh" like she was finally getting some relief. She'd put on Billy or Ella and sit in her chair, smoking. Sometimes we didn't have dinner until eight or nine and dishes were left in the sink. I started doing the dishes and doing the dusting and by the time I was 15, mom was always so drunk, I'd eat by myself and try to wake her up. It made me angry when she'd drink because I'd come home and have no one to talk to. It was lonely. It was like living with a ghost. It got so I hated coming home. There was hardly any money coming in. Mom was on welfare and we lived on food stamps. I hardly had any clothes that fit. My jeans were faded and really tight, my shirts were snug—especially around my tits and didn't even reach to the top of my jeans. The few skirts I had were way to short as I got taller. I noticed how boys at school would look at me and also older men couldn't keep their eyes off me. I have to admit I had a good body—nice ass, my tits weren't huge but they weren't little bean bags either. At first I was surprised and embarrassed. It felt a little strange, but then--I hate to admit this but I liked it. When I was sixteen I got a job as a waitress at Roma's Pizza and worked there from after school 'til eleven at night. On Saturdays during the day, I was a cashier at the Save-way Gas Station and Convenience Store. I worked there until three and headed over to "Roma's" to work 'til midnight. Well, I took my first weeks pay and tips and went to this cool thrift store—Second Hand Rose-- and got really funky clothes—way different than the other girls but I still wanted the guys to look at me. I liked looking sexy. I had long dark hair,halfway down my back and made sure that what I wore caught their attention. It was the mid-sixties and I became a kind of hippie—though I didn't know what that was. All I knew was I didn't want to be like anyone else and I didn't want to end up like my mom. When it was slow at the Save-way, I'd look at the magazines near the door and see the covers with these sexy looking women wearing practically nothing, but you know, they all looked alike. I wanted to be sexy but not like that. I'd read articles about some of the actresses and their relationships and wondered if I'd ever have a relationship. I was fascinated by sex and loved playing with myself and wondering what it would be like to really have a man do it to me. Lots of guys flirted with me at the Save way—some of them in their twenties, some a lot older and I liked how they looked at me and ask, "What are you doing after work?" Sometimes I'd smile back and never said anything but in my way I was teasing back. Even though I liked the guys teasing and flirting, still it was jazz that I cared about more than anything. I was always singing to myself, making up different ways of doing a song--fast, slow, playing around with the melody. Forget about school. It didn't exist, though they tried to get me to come. School was unreal. It was crowded and I didn't care about what happened in 1812 or want to read the lame books they assigned like Silas Marner and I forget what other books that didn't have anything to do with my life. I had no friends. The girls cared about clothes, boys and dying their hair different colors. The guys were jerks and just wanted to get laid or play stupid video games. I didn't fit in that's for sure. There was one guy I liked—Gabe. I met him when I was a senior and already eighteen. He always carried a guitar on his back and I'd see him on the fire escape practicing. He was a loner, like me. He had long hair and was definitely not a jock. He seemed serious, like he was always thinking about something. He was in my Algebra class and I could tell he was bored because all he did was doodle. I saw his doodles—music notes all over the page and lots of swirls. One day after Algebra, I asked him if he liked jazz. He looked at me, startled, like he wasn't used to any one—especially a girl-- talking to him, let alone asking him a question but the first thing I noticed were his intense blue eyes when he looked at me. "Well, I see you like music because I see you practicing on the fire escape and noticed your doodling in algebra." I paused. "Do you like jazz?" "Kinda," he said. "I guess. My dad's a jazz musician. I've been taking classical guitar lessons." "Classical,"I repeated. "Cool! I've never heard classical guitar." "I play a little jazz," he said,"but I really love flamingo and Bach." "You said your dad's a jazz musician. What kind? I mean. What instrument does he play?" I asked, as we started walking down the hall. "He plays piano and has a jazz trio. His real job is an accountant, but he plays jazz on weekends at different clubs." "I'm gonna be a jazz singer," I told him. It was the first time I said that out loud. I don't know why I said it and it scared me to blurt it out like that, but it also felt great to finally tell someone my secret thought, my dream. It felt right to say it to him because he loved music. There was no one else to say it to. Not at work. Not at school, until then, so I repeated it, just to hear the words again,"Yeah, I'm gonna be a jazz singer." Gabe looked at me like I was from outer space then smiled,"Cool," he said. "Good for you. Not too many kids around here are into jazz." We continued to walk down the crowded hall without speaking,but I knew both of us were wondering what to say next. It was weird to find someone who loved music like me that wasn't rock and roll. Finally, just before he stopped to go into his next class, he asked, "Would you like to hear me play the guitar?" "Sure. I'd like that. Would you like to hear me sing?" There was an awful silence. Finally I asked, "When?" "Now, let's cut and get out of here. It's last period anyway." And that's what we did. I cut school all the time, so it wasn't a big deal, but Gabe said, he never did anything like this before. He was in the honors track, even if he didn't pay attention in Algebra. He was on the school's debating team and seemed pretty serious but there was also something else I sensed but couldn't put into words. All I knew was I felt excited to be cutting with him. He got his guitar out of his locker and we walked out of school and went to the park across the street. We went over a hill and sat down on the grass under a big tree. Gabe took