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Jazzy Girl Ch. 1

By: Dixon Carter Lee



She stood at the microphone, waiting for her cue, worrying a cigarette and gripping the mike stand like a spear. The girl was a study in opposites with blood red lips set against a pale, white face,  and smart, sharp features buried under a sweep of messy brown hair.  Her sensual arms and neck hinted at a curvy figure beneath a frumpy black t-shirt and jeans.  She was instinctually sexual, but her keen, gray eyes burned with a sober intelligence.  She was a seductive fusion of dark and pale, calm and chaos, sex and brains.  To me she was jazz incarnate.  I didn't know her name, but as I stared her, waiting for her to sing, worshipping at the Altar of the Eclectic,  I reverently dubbed her "Jazzy Girl".

Let's back up. Manhattan.  October.  Last year.  Night. 

I was walking home in a foul funk after a lousy gig at some club on Lafayette that thinks it's so cool it don't even have a sign over the door.  Cheap blues and expensive drinks, and don't it just kill you to have to sing on a Friday night for the bridge and tunnel people who order Long Island ice teas too loudly, and request Billy Joel too much, and wear glitter eye shadow and pinky rings too proudly. "Fuck people" soon goes from mutter-to-mantra in New York.  

That's what I was chanting all the way home when I hit the park (Washington Square for those of you without a subway map) and saw it -- a big old country orange moon, stuck up against the canvas of the night sky like a sticky lollipop on a black velvet painting. 

Usually, New Yorkers never notice the moon.  Firstly, there ain't enough sky, and secondly, only rubes look up, Chester.  But by some arcane cosmological crinkle in the machination of arcs and orbits, the moon somehow found itself that night perched just to the left of the Twin Towers and just above Wall Street -- in other words, in perfect sight alignment with Greenwich Village.  It was so glorious and unexpected a sight that the whole freaky-hip Friday night Park crowd started "Ooooing" and "Ahhhhing" and  "Eeeeeing" in a very un-hip, breathy fashion.  Even the skeezy Hatian drug dealer (who never stops scanning West Fourth for fresh NYU meat) let out a reverent "God-daaamn!"  

Now, I grew up in Pennsylvania, where they have plenty of  sky, and I knew the different lunar phases, so I said to the drug dealer, "It's a Hunter's Moon". He nodded, thoughtfully, as if I'd just explained to him, clearly, for the first time, the secrets of the universe, and all of life encompassed.  

I looked around at the whole freaky Village crew, with their crack and dirty clothes and guitars and paper-bagged beer, and they seemed warmer somehow, bathed now as they were in mystic moonlight.  They seemed more human, like men and women again, and not the rat people they had become.  I found that I loved them.  I loved them for taking a moment to contemplate the cosmological.  I loved them for allowing poetry back into this dirty, urban park that once kissed Hippie feet.  Most of all, I loved them for noticing the moon, Chester. 

So, despite my mud-dried urban scowl, I smiled.  I smiled with the memory of summer, fireflies and young girls who smelled of lemon. 

But would this feeling last?  It had been a shitty year, and a shitty night.  I felt the icy hand of despair clutch at my throat again, and, as I was about to lower my eyes and slink off home to my tiny bed, an eruption of fire-works exploded above the park as gorgeous red, orange and yellow streaks of screaming bottle rockets burst into smoldering starbursts and thrilling multi-color jelly-fish tentacles that dripped across the Moon.  It was abso-fucking-glorious.

I took it as a sign from the Universe that things were about to be spinning my way.  Yep, it was as if God himself had said, "Magic time for you, dude."

Of course, I knew where the fire-works really came from. Seems that some lunatic had taken to setting off illegal fireworks displays all over Manhattan lately -- "The Mad Cracker" The NY Post called him.  No one knew why he did it, or where he got his fire-works, but the police suspected a pro because the shows were so good, and so enormous.  The cops wanted to catch him desperately, but so far no one had gotten hurt, and the public loved him.  I even saw him!  A little guy in overalls and a Yankees cap, running away up Fifth Avenue, some sort of remote control apparatus in his hands, two policemen on his tail.  Why he chose to strike Washington Square Park at that particular moment I don't know, but with those unexpected streaking rocket trails flying past that magical moon I took it as an omen that things were about to get very interesting for me.

No way was I going home.  No way was I going to waste this night, this moon.  I needed a drink, and music, and people. I wanted to go somewhere noisy and toast my re-found soul.

I knew the doorman at The Bitter End, so that's where I headed, not having much chump change for a cover elsewhere. So I hung a Louie, and made my way down Sullivan to Bleeker, and stepped up to the door. Fat Harvey was there checking IDs, and he waved me in, giving my back a friendly slap.  That was strange, cause Harvey was usually a prick.  He lets me in free 'cause I live in the neighborhood and I can always cover a set when the manager needs somebody last minute, and like I say, he's usually a prick about it, but tonight he smiles and slaps my back like we were Mafia brothers or something and says, "Lookin' good there, Chief!" 

And damn me if there wasn't actually a seat at the bar next to a very nice looking girl. She was wrapped around a thick necked-boyfriend, but, hell, if you have to sit at a bar it's cool to have scenery, even someone else's scenery.  She wore one of those strap dresses that shows off the sides of the breasts.  She was hot, probably from dancing, and a bead of sweat dripped down the side curve of her boob.  Love that. 

"Gotta' be the moon, working its magic ." I said to myself, taking in the girl's perfume.

So I plopped down beside her, got a beer, pulled out my notepad and started scribbling.  (I write all my songs in bars. All my best stuff was written half drunk in some dive hole.) So I wrote for while, finished a new lyric, not too bad, ordered another draft, grabbed me a handful of salty peanuts, sneaked a peak at the cleavage sitting next to me and decided that life was pretty good, and how could it get any better, when I caught another girl's reflection in the bar mirror.  She was good-looking, so I turned around, and saw her climbing the stage.  "Cool.  Chick singer." I thought.  "And she's okay to look at."  I put my notepad away, swung my stool around, and waited to see if she could warble.  

Someone hit a spotlight, and that's when I got a real good look at her. All pale skin and dark clothes, and no make-up except painted ruby lips. Jazzy Girl.

Behind her sat a serious looking quartet: piano, sax, drums and bass.  They reminded me of a wicked trio I had a couple-three years back in the days when I had a CD out and concert hall gigs and money out the wazoo and everybody was talking "next big thing" and "blues original" and I couldn't buy my own drinks from here to Miami.  I was on top. Now I was lucky enough to work a crappy piano bar for utility money.   Hey, don't ask me why creativity fails, why talent wanes, why the songs dry up.  The times they went a changin', that's all.   Inspiration vanished.  Oh but for a Muse of Fire that would ascend the highest something, something, something.  I had it, I lost it. No pity, okay? No use crying over spilt gin and tonics. Anyhoo, this band looked tight, and when the orange and blue lights came up and pushed through the smoky haze and they started playing that first sweet phrase  -- Lordy! -- a thrill shot through me right down to the shakras.  Only two measures in and you knew they were gods.  Nothing better than walking into a club and discovering the band is gold!  And if the Girl can sing...!  

Finally her cue came. She stubbed out her cigarette, opened her ruby mouth, and my whole world changed.  She had a smoldering voice.  A whiskey voice. She sang with her eyes tightly closed, like she was coming up with the lyrics moment to moment, like she was living the song.  I'm telling you she torched up the joint.  She lifted it up, spun it around, and sent us into some smoky jazz oasis where it's always four a.m., the drinks are cheap, and the girls all have vocabularies.   She stirred me, kids.  Stirred me.  And I hadn't been stirred in a long time.

I think that's why I followed the moon that night -- it stirred me, too.   "Maybe this night, and moon, would change all that." I said to myself from the vinyl loneliness of my bar stool. "Maybe that's why it brought me here to this club -- to meet Jazzy Girl."

After a bit she settled back and worked her cigarette while the band did some freeform.  The audience was tapping and head bopping. A few couples started dancing, including the pretty young thing sitting next to me and her beefy boyfriend who lumbered around like he had cement in his pockets.  You couldn't even tell he was dancing, he just kind of stiffly swayed back and forth on his feet like some ponderous autistic giant. The sexiest music on earth and he couldn't feel a note. I swear, the man couldn't move if he were on fucking fire. The girl was something else, though, twitching and twirling her slim frame beneath a shimmery dress, her bare arms and legs glistening with perspiration. She looked very yummy.  "Easy, Sparky, her dance card's filled" I said to myself while checking out the size of her boyfriend's neck.  

I'd had my fair share of the fair sex, but not lately.  Frankly, I hadn't missed it much; depression and eating macaroni and cheese three times a week will do that to you.  But between Jazzy Girl's throaty voice and Cleavage Girl's slinky dance I got myself a pleasant little hard-on.  I enjoyed the chubby so much I didn't even try to readjust, but let it grow and push against my jeans.

Cleavage Girl caught me checking her out, and, not wanting to risk a punched out tooth, I closed my eyes and listened to the music.  

Jazzy Girl started singing again.  It was an original piece, and I liked her phrasing, but the lyrics were all wrong, so I started re-writing the lyrics in my head, like I used to years ago,  back when I had IT. 

Forty minutes later the set was over, the band was drinking in the back, and I was still flying high on sexy staccato rhythms, sweet saxophone solos and that sultry, edgy voice. My mind and body were on fire; lyrics were leaking out of my ears.  I had finished the re-write I had started earlier in my head and set it down on paper and very much wanted to show it to Jazzy Girl.  I'd found my Muse, and she was a chick singer with ruby lips and black jeans.

But she'd vanished.  She didn't drink with the band, and I didn't see her leave.  I didn't know if this was her only set for the night, and I didn't see any table tents or fliers telling of her next gig. I might never see her again, and sweet Judas I wanted to see her again.  So I made my way to the storage room where the singers hang out between sets, hoping to find her there.  

As I passed the bathrooms she suddenly appeared and knocked into me with a "Whoa, hey."  She was stumbling out of the men's room.  I must have looked at her strangely because she just shrugged and said. "No line for this one." She was right, the line for the girl's toilet was enormous. "You got a lighter?" she said, not at all embarrassed. "Lost mine." I shook my head.  "No?  'Kay." she said.  "Later."

And then, before I could say "Nice set" or "What's your name?" or some other puppy dog bullshit, she brushed past me like I suddenly went all invisible, and took a seat with her jazz boys.  They all chatted and drank and made for a happy, incestuous little group while I stood in the hallway with no lighter and a boner that was getting distinctly uncomfortable. 

"Okay, that went swell." I muttered to myself, realizing it could have been worse.  I could have opened my mouth, for one Goddamn thing!   I realized I had nothing prepared to say to this chick, this singer, this pale young thing with the foggy voice.  Like what?  Like, "Gee, you sure do sing purty."?  Like this was my plan?  Better I should shut-up.

So, I guess the moon had given me its fill for the night. Hell, I heard some good jazz, I wrote a few lyrics, I saw some nice cleavage, I got inspired, I got a boner. "Go home, Sparky, whack off, and wake up at noon." I said again to me.  "That's your freakin' plan.  Stick to it."  

That's when I heard Billy Tuttle scream my name. Billy and I used to gig together.  We started doing one-nighters in Jersey and all that, and he was part of that wicked trio of mine that kicked ass once upon a time.  Billy was a good old friend. 

"Freddy Blue!" he called from the stage, happy to see me.  

My last name's not really "Blue".  Five years ago I thought it was jazzy sounding.  Five years ago I was from Pennsylvania, okay?  Gimme' a break.

"Freddy Blue!" he says, "Yo! What up?"

I walked over to the stage and shook his hand. "Billy my man!" I said.  "You gigging tonight?"

"Yeah," he said, twirling his guitar, "doing a tight twenty.  You still playing?"

"Still." I said.

"Still writing?" he asked, hopefully. 

"Scribbling's more like it."

"Oh." he said, sounding disappointed.   "Hey, you wanna' sit in?" 

If he had asked me two hours earlier I would have said no.  But two hours earlier I had no moon, no stirring, no poky boner.  Now I had energy to burn, so I jumped at the chance to get on stage.  I grabbed the mike like a life-line.  

Before starting I noticed a yellow lighter on the floor beneath the piano.  I glanced over to Jazzy Girl's table, and there she was, still looking to light her stick.  "Gotta' be hers." I figured, so I picked up the lighter,  called out, "Yo! Jazzy Girl!", and tossed the lighter across the room to her.  She reached up, made a smart catch, smiled, and gave me a big thumbs up.  Then she lit her cig, blew out a puff of smoke, and watched our set.

The lights came up and Billy started playing my biggest hit, the one that got us the CD deal way back when, a nutty blues riff called "Hoop Girl' about a girl we both knew who loved to shoot hoops more than making love.  It's very sexy and gritty, with lots of room to improvise,  and I get to be all bluesy and anxious and show-off my range.  "Hoop Girl" has gotten me laid more than once.  I love the damn song. 

But I hadn't sung it two years.  I hadn't sung anything but covers in two years, and Billy probably knew that.  But he was a good kid, and probably thought it was about time I got back to my music.  He had to vamp around the intro a couple of times before I could find my voice.  But once I did it was like bumping into an old friend in the street, and the years just sort of rolled back, and with the crowd bopping and tapping along I was the new kid in town all over again.

We finished "Hoop Girl" to great response, and did five other songs Billy still remembered from the old days.  I played the house keyboard, the old tunes falling under my fingers with ease and joy.  Hell, I was having a good time!  

We killed as best you can in a tight twenty, and left the stage to cheers. Billy had another gig uptown,  and had to split. "That was Goddamn fun!" he said, slapping my hand. And it was.

I went back to the bar where the Cleavage Girl suddenly seemed to know I was alive. I had just sat down to a free drink from the bartender when she swiveled her lovely frame away from Thick-neck Boyfriend and sparkled and marveled my way.  

"That was wild!" she said, her black eyes darting all over me.  "Did you write all that?"

"Yeah.  A long time ago."

"You really feel what you're doing, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean, you don't just sing la-di-da.  You really look like you're having fun up there."

"I am." I said.

"Well, you've very good." she finished, clicking her glass against mine in toast.

"Yeah." said her boyfriend, trying to edge his way into the conversation.  "You was good."

"Thanks." I said.

So, I'm chatting and flirting, getting a very good vibe from Cleavage Girl (and a not so good vibe from Thick-Neck)  when along someone comes and taps me on the shoulder.  It was Jazzy Girl!  She swiped a messy browb sweep of hair out of her eyes, flicked her lighter once at me and said,  "Thanks". 

"No prob." said I.

As she walked away she gave me glance back, smiled, and said, "Good", referring to my set.  I took it as the best review of my life.

What the hell was it about her?  She was small, though busty, and had great bones.  Maybe it was the eyes; gray and sharp.  Whatever.  She was interesting looking.  

I turned back to the sultry Brunette in the silky dress. The Boyfriend went off to take a piss, and left me all alone with his girl - a major tactical error. She started leaning into me even more now, touching me on the arm, and laughing at everything I said. She was a city girl, which means she dressed sexy, not slutty.  She looked about twenty-four.  A professional type, out for some fun.  