out his guitar and tuned it. He looked at me then started playing something by Bach. He called it a partita. I was amazed at how his fingers moved so fast and how he bent over the guitar and concentrated. I couldn't take my eyes off of him—those intense blue eyes, his long hair falling over his face,the way he moved his head and those fingers gliding over the strings. He looked up at me after he finished and said,"I've been working on this like crazy for a month. What do you think?" "You're amazing. I never heard anything like that. All I know is jazz." "My dad was a classical pianist then switched to jazz. Can I hear you sing now?" "I don't know. It feels weird singing jazz in the park. I need someone playing." "Come on," he insisted. "Sing something." "I always sing along with records. I never sang without music but here goes." I took a breath and sang, "All of Me." I sang it real slow. I mean super slow and made it sound sad,"Why not take all of me. I'm no good without you." I remember closing my eyes and pretending I was singing to someone I couldn't see, but I was talking to him with the words, pleading,"Take all of me...." I opened my eyes when I finished and Gabe was staring at me with his mouth open. "Hey, you're great, Ginger. That was something else." I loved how he looked at me. "I never sang for anyone before. You're the first person who ever heard me." "I hope I'm not the last," he said. "You have to sing for my dad. You've got a great voice!" "Really. You really think so. When can I sing for your Dad?" "Tonight. Come home with me for dinner. He's got to hear you." "I can't. I gotta get to work in an hour at Roma's." "Come afterwards," Gabe insisted. I told him I would. He played another piece by someone named Scarlatti and then I had to go. He said,"I'll come get you at Roma's" and he did. I remember looking at the clock, thinking about singing for Gabe's dad, going over the words of songs I liked, trying to think what I'd sing. It was pretty slow at work and it seemed like forever. I wanted to look good when I sang for his dad and was glad I had worn a pretty paisley skirt and white peasant blouse I got at the thrift store. It wasn't real short but came up above my knees. I liked how it fit and with my long, dark kind of wild hair and thought I looked like a gypsy—especially with the dangling earrings. Gabe picked me up in his VW bus right at eight and we headed for his house. His dad was reading the paper when we arrived and said, "Gabe says you're a pretty good jazz singer." He looked like an older version of Gabe except he had a mustache and goatee with flecks of gray. He shook my hand and told me his name was Peter. He asked if I wanted a coke or something and then we went into the living room. He had a baby grand piano and said, "Okay, Ginger, let me hear your chops." "Chops?" I asked,feeling stupid. He smiled."Chops. That's jazz slang for show me what you can do--your sound." He sat down at the piano,ran his fingers over the keyboard, played a few chords. "What do you want to sing?" he asked. "Do you know"Blue Skies?" "Cool," he said,"Not too many singers do that Berlin tune. Let's try it in C." "Play it real slow," I snapped my fingers to give him the tempo."Then the second time we'll pick it up." Suddenly,I felt confident,like I knew how I wanted to sing. Gabe sat on the couch and his father smiled up at me while I sang. I closed my eyes and sang the words,"Blue skies, smiling at me. Nothin' but Blue skies, do I see." I sang it slow and smooth the first time, emphasizing each word like mom did. When I finished the first time, I looked over at him then the second time, we picked up the tempo. I was snapping my fingers and moving my hips, swaying back and forth almost dancing. I felt like I was melting into the words, saying them so each word was important. I was telling a story about how the sky was smiling and I was happy, "Blue skies, nothing but blue skies from now on." I really thought about the words, trying to say I just got through a hard time, but things were better now. I saw my mom's face and how she used to look when she sang and now how she could hardly get out of the chair, but here I was singing about blue skies and things are getting better. When I finished and opened my eyes, I saw Gabe looking at me with his mouth open like before and his dad staring at me like he was dazed or stunned. No one said a word then they both clapped. "Hey you're really good. That was amazing. Where'd you learn to sing like that?" Gabe's father asked. "My mom. She loved jazz and that's all we ever listened to." He said he had a gig Saturday and would I like to sing with his trio. "I gotta work Saturday," I said,"but maybe I can get off early." "You've got to. You're damn good. Wait until the guys I play with hear you." "Cool, I can't wait," I said looking at him then at Gabe. I was excited and scared. "The place we're playing is pretty much of a dive and we play to a lot of drunks but it's a gig and the owner, Ed, appreciates good music. So, come and do a few tunes. It'll be good experience." Gabe drove me home in his beat up VW bus and we sat in front of the apartment house where I lived, just talking. It was dark except for a streetlight and I liked how he looked at me. My skirt was high on my thighs and the white peasant blouse was low on my arms, revealing my shoulders and a little cleavage. He turned and leaned against his door and told me how Segovia was his idol and how he wants to learn more pieces Paganini wrote for the lute. He spoke with such passion and it excited me to hear how much he loved music, but I also liked how his eyes kept drifting to my legs and tits while he talked and I knew there was something happening between us. We sat outside for almost an hour before I went in. I wanted to tell mom all about meeting Gabe and Peter and I'd be singing at the Black Cat, but she was asleep in the chair with an empty scotch bottle dangling from her hand. I couldn't wait until Saturday--- my first time singing to an audience and with other musicians. I told my boss Tony about my chance to sing and he let me off at eight so I could be at "The Black Cat" by nine. Gabe was going to pick me up. I bought a change of clothes so I would look older. I wanted to be a hit and get everyone's attention so I wore this vintage black cocktail dress from the forties I found at the thrift shop. It was cut low and came down below my knees,but I made it much shorter—about mid thigh. It clung to my body and I loved how sexy I looked. Mom had an old pair of shoes with heels that fit perfectly and my dark hair came halfway down my back. When Gabe saw me come out of the bathroom at Roma's, he just looked at me like he had never seen me before. "Wow you look beautiful," he said, his eyes wide open. Everyone in the place turned and Tony said, "You better be careful." I knew what he meant by the way he moved his eyes up and down my body. Even though Gabe and I were eighteen, we weren't allowed in places like the Black Cat, but since Gabe's father was there, Ed said it was okay. We sat at the bar both drinking ginger ale. I made sure mine didn't have ice. I read that singers never have ice in their water before they sing. The lights were low and the place was half empty. I noticed a couple of pool tables along the side. Peter was right. It was a dive. Sitting on the stool next to Gabe,my tight dress was pretty high up on my thighs and I noticed how Gabe kept looking at my legs. I wondered if I had made a mistake wearing such a low cut dress because it revealed a lot of cleavage and Gabe kept glancing at my tits. I liked how he looked at me and felt something stirring that made me want to touch myself but couldn't so I turned and looked up at the bandstand,imagining me standing on that little stage singing. I was nervous, listening to the music and watched a few couples dance,but mostly, people were talking, smoking and drinking—hardly listening to the trio. The place was pretty dark and Gabe was quiet but I could feel his eyes on me and sensed he wanted to do something but was hesitant. I felt the tension. I was sitting pretty close facing him. First his knee touched mine then he put his hand there then did something that really surprised me. He slid his hand up my dress and rubbed the inside of my thigh. He looked into my eyes to see how I'd react and I bit my lower lip and heard myself moan looking back into his eyes letting him know I liked how it felt. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear."You turn me on." "Is that so," I said and smiled, looking into his intense blue eyes then leaned closer wanting him to move his hand higher on my thigh. Just then the trio finished their first set and came to the bar where Gabe and I sat. He pulled his hand away before anyone could notice. His father introduced me to the musicians. Chuck played drums and had a pot belly and a thin mustache. The other guy's name was Al. He played bass and wore a baseball cap with a big A on it. They both looked at my tits but tried to hide it. "Hear, you're gonna do some tunes with us," Al said before gulping down a whole bottle of beer without taking it from his mouth. "Do Blue Skies like you did the other night and you'll wake up these drunks," his dad said. "What was the other tune?" "All of Me," I said, "real slow." When the guys walked on the stage, I took Gabe's hand and put it back on my thigh. He looked at me and smiled. I didn't say anything but our eyes met and I bit my lower lip and for a minute forgot I was going to be singing in public for the first time. I just wanted to feel his hand under my dress but suddenly remembered where we were and sat up straight. I took a deep breath and a sip of my ginger ale, my heart beating faster. The trio was playing an upbeat version of "Stardust" and Gabe removed his hand then leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "I want to touch you all over." "I'd like that," I said softly and felt a tingle between my legs,surprised at seeing this side of Gabe, remembering that sense I had about him when we first met. I wasn't sure what-it was---a kind of intensity and passion lurking beneath his quiet shyness. I saw it when he played the guitar for me in the park. Also, those blue eyes seemed to look into my soul. I knew I wanted him and smiled, looking into his eyes. Jazz When they stopped playing "Stardust," Peter, said, "We have a special treat tonight--a great young jazz singer making her debut. Let's give a hand to Ginger Lee Dawling." I walked up to the stage as a few people clapped. Someone whistled. I looked at the mike and moved it closer to me and looked up at the spot light. I never sang into a mike before and squinted trying to see the audience. Gabe's father started a little intro and I snapped my fingers to set the tempo. I started singing, "Blue Skies" real slow, looking out at the audience. The place was half empty, filled with smoke and people hardly paid attention. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the words, thinking about the story and let the words flow, when I heard someone shout, "Hey, girl, show us your tits." And another guy shouted, "Shut up you jerk." I saw the Ed come over and pull the guy by the arm. The man yelled again, "Come on girlie, show us your boobs." Ed pulled him to the front door and pushed him to the street. I kept singing but had trouble concentrating. I was scared and had never been yelled at like that. I looked at Peter urging me on. He said,"Keep going." He smiled. When I finished people applauded. I sang,"All of Me" and just concentrated on the song as if the audience wasn't there. The piano, bass and drums inspired me to sing like I never sang before and I knew I was hooked. I knew there was nothing else I wanted to do but sing jazz. When I finished, people applauded—even the guys in the band applauded. I was a hit and when I went back to the bar, Ed came over to me and said, "You're going to be a star—you can sing here anytime." Gabe stood up and wrapped his arms around me and said,"You were so good." It felt wonderful to be held like that and I pulled him closer, my tits crushed against his chest and didn't want to let go. I was feeling high after singing and loving how it felt to be on the stage—even if people weren't really listening—and liking how it felt to lean against Gabe's body, feeling his strong arms and whispered in his ear,"let's get out of here." Gabe's bus was at the other end of the small parking lot. Only a few cars remained. The only light came from a small spotlight on the corner of the building but it was dark where he was