She chatted me up a bit more about my talent, then asked if I have a card, you know, in case she wanted to hire me for a party or something.  She was a little nervous, wondering if I'd see through this bullshit.  I liked that she was nervous, and a little inexperienced in picking up men.  I hate bimbos.  

"You know" I said, "I've got some fliers on the wall in the back room.  Let me get you one."

"I'll come with you." she says brightly, though guardedly, wondering if I'm picking up on her at all.

So we pushed through the crowd of sweaty twenty-somethings to the back room, her hand on my shoulder so she wouldn't lose me.  Ooo, that felt nice.  Definitely a charge there.  "I could probably get this girl to come home with me", I thought. 

As we passed Jazzy Girl's table I noticed her looking my way with a sort of interested, but withering stare, like she was sizing up my worth.  My loins stirred a bit.  That always happens when I get eye-balled. Plus I've got this glistening young thing behind me, and you're always better looking when someone hot is hanging onto you.  (Thank you Moon God).

So, we got to the storage closet, which was a dirty little room where the bands could hang between sets.  I ripped a flier off the grubby wall and handed it to my new admirer, who was acting all shy and awkward now that we were alone. "That's my number." I said tapping the bottom of the flier.

"Okay, great. So I can call you.  Good. " she said, clutching the flier, trying to squeeze more conversation out of it.  Her eyes were down, and she shuffled her feet.  There was an awkward pause.  

Then, she decided something.  With all the import of diving from a great height, she took a deliberate step into me.  She was very close. I could smell her perfume.  Her skin looked delicious.  She took a deep sigh, as if resigned to do something dangerous.  She took in my face, a lusty look in her eyes.

I looked back.  We knew what the other was thinking.

"I don't do this!" she said, finally, and then she laughed.  I laughed, too, the tension broken a little.  

I chanced a kiss on her forehead.  She sighed, liking it, and said, "What are you dooooing, Bonnie?" to herself.  She dropped her head onto my chest.  "I think I'm a little crazy about you."

Damn.  I must have done an even better set than I thought.  I slipped a hand around her waist, pulling her even closer. Her tummy pressed against my cock, and her eyes flashed when she felt it.  

"How crazy?" I asked.

She took a deep breath, said, "This crazy", and kissed me.  She had a tasty mouth.  "Mmmmm." she purred, slipping her tongue between my teeth. Wow. 


Jazzy Girl Ch. 1



I thought I heard someone coming down the hallway. The door was cracked open, and we could be seen, so, holding the lip lock, I pushed her back away from the open door.

"Whoooa!" she cried, as I shoved her into the wall, knocking over a lost guitar. "Okay, okay, okay...." she stammered, wondering if I was getting a little rough.  She was scared, breathing very fast, but in that "Huh-huh-huh-huh" lusty way that meant she was turned on.   

I wasn't trying to be rough, I was just trying to move somewhere more private.  But there was something about that "Huh-huh-huh-huh"  that excited me. Now, I've always been a missionary kind of guy, not because I haven't wanted it any other way, but most of the women I've been attracted to in the past were pretty straight-laced (not something most musicians brag about), but here was a girl whom, though clearly a novice at picking guys up, had a lusty streak that seemed worth exploring. So I crushed her a little harder against the wall, just to see what would happen, and she groaned lustily again.

I breathed her in, rubbing my nose across her neck, inhaling a flowery scent of violets. I had to taste her skin, so I licked her neck. It was salty. 

"Ahhhhhhhh." she said, lifting her head up, baring her throat for more.  I licked her again, then bit her nape. "Oh my God...!" she cried, and I could feel her body melt.

We licked and bit and sniffed like that for a while, getting all lusty and twitchy. She raised her arms up above her head, and I grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the wall. "Ohhh!" she gasped, startled by the pin, but thrilled.  So again, I went with it.  I squeezed her wrists tighter, pressing her against the wall even harder. It was a scratchy, cement wall. "Ow!" she complained, as her skin scraped against the surface, "What are you doing?"

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, smelling her arms from her elbows to her pits.  She wrinkled her nose at that, but I think she liked how intimate and dirty it was. 

"I don't know..." she said, her eyes rolling back in their sockets.

I lightly brushed her breasts. 

"No." she said.  "I'm with somebody."  Then she looked at me, deeply, and added, "What do you want?" as if to say, "Take me."  

So I placed a palm full over her breast, rubbing the thin dress across her nipple.  

"Ohhhh." she moaned. "Okay, enough."  

I continued rubbing her breasts.  They felt like two firm peaches under silk.  

"That feels - nice." she said.

I let my hand fall down her body, tickling her tummy once, down her hip to the hem of her soft dress, which I lifted.

"No, no, no! Are you crazy?" she said, wiggling her hips, trying to get her dress down. 

"Yes" I said, pushing her against the scratchy wall, and lifting her skirt again.

I kept her hands above her head. She could have gotten them  loose, pushed me aside, and said "Fuck off creep" easily.  But she didn't.  She let me run my hand up her leg.  I felt where her stocking stopped, and continued up her naked thigh to her underwear and felt her springy bush underneath.  She lifted a knee,  pressing her leg bush against my hand. 

"How crazy?" she whispered.

"This crazy", I said, slipping a finger under her panties, and into her pussy.

"Ohhhhh!" she gasped, as I wiggled my finger around her gooey insides, "Oh my God!"  She struggled a bit, trying to get her hands free.  "Stop it...stop it..." she begged.

She slid down the wall a bit, fairly sitting on my thick finger, wiggling her hips and pressing her clit against my knuckle. 

This was nutso.  The door was ajar and we weren't be exactly quiet.  I heard someone talking in the hallway outside.  She heard it too, and looked to the door, terrified that someone would walk in, but also, it seemed to me, excited by the idea.

"Is somebody out there?" she asked, breathing hard.

"Probably." I said.

She squeezed her pussy muscles around my finger. "Do people come in here?" 

"Bands do, between sets." I said, wiggling my digit.

"Is there a lock?" she asked, juice dripping from her cunt.

I squeezed another finger inside her. "No." 

"Uhhhhhhhh!" she moaned, squeezing her thighs together.

I heard the door creak a bit, as if someone had opened it a crack.  I looked over, but the hallway was dark.  If anyone was watching us I couldn't see them.

Christ, that was all I needed, for some waitress to catch us and tell Fat Harvey and have him toss me out or ban me from the club or some crap.  I needed the work too much.  "Don't shit where you eat." I said to myself, ready to stop this whole damn thing now.

But I was beyond having a pleasant little hard-on. My cock was hard and angry and wanted attention.  This girl was so nice to kiss, so nice to finger-fuck.  Her breasts crushed into my chest and felt firm and bouncy.  I looked into her deep cleavage, and caught sight of a nipple as her breasts rose and fell with her ragged breathing.  I fairly salivated with my desire to suckle.  My nostrils were full of perfume and the lovely, intimate smell wafting up now from between her legs.  I didn't give a shit who was watching. I couldn't stop.

She continued to grind her pussy against my finger, while I pressed her against the wall.  Her dress had ridden up over her bottom, and her ass was scratching against the cement. "What's your  name?" she asked shyly.  "You have your finger inside me, I should know your - oh my God - name."

"Freddy" I said, not even trying to be gentle with my finger-fucking.  I lifted her up a bit now, and really thrust into her, pressing my thumb against her clit. 

"Uhhhhhh.  Uhhhhhh.  Uhhhhhh." she grunted with each thrust. "You are crazy! I'm crazy!  Let me go...let me go.... I don't do this."

Yeah.  That was the fantasy we were playing.  She isn't doing this, I'm doing it to her.  You've got take my word for it, I'm not one those "she was asking for it" assholes. This was different.  She was in control here.  Even as she said "let me go", she slipped her tongue into my mouth.

I wanted to touch her breasts, but I needed my other hand, and if I let go of her wrists the force fantasy would be over, and she'd fold.  I had to bind her wrists with something, and free up a hand.  I needed something like a rope. The lost guitar had a few broken strings, so I reached for it.  As I pulled my finger out of her and let her go she nearly fell to her knees.

"I have to - get back..." she said catching her breath, thinking it was over. 

I grabbed the guitar, ripped off a string, wrapped it around my fists and pulled it, testing its strength.  Her eyes flew open.

"What the hell are you doing?" she said.

"You wanted crazy?  I'm thinking I'll tie you up."

"I'm not that crazy." she said, scared.  But her voice was playful, and she didn't move from the wall, as if I were somehow still holding her there. 

I was getting excited at the idea of tying her up.  I'd never been into the bondage thing before, and, frankly, I'm still not, but I wanted to do anything that might turn her on, and her wide-eyed glare at the steely guitar string stirred me something wonderful.  I was enjoying this, and wanted to drag it out a bit more. "First I'm going to take off your panties." I said, improvising.

"What?" she said, startled.

I stared at her for a long second.  She stared at me. Electricity jumped between us.  Goosebumps grew all over her arms.  

"I'm going to take off your panties." I repeated slowly.

She waited for me to make a move.  So I did.  I reached out, thrust my hand under her skirt, shoved my middle finger up her cunt, and lifted her off her feet.

"Ah! Ah! Ahhhh!" she cried at the violation.  I put my hand around her throat, pressing her against the wall, steadying her. "Easy, easy..." she said, on her toes, trying to regain her footing.

I popped out my finger, grabbed the crotch of her panties at my retreat, and pulled them down to her knees where I could see them hanging below her dress.  They were white cotton, sharply cut, dotted with red hearts with a big, wet stain in the crotch. I got to my knees, where the nice smell of her pussy nearly knocked me off my feet,  and rolled the panties down further, bunching them over her ankles and high heels, and off.  She lifted her feet for me, and made little grunting sounds, "Uhhhhhh... Ooooooo...." while running her hands down my back.  I held the moist underwear up to my nose, and sniffed. She saw me do that, and crinkled her nose again, excited and repelled.

"Oh that's nasty." she said.

I grabbed her hands, and wrapped the guitar string about her wrists, tying them together.

"You are crazy." she said, then added, in a tiny whisper, "Not too tight."

I tied the wire off.  The thin metal pressed into her flesh like a mesh net.

"Ow." she said, whimpering a little. "Don't hurt me."

Now that she was constrained (sort of) I could use both hands to knead her boobs, my hands sliding all over her dress.  

"Mmmm." she moaned planting her lips on mine. Her breath tasted like apple wine.

We heard another voice outside.  She squealed, breaking the kiss and falling back against the wall.

"Was that someone?" she asked.

"Maybe." I said, taking off my jacket.

"Quiet!" she said.

She was really worried about being discovered.

"I think what we have to do is be fast, before someone comes in." I said, unbuttoning my jeans, happy to have an excuse to dispense with any more foreplay.

"Oh God." she said, a little frightened.  We'd been playing a game up until now - suddenly it got all real.  I really didn't know what I was hoping to get away with here.  She was ready to fly, I knew it.  I had to distract her.

"Did you like my song?"  I asked, loosing the last button on my fly.

"Huh? What?" she said, staring at my open jeans.

"Hoop Girl.  Did you like it?" I said, stepping into her, nuzzling her neck.  "I wrote it.  Even cut a CD with it once."

"Really?" she said, happy to have a conversation to latch onto.

"Did pretty well for while, got some radio play." I said,  "I thought about doing a music video."  I reached into my pants, into my boxers, and let out my cock. It was obscenely hard. She could feel its weight pressed against her thigh.

"Oh shit." she said, not looking down.  She kept up the conversation, trying to sound all normal. "You should do a video." she said, panting.

I lifted up her silk dress.  It bunched and crinkled and gave me small static shock. "What do you think?  Lots of smoke and half naked women?"

She laughed.  "Yeah, that's never been done."

I had her dress up to her waist.  She whimpered a bit when the cold air hit her pussy.

"Would you like to be in it?" I asked, pressing my cock against her stomach.

She gulped.  "Is this what this is?  A casting couch kind of thing?" She put her arms around me, her hands still tied and clasped behind my neck, pulling me closer.

I went on joking. "Before casting you I have to know your qualifications."  I could smell her sex again, and we stopped talking. I bent my knees, slid my cock under her, and brushed against a few scratchy hairs.

"Oh my God." she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. She was breathing hard, and wondering if she should let me do this.  She had a tear in eye.  We stood like that for a few seconds.  I barely moved, waiting to see if she really wanted to go through with this.  She was struggling, clearly aroused, but clearly scared. "I don't do this." she whispered again, to herself.

I pulled away, thinking, "Okay, enough's, enough.  We had some fun, but, you know what? I don't do this either.  I'm not going to rape this poor girl."  But she couldn't seem to let me go.  She kept her arms around me, and held me close, my cock still under her, still poised. 

I could smell her, and the delicious, tangy odor was making me dizzy.  My cock twitched, and pressed up against her pubes which dripped with her juice.  I was slick, and she was wet.  We were ready.  She couldn't move, couldn't decide what to do.  Her arms trembled. Finally she whispered in a tiny voice, "I think you're going to have to take me." 

And now that she'd given me permission,  I did.

I crushed her against the wall.

"Oh God." she said, scared.

I bent my knees and maneuvered my cock under her.

"Oh shit." she whispered.

I pressed the head against her lips, and pushed up.

"Ahh! Ahh!" she stammered.

I entered her, slightly, letting her juices drip down, coating my meat.

"Ohhhhh." she moaned.

I stood up straight, slipping my cock inside her, lifting her off her feet.

"Holy God!" she said.

I entered her completely, and fucked against the hard, scratchy wall. 

"Ow.. Ow.. Ow... Ow.." she complained as her ass hit the cement in rhythm.  

She struggled against her bonds, instinctually trying to free her hands. 

"You're so nice!" I said, harder than I'd been in a year.

In the hallway outside I heard someone say, "C'mon, Julie.  Showtime."

The sudden loud voice was so close, so startling, that we froze.  She panicked, letting out a little cry, terrified of exposure, but so turned on that I could feel her juice running down my thigh, and her pussy muscles tighten around my shaft like a noose.

"Who was that?" she whispered.

"I don't know." I whispered back, then adding, "He sounded close." 

"Oh God. Hurry." she squealed, leaking more juice down my leg.

I thrust into her again, lifting her off her feet.

"CHRIST!" she screamed, unable to keep quiet.

I needed more traction, so I laid her naked ass down on the dirty floor, shoving aside the broken guitar, an old Village Voice, and a couple of beer bottles.  Using the rest of the guitar string I tied her hands to the radiator behind her head, dug into the cracked tile with my boots, cupped my hands under her ass, entered her, and humped her hard and furious.

"OHHH....MYYYY.....GOD!" she squealed underneath me.  She pulled against the guitar string, rattling the radiator.  

Outside in the club I could hear the jazz band start their second set, the music reverberating through the floor.  The music really moved me, and I started fucking this girl in rhythm, playing her like a fifth instrument. 

She kept staring at the door, afraid that someone would walk in any minute. 

"Hurry! GOD!" she squealed, sure that someone would walk in at any moment. "Huh-huh-huh!" she breathed, getting close.  I wanted to send her over the edge, and I knew just how to do it.