parked. When we got in he said,"You want a smoke a joint" and without waiting for an answer took one out of his shirt pocket. "I never smoked pot before." He lit the joint, took a deep inhale,holding the smoke in then passed the joint to me. "Well, there's a first time for everything and this is one of those times. Your first gig, now your first joint and maybe later, another first, unless I'm wrong about you." I chuckled,knowing what he meant and took a deep drag on the joint and held in my breath, excited to be in his car smoking pot for the first time. "You surprise me, Gabe." "Why?' "Well, you seemed so serious when we met the other day and it was the first time you ever cut and I cut all the time." I passed the joint back waiting to feel something. "I am serious and determined to get a scholarship for college but I think I'm more like you than you think. I mean, my music means everything to me." He paused, took a deep drag and looked into my eyes before speaking. "I want to be the best but I also want to be out there. I want to be free and uninhibited like you. When we met the other day, you blew me away with not just your singing but your determination and I like that you don't give a fuck about what people think." He passed me the joint and I took another deep hit. "But that's not all I like," he said, looking at my legs then into my eyes, a little smile on his lips. "Yeah. What else do you like?" I took a deep drag on the joint and held in my breath,excited to be in his bus and how we was talking to me. I handed him the joint and suddenly felt my head getting light and my body loosening and that feeling that comes to my pussy when I want to masturbate. "I like how you dress—I mean you dress and act different than most of the girls at school but somehow you are way more sexy." "Is that so," I said, smiling, looking into his eyes. I shifted in my seat, moving my skirt higher on my thighs. I was really stoned now and wanted him to do something. I wanted to encourage him. I wanted him to move his hand on the inside of my thighs like he did earlier but go higher. I turned and glanced towards the rear of the bus and saw the middle seat in his VW was missing and there was a carpet on the floor and room to lie down. He saw me look and then looked at me, took my hand and we slid between the seats and suddenly he was all over me and I was all over him. It was like a dam had burst and all that pent up tension needed release. We were attacking each other's mouths with fierce kisses, making out like crazy, groaning and moaning. He was laying on top me, my legs spread apart and I could feel his hard cock grinding into me while I lifted my hips aching for more. I wasn't sure how experienced he was but it didn't take long to know what to do—our bodies were on fire from being stoned and also being so ready to fuck. I somehow pushed him on his back and straddled him,rocking back and forth,my tits crushed against his chest,our tongues swirling in our mouths. My tight dress was way up over my hips and he grabbed my ass pulling me harder against him while he lifted his ass and we were grinding harder and humping each other like crazy. He then pushed me onto my back, got up on his knees, unbuttoning his jeans while I lifted my ass off the floor squirming out of my soaked panties. I spread my legs and pulled him down on me. We kissed wildly, grinding and humping again then suddenly he started rubbing the head of his cock against my dripping pussy lips, opening me. I lifted my hips wanting him to go deeper. He pushed his cock harder, thrusting, inching his way, opening me, my desperate pussy gripping his cock,loving how big he felt. This was so much more intense then my fingers. Soon,his cock was filling me and pushing against my hymen causing me both pain and pleasure. "Oh you feel so good. Keep going. Don't stop!" I moaned. Suddenly, he reared back and with one hard thrust broke through causing me to scream through the pain, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I love it I love it" and suddenly a huge orgasm swept over me and I exploded while he kept thrusting making me convulse again and again. "You're so tight," he screamed as he pulled out and thrust faster and harder, opening me even more as he filled me and I climaxed again even harder. I felt his body tensing and knew he was about to explode. I remembered mom getting knocked up and suddenly started pushing him away but he already knew and just as he exploded pulled out, screaming and shooting cum all over my face, tits and thighs as I lay under him, looking at his closed eyes and writhing body. Spasms still rocked through me and he collapsed on my body, his cock pressed against my wet pussy, my legs wrapped around his back, my arms holding him, clutching him, both of us panting and gasping. Neither of us spoke, trying to catch our breath but the realization I was no longer a virgin excited me and I just lay there with Gabe on top wallowing in the afterglow realizing I was in his bus in the parking where I had sung jazz for the first time to an audience. I loved the feeling of the bass and drums and how Peter's piano made me sing better than ever. I also loved getting fucked for the first time and knew I wanted a lot more. Gabe drove me home. It was after midnight but we sat outside and made out some more. He pushed the driver's seat back and I straddled him with the steering wheel touching my back. Somehow I lifted myself while he unzipped and pulled his cock out and moved my soaked panties aside and I came down hard on him then started bouncing up and down faster and harder, his cock filling me, going deeper with each thrust. I swallowed my screaming as I exploded all over him then felt him about to cum and again, he pulled out and I felt his hot cum spurting all over my thighs. It was so intense holding each other breathing heavily and feeling so good. It was hard to leave him but it was really late. Mom knew I was singing that night and I couldn't wait to tell her how it went but again, she was asleep in the chair with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor. The record player was on and the needle was making a scratchy click click sound at the edge of the record. I tried nudging mom to wake her up but she was too drunk. I turned off the record player