Reaching out I flung the door wide open!  Down the hallway we could see a waitress, smoking near the kitchen. We were in plain view.

Bonnie's pussy squeezed my cock in terror. "Gawwwwwwwwd!" she grunted, her whole body shuddering, cumming hard.  

At that same moment I could hear Jazzy Girl's sultry voice booming from the club.  Her throaty singing thrilled me to the core,  and I blew a load of thick, creamy into Bonnie's quivering cunt.  

We froze in orgasm, spasming together, nails digging into flesh.  Both our eyes were on the waitress, who had finished her cigarette and was straightening her apron, getting ready to get back to work.  At any moment she would turn around and see us.

"Ah...Oh..!" groaned Bonnie, unable to speak.  Still in the middle of her climax she ripped her hands out of the guitar string, slipped out from under me and, and just as the waitress was about to turn around, slammed the door shut.  She lay with her back against the door, her legs shaking, her pussy wet and exposed and dripping on the dirty stockroom tile floor.

I finished spilling on the floor, wiping up the cum with a loose piece of newspaper.  I pulled up my pants and sat next to her, waiting for her "come back".

"Okay," she said, still breathless, "that is definitely going in my diary."

"Mine too." I said, suddenly aware of what an animal I just was.  We laughed together for a few minutes, waiting for her orgasm to finish.

"Freddy, sweetheart, you are...that was incredible." she said when she finished shaking, "I don't think I can walk."

"Stupid question to ask now," I said, "but are you, you know, on anything?"

"Yes." she said.  "Another not so stupid question -- Are you, you know, okay..?"

"I gave blood a few months ago," I said, "and everything's fine.  There hasn't been anybody since.  How about you?"

She paused. "You're only my second man.  The other one is okay, he was a virgin and..." She got all embarrassed and stopped to bury her face in her hands.  "I don't do this." she said, laughing nervously.

"Well, maybe you should." I said.  "You're really good at it."

She laughed again, and  threw her arms around me. "Musicians!" she said.  "God!"

I retrieved her panties, which she quickly grabbed and slipped on with a surprising modesty considering the wild fucking we'd just done.

"Help me up?" she said.

We put ourselves together as best we could.

"I don't suppose you want my number, do you?" she asked. "And do you think I can sound any more pathetic?"

"You could." I said, "Try it with a whine."

"I don't suppose you want my number, do you?" she said with a nasal whine. "You're not going to call me are you? Are you? Are yoooooooooou?"

I couldn't stop laughing at this girl. She had a great sense of humor.

"Oh, I'll call you." I said. "Where should we go? Someplace public, right? We can go to Yankee Stadium.  Want to screw on the pitcher's mound? 

"Shut up!" she giggled.  Yeah, she actually giggled.  "I don't WANT to be caught you know."

Yes, but something about the possibility of getting caught really plucked her strings.  Every time we heard a voice or a noise outside she creamed faster than an espresso machine.

We laughed a bit more, then she gave me a soft, wet kiss.  "Mmm." she sighed. "I can still smell you." She rolled her head back and stared at the ceiling.  "What have you done to me?  Goddamned jazz singers.  You're probably an asshole or married or - oh God, listen to me, I'm talking like a girlfriend." She handed me a card from her office and scribbled her home number on the back. "Freddy, sweetie, call me.  Or don't call me.  Whatever."

"You're not leaving?"

"Oh yes I am.  I've been -- good Christ -- bad enough for one night.  Call me if you want."

"I want."

"Good." she said, with just a hint of guilt on her face. "I think it's good."

She kissed me once more and stepped out the door.

I finished cleaning myself up and stepped out a few minutes later.  Bonnie had disappeared, along with the thick neck boyfriend.

I took a seat at a back table and listened to the rest of Jazzy Girl's set.  She was doing a hot number, really sweating up a storm and wailing like a hell-fire Gospell singer, her hands thrusting around randomly like Janis Joplin.  Damn me if she wasn't on fire. The crowd was loving her, and clapped along and stomped their feet and suddenly it was like we were in a Tennessee tent revival meeting. "Yeee-ha!" someone shouted, and the crowd cheered him and whooped and danced around the crowded club, smashing elbows and knees.

What a frenzy!  And Julie was the most frantic of all.  During a drum break she closed her eyes and jerked and rocked in place, the mike stand squeezed tightly between her legs.  She pressed the stand harder and harder against her pubic bone, and from the pinched, delirious look on her face I swear she was masturbating with it.  (Holy God!  Maybe that was her in the hallway!) She humped the pole for a solid five minutes, one hand holding her mike close to her chest (was she fondling herself?), until finally the sax player took over, and with that release she spasmed and shook (as if cumming) on stage in front of 300 screaming fans.  

The applause was deafening.  Jazzy Girl had to be pulled off the floor, where she had collapsed.  "Encore! Encore!" screamed the crowd, but the band disappeared into the back, their last set finished, and couldn't be coaxed back out.




Jazzy Girl Ch. 1



"Fucking tremendous." I thought. "Abso-fucking-lutely tremendous." I felt like I had found my soul again.  Jesus Christmas what a night!  I felt seriously rejuvenated, and somehow that made me sleepy.  "Good night." I said to myself, yawning, looking forward to a deep sleep.  "Thank you, Moon God!"

So I tipped the bartender, gave Fat Harvey a slap on the back ("Looking good there, Harv'!") and pushed my way outside. As I hit the sidewalk I heard someone call me.

"Hey, you."

It was Jazzy Girl and the band. They had rushed out to look for me.  "Listen," she said, still sweating and panting from her set, "what are you doing tomorrow night? Pete's got some damn thing tomorrow," said Julie, "What the hell was it again, Pete?"

Pete, the keyboard player, looked at her like she was crazy. "I've told you ten times you lunatic woman.  I'm having laser surgery on my eyes."

"Right." said Julie. "He's having his eyes burnt off."

The band laughed.

"So," said Julie, "tomorrow night..."

She was interrupted  by the sax player, who stepped forward, thrusting out a big hand. He was a good looking guy with biceps you could see through his leather coat.  "I'm Dean." he said. "This Pete, Tyler and Julie."

Julie.  Jazzy Girl.  

And Dean had his arm around her. So. She was taken.

"We loved your set, man." said Dean.

"Back at you." I said.

"Anyway", said  Pete, "They need someone to cover for me tomorrow.  Just one set at 9:30.  I can make the second set at 10:30."

"It's at the Gate." said Tyler, the tubby little drummer. "Nothing fancy, we've got sheet music.  And you can do some of your own stuff.  Anything original is cool."

"Actually," I said, pulling out my lyric sheet,  "I've got something new for you." I handed the lyrics to Julie, who had retreated when Dean stepped forward.

"For me?" she said.

"That song you did," I continued, "'Baltimore Taxi', you called it.   I don't know, the tune was snappy, funky, but the lyrics seemed too downtown, too all out bluesy.  It seemed like a lighter piece, so I worked up a few new lyrics."

"You re-wrote my song?" said Julie.

Her song? Oops.

"Not too much." I said.  "I mean, ya' know, there was some good stuff..." I stammered, trying to get my foot out of my mouth.  But Julie wouldn't have it.

"Nah. Can't get out of it." she mocked.  Then 'fessed up, "I can't write lyrics for shit, I know that.  So, you did this tonight?  At the bar?"

"Yep."

"'Kay.  I'll check it out." she said, looking the sheet over.  "What's this title?"

"Jazzy Girl." I said.

"Thanks." she said, giving me a curious, sideways look.  I swear she was checking me out.  

Dean grabbed her little tighter around the shoulder and said, "So, tomorrow night? You interested? Pays fifty."

"Fifty bucks? Sure." I said.  "I can eat tomorrow.  Bonus."

"Cool." he said, "Get there around nine, we'll be all set up."

We all said goodnight and separated.  Julie turned back to me, though, her hand in Dean's back pocket. "And bring your girlfriend!" she said with a mischievous look in her eyes.

I wondered about that moment in the stockroom when I though someone was in the hallway.  Wasn't it right before someone said, "C'mon, Julie."?  Damn it!  Was she watching us?  Did it turn her on?  Is that why she was so passionate on stage later?  

Let's just say I was looking forward to the next evening.

So I walked home, but went past my street without thinking. I was wandering, and didn't know where I was going, until I hit Seventh Avenue when I realized that I was looking for the moon. A funny mood had come over me.  I didn't recognize it at first, and then it hit me --  I was happy.  

The moon was lower in the sky now, dipping beneath the steel towers downtown, but still as orange, still as full, still as magical. I tipped an imaginary hat in thanks to the mystic orb, yawned a dreamy yawn, and headed home to bed.

To Be Continued...




Jazzy Girl Ch. 2



It was a keen night, the kind New York is famous for, all breezy and city-crisp with that distinctive fall-festival feel of Yankees baseball, Lincoln Center opera and Village jazz.  Autumn in New York is a wake up call for the mind which has hibernated the sweaty summer away and emerges refreshed and invigorated and ready to contemplate its urban treasures in the Fall. New Yorkers love when the weather breaks so they can put on their big coats and hats, walk down their windy Avenues past the gathering leaves and steamy vendor carts, and turn into their marbled museums, jewel box theatres, cushioned concert halls and fabled parks, all bursting with the promise of smart diversion, intellectual challenge and cultural buffet.  There is nothing more alive, more robust, more stirring, than the event-redolent air of October in New York.

I got to The Village Gate about 9pm, washed and shaved and looking my downtown best in soft leather pants, white silk shirt, clean underwear, and a black trenchcoat, which made a nice show of billowing and whipping behind me like some kind of superhero cape. (Jazz Man!) 

I hadn't been able to get the previous night out of my mind.  Making furtive love to Bonnie in the back room of The Bitter End, hands tied, moments away from discovery, ("fucking", the kids call it) was astonishingly erotic, and I had to masturbate twice before falling asleep.  I contemplated another "go" that morning, but I hoped I'd be seeing her at the Gate that night (perhaps even at my studio later) and thought it would be best to abstain - give me a chance to reload, if you will.

I had called Bonnie to invite her, and got her machine, so I left a message.  I wanted her to come to the club. I wanted to see her again, badly.  But as alluring as Bonnie was, and as aroused as she got me, it was Julie's voice that had sent me over the edge, and caused me to explode into Bonnie's body.  Julie had set the mood.  Pale, messy, sexy Julie with the whiskey voice.  Julie, who I couldn't get out of my mind, for whom I'd written a song in fifteen minutes, whose ruby lips kept my inspired all day, for whom I shaved and washed and dressed my jazzy best. And as my black coat cut through the air like a blade, I found myself walking down Bleeker eager to meet her again.

I entered the Village Gate, and there she was,  wearing black leggings and white blouse (a little more upscale for the Gate), her mass of blond hair almost combed.  She and the band were all set up and ready to go.  Apparently she liked my re-write of her song, because she said they were going to work it into the second set.  

No sign of Bonnie.

The crowd was swank, mostly locals.  The Borough people would be coming in later, drunk and over eager to "experience the freaky", which is why they come to the Village, though I can't imagine any of them ever find "the freaky", whatever the hell that is.  

Bonnie hadn't yet arrived by the time we started our first set, and I wondered if she wound up "hating herself in the morning".  Maybe I scared her off. Damn.  

So we started. I played around on the keyboard as best I could, and did harmonies for those songs I knew, and generally I didn't suck.  Then the band let me solo with "Hoop Girl" while they improvised behind me. Nice that.  

Halfway through the song, Bonnie arrived. She was dressed in another stunner dress, a silky white thing which showed off her tony limbs.  Yummy.  Though she smiled at me she looked a little nervous, darting her eyes around the room, as if she were being naughty and feared getting caught.

We finished the set to smart applause, then took a booth in the back, with me and Bonnie, the band and their girlfriends, and Julie sitting next to Dean. Dean kept a dominating arm around Julie at all times.  The booth was small, and the girls sat on their boyfriends laps, so we made for a nice, intimate group, snuggled around a table candle, listening to the harp player who played lilting angel music between sets.

As the others chatted Bonnie leaned over to me and whispered, "Last night was incredible."  I noticed she was breathing hard.  "I've never done anything like that before." 

"Me neither." I whispered.  "Did you like it?"

She placed a hand on my thigh for an answer.  I guess I didn't respond right away, because she timidly pulled her hand back, as if she'd made a mistake. So, I placed my hand on her knee, making it clear how I felt.  She sucked in a big breath of air, and I could feel her foot taping nervously. She placed her hand on top of mine, pressing it down against her thigh under the table. Her eyes were black and dark, her pupils wide as saucers. I could almost hear her heart pounding.  

Then she opened her legs.

"What can I get for you all?" asked a Waitress, suddenly appearing. 

Dean ordered a beer, and a red wine for Julie (though I got the impression she would liked to have ordered for herself).  The band settled on an assortment of mixed drinks, and the girlfriends decided to do some tequila shots.  

Bonnie opened her legs a bit more.  What the hell was she up to? We were surrounded by people.  Next to Bonnie was  Tyler, the chubby little drummer, and he slid over a bit, thinking she needed more room. Bonnie starting moving my hand up her thigh. This was seriously crazy!  No one noticed,  she was moving very slowly, even joining in nonchalantly on the conversations. But if things were going where I thought they were someone would definitely find out.  

Bonnie seemed to want to be in control here, so I let my hand be a dead weight, a toy for her to play with.  She slid my hand further up her soft leg, with no resistance from me.  She wore no stockings that night, and her skin felt very cool and smooth.  Once my hand reached her upper thigh she carefully selected my index finger, slipped it under her dress, and pressed it against her panties, which bulged with her springy bush.  The crotch fabric was nicely damp, and the pressure from my finger indented it slightly into her pussy slit.  She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, like she'd been waiting all day to be touched "there".

"I'll have a Heinken." I said, ordering as casually as I could.

Something about hearing my voice turned her on, and she pushed my finger into her as far as her panties would stretch.  I made no effort to press or maneuver; she was doing all the work, masturbating herself, but with my finger.  

I looked over at Tyler sitting next to Bonnie, and so far he had no idea what was going on.  Across from me was Julie and Dean, and they must have had a good view of my arm disappearing below the table in front of Bonnie,  but that was normal (I could be holding her knee, right?).  The table-cloth was enough to drape in her lap, so even if someone looked down they couldn't see anything.  

Bonnie was clearly aroused. Her nipples were poking though her thin dress, and a bead a sweat trickled down her neck. She had goosebumps all over her skin, terrified of being discovered.  I kept remembering her mantra from the night before: "I don't do this".  I guessed that she hadn't had a lot of experience, despite being very sexual, and now, with exhibitionism, she had found a new way to feel liberated, and sexy.  I still wasn't much into public nooky, but I have to admit I was getting pretty hot with this chick fucking herself under the table with my finger.

The panties were getting in the way, so Bonnie pulled them aside, and slid my finger under the wet crotch, directly onto her skin. She nearly jumped out of her seat at that.  I could feel her springy public hair, and wet lips opening at my touch.

"And for you?" asked the Waitress.

All eyes were on Bonnie.

"Let's see..." she said,  her voice shaking, while she pushed my finger inside her with a faint "squish".  "Should I have a tequila, too?"

"Hell, yes!  Go for it girl!" said one of the girlfriends.

She swirled my finger around, making room, getting it good and wet.

"I'm not a great drinker." she complained, her lip trembling.

"So, we'll make you one, sweetheart." said another girl.  "C'mon!  Do a shot!"

She hooked one finger around my thumb, and tightly pressed the tip against her clit.

"Okay," she gulped,  "I'll do it." 

The girls cheered, the waitress left, and everyone went back to their conversations.  Bonnie pressed my thumb against her clit with one hand, while fucking herself ever so slightly with my index finger. Her breathing became ragged and her eyes rolled back in their sockets.  She tilted her head down, so no one could see.  

She worked herself like that for a while, while the table talked.  They were a pretty chatty group, and no one seemed to notice her masturbation. 

"So, Freddy," said Dean, "Didn't you used to have a CD out?  I think I heard of you."

"Yeah." I said, startled to be the sudden focus of attention.  "I had my fifteen minutes."

"What happened?" asked Tyler.

"I don't know." I said.  "It got to be grind, you know.  It wasn't fun anymore.  It became more about the schmoozing, and less about the writing.  I lost my muse. Old story, right?  Anybody want to yawn, go ahead."

"So, what, you don't write any more?" asked Dean.

"'Jazzy Girl's' my first good thing in about a year." I said.

"A year?" asked Julie, interested.  "What were you waiting for?"

I looked right at Julie's beautiful, pale face set behind those wonderful ruby lips, my finger deep in Bonnie's cunt.  "Inspiration." I said.

Bonnie's masturbation was getting heavy, and her arm was starting to noticeably move, so she clamped her thighs together, trapped my finger inside her pussy, squeezed her twat muscles, and freed her hand.  Her legs started to tremble, and I knew she was close to cumming.  She grabbed a couple of tissues out of her purse, pretending that a sneeze was approaching.

"Are you okay?" asked Julie.  She was staring at Bonnie, wondering if she was having some kind of attack.  Everyone else was busy conversing.

"Have to sneeze...have to sneeze..." Bonnie managed.  Her thighs squeezed tighter, practically breaking my finger.  Her orgasm was peaking, and Tyler could feel her shaking. 

"You need to sneeze?" he asked.  "I can help!" He pulled an ornate snuff box (an actual Goddamn snuff box!) decorated with an old New York sleigh-ride scene, like a mini Whitman Sampler box.  "It was my grand-dad's." he said.  "I swear this shit works.  Here!"

Tyler placed a pinch of snuff powder under Bonnie's nostril.  Everyone turned now to see what was going on, and Bonnie was at once terrified and thrilled by the attention.  She was breathing like a marathon runner now, and her whole body was shaking, though she did her best to hide it.  She was leaking all over the seat, and her smell was freely wafting now.  I prayed no one else picked up the odor in the smoky room.

Bonnie inhaled the snuff, held her arms up, and waved her hands frantically like a hovering hummingbird, waiting for the explosion. AAAAAACHOOOOOOOOOO!", she exploded, whipping her face down into the tissues three or four times. "AAAAACHOOOO!  AAAAAACHOOOOO! AAAAAACHOOOOO!"  At the same time a gush of juice burst out of her cunt, leaking down her lovely legs.   She collapsed onto the table and allowed herself one, deep, ferocious moan. "Ooooooooooo!" 

There was a stunned silence from our group.  They all looked at me.

"Allergies." I said, shrugging.

Suddenly the entire room burst into applause.  

"Holy shit!" said Dean, whistling. 

"Told you it worked." said Tyler, snapping shut his snuff box.

"My God." said Julie, joining in on the applause.  

Bonnie collected herself long enough to wave to the crowd, "Thank you! Thank you!  Please come back for the supper show."

She was amazing.  Even during this lewd public display she managed to be funny, and charming.  For all anyone knew she just had a terrific sneeze, and not a knee-bending orgasm.  How the hell she pulled that off I don't know.

Bonnie relaxed her thigh muscles and I was able to slip my finger out, drenched as it was.  In fact, my whole hand, up to my sleeve, was soaking in juice.  I grabbed a few cocktail napkins and surreptitiously cleaned wiped myself clean under the table.

Julie couldn't stop looking at Bonnie, and I wondered if she suspected anything. "You sure you're okay?" she asked, brushing away her messy hair to get better look at my date.

"Fine. Now." sighed Bonnie, closing her legs.

"Oooo'Kay." said Julie, clearly curious.  Then she pulled out a cigarette.  "Anybody got a light?" she asked.

I pulled out some matches. "Lose your lighter I again?" I asked, striking a flame.

"She'd lose her fucking head if it weren't bolted on." said Dean, getting a few laughs from the band, though Julie didn't seem to appreciate the humor. I got the feeling she didn't like him much. She seemed too smart for him.

"It'll turn up." she said, grabbing my hand and lighting the cigarette. "Always does."

As she lit her stick I noticed her nose twitch, and I suddenly realized that my finger, my hand, my sleeve, all still rank with pussy, were directly under her nose.  She sniffed again, searching, and I quickly blew out the match, hoping the smoke would mask the smell.  I casually pulled my hand away and folded it within my other one, on the table, like an innocent schoolboy listening attentively to his teacher. 

Julie smelled the air again, giving me a suspicious look.  Then her eyes shifted over to Bonnie who was squirming a bit in her wet seat.

I tried not to look Julie in the eyes, and hoped she'd just shrug the whole thing off.  Who knows what she smelled, or what she suspected?  And honestly, did I care?

For some reason, yes, I did care.  I was interested in Julie.  But aside from coming up with a plan to get Dean and Bonnie to sleep together and have Julie and I run to each other for comfort sex (or some other Penthouse Forum scenario) I didn't see any chance of us getting together.  Still, I was interested in her, and I cared what she thought, so I averted my eyes and swore to not light any more cigarettes that evening.

The conversation continued, and, whenever Dean would let her speak, Julie proved to be a brilliant talker. She seemed to know a little something about everything, just as comfortable with history as she was with music and current events.  But that asshole Dean kept interrupting her with snide little comments like, "Watch out, boys, Julie's got another opinion!" 

The harpist stopped playing.  Dean checked his watch and said, "Up, dudes. Time for the second set. Pete's not here so, Freddy, my man, if you'd like to make a hundred..."

And right then, with perfect Lenny and Squiggy timing, Pete comes running into the club. "I'm here, I'm here!" he shouts, robbing me of another fifty bucks.

"Sorry, pal." said Dean, shrugging and stuffing fifty bucks into my shirt pocket. "You was great, my friend. Thanks." 

So the band got up to play, and I settled back to watch.  Bonnie kissed me on the lips (with just a hint of tongue) and excused herself to the ladies room.  Alone in the booth I used the time to "wipe-up" a bit, running a few cocktail napkins over the happy vinyl cushion beneath Bonnie's sweet bottom.  I ordered two more drinks, patted the bills in my pocket, snuggled into Bonnie when she returned, and listened to the second set.

Now Bonnie's little under the table finger-fuck adventure had left me supremely hot, and I leaned over to her and asked if she'd like to leave (I had made the bed and cleaned the bathroom all in preparation for a female visitor that night).  She said, "Not yet." and placed a hand on my thigh.

Well, I expected this.  Bonnie was going to jerk me off under the table.  I wasn't sure how I felt about it, exhibitionism, again, not really being my thing.  But I was turned on by how much she was turned on, so I opened my legs a bit, giving her easier access to my wares.  She responded by rubbing my crotch, and unsnapping the buttons of my leather pants.

I leaned back, took a sip of beer, paid the waitress, all with Bonnie's hand snaking its way down into my underwear.  It was seriously cramped in there (leather pants will do that), and she couldn't really wrap her hand around my penis.  I was glad about that, actually, thinking that maybe she'd get frustrated and let me take her home.  But, for some reason, I found myself slipping my jeans a few inches down my ass, making it easy for her to straighten out my cock and release it into the air. It popped up like a limp hot air balloon the quickly inflated and rose.

Bonnie made no effort to be gentle and started squeezing and jerking it hard, her arm disappearing under the table and rocking up and down very lewdly, and very visibly.  Between the cold air on my cock and her public jerking I felt frighteningly exposed.   Fortunately the crowd was focused on the band.

Still, I wanted to take no chances so I whispered to Bonnie, "Take it easy. People can see."  Her response was to grab me with two hands and jerk me off even harder.  The booth was in a corner in the back, and it was fairly dark, but not so hidden that someone looking over wouldn't be able to figure out that a girl was yanking some guy's meat. "Jesus, Bonnie." I whispered, looking around feverishly.

Bonnie, too, was scanning the room.  At one point an elderly woman turned our way, looking for the waitress, and Bonnie froze.  But once the woman turned back, the jerk-off session continued.

Bonnie let her guard down only once, to look down and watch my cock getting pumped. "Ohhhh", she said breathlessly, as if discovering a beautiful new flower, "look at that!", and buried her head in my lap, sucking my cock in front of the whole room.

I can't remember a damn thing about what she did exactly, how she used her tongue or if I hit the back of throat or what, I was too much in shock to retain any other feeling than utter terror.  I do know it didn't last long, just a few furious sucks, but enough to send a bucket of blood to my prick until it was as thick and hard as a baseball bat.

She quickly released me and sat up, anxiously looking around for signs that anyone had caught her.  She sipped her tequila nervously, dribbling the liquor down her chin, the glass rattling in her hand. I sat there, my cock almost peeking over the edge of the table.  Thank God she stopped when she did, or I would have shot straight up in the air like a fountain, spraying our table, and maybe someone else's.  

I was about to slip my cock under the table cloth when I heard Julie say from the stage, "And this one is for Freddy Blue!" The whole room followed her gaze back to me, and I absolutely froze.  I couldn't even smile.  I just turned to stone, hoping no one had an embarrassing sight line.  My cock was behind the table, but it was out my friends -- out and dressed to party.  Bonnie slid a little closer to me, which blocked me pretty well, but, damn, I was still pretty freaked out by the whole thing.  Bonnie smiled, and kissed me on the cheek. I guess this was her revenge for my kicking that door open last night (when the waitress at The Bitter End almost caught us).

Julie started singing the new version of "Baltimore Taxi", now re-titled "Jazzy Girl", with new lyrics by yours truly, and, I must say, for something I polished off in rush,  it wasn't bad work. No brilliant effort.  Still, a fun little ditty, and the crowd liked it. The new lyrics turned out to be as fun and snappy as the music, and worked much better than the old ones. Julie sang it well, of course, with a throaty, loopy phrasing that fit the song to a "T".

"Down on the East Side he once knew a girl,
A brown-haired, grey-eyed beauty, skin a doll-like pearl,
She spun his poor heart 'round and 'round like a twirl-a-whirl,
She loved him, broke him, tossed him out, that Jazzy Girl!"




Jazzy Girl Ch. 2



As she sang I slowly moved my pelvis under the table cloth, hiding my  protruding boner from unwelcome eyes.  Bonnie slipped her hand under the table again, as I expected.  I whispered to her, "Can we, you know, go back to my place and maybe...?"

"What?" she asked, smoothly stroking me.

"You know - fuck." I said, incredulously.  "And don't tell me you don't do that, okay? 'Cause you do."

She giggled. "Oh God I love to see you wriggle." she said.  "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

"No." I said.  "Tell me."

She moaned, and bit me on the ear. "Goddamn musicians!" she muttered, and maneuvered herself until she was sitting on my lap.  

"Whoa!  What are doing?" I asked, spilling half my beer.

"Oh my God shut-up." she said, wiggling her ass over my cock. "Listen to the music."  She paused for a moment, took another look around the room, then reached down and lifted up her skirt over her ass and sat squarely over my boner.  Something felt very warm and moist.

She wasn't wearing any underwear.

Holy S-word!  She had removed her panties while in the ladies room, and now sat on my prick-exposed lap, sans cotton barrier, her twat wet, and puffed open.  I could already feel my cock easily slide across her ass crack and smartly pop into her pussy.  Once snugly ensconced in her warm hole she grabbed me with her vaginal muscles and let go, then grabbed me, and let go, then grabbed me, and let go, fucking me with her cunt, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, while Julie's voice, Julie's throaty, sexy voice, belted out my lyrics to a room full of strangers who had no idea of how royally screwed I was getting just a few feet away.

"Good Christ in the fucking morning" I whisper-slash-moaned into Bonnie's ear.  My face was buried in her honey hair, and I placed my arms around her waist, pulling her little body down into my lap, fucking her without moving a muscle.

I watched the band, trying hard to look inconspicuous, but Bonnie was too tightly pressed against me, and my face was too immersed in her sweet-smelling hair to see much.  Finally I was able to peek through a couple of stray locks and caught Julie staring at us during a Jazz solo break.  She was frowning, slightly, with a "What the hell are they doing?" look on her face.

I should have stopped.  I should have slid Bonnie off my lap and zipped up and counted myself lucky.

Problem was I was cumming.

I shot a good load up into Bonnie's cunt, and she arched her back a bit, squirming her ass around to receive my gift.  I knew I had more, but I was waiting, waiting, waiting...

See, I knew the sax solo was almost over, and Julie would finish the song, and I wanted to hear her voice again before I came.  But that fucking Dean was having so much fun with his Goddamn saxophone that I had to wait, and wait, and wait...

And just when I couldn't wait anymore Julie belted out the last phrase. Her voice reverberated right through my body and shot the cum out of me, a cannon blast of white jism that blew up through Bonnie's vagina, filling her up with my white spunk, and leaking out the sides.  And through it all, through every semen soaked squirt, Julie's intense little eyes were on me - watching me.

The audience broke into applause and I was able to scream and yell at last. "Yeah! Wooooooo! All Riiiiiiiiiiiight!" I screamed in great relief, my cock emptying itself of its cargo. Bonnie's pussy relaxed, its job done, and she managed to slide (and I do mean slide) off my lap, clapping and applauding the whole time.  

By the time the second set was finished and the band returned to the table we had ordered a round of drinks (just for the cocktail napkins, which we really needed) and had wiped and zipped ourselves up to a respectable level.

Everyone congratulated me on my song and we talked and drank for another hour or so before saying goodnight, with the promise to call me if they should ever need another replacement.  

On the way out Dean placed another fifty in my pocket. "For the song, dude.  You keep the rights, but only we sing it.  Deal?"

"Deal." I said, shrugging.  Hell, it was a sucky deal, but I needed the cash-ola.

Julie didn't say a word directly to me for the rest of the night, but she was pleasant and funny cocked-and-bulled along with us all. I didn't know what she thought had happened between me and Bonnie, but she was definitely curious.  Hell, it could have just been my imagination.  Still, she gave me another sideways look when we all said goodnight, trying to see some sort of clue in my face.  Then Dean swooped her into his big arms and pulled her away, and I wasn't sure that I'd ever see her again.