and sat in the dark looking at her head slumped to the side, her mouth open. She looked old and tired. I remembered how she used to sing in the kitchen and what a great voice she had. How she had me and had to work to put food on the table, but ended up not able to do that or sing. I wasn't going to let that happen to me. I was going to sing to people who would listen. I was going to sing because mom couldn't. I was determined to be a jazz star. Gabe's father let me sing with his trio at the Black Cat and then at a few other clubs. I would do a twenty minute set—usually four songs. He even started paying me twenty bucks—not much but I didn't care. I just wanted to sing. We hardly rehearsed cause with jazz you just let it happen and I got pretty good with improvising—letting the words and the mood take me where I needed to go and the trio just followed. Then someone named Frank Weinstein heard me at another club called Ken Barry's Town House, a pretty classy place compared to The Black Cat and said he knew an agent in New York who could get me bigger gigs. He got me to make a tape with the trio and he sent it to this agent who really liked it. Peter and Gabe were excited for me and encouraged me to go to New York but I couldn't-- not with my mom being in such a bad way so I put that on a back burner and kept singing at the Town House and a few other places. I started getting a following and Ken, the owner said he booked Peter's trio cause of me and that I was going to go places. He used to invite me in his office to hang out and talk but I could tell how he looked at me he wanted more. He was in his fifties and kind of sleazy. Then one night, he said how about a drink and poured me a drink—a Bloody Mary even though I was underage and sat with me on his couch but he must have poured a lot of vodka in it cause I got really woozy. I said I better get going but when I stood up and staggered, he pushed me up against the wall and put his hand up my dress, grabbed my pussy real rough, tried kissing me, his cigarette breathe stinking. I was drunk and almost gave in, but then I squirmed away and ran out of his office. I never said anything to Peter or Gabe but Ken kept trying to get in my pants. I wanted to quit singing there but it was a good gig for the guys so I just handled it. I kept working at Roma's and the Save-way and hung out with Gabe. I was on the pill and he'd pick me up after work. We found this isolated out of the way place on a hill over looking the city. He got an old mattress and we put it on the floor of his bus and sometimes we'd stay there all night. We also fucked at his house sometimes when his dad was at work. His mom was a real estate agent and never home during the day. When we graduated—me near the bottom of the class and Gabe was third. He got a big scholarship to Oberlin because they had a good music program. I wouldn't have gone to the graduation but mom was really proud and wanted to see me in a stupid cap and gown—I guess because she never graduated. I tried to get her not to drink so people wouldn't smell booze on her breath and she wouldn't stagger but she had one drink just before we left the apartment. We had a great summer. Gabe practiced a lot and was working on those Paganini pieces. I loved listening to him and actually thought some of music he played sounded like jazz. He had a landscaping job and worked hard. He got a great tan which made those blue eyes even more captivating. He always drove me to the gigs and afterwards we'd go to one these all night diners and have eggs, home fries and coffee which gave us lots of energy then we would go to our favorite spot, get really stoned and fuck all night. I dreaded the idea of him leaving in September but that's what happened. A heavy metal band heard about me and tried to get me to sing with them but there was no way I'd do that---no one would ever hear me over their stupid loud music. One day that agent who had my tape said I was really good and should look him up when I could come to New York. His name was Morris Katz and said he could line up some gigs but I couldn't leave mom. I could see she was getting worse and then that fall, the doctor said she's done for—her liver was shot. She wouldn't make it past Christmas. Two weeks after mom died, I took the bus from Akron, Ohio to New York with one suitcase. I figured I'd find clothes in thrift stores but I made sure I had that black cocktail dress and mom's shoes. Before I left I told Gabe I'd let him know where I was so if he wanted he could come visit on his break. It was hard in the beginning not knowing anyone, but I got a room at the Y then went to see Morris Katz at his office on the sixth floor of the Shubert Building. I had fifty dollars to my name and he said he'd be able to book me at a few jazz clubs. I was nineteen so he got me a fake ID so I could get in those places. Morris was in his sixties, bald, fat but loved jazz and kept saying he thought I could really make it if I was persistent and trusted him. He got me to sign a contract that he would be my agent and manager and he'd get fifteen percent of everything. I signed the contract and thought I was on my way. He said he had a friend with a small studio apartment in the Village. The guy owed him for something and so I could stay there for nothing for a few months until I got some gigs. I got a job in one of those coffee houses in Greenwich Village where they had open mikes and anyone could sing or read poetry. I liked working there because the tips were good and on weekends, lots of tourists came to be part of the Beat--Hippie scene. Most of the waiters and waitresses were actors, dancers or artists. It was cool listening to all the different singers—some really good, most so-so. They played guitars and sang what they called folk music—songs that told stories—never any jazz and I wanted to get up there and do my thing but I was so different. Also, I didn't play an instrument so I had to find someone who could play the beat up piano they had. I put up a sign on the crowded message board near the front door—jazz singer looking for pianist. It turned out one of the waiters named Ben came over to me and told me he played piano and so we agreed to try some tunes after the place closed. I couldn't wait 'cause I was dying to sing and I could