Bonnie and I walked down the side streets where there weren't so many people, and talked.

"What in the hell are we doing?" I asked.

"I don't know." she said, laughing.

"Well, if this keeps up I know one thing."

"What's that?" she asked.

"You're going to need a bigger diary."

She giggled and slipped her arm around mine.  We walked for a long time, strolling up Fifth Avenue, just chatting. Ahead of us I could see the Empire State Building, its top lit up in autumn orange like a pumpkin on a stick.

"You know, I've never been up there." I said, nodding my head towards the skyscraper.

"The Empire State?" she said. "I went once, as a little girl. You should go one day."

"I'd like to." I said. "But at night. See the lights of the city. Check out Broadway. Must be cool."

"So go."

"Nah." I said. "You gotta' have a reason to do something like that."

"Like an out of town aunt?"

"Right." I laughed. "You've got to take somebody. Or have somebody take you. An event, you know."

"It's getting cold." She said.  

We turned back and walked together in silence for a while. Finally I stopped in front of a three story brownstone.

"My building." I said.

"Oh." she said, disappointed.

"Oh?" I aped. "Does that mean..?"

"I'm not coming up." she said.  "I'm sorry. I can't. I have to get home."

"Bonnie, baby, I don't think I can let go of you."

We kissed.  But something was wrong.  She was tentative, uncomfortable. 

She pulled away.

"I have to tell you something, Freddy."  she said, using one of those phrases that never bring any good news.  "I shouldn't have given you my number last night, because - I'm not free."

"You're married?"

"Engaged."

I should have been more upset, but I wasn't. I figured it couldn't last.  I just wanted it to last a few more hours.  I think I could have talked her into it, but I didn't.  (Damn me if I'm not, underneath the leather pants and outré' libido, a hell of a nice guy.)  So, I let her go.

"Then thanks.  I've had, gee, a real swell time." I said, aw-shucking my way out of an uncomfortable moment.

"Don't make me laugh, you bastard." she giggled.  "Damn musicians. Freddy, darling, dear, you are the sexiest man I have ever known and I am going to think about you long and hard tonight."

"What does that mean?"

"I'll call you tomorrow, and tell you.  Okay?"

"Okay." I said.

She kissed me on the cheek, then squirmed a little bit, like she had to pee. "I'm dripping."  she said, looking around to see if anyone was watching.  Then she pulled out her panties from her purse, and quickly slipped them on.  "Never had a pussy this soaked before." she said, then added, "Holy shit, I don't think I've ever said anything like that in my life!  Look what you've done to me.  Oh, God, goodnight, goodnight, kiss me once and then get in your building before I rape you on the stoop."

I kissed her and went inside, just as she asked.  

I jerked off three times that night, and didn't get to sleep until eight o'clock the next morning.  I woke up around three p.m., had a little breakfast/lunch/dinner, took out my guitar, and wrote five songs.  Five songs!  Good ones, too.

At five o'clock the phone rang.  I picked up.

"Hello, Freddy. It's Bonnie.  I've been thinking about you. Let me give you my address..."

To Be Continued...




Jazzy Girl Ch. 3



I honestly thought it was Over-City with Bonnie.  After her dramatic little revelation last night ("Are you married?" "Engaged.") I thought for sure my number would get way tossed.  But here she was, on the phone, giving me her address and asking me to come over.

I'm halfway out the door when the phone rings and the machine picks up.

"Freddy Blue!" says a smoky voice.  "It's Julie.  Last night.  The band. Call me. 234-8866.  I'm going out now, but I'll be in tonight. Later."  

I ran for the phone but she had already hung up. I quickly dialed, but she must have been literally out the door because her machine picked up.  But it wasn't her voice on the machine - it was Dean's. "Yo, yo, yo we're not in." he said in a macho smart-ass voice,  "Leave a message for Dean or Julie or Christie and we'll get back to you.  Bu-bye."

I decided not to leave a message, but to try Julie back later.  Maybe she called about another gig. Couldn't be anything else, right?

I took the IRT uptown and walked west through a slight drizzle to Riverside Drive.  Dark clouds were rolling in from the east, and threatened a major downpour.  Bonnie's building was right near the park, a quiet, residential street with a view of the Hudson. "Nice digs." I thought. 

She buzzed me up and I entered the charming lobby, one of those old New York buildings with the high ceilings and the floorboard moldings.  I took the ancient elevator to the second floor and found Bonnie's apartment, 2F.

"Hi." she said, opening the door.  It was Sunday and she'd been lounging in a pair of sweats and a man's shirt.  A half eaten bagel and coffee lunch sat on a Chippendale table, and the remains of Sunday Times lay strewn about the smartly furnished living room.  There were no lamps on, and darkening day threw gray shadows across the walls.

"Been in all day?" I asked.

"Yeah. Hiding." she said, closing the door.  "Want a drink?"

"Sure."

She poured me a smooth scotch from a mahogany liquor cabinet.  A Gershwin album played, an actual 33, spinning on a turntable.  Classy.  Flowers, drinking up the last bit of daylight, bloomed in tasteful vases.

"Sit down." she said, plopping into a paisley chair.  I sat on an antique divan, scooting aside the enormous Times Arts section.

"Nice place." I said, sipping my drink.  

"Thanks."

We chatted a bit.  Her parents had bought her this place years ago. "Bought", you understand, not rented, that meant the family had money. 

We talked a bit more about the apartment, her parents, the house they had in Denver, yadda-yadda, and then finally she got to it. "I thought about this long and hard." she said.  "I think I want to keep seeing you. Making love to you has been - an experience.  And I haven't had a lot of experiences.  So I think I want to keep seeing you.  And I don't think I'm going to get married.  Would you like a bagel or something?"

"Whoa, whoa." I said.  "Bonnie, don't throw away a marriage because of some guy you met in a bar."

"I'm not.  He doesn't make me feel like you do, that's all."

"And how's that?"

"Let's just say I've had three orgasms in my life --  one alone, and two with you, so you do the math."

Bonnie clearly had a frigidity problem that melted away the other night at the Bitter End. We talked some more.  The only other time she felt that uninhibited, she said, was one night when she and some girlfriends went to a U2 concert and she managed to snake a finger under her dress and masturbate herself to orgasm while watching Bono.  We both guessed that the crowd had something to do with it to - she was clearly turned on by the possibility of getting caught.

"Tony is a very traditional kind of guy," she explained, "and he wouldn't go for anything weird."

"How about just a little different?" I offered.  "Have you two ever done it in the kitchen?"

"We haven't even done it in the daytime!" she laughed. "No, Tony's not the kind of man you can talk to about stuff like that.  I'd be afraid to ask him.  Actually, I'm afraid to ask him anything.  I don't to talk about him.  He's coming over here tonight.  We had a fight on the phone today.  I was trying to tell him I'd like to postpone the wedding and he figured that I was trying to end it, which I was, and we had a fight, and he's on his way in from Long Island, so I really just want to get out of here.  Can we go to your place?  Look, don't freak out, you might have a girlfriend for all I know.  I'm not looking for that, anyway, I just want to be someplace else right now."

There was nothing I wanted more than to take this woman back to my place and, let's face it, fuck her. Even in her sweat pants she looked taught and yummy.  But for some reason I found myself saying, "Maybe you should talk to Tony first."

"No, no." she said. "You don't know him.  He's huge. Well, you saw him the other night."

Thick-neck. He with the broad shoulders and the cement in his dancing shoes.  I had figured it was him. 

"Are you afraid of him?" I asked.

"Not like that." she said.  "He wouldn't hurt me.  I wouldn't marry someone like that. He's sweet, really, but he wants things his own way.  Like where we're going to live after the wedding.  He's in Long Island right now looking at houses, and I don't want a house, I have my job here, my friends, and this apartment. We could live here. But, no he wants me to quit and..."

"Okay, I get it." I said.

She was getting upset.

"Sorry.  I'm just panicking.  I wish I weren't so - intimidated by him."

Just then the door buzzed.

"Oh my God!" she said.  "That's him!  Already!  He must have done ninety down the L.I.E.!  You've got to go!"

"Wait a minute." I said, peeking around the blind out the window.  Looking down I saw Tony standing on the stoop, his car parked in front of the building. It was getting late, the clouds covering up the sunset, and a misty rain falling. "Don't let him up." I said.

"What? I have to." she replied.

"Talk to him from here.  It's perfect. You're way up here, towering over him.  Tell him you want to stay in the city, and that's fucking final."

I could see she like the idea.  Something about my being there emboldened her, and she went to the window.  She was about to roll the blind up, but I stopped her.

"No." I said, "leave the blind down." 

She wasn't sure what I was up to, but went under the blind to call down to Tony.  From his point of view, with her standing in from the of the pulled down blind, he could see her from the chest up, and nothing else in the apartment.

"I want to talk to you!" she said.

"Let me up." he returned.

"No yet.  I need to say some things."

"Bonnie, it's raining." he complained.

"Oh, baby, it's not even a drizzle."

"Come on!  Let me up!"

I could hear her about to falter.  To embolden her further I did something very rude, and very inappropriate.  I placed my hand on her ass.

She jumped, not expecting me to do anything like that. (But, then, what else should she have expected?  Our relationship wasn't exactly based on the Marquis of Queensbury Rules of Physical Contact.)

"No!" she said loudly to Tony (and to me, too, I think.)

"So, yo, what's up?" I heard Tony bellow.  I had this guy pegged.  He was one of them there Guy-Guys who leaked macho out his ears and who gets all  "neighborhood" when backed into a corner, or told "no" by his girlfriend. "You got somethin' to say? Say it!" he bellowed.

I rubbed Bonnie's bottom, giving it a couple of pats.  She brushed my hands away, annoyed.  But it thrilled her, I know, to have this done while Tony watched, and she got suddenly fearless.

"Tony, please, check the 'tude or go the fuck home, okay?" she said.  

Tony must have shit a brick.  All he could manage was a stunned, "What??"

"Do you want to marry me?" she asked him.

"Well, yeah, sure," said Tony,  suddenly on unsure ground.

"Good.  Baby, I love you, but we have to decide some things." said Bonnie.

"Like what?"

She faltered again, not sure how to begin.  I placed my hand on her bottom. She didn't move it away.

"Like where we're going to live, Ton."

So they argued a bit.  Every time Tony got tough or wouldn't listen I would rub Bonnie's ass and thighs, and she would get brave and shoot him down (though patiently -- I very much got the impression that she loved this Guy-Guy.).

Tony put up a big fight about where they would live.  The Dude had found a house that morning, and was about to buy it when she called him that morning - and he'd already put in a down-payment!  Bonnie really faltered at that, so I pulled back the band of her sweats and slipped my hand inside her pants, and started squeezing her panty-clad ass.

"How could you do that!?" she yelled at him (and me).

"What do you mean? It's a great house!" he yelled back.  "Goddamnit let me in!  I'm getting soaked."

It was getting darker, the storm building, all colors fading in the gathering gloom. Bonnie was squirming, unsure about my probing hands, wondering if she should let the poor fiancé in out of the damp. To keep her emboldened I decided to take the fondling further. 

As a stark flash of lightning lit up the room I slid my hand inside her panties, down her ass, tickling down her crack, until I reached bottom and touched a finger to her pussy.  Bonnie gasped, grabbed onto the sill more tightly, and leaned further out the window to make sure her lower torso was well out of sight. Drops of water spattered on the glass dripping over her hair and neck, sending snaking rivulets down her arms, perfuming her skin with the scent of freshly fallen rain.  I inhaled her, and inserted a finger up her vagina. As she pushed back, taking my finger whole, I caught a new scent,  a lovely, pungent musk wafting from her loins, carried to my nostrils by the misty breeze.  I slid another finger onto her clit, and pressed. A clap of thunder rattled the window, and she shook with fear and pleasure.

"What's the matter?" said Tony.

I tugged at her sweats, and pulled down to her thighs. I knelt down, and kissed her bottom, taking in her smells.

"I..." she began, trying to answer her fiancé while pushing back onto my finger, pressing her panties against my nose.

"What? What is it?" Tony demanded.  "What are you pissed about now?  Jesus Christ it's going to pour here in a minute!"

The rain was dribbling down her body and spotting her panties, soaking her skin.  I licked a few water drops off her back, then licked my way over her panties, and pulled them down. 

"Oh my God!" she said, digging her fingers deeper into the sill.  "Tony will you shut the fuck up about the rain -- it's only water for God's sake!"

I don't think she'd ever spoken to him like that before.  But to give the guy credit, he didn't yell back. He took it, and said, "Okay!  I'm listening."

I licked my way down her ass, sucking up the rainwater, rolling her damp panties down and bunching them up around her spread thighs.  I could smell her easily now, a deep, musky odor.  She was dripping a sticky juice down my arm, which I needed to taste. I delicately placed my nose between her ass cheeks, puckered up my mouth and sucked on her pussy.

"Tony!" she said, louder than she intended.  "I'm staying in the city.  I'm not saying we have to live here, but we should, it's perfect. And I'm not saying I don't want a house, I do, but right now we're both working, and we both work in town, and why the hell are we moving so fast?"

I swirled around, placing my back against the wall under the window, grabbed her ass with both hands and pulled her down onto my face, lapping her up as loudly as I could.  Tony couldn't hear all the slurping, but she could.

"Oh my God, that's amazing!" she whispered down to me, trying her best not to hump my face too hard.

"Okay, Bonnie." said Tony, "I hear you.  Maybe you're right.  But you should have told me months ago that..."

"I did!" she screamed.

"Okay, okay." he replied.  "I'm here, I'm listening, you don't have to scream." Somebody must have walked by because he also said, "Is this your business?  Why don't you just keep walking?  You got a computer?  I'll e-mail you and let you know how this all comes out!"

Tony was doing his best, but I could tell he was getting steamed again.  "You should see yourself!  You know I got a camera here.  You want I should take you picture, 'cause you ain't gonna' believe the face you're making at me right now!"

Bonnie would need an additional bolt of courage.

I pulled her shoes and socks off, took off her sweats, and rolled her panties off her feet. (The panties I placed in my shirt pocket, where I could smell rainwater and pussy.) Then I got behind her, and unzipped my pants.  

Bonnie groaned at the sound, knowing what was coming, and wondering if she could stand it.  She spread her feet apart, getting a really good grip on the floor, and leaned way out the window, her butt peeking out from under the window blind.  I pressed up against her, and slid my cock under her cunt, rubbing it across her lips, getting it wet.

"Okay, Bonnie, so what are we saying here?" continued Tony.  

Next to the window was the table with the bagels and cream cheese - and a soft stick of yellow butter.

"What do you mean?" asked Bonnie, slowly rocking back and forth over my penis, trying to mount me.

I reached out for the butter and coated my thumb.  With one hand on her back to steady me I placed my thumb against her puckered asshole, and pressed.

Bonnie nearly fell out the window. "No!" she hissed, under her breath.

"No what?" asked Tony.

My thumb greased into her bung hole, which opened and accommodated the intruder.  

"Uhhhhhhh." said Bonnie, groaning deeply. I think she was a bit in pain.