tell he was anxious. He kept coming over to me while we were working asking what songs I knew and did I know this singer or that sax player and I could tell he loved jazz as much as I did. When everyone cleared out except the manager, we finally went over to the piano. As soon as he played his first few chords and made some runs, I knew he was great—something about his playing startled me and I remembered the first time I heard Gabe play the guitar—that passion and intensity. He loved all the old standards like I did from mom's records and when I sang,"I Got You Under My Skin," he knew exactly how I wanted to sing it—first real slow then picking it up and then we did "Autumn Leaves." Our eyes kept looking into each others eyes while I sang and man we were so connected, so in a groove that I knew something was going to happen. Finally we had to leave 'cause the manager kicked us out and we went back to my place which was around the corner for coffee and to talk but it didn't take long before we were fucking like crazy on my futon couch. Ben was a little under six feet tall and had dusty blond hair that was kind of disheveled and came just over his ears. He was kind of thin and lanky but I could tell he was strong by the way he held me and I could feel his energy but it was his imagination not only when he played the piano but how we played teasing games when we fucked that made me know we had something special that would come out when we did jazz together. It was so cool when we did our first open mike at the coffee house. We followed a girl with a real high voice that sang an old English ballad called "Barbara Allen." Then we got up and did "It Had to be You" and I got into scat singing like Ella and Anita O'Day and then Ben did a really cool two choruses that was so way out then I came back in snapping my fingers, practically dancing while we went to town. We were a big hit which was amazing since no one ever sang jazz there and we'd do a different number every night. It was okay with the manager, this guy Stan, that we did that number during one of our breaks, but then it was really hard to concentrate on serving after singing cause people kept saying how good we were and wanted to hear more and Ben and me –all we wanted was to do jazz. I called Morris and told him I had a great pianist and could he get us some gigs and he did. Ben and I were really hooked on each other and he'd stay at my place or I'd go to his tiny apartment on the fourth floor over a bakery. Gabe and I wrote letters and talked on the phone but we both knew something was fading because the letters came less frequently and the phone calls were shorter then he told me he had a girl friend. I told him about Ben and we wished each other well but knew we would always be friends—no matter what. Life goes on, right! We both liked getting stoned after we got home from work then come up with some role playing scene. He liked when I wore these tight cut offs and put my hair in pigtails and be the farmers daughter and we had to sneak off to the barn and man we rolled all over the place fucking like wild animals. I liked getting picked up in a bar and I'd wear this really slutty short skirt and he'd push me up against the wall like we were in an alley and I'd give him a blow job but before he'd cum he'd pick me up and slam me against the wall and get down between my knees and eat me, his hot tongue driving me insane then stop just before I exploded and I was desperate to cum then we'd fuck on the floor both of us crazed with him pounding me, getting really raunchy calling each other dirty names and I'd scream fuck me harder come on bastard give me that big hard cock and he yelled give me your fucking cunt slut and we'd both have mind blowing orgasms. Morning fucking was the best. He'd wake up and push me on my stomach and straddle my ass, putting two pillows under my stomach. I felt so possessed and then he'd fuck me from behind with really strong hard thrusts, pulling my hair forcing me to rock back on his cock 'til I exploded all over his cock screaming my head off, I loved his power and then we'd collapse and spoon for a long time, holding each other and I liked how tender he'd get, how he'd kiss my shoulder and head and called me darling. The whole Greenwich Village scene was pretty wild in those days with crazy clothes, drugs, music and politics. Dylan was already making it but he started at some of the open mikes--so did Rambling Jack Elliot and Eric Anderson, Tom Paxton. Lots of poets read there and Ben and me did our thing. I called Morris and believe it or not, he got us a gig to open for Mose Allison at the Village Gate—a pretty famous place. He was really cool—a kind of southern gent but he said we were really good and he told some club owners about us and we started playing all over the city. Jazz Ben knew this sax player named Bill McHenry and he had a bass player and drummer and we started doing gigs together. My dream was to get a gig at Birdland where Charlie Parker and Dizzy played. Bill thought I should make a record and he knew a guy at a small label called Blue Note. So we got him to hear us at a club and he said I had what it takes so we went into the studio to cut a record. Bill was an amazing player and it was like he had absorbed all the sax players before him. During one of our breaks at the studio, Bill said he had some cocaine and would I like to try it. I said why not and while Ben went out to get a sandwich or something, we went into the bathroom and he showed me how to do it and I'll never forget that first time-- how intense it was and how hot it got me. I just wanted to fuck and so did Bill. He locked the door and he lifted me on the sink with the mirror in back of me and pulled off my panties, spread my legs and rammed his cock into me, putting his hand over my mouth so no could hear me screaming. It didn't take long for both of us to explode in huge wild orgasms. It was like we raped each other it was so intense. I didn't know what to feel when Ben came back. I tried acting like nothing had happened but knew I had to keep my cheating on him a secret. I hated how that felt and started thinking about my body and how I needed freedom to be me and not belong to anyone. I knew I loved Ben and didn't want to hurt him but I liked what I did