"No what?" repeated Tony.  "Hey!  Look at me!" Her eyes must have been closed (in agony?).  "No what?" he asked again.

I pulled my thumb out of her, greased it up again, and slid it back in.

"Uhhhhhhh." she groaned, "I'm just so scared, Tony!" she said, her voice dropping a couple of octaves.

"Scared of what?" he said, a tremor of concern in his voice.  I was starting to like Tony.

"I'm scared that maybe - uhhhhhhh --- there are things we can't (oh my God) work out."

I pulled out of her again, and this time she pressed back at my retreat, wanting more.  She was shaking now, though I don't think it was from orgasm.  She was scared.  This was illicit, and wrong.  Getting fucked in public was one thing, but in front of the man she was going to marry--!  And now she had a thumb up her ass.  I'd never had any back-door desires, but this was more than sex, this was about power, defiance, and, yes, violation.  She wanted to stick it to Tony, and, God help me, I wanted to stick it to her.  I guess I was more piqued about her fucking me and jerking me off and then telling me she was engaged than I'd realized.  I suddenly wanted to fuck her in the ass.

I grabbed the whole stick of butter and slathered it over my cock.

Tony kept talking. "If you mean we can't work out the fact that I've just put twenty grand down on a house, you're right, we can't work that out."

Bonnie paused, then said meekly, with the sound of tears in her voice, "So what are you saying, Tony?"

"I'm saying I put some money down and I can't get it all back, so you figure it out." he replied. "Jesus, look at your face. What?  You hate me?"

Bonnie was shaking hard.  Her whole life was falling apart.  I knew she was going to give in, quit her job, give up her friends, and move out to Long Island.  I held her by the waist, pulled her back, and placed my cock at the entrance to her ass.  She moaned.  Her breathing was rapid, like she was panicking.  I pushed into her easily, but slightly, the head of my penis poking into her squishy puckered hole - but I stopped there, waiting.  I wasn't going to do this to her -- she was going to do this to her.

"Well?" said Tony.

She was hesitating. "I'm thinking!" said Bonnie, not sure what to do.  She was going to give in to him, I could feel it.  A tiny cry poured out her as she fought back her tears.  She was going to pull away from me, and let him have his way.  

I pressed her with my cock, just a small push against her pink rosebud.  A dribble of butter dripped down her crack. 

"If you loved me you wouldn't do this." she whispered.  Tony couldn't hear her.  I wondered if it was for me. Either way, I waited.  I held my cock, greased and poised, at the entrance to her bottom. She would have to decide.

Choking back her tears, she shifted her feet a bit, getting a better grip on the floor.  She leaned forward until she was bending way over the sill, her head and chest outside the window.  She grabbed the window frame with two hands, supporting herself, took a deep breath, held it, and pushed herself back onto my cock, taking me into her ass.

"ARRRRGHHHH!" she cried.  

"Hey, what am I supposed to do?" said Tony, taking her cry for one of frustration and anger. "It's a down-payment!"

She relaxed and pushed back again, impaling herself further onto my cock, forcing it up her rectum.

"GAAAAAAWD!" she grunted.

Her muscles relaxed, pulling me in now, making room.

"SHHHHHHIT!" she yelled.

"I'm taking a picture!" said Tony.  "I want you to see how much you hate me!"

I saw a small flash of light reflect off the window, as he took his picture, just as Bonnie pushed her pussy over my penis, enveloping it, until her ass met my pelvis and our hairs intermingled.

"FUUUUUUCK!" she cried, banging on the window frame in pain. 

"All right!" said Tony, getting upset, "That's enough!  Don't get so pissed!"

It was almost pitch black in the room now, and I couldn't see Bonnie.  I could only feel her cold, wet body before me.  I wanted to look at her. I wanted to see myself inside her.  And then, as if the Universe were reading my mind, a sudden flash of lightning momentarily froze the room in its stark, white light, revealing the pale ass beneath me, rudely violated by a thick cock.  Then it flickered off, leaving us again in dark, secret shadow.

"Son of a bitch!" I whispered, unable to move. I felt like ten fists were grabbing me, crushing me like a velvet vise.  She relaxed, and something inside her moved. I could feel her sphincter muscles puckering around my thick flesh,  squeezing, then pulling me in and pushing me out, pulling me in and pushing me out, milking the cum out of me.

"OHHHHH! I'm going to cum!" I said, then, a little louder, almost loud enough for Tony to hear I said, "Bonnie, I'm going to cum in your ass!"

"Tony!" she cried, grabbing the window frame hard, and pushing back into me, (and I could hear her freely weeping now), "I don't hate you! I love you!"

I felt the surge approach.  "I'm cumming!" I cried, hugging her waist. Bonnie continued, "I know that you will always take care of me, and that you're a good, good man."  She groaned once, but this time, with pleasure.  "But, Tony  -- Fuck! -- this is what it comes down to -- if you buy that house, or any house - God! --, or do anything that changes our lives without including me, without asking me ---"

A loud clap of thunder shook the floorboards, rattling my teeth, as I shot a thick rope of hot semen into her, unsteadying her, and nearly blowing her out the window. 

"---then I will - UHHHHHHH -- never marry you!" Bonnie finished defiantly, her cold body shivering in the storm swept wind, her tears pouring faster than the rain, taking my cum up her ass.

"NUHHHHHHHH" I moaned, delirious, spent. I tried to pull out of her, but she reached back, grabbed my ass, and held me, taking another small squirt. Tony hadn't answered her yet.

"Okay." I heard him say softly, but not defeatedly, not with resignation, but with something else, something that sounded like -- love.  She'd stood up to him, and he respected that.  They communicated like they'd never done before.  "No house." he continued.  "I'll take the loss, I don't care.  I really don't.  You're right.  I was being a dick.  I was, I don't know, acting like my father, and my asshole brother.  Stupid!  You're right.  I'm a dick."




Jazzy Girl Ch. 3



My penis shriveled, but she held me still, waiting for him to finish.

"I love you, too." he continued.  "Bonnie McCallister-Stevens," he said in a formal, respectful voice, "Will you forgive me, and will you please, please marry me?"

He sphincter muscles relaxed and she released me, and I fell out of her, rolling back onto the soft Turkish rug. "Yes." she called down to her lover.  "Come on up."

As I fell back my hand caught the drawstring and the window blind snappily rolled up with a FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.  A gray light silhouetted Bonnie against the window, her ass smeared with butter and cum.  She turned to face me, and I could see she was soaking wet, her t-shirt sopping and pressing against the flesh of her breasts, her nipples hard.  She breathed heavily, lustfully. She looked aroused, feral, beautiful.

"I guess I should go." I said.

Without a word she crossed to the door (painfully, I noticed) and hit the buzzer, then waddled to the bathroom (to clean up I suppose) while I zipped up my fly.  Moments later she returned, cleaner and drier, and picked up her sweat pants.  

I was already halfway out the door when she said, "Wait."  

I could hear the creaky elevator moving up from the lobby.  "He coming up." I said.

She slid on her pants and came over to me. Her face was in shadow.  She took my hand.  "Freddy...", she started.

We heard the elevator door open.  In seconds he would walk around the corner. "Freddy..." she tried again.

I pulled away, and ducked up a flight of stairs just as Tony came around the corner.  

Below I could hear a soft slam as they went inside her apartment.  I quietly made my way back down, and pressed an insolent ear to the door. "Oh, Tony..." I heard her moan, and I knew they were kissing, and would make love.  

And I knew they would do it in the kitchen.

I took the elevator down, hit the wet street, and looked up through the drops to Bonnie's window.  "Holy God." I whispered to myself, unable to believe what had just happened. 

I tried taking the subway home, but it was too stifling, too steamy hot down in the tunnels beneath the city.  I wanted to be outside, under the elements, so at Fourteenth Street I got out and walked the rest of the way home in the pouring rain.  

First thing I did when I got home was to strip naked, towel off, and dial Julie's number.  There was a new message on the machine. "This is Julie. I'm not here.  Christie's not here.  And Dean will never fucking be here again! Leave a message."

"Uh, hi, Julie," I stammered after the BEEP. "I got your call.  You've got the number.  Later."  And I hung up. Whoa.  What was up with that message?

I couldn't worry about it.  I couldn't get Bonnie of my mind.  I  showered, put on my terrycloth robe, ate a little left over ham sandwich for dinner, made some hot soup, devoured it, turned off the lights, opened the window so I could listen to the rain, settled onto the bed, sniffed Bonnie's stolen panties, wrapped them around my penis and stroked until I was at the brink of cumming.  It was going to be a small orgasm (after the last three days I had so little left), but just before spurting my tiny load the phone rang, and I heard Julie on the machine.

"Hello, Freddie? You there?"

Her smoky voice hardened my cock.  I squeezed it and pumped faster now.

"Freddy, it's me, Julie."

I jerked myself off in a frenzy.  I should have picked up, but I couldn't stop.

"Dean's out of the band." she continued.  "He's out of my whole fucking life, if you want to know the truth.  We had a fight."

Her voice was taught, and trebled. The cum was rising.

"The fight was about you."

"Oh shit!" I cried, blowing a tremendous jet of jism into the air, enough to fill a bucket.  

I picked up the phone.

"I'm here." I said.

To Be Continued...



Jazzy Girl Ch. 4



"How'd you like to be in a band?" said the smoky voice on the receiver.

I was still dribbling out the last bit semen from an intense orgasm brought about by Julie's smoldering voice, when I picked up form the machine.

"Sure." I said, wiping myself off with Bonnie's panties, and forgetting that I'd been working solo for over a year now, and was way out of touch with the whole "band dynamic" thing.  "What happened to Dean?" I asked, carefully.

"Oh screw him." she said.  "We're practicing tomorrow. 'Kay?"

"'Kay." I said.

The band practiced on the hill next to Bethesda Fountain in Central Park.  The next day was bright and sunny, but the grass was still wet, so we didn't have too many listeners, which was fine - we weren't working for quarters, we were rehearsing. 

I fit in pretty well with the band, taking over on keyboard while Pete picked up the sax.  He was actually better than Dean.  

I got the feeling that the whole group was glad Dean was gone.  By the end of the day Mr. Biceps was forgotten, and Freddy Blue was the new boy in the band.  They were going by the name, "The Dean-a-rinos" ("Which sucked." said Tyler), but Julie came up with "The New Blue News" and everyone liked it enough to give it whirl.  And so, for the first time in 400 days I was working with a band.

For the next two weeks we played assorted rooms around town, dipping out into Brooklyn and Jersey quite a bit, frequenting rooms I used to haunt back in early days.  It was a bit like starting over, but this time I felt more secure, more prepared to handle drunks and thieving club owners.  We did well, and I wrote nearly ten new songs.  I got the feeling that we might actually get someplace.

The weather turned all Indian Summer, and the leaves were changing big time now, turning the park into an autumn festival ablaze with color.  More and more people came out to hear us rehearse, laying out blankets and sandwiches, and buying purple-berry snow cones from the vendor who took to joining us every day to take advantage of the crowds we drew.

One day some kids watching our show set off an M-80 in a tin can near the fountain.  The police appeared and quickly hustled them up.  They were taking no chances with The Mad Cracker still on the loose, and they had proclaimed zero tolerance for copy cat crackers.  The fireworks fiend had gained new popularity since a letter he sent to the papers was published, wherein he confessed to the spontaneous fireworks displays (which were appearing now all over the city) as an attempt to get the attention of the "girl of his dreams", and he promised an enormous display in a couple of weeks, on the girl's birthday. "It's All  For Love!" screamed a Post headline over an explosive graphic of a cherry bomb.  Rock on, I said.

Bonnie didn't call.  That ship had passed, and all that was left were some sweet, erotic memories and the inspiration for a couple of great songs. Julie asked about her only once.  When I said Bonnie was getting married she dropped the subject.  

Julie wouldn't talk about Dean, and the other band members didn't really know why they broke up.  They thought it had something to do with the fact that she wanted me in the band, and old Dean-a-rino probably felt all threatened.  So they had a big blowout, she chucked his shit out the door ("Something she should have done months ago!" said Tyler) and he took off in his van for the warmer climes, the headier women and bigger clubs in Florida.

I had a very distinct feeling that Julie was interested in me.  Oh, I had all the usual clues - the touching of the arm, the batting of the eyes, the laughing at the jokes, the sucking of the dick ...(kidding)...and I was definitely interested right back at her.  But she was hesitant around me, always eyeing me suspiciously, trying to decipher something in my eyes.  She liked me, but I don't think she trusted me.  Maybe she didn't trust any man.  

Hell, I wouldn't if I were a woman.

Julie and I got along famously, and found that we were great writing partners.  Every song I wrote, including "Jazzy Girl" was based on her stuff. Her music was erudite, complex, beautiful, and I found myself working harder than I'd ever worked before. We spent long hours at the piano, sweating and agonizing over just the right lyric or phrase, giving up and retreating into Chinese food down on Lafayette, then zipping back up to my place refreshed by King Pao chicken and pot stickers, ready to create another jazz/blues masterpiece.  

One night she invited me up to listen to some old tapes of hers.  Her music was great, but her lyrics sucked (she said it, not me), and she was wondering if I could do anything with some of her forgotten material.  

Her place was on Mott Street, a cool little fifth floor chick flat with sharp art deco prints and a couple of cats.  Piled high in a corner was a lump of men's shirts, magazines and assorted shaving toiletries.  "The Detritus" she called it, the jumbled remains of Dean's one-time male residence in her heart and home.  The rest of the place, though, was totally girl, including, hello, an actual girl, who came stumbling out of the bathroom, towel on head, wearing a ratty old bathrobe.

"Hi!" she said, laughing, covering herself up and ducking into a bedroom.

"That's Christie, my roommate." explained Julie, then added, whispering, "We split the rent.  It's $900, but I charge her $500.  Don't tell her!"

We laughed.  "What's so funny?" asked Christie, stepping out sans towel and robe. She had slipped on a pair of shorts and oversized t-shirt.  And Goddamnit if she wasn't built.

"Christie's a dancer, so she shows off her gams a lot." said Julie, smirking at her friend's leggy display.

"Gams!" mocked Christie, rolling her eyes. "You're so thirties! This Freddy?" Christie asked, getting herself a beer. "He's cute."

"Is he?" said Julie, checking me out.  "Son of a bitch, he sure as fucking hell is! Goddamnit boy where you been hidin' your fine self?"

I'd never seen Julie in this good a mood before.

"Well," said Christy, throwing a taught leg over a chair and stretching, "I guess you're over Dean."

"Dean Schmeen." said Julie, "Give me a beer."

So we boozed it up a bit, nothing too debauched, just a few friendly brews and a lot of laughs.  Christie danced off to bed while Julie and I listened to her tapes.  I loved them, and told her so, and she beamed.

She was feeling giddy and kissed me on the nose. "So, 'kay, take the tapes.  Do what you will with them."

"Ooo." I said, "that sounds naughty."

Then she looked at me again, trying to figure something out. "Freddy..." she said as if gearing up to deliver a big, long speech. "Ah fuck it." she said, waving the words away, and kissed me on the lips.

She was a little drunk, and I knew that, and as Ol' Blue Eyes once intoned, "There are rules about that."  I stopped the kiss. 

"Uh-oh." I said, scolding her with an accusatory finger, "Somebody's been drinking."

She scowled, "Ah. come on.  Let's fuck."

Whoa!  This was not Julie talking. I had half a mind to throw her over my knee and spank her, and told her so.

"Okay." she said slurrily, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them off her ass.  She wore an old pair of white panties, with a couple of holes exposing a wisp or two of brown pubic hair.  She lay over my lap and said, "'Kay.  Go to work."

So I spanked her.  I know!  I know!  It was too strange, too fast, too not like her.  But it was fun.  We were both punch-drunky, and at the time it just seemed silly.  So I spanked her.  Not too much, just about ten, not-too-hard slaps on her bottom. Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Like that.

She complained about my soft touch,  "Come on, ya' pussy!" she chided, pulling her panties down, exposing her skin, "Give me a good one!"

So I gave her naked ass a good, ringing SLAP!

"Yowch!" she cried.

"You deserved it." I said, letting my hand linger on her butt.  I squeezed her cheeks together, and kneaded them, feeling their weight. Julie lay very still, very quiet.  I ran a finger lightly down her crack, and touched the dry hairs of her pussy.  She flinched, but I explored further, cupping her mound in my hand.  I felt no wetness, no sign of arousal.

"'Kay, enough of that." Julie said soberly, pulling her underwear and jeans.

She went into the tiny kitchen, opened a beer, decided not to drink it, and came back into the living room. She stared at me with those intense, gray eyes for a long time. She seemed to lose all sense of humor, and looked pinched and preoccupied, her tousled hair the only clue that we ever wrestled with passion. Then, without a word, she walked into her bedroom.  I could hear her fall under the covers, and turn out the light.

"What the hell just happened?" I wondered. I grabbed her tapes, threw on my jacket, and headed for the door. Not the weirdest night of my life, but it was close.  

Julie was definitely not being herself.  Something was troubling her.  I wanted to know what it was. And damn me if I was going to leave before I found out what it was.

I turned off the living room lights, and walked into Julie's bedroom.

A little light bled in from the kitchen, and I could make out her bed; just a mattress on the floor. No other furniture. Scattered books and bags were pushed against the walls, and clothes spilled out of cramped closet. The room smelled like dusty incense. 

Julie had a sheet pulled up to her chin, as she stared up at the chipped ceiling.  She didn't acknowledge my coming in to the bedroom, and I didn't ask her any questions.  It all seemed so, natural, that of course this was going to happen. 

I started to undress, removing my coat, my shoes, my socks, my shirt and pants, and then my underwear. I stood nude at the foot of her bed, a semi-hard penis twitching in the air, and still she didn't look at me.

I closed the door, throwing the room into utter darkness.  There was no window.  My feet creaked along the cold, hardwood floor as I found my way over to the mattress.  I knelt down and crawled under the thin sheet.  She was lying on her back, rigid.  I tentatively reached out for her, and touched her. She was still fully clothed.  Her hands were balled into two little fists. I rubbed her stomach and hips, anxious to get past the denim and wool, searching for buttons and zippers.  I propped myself up on one elbow, leaned down, and kissed her.  Her lips were tight.  I think she was holding her breath.

This was wrong. She didn't want me there.  She was too tightly wound. 

But she didn't push me away, so I lay there next to her a long while, running my fingers across her tummy, slowly inching under her shirt, touching her midriff.  Her stomach muscles were tense, and unresponsive.  I lay my hand there for a while, without moving, listening to her shallow breathing, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest.

After an eternity she uncurled one fist and placed her hand over mine, guiding it downwards, slipping it under the waistband of her jeans.  It was a tight fit, and she could only force my hand halfway in.  I heard a snap as she unbuttoned her pants, then a zip as she opened them further.  She pushed my hand inside, and I started to tease around the waistband of her underwear.  Again, she was unresponsive, and let out no moan, nor relaxed a single muscle.  Again she took my hand, and slipped it quickly into her panties, then withdrew, leaving me to explore her wispy hairs and womanly folds.  She was dry as a bone.  I decided to mine deeper for moisture, and pressed my finger into her.  She flinched, her body not ready for insertion.  A cold finger inside a dry vagina could not have been comfortable, but she did not push me away. 

I managed to dig fairly deep, past flappy folds of skin and arid tunnel walls, and found not a hint of wetness.  

I knew she needed stimulation, but no way was I going to force off her shirt and lick her breasts -- the girl would have jumped through the roof. 

I started to pull out my finger.

"No." she whispered, holding my hand still. "Freddy, you probably already know this, but I love you.  You're so much the man I want to be with.  I'm sorry.  You can sleep if you want, but I'd like you to keep your finger there.  Is that okay?"

"Sure." I said, not understanding this at all.

And so I slept.  I don't think she nodded off once.  She just lay there, fully dressed, my finger up her dry vagina.  Was she was waiting for arousal?  I didn't know. I had a distinct feeling that I needed to be patient with her.

From the other side of the wall I could hear a soft, new-agey kind of music coming from Christie's room.  I fell asleep and dreamed of whales swimming in a dry ocean.

Around midnight the bedroom door opened, and I could her the soft pad of Christie's feet come into the room. She whispered, "Julie?  You awake?"

"Yes." said Julie, softly.

It was pitch black in the room.  The mystical music still droned softly through the wall.

"Is Freddy with you?" Christie whispered.

"Yes.  It's okay."

Christie shut the door and padded her way over to the other side of the bed.  I could smell her creamy bedtime lotion.

"Baby, I've got to ask you something." whispered Christie.  "Is he asleep?"

I had continued my measured breathing, and hadn't moved. My finger was still buried inside Julie's vagina.

"Yes." said Julie.  "What's up?" 

I could feel her pull the covers up even further around her neck.  She also pulled her feet in, making a tent with her knees, in case Christie could see through the gloom the contour of my hand between her legs.

"Kyle just called me." said Christie. "He's been kicked out of his place again. He wants to know, now that Dean's gone, if he could move in here with me?"

"He got kicked out again? Shit!  Doesn't he ever pay his rent?" said Julie.

"He pays some." said Christie.  "Here he could pay less. Besides," she added archly, "you can afford to give me this since I already pay more than half the rent."

"You knew about that?" said Julie, and they laughed.  "I don't know, maybe it would be okay.  What do you see that punk anyway?"

Christie replied, "He's nice, he's funny, he has a big penis, he's punctual...what else do you want to know?"

Julie laughed. Her sudden movements had left my arm in an uncomfortable position, and I needed to shift a bit. I was waiting for Julie to giggle to mask my movements, and when I did I accidentally rubbed my finger against her clit, and was rewarded with a tiny drop of moisture. 

Julie knew I was awake now, but didn't let on.  In fact, she actually opened her legs, giving access to my other fingers.

Christie went on about this Kyle character.  As she talked I wiggled my finger inside Julie more and more, and she got wetter and wetter.  My other fingers massaged her thighs, and boldly pressed against her clit, and she couldn't resist moving her hips, lifting her ass, driving my finger deeper inside her.  Her breath quickened, and I could hear her licking her lips with pleasure.

Christie had no idea what was going on.  I continued to feign sleep.  It was too dark to see anything, and the music from next door drowned out the various squishes coming from under the sheet.

"So." whispered Christie, after finishing her little description of Kyle's finer points, "What's with this Freddy guy?  You like him?"

Julie slipped a hand under the sheet, placed it atop mine, and guided the rhythm around her pussy.  "Yeah.  I do." she said.

"He's sorta' gorgeous." said Christie. "If you dump him I'll take him."

"What about Kyle?" asked Julie.

"Well, the big penis thing is true, but, you're not going to believe this, because nobody ever does," said Christie, "he hates, you know, oral sex."

"What?" asked Julie.

"You know, blowjobs.  He doesn't like them." Christie continued.  "He just likes being on top, and, oh God, I'm not going to go into it..."

"No," said Julie, squeezing my finger now with her vaginal muscles. "Go ahead."

"Well," said Christie, "Are you sure he's asleep?"

"Are you kidding?" laughed Julie, "He was so drunk he just passed out."

"You mean you guys didn't do anything?" asked Christie, "'Cause I thought, just now, that I smelled something, you know..."

"Christie!" said Julie, giggling.

But it was true.  Julie had grown gushingly wet, and her  smell was perfuming the room.  It was a pleasant, herbal smell, much different than Bonnie's wonderful musky odor.  Julie smelled more like (and I know you'll think I'm crazy), raspberry iced tea.

"Whew!" said Christie, "All this talk of sex and I just might wake that boy next to you up and, you know..."

"What?" asked Julie?

"Ohhhhhh, suck him off." said Christie casually.

Julie pressed my hand down harder, moving it in a circle over her clit.

"Jesus, girl!" she said.

Christie giggled quietly, "I know, I know. It's sad, isn't it?  Here I have the only man in the world he actually doesn't like blowjobs, and, good God, do I love to suck a nice, hard, stony cock.  Whew!  Okay, I'm stopping now, or I'll never get to sleep."

"'Kay." said Julie, laughing  at her friend.

"Maybe I'll grab a snack first." said Christie standing. "Well, if he wakes up, just bathe him, paint him, and send him in to me." 

"Leave the door open." said Julie.

"Sure." said Christie, "'Night."

Once Christie left Julie threw off the sheet, rolled on top of me, and kissed me hard and wet.   "Ohhhhhhhh." she sighed, humping my finger.  

Julie stopped to glance at the open door.  A light had gone on in the kitchen, and we could just make out Christie getting herself a glass of milk.  Julie quickly stripped, tossing off her wool shirt and jeans, pulling down her moth eaten panties and white socks, and unsnapping her bra, letting them all fall to the covers until we were laying in a sea of her clothes. The whole time she kept her eye on Christie, who had spilled a little milk on the floor, and was now cleaning it up with a paper towel.  

I could just make out Julie's body in the thin rays which bled in from the kitchen night light.   Her breasts were full and heavy, with large red nipples.  She had a Bottecelli figure, full figured, curvy hips, but with a tiny waist.  She was obscenely sexy. 

With her hourglass back to me Julie threw a rounded leg over my body, lowered her shapely bottom over my penis, looked at her roommate in the kitchen, and mounted me, my cock sliding into her rapidly gushing pussy. She rode me up and down, up and down, in a perfect calliope horse rhythm. 

"Ohhhhhhhh." I moaned softly, watching her rear end bounce.  One thing was missing.  Her voice.  "Say my name." I begged softly.

"Freddy." she said quietly, but throatily. 

"Yessssss." I hissed quietly, my cock engorging.

While Christie poked in the fridge for something to munch on,  Julie pulled my hands up to her melon breasts, and crushed them against her thick nipples.

"Ohhhhh." she mewled.  

Christie heard her and looked directly at us.  

"Ohhhhhhh!" Julie squeaked a little louder when she saw Christie look our way, peering, trying to see what was making the noise.  "Fuuuuuuck." whispered Julie, suddenly freezing, gripping my knees, pulling herself forward, pressing her clit against my rod, and cumming.  

Christie walked towards the door.  

"Arghhhhhhh." Julie gulped, holding in a scream.  

Christie stopped about five feet from the door, still unable to see us.  Julie's body shook in orgasm, and she was moaning.  Christie listened. She must have figured out what we were doing, and looked away. 

Julie made a short, complaining noise. She didn't want Christie to look away.  Her orgasm started to fade away.  She pushed her pelvis back hard, pressing her womanhood against my penis, feeling the pressure on her clit.  Then she called out her roommate's name, very softly, but enough to make her look at us.




Jazzy Girl Ch. 4



"Christie." she whispered.  

Christie stepped forward, blocking the kitchen light, peering into the bedroom.  We were in shadow, but she could see us.  "Julie?" she said. "Are you okay?"

At the sound of her voice Julie exploded. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she whined, cumming and gushing.  My cock emptied up into her, swirling with her juices, until I lay back limp and spent, my hands groping her protruding nipples.

Christie hesitated.  Then, looking away, she walked back to her room, and shut the door.

It wasn't until later, as I drifted off to sleep, that I recalled Julie saying "I love you".  And that I hadn't said anything at all.

To Be Continued...



Jazzy Girl Ch. 5



A sunbeam struck my eye, and nudged me awake.  I checked my watch.  It was 10:36am.  Next to me Julie snored peacefully.  Her pale cheek was smeared with ruby lipstick. Her eyes were covered by a jungle growth of brown hair. Her round shoulders looked soft and smooth.  I stared at the deep valley of her cleavage as her naked bosom heaved up and down under the covers.  She was an old world beauty, soft and curvy, but with an edgy scowl and sharp Roman features.  She was beautiful.

I rubbed my eyes.  My fingers were sticky, and smelled of sex.  I got up, cold and nude, and quietly slipped on my slacks. I crept out of the bedroom, my bare feet sticky against the cold floor, the door opening softly with a creak.

Christie's door was open. There was no sign of her, so I made my way to the chilly bathroom to clean up.   It was a dingy water-closet, really, with a black commode, a tiny, make-up stained sink, and a damp shower basin surrounded by a plastic curtain drawn on a string sporting several dripping stockings and bras.  A wicker hamper under the sink held some dirty laundry, and a black, frilly thing was poking out under the lid.  Curious, I lifted the top and pulled out a pair of used, black panties.  I held the silky underwear up to my nose and took a deep sniff.  Just as I thought - they weren't Julie's. Julie's smell was very distinct, very gardenish, and she didn't seem to be into the black frill underclothing thing.  No, these panties belonged to Christie, her slinky dancer roommate.  They smelled a bit dank, but also fruity.  I looked around the bathroom and found a box of passion fruit douche -- Christie's, I assumed.

I chucked the panties onto the sink, ran a finger of toothpaste through my teeth and splashed cold water on my face.  I looked at myself in the cracked mirror and said, "What the hell was last night all about?"

I knew I was involved with another exhibitionist. Last night, with Christie in the room, and later watching us, Julie was able to become aroused, and reach orgasm. I recalled the first night I saw her, singing so passionately at The Bitter End, the mike stand pressed between her legs. Did she cum then, too, in front of the screaming crowd?  

First Bonnie, now Julie.  I wasn't sure how much of this I could take.

Still, I was strangely turned on.  Maybe not so much by the thrill of being watched, or possibly caught, but by the thrill it obviously gave to them.  Both Bonnie and Julie reached monumental arousal through their brash public displays of passion and lewdness, and in their excitement I found excitement.

And then there was the "I love you" thing.  Julie would never have said it without really, truly meaning it. And I had said nothing in return.

Did I love her? I was undoubtedly fascinated and infatuated with her.  She was brainy, soulful, and I liked who I was when I was with her. I felt, yes, that I did love her. So why couldn't I say it?

I decided to not be a prick and go home just yet.  I was going to wait for Julie to wake up.  So, I went to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of juice, plopped onto the sofa and watched a little news from a tiny TV they had stuck up on a couple of milk crates. 