with Bill and suddenly realized I should be able to fuck who ever I wanted. I wanted to be in charge of my life. I didn't love Bill but I liked fucking him in the bathroom. I liked how it felt to get high on coke and fuck and knew I wanted to feel free. The rest of the session went well and ironically I sang that great Berlin song, "Always." You know, "I'll be loving you always. With a love that's true, always." It took me a few days before I got up the guts to tell Ben how I felt about needing freedom and npot wanting to belong to anyone. I didn't tell him about Bill and the coke cause I didn't want to break up our act—it's not easy to find a pianist like Ben and we were so in a groove. I knew that more than anything I wanted to be a jazz star and I wasn't going to let anything get in the way. I felt determined and strong and knew I didn't want to end up like my mom. Ben saw the change in me and we had long talks. I said he should fuck other women and I wanted to fuck other guys if I felt like it. He didn't get it. He didn't want to share me and he didn't want any other woman. I told him I loved him like crazy and just 'cause I fucked another guy didn't have anything to do with my relationship with him. It was just fucking. He tried to tell me I was wrong and it wasn't moral and I said that was bullshit. I said I was being honest and it was better to have an open honest relationship than a fake dishonest one because of society's rules. What the fuck was morality any way? Finally I had to tell him about fucking Bill in the bathroom and the coke and he just looked at me stunned. I could have kept that a secret but I wanted to be completely honest and took the chance that we could break up. It broke my heart to hurt Ben and realized how much I really loved him but I had to be honest with myself first or I could never be honest with anyone or with my singing. When he slumped back in his chair and I saw the pain in his eyes, I went to him and sat down on the floor between his legs. I felt so much for him and wanted to show him. I put my hand on his cock and started rubbing it. He didn't budge but just sat back but I moved my hand up and down wanting to give him pleasure and hoped he wouldn't stop me and storm out. At first, he started to move away but I could feel his cock getting hard and lay back in the chair making soft moaning sounds. I wanted to seduce him and the harder he got, the hotter I got. I unbuttoned his jeans, pulled down the zipper and put my hand on his hard cock, gripping it, feeling the throbbing pulse. I was wearing a short denim skirt, no panties and could feel how wet I was but this was about him. I licked his cock from his balls to his tip moving my tongue up and down, feeling him squirming and then when I put my lips over the sensitive head, his moaning got me hungrier and he suddenly grabbed my head forcing me to swallow more and more of his cock. He started thrusting, wrapping my hair in his fingers, pulling my hair, lifting his ass off the chair and started really fucking my mouth. I could feel his fierceness like something powerful was taking over. Suddenly he grabbed me and lifted me from the floor, getting me to straddle his legs and then pulled me down hard on his cock, impaling me, holding my ass and rammed his cock in me with more energy than I had ever felt. He then gripped my hips and held me in place so I couldn't move while he thrust up, going deeper with each powerful hard thrust. "Come on Fuck me! Fuck me!" he shouted and I could hear his rage and feel his strength as he filled me with his mad thrusts. He then picked me up, lifting me by the ass, carried me across the room and slammed me against the wall, my legs wrapped around him and he pounded me faster and harder, banging me against the wall screaming, "Fuck me you little whore. Give me your cunt you fucking bitch!" He rammed his cock, driving me into the wall with each thrust then suddenly he pushed me, practically throwing me to the floor, grabbing my legs, pulling them over his shoulders and drove his cock into me, opening me like never before with his savage thrusts pounding me faster and harder. He looked into my eyes and yelled, "You're mine. You're mine! You belong to me!" I suddenly pulled my legs from his grip and started kicking him away. "No I'm not! Get off of me you bastard! I don't belong to anyone!" I squirmed under him, kicking as hard as I could, trying to get away, determined to be in control and not his or any one's. I tried getting to me knees to crawl away but he grabbed my legs and then pounced on my back, his hard cock pressed against my ass while I kept squirming, struggling to get away, screaming "Let me go!" "You're not going anywhere," he shouted and somehow managed to get his hand under me and grabbed my pussy, gripping it while he humped my ass. The more I squirmed and struggled to get away the tighter he held my pussy, pressing my clit against his hand. I felt so possessed. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to get away but I also wanted him to take me right there. "You're mine to fuck," he shouted. He then lifted me to my knees, still holding my pussy and with his other hand slapped my ass hard. He kept spanking me harder and harder, his other hand rubbing against my pussy driving me insane. I wanted to shout for him to stop but couldn't. His slapping my ass hurt and excited me but his hand on my pussy, rubbing my clit made me insane and I suddenly shouted, "Fuck me bastard! I need your cock!" "Tell me you're mine! Tell me!" "No!" I shouted. He then put the head of his cock on my pussy moving it up and down. He was leaning over me with his other hand still gripping my pussy. I was crazed and needed to cum but I wasn't going to give in. "Tell me!" he yelled, rubbing my dripping pussy with his cock. Suddenly he fell back on his legs, pulling me up to straddle his thighs, my legs wide apart. I lay back against his chest. He kept his hand on my pussy while his other hand grabbed my tit, gripping it roughly, rubbing my hard nipples, my ass pressed against his cock. I was out of my mind. This was beyond anything I had ever experienced. I felt his rage and passion and wanted him to fuck me more than anything. I was desperate. I had to have it. I lifted myself, grabbed his cock, getting it where I