It seems the Mad Cracker had struck again the night before, this time setting off a display on the Brooklyn Promenade, giving the entire South Street Seaport a fantastic show.  Again he sent a letter to the media, promising to give his biggest show yet on his ex-girlfriend's birthday, which was coming up in a couple of weeks.  He promised a "light show like the city has never seen!"

"Damn." I thought, "There's one way to say I love you. Send a few bottle rockets over Manhattan."

I turned off the news and looked around for something to read. On a footlocker coffee table was the Times crossword puzzle.  I could never finish one of those damn things, and I wouldn't have given it a second look, except this one looked different from any other Times puzzle I'd ever seen -- this one was finished.  Every square had been filled in, with no crossed out letters or mistakes. In ink!  Damn! Jazzy Girl be smart.

After a few minutes Julie came out of her room, wearing a bathrobe, looking crumpled and sexy.  She didn't say a word, but poured herself a cup of milk, and joined me on the couch.  We sat there for a moment, drinking our drinks, listening to the sounds of the morning traffic outside.  Finally she slid into me, laying her head on my chest, and I held her in my arms.

"Good morning." I said.

"Good morning." she replied. "Thanks for last night." 

"You're welcome." I said, "Thank you."

She hesitated. "Sorry it was so weird.  Can I tell you something?" 

"Yes." I said, putting my glass down, and squeezing her into me.

"I'm frigid. I've never really been able to have sex.  Dean was the best.  He was this big, great looking guy, and I could feel something with him, but not enough.  And he got pissed about it, a lot.  He's an asshole, I don't want to talk about him.  I'm just telling you so you'll know what kind of a nut case I am.  I'm just bad at sex.  But you..."

"Yes?" I said.

"You made me - wet - the first night I met you." she continued.  She paused a bit, letting that sink in.  "And I actually had an orgasm.  On stage.  Do you remember that second set...?"

"Yeah.  I remember."

She laughed nervously, "I think it was pretty obvious to everyone.  Not to Dean, though.  I told him a few days later though, and he got royally pissed.  I think he knew it was because of you.  Anyway he's history."

"Julie," I said, "I'm an okay looking guy, but, you know, I have to ask, and I'm just being clerical here but -- you got wet from just looking at me?"

I remembered my furtive fuck session with Bonnie in the back room of The Bitter End, and my suspicion that someone had been watching us. "C'mon, Julie.  Showtime." Wasn't that what I heard someone say in the hallway while screwing little Bonnie?

Julie didn't answer me at first.  She dropped a hand to my lap, and nonchalantly began rubbing me through my pants, playfully testing for any hardness.  "Last night was strange, wasn't it?" she said.

"Yeah." I said, "But I liked it."

She whispered, "I have never been that wet."

My cock was rising, and she felt it.  She shifted her arm, rubbing against my growing bulge. I kissed her.  She was warm, and receptive.  I placed a hand inside her robe.  She was naked, and her ample breasts fell into my palm. Her nipples were pointy.  I moved my hand down her stomach to her mound. She had opened her legs for me.  She wanted me. I slid a finger over her pussy...

It was dry.  

I moved my hand back up to her face, and cradled it as I kissed her harder, biting and licking her neck.  She opened her robe and I suckled on her tits. I tried her pussy again, and again found it cold and dry.  Finally she pushed me away, tears in her eyes.

"Shit!" she said, "I'm a fucking freak of nature! I don't know what it is!  I thought, Goddamn it, if I just let loose, you know, tried something crazy, like last night..."

The spanking, I remembered.  I thought that whole incident was weird, how she had let loose with a straightforward, "Let's fuck" and how she pulled down her panties and offered me her ass for spanking.  And I remembered how she abruptly stopped when the passion experiment wasn't working, and she wasn't feeling anything but foolish.

She continued. "I'm sorry.  God, I really think I need a psychiatrist.  I want to be with you, but my fucking body just won't cooperate!"

"It did last night." I said.  "Julie, you were sexy as hell last night."

She whispered again, "Because we were being watched."

"So that's your thing." I said.  "I'll tell you what I'll do.  Next time we go into the park to rehearse we'll have sex instead."

"What?"

"Yeah. Right there on the hill.  I'll bet people throw more money.  We can use the extra change to buy you therapy."

She laughed, then said, "What the hell am I going to say to Christie?"

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Jogging, probably," said Julie, looking over to the door where a dance bag sat waiting. "She'll be back soon though, to get her bag, she's got a dance class at noon."

"You want me to talk to her?" I said.

"God no!" she replied.

"Seriously, I could." I said, "Or better yet," I continued, kidding, "you could hide in the closet and watch us have sex.  The exhibitionism thing works both ways, you know.  I know she's willing."

"She sure as hell is," laughed Julie, "You heard her talking about you last night. 'Stony cock!'" 

Then Julie stopped laughing, and got all serious.  She stared at the closet.  It was against the far wall, and was already cracked open.  Anyone sitting in there would have a clear view of the couch.  

In the hallway we could hear someone opening the front door to the building.  Julie looked at me quickly, a gleam in her eye.  She patted me on the crotch once, feeling how hard I still was.  Then she got up, crossed the closet, looked at me, said, "Enjoy," and ducked inside.

I know you can't see me, dear Reader, but do I look like I have a "Dangerous Sexual Encounters Wanted" sign tacked onto my forehead?  What the hell was going on this month?  I go through a year long dry spell, with nary a woman or a decent lyric in sight, and now I had to buy stacks of new blank lyric sheets to keep up with the new songs I was writing, and a loufa just to scrub the daily scent of female sex off my body.  It all started two weeks earlier, with that damn Hunters moon in Washington Square Park.  Two weeks!  In two weeks I had had fantastic, dangerous, public sex four times, with two women, and had written a dozen or more great songs, more than I had written in two years.  And now Julie, a girl I could see myself actually settling down with, or moving in with, or, hell, maybe just stalking, at any rate a girl I wanted to be with one-on-one was asking me to get blown by some babe while she watched and diddled herself in a closet.  "Am I cursed?" I started wondering, "Or blessed?"

The front door opened with a jangle of keys and Christie entered, sopping wet from her run.  She wore form fitting biker's pants and a leotard top.  She was thin and trim, taught, muscled and fit.

"Hi." she said, startled to see me, looking around for Julie.

"She's out." I said.  "Went for juice, and bagels.  You just missed her."

"Oh." she said. "You guys do something together later?"

"Just kicking around."

"Cool." she said, hesitating, wanting to ask me something.

"She said you have a class to get to."

"Fucking ballet." she said, kicking her dance bag. "I hate ballet.  But my manager says I need it, so..." 

She turned around to shut the door, and I took in her body.  She was an study in lines, two round, cupping buttocks neatly flowing into toned thighs and sculpted calves.  Her skin was tanned and even, and glistening with athletic sweat.

I glanced at the closet, which Julie had left cracked open a good two inches.  I knew she was in there, sitting on the floor, her robe open and her fingers hoping to explore a moister field of dreams than usual.  I needed to move things along here.

"Listen, Christie, I could leave until she comes back..." I said, acting as if she had a problem with my being there.

"No." she said.  "Sit.  Wait.  It's okay."

"Okay." I said,  "I just thought after last night..."

She looked down at the mention of the previous evening's adventure.

"Look, I'm sorry about that." I continued, "I swear, I didn't know you were there until the end, and by that time I really wasn't able to do much about it."

Christie looked up and smirked.  "No, probably not.  Julie and I will talk about it later."

"Don't be hard on her." I said.

"She wanted me to watch you guys.  That's why she asked me to leave the door open.  That's not freaky?"

"She didn't plan it." I said,  "It started when you came into the room and..."

"You were awake then?" she asked, surprised.  "I thought you were out cold drunk?"  She narrowed her eyes at me, "Great.  So you heard what I said about ---"

 "Yeah," I said,  "but I know how women talk. It doesn't mean anything."

Christie got all embarrassed and said, "Yeah, well, sometimes it does.  I gotta' towel off."

She bounded off into the bathroom, and closed the door.  I expected Julie to poke her head out of the closet, but she didn't make a peep, so I just sat there, and waited for Christie to reappear.  Bringing up her lusty comments about me last night was a good idea, maybe it would get her thinking.  I heard her rumbling around in the bathroom.  And then I suddenly remembered something - I had left her black panties sitting on the sink.  She was sure to see them, and wonder what they were doing there.  I decided that this was a stroke of good luck, and began to wonder about how she was going to react to the possibility that I was examining her underwear in la toilet.

After several minutes Christie re-appeared, her limbs and back dried of their sweaty glisten.

"So.  You.  Singer-boy!" she said, coming over to the couch.  "Just what exactly did you hear last night?"

"You want me to repeat it word for word?"

"No." she said, then adding, bravely, "Just tell me what you thought of it."

"I think Kyle is a bizarre aberration of humanity that should be pitied and sent to a penal institution for the criminally deranged and moronic."

Kyle was her boyfriend who, for some unfathomable reason, didn't like blowjobs.

"'Penal' institution, that's funny," she said, coming closer. "What about the rest of it?"

"The rest of what I heard?" I said.  "I think I was pretty much, let me check, uh yeah - I was turned on.  Christ, who wouldn't be?"

"Yeah?" she said.

"Yeah."

There was an awkward pause while she stood over me, her hands on her slim hips

"You use our bathroom today?" she asked.

"Yeah.  Earlier."

She looked down at my lap. "Mm-hm. You still turned on?"

"By last night?" I asked.

"By whatever." she said, looking me in the eyes, daring me to answer.

I looked right back at her.  "Yeah.  I think I am." I said.

"Mm-hmm." she said. She folded her arms across her chest, like she was angry and didn't know what to do about the situation.  Her arms were thin, but nicely muscled, and again achieved a perfect aesthetic line as they ran up to her strong shoulders and veined neck.  Her leotard held a lovely contour of her small, round breasts.  She had removed her sports bra in the bathroom, and her tiny nipples were poking out through the lycra. 

"Okay." she said simply, deciding something.  "So let's take care of it."

With her arms still folded she knelt down in front of me.  Keeping her eyes on mine she reached out with both hands, unbuckled my belt and unzipped my fly.  I stared at her, listening to various clicking metal sounds coming from my pants.  She raised an eyebrow, still watching my face, looking for signs of hesitancy.  I raised an eyebrow back at her.  She smirked, and slipped a hand into my pants and released my penis.  I raised both eyebrows now, and let out a small moan of approval.  She smirked at me again, kept her eyes on mine, while she kneaded and tugged it until my cock was rock hard and stood up proud.  "Ohhhh." I moaned, crinkling my eyes and licking my lips - and she knew she had me.

She looked down, and eyeballed my tool.  I could see that she was pleased with what she saw.  She enveloped a fist around my cock, and squeezed as hard as she could.

"Yow!" I said.

She continued to squeeze, watching my face, enjoying my painful reaction. There was a real look of lust in her eyes now, as she crushed my penis in her strong grip.

Then she started stroking my chest with her free hand, running it into my shirt, testing my pecs and shoulders.  She pinched a nipple, and I winced.  She liked that, pinched it again, held it, while getting an even stronger grip on my solid cock.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" I yelled, pushing her hand off my nipple.  But I kind of dug what she was doing to my prick.  I had never been grabbed like that before.  I could feel the rising blood gather and damn beneath her fist.

She grabbed me with two hands now, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze - harder and harder, until I thought my cock would snap off.  And the whole time she watched my face, watched me wince, watched me writhe in pleasure.  

"Oh God!" I said, feeling a little light-headed.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the closet door crack open another inch.

Just when I couldn't take it any more Christie sniffed at my cock, taking in its odor of moist skin, rolled her eyes back dreamily, smelled me again, then took me full and wet in her mouth, deeply gagging herself, my cock pushing against the back of her throat.  "Urgggggh." she moaned, as if tasting a sixty dollar steak.  And then she swallowed, taking me in deeper still, her teeth biting against the skin around the base of my pole, anchoring there.  While engulfed like that, completely in her throat, she began to bob her head up and down, and suck.  A furious sucking, a tremendous thrill ride sucking.  And while she sucked, she hummed, vibrating my cock and  sending quivers of joy down to my feet.  The amazing vacuum of her mouth lifted me out of my seat, and she grabbed me under my ass, lifting me up with her strong arms, pulling me further into her mouth, lifting and lifting me until I was standing over her, almost tipping over.  I came quickly, my cock pouring semen down into her mouth, while she hefted me over like a she was downing a pitcher of beer.

"OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" I screamed, firing a hot load down her throat, my legs astride her face.  She leaned back until I was fucking her throat straight down, and she used her iron grip to milk every last drop out of me, guzzling it all straight down her gullet. 

When I was done she threw me back onto the sofa like a used hanky.  "Urrrrrrghhhhhh" she said, wiping her mouth, gurgling cum before gulping down the last swallow, a sated grin on her face. "You taste salty." she said.  "I love the salty ones."

She was amazing. I had never come that fast before.  My cock was stunned too, because it was still rock hard.

She came out of her lustful reverie and stared at my stiff prick, waving in the air like a skyscraper during a rough wind. "Fuck, look at that." she said, standing, and undressing.  She kicked off her shoes and socks, then pulled off her leotard top and biker pants.  She was wearing only her underwear.

It was sexy dancer underwear.  Black, silky underwear.  The same underwear I had sniffed at earlier, and foolishly left on the bathroom sink.  She'd obviously found them there, figured out what I'd done, and slipped them on for me.

She climbed onto my lap, pushed me down onto the sofa so that I was lying under her, pulled aside the crotch of the black panties, lowered her pussy onto my cock, pinned my arms down, and, dear, dear Reader, she started to fuck me. 

I was frozen, unable to move.  She fucked me from above, violently.  I could feel my cock scrape against her silk panties as she banged me.  Her small tits swayed and bobbed over her rib cage as she rode me, taking me, eyes closed, lost in her own pleasure. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" she cried, ignoring me completely.  Her pits were over me, and I could smell the sweat from her jog, mixed with the fresh passion fruit smell of her cunt. 

"YESSSSSSSS!" she screamed, cumming hard, and laying a huge kiss on me, her tongue darting deep into my throat.  

But just as quickly as she came, she jumped off me.  "Julie will be back soon." she said, out of breath, still shuddering. "Zip up."

I managed to stuff my still stiff prick back into my pants, as she gathered her clothes and disappeared into her bedroom. Moments later she came flying back out into the living room, slipping a pair of jeans over black tights and pulling on a T-shirt.  She also threw on some boots, and gathered up her keys and dance bag, talking to me all the while.




Jazzy Girl Ch. 5



"Let me ask you something." she said.

"Yeah?"

"You like Julie?"

"I do." I said.

"Then we won't talk about this, right?" she said.

"Right." I said.

She took a breath, relaxed and said, "Good.  God you are gorgeous. Here!" She tossed me the black panties.  They were sopping wet, and smelled deeply of her, dank and fruity. "Thanks." she said, rolling her eyes dreamily and licking her lips.  "Mmm.  Salty."  And then she was out the door.

What a fucking ride!  Holy shit, the girl blew me like -

Damn!  I almost forgot Julie in the closet