wanted it and came down hard while he thrust up going deep, filling me, my pussy gripping his cock, while his hand rubbed my clit. I screamed and knew I was going to explode and cum all over his cock. "Come on, slut! Ride my cock! Ride it you bitch!" and yelled with each thrust then suddenly the most intense orgasm of my life swept over me and I convulsed again and again, my whole body shaking like an earthquake. He kept thrusting then suddenly, turned me and threw me violently onto my back and I screamed, "Take me! Take me! Fuck me! I'm yours—all yours! Take me!" He looked down at me and without hesitating, thrust his cock deep and hard, fucking me savagely screaming, "Fuck me! Give me that tight cunt! Give it to me!" and kept thrusting harder and harder, faster and faster. I felt his whole body tensing and knew he was about to explode. "Ohhhhhhhhh yeah I'm cummmmming! Just fuck me!" he yelled thrusting madly then his body went stiff and hot gushing cum shot deep into my pussy making me explode again in a wild orgasm—the most mind blowing orgasm of my life. He collapsed on me, both of us panting and gasping and unable to budge. We lay on the floor next to the wall, weak and exhausted. After a few minutes, I wrapped my arms and legs around him and held him close, my tits crushed against his chest, his cock deep in me. I didn't want to think but gradually began to remember how this all started and how I wanted to be free yet here I was lying on the floor under him feeling so possessed and not sure how I felt. He then got up, zipped up his jeans, grabbed his coat and left, slamming the door. I screamed, "Don't go! Don't go!" But he was gone and I lay there on the floor, sobbing, not knowing what to think, tears rolling down my cheeks. The thought of losing him ripped at my heart. I got up and went to the window to see if I could see him but all I saw was the crowded street below. I didn't know what to do and hoped he would come back but he didn't. I tried sleeping but kept waking up thinking I heard a sound at the door but it was never him, just my imagination. We had the final recording session the next day at ten and I hoped he would show up. We also had a gig in two nights at a place called Joe's –a really hip jazz club and a really big break. It was even written up in The New Yorker and called me one of the new jazz singers to be watched. When I got to the recording studio, Bill and the other guys were there but not Ben. We paced back and forth, looking up at the clock because every hour in the studio costs money. We had to finish today. I didn't say anything about what was happening but I was questioning my decision to be independent of anyone, to be free to be with any man I wanted. I didn't want to need a man but right then I needed Ben to play the piano. I knew I had hurt him and he took his revenge out on fucking me like a demon and crazy as it sounds I liked it. I began wondering what was more important, my being a jazz star or having Ben and if not him, any man. Finally, Ben showed up at the studio. I ran up to him to hug him but he brushed by me and went to the piano and said, "Okay guys, let's get this over with." It broke my heart to see him like this. He was always so sweet, gentle and funny but he was all business and hardly looked at me. The number we did was one of my favorites, "Our Love is Here to Stay." It's funny how my favorite songs were always about eternal love, you know, "Always" and now, singing,"It's very clear our love is here to stay..." and here I was singing that song after telling Ben I want us to be free to fuck other people. I either needed to find other kinds of songs to sing and stop being so romantic but those were the songs I grew up with, the songs mom sang, the songs I needed to believe in if I was going to be honest. When we did the session, I sang my heart out, looking at Ben when I said the words, "The Rockies might tumble, Gibraltar may crumble, they're only made of clay but our love is here to stay." He'd look at me then turned away while he played and I could feel his hurt and anger, still we made a great recording. He played a solo that was so incredible I didn't know where it came from but I could feel his passion, the same that came out when we fucked so violently the night before and how he yelled, "You're mine!" But somehow, he played it so beautifully, so tenderly. When we finished recording, he got up to leave and I tried to stop him at the door but he just looked at me and said, "I'll be your pianist but I won't take your bullshit" and he left. Ben came over to me and asked what was that all about, but I didn't answer. He asked if I wanted to do some coke with him and hang out. I have to admit I was tempted. I wanted to get high and forget what was going on but said "No. I needed some space." It was a cool spring day, I remember and I just wanted to walk around the Village and be alone. I felt good about the recording session and some of the gigs coming up but Ben's words about being my pianist but he won't take my bullshit kept going through my mind. Then something happened when I was walking through Washington Square—a really amazing park where people played chess and kids climbed on the statues and all kinds of characters hung out. I was sitting on a bench and saw this old couple walking past me. They must have been in their seventies or eighties. They were holding hands and they seemed so contented and I imagined them being together for fifty years and I could feel their love and it made me think of the romantic songs I loved. They looked so beautiful together, so happy and I suddenly saw what was possible and then more than ever, I wanted to find Ben and tell him I wanted only him, I wanted his passion,imagination. I remembered how my mom sang those love songs but ended up alone, a drunk and unhappy. I went to Ben's apartment over the bakery and when he opened the door I threw my arms around him and told him to forget what I said about wanting to fuck other men. I wanted our love to grow and I wanted to sing all those old songs and I wanted to sing them with him at the piano and that's what happened. I never got real famous but made some good records and we got to play in some good jazz clubs all over the country and most important, I sang mom's songs because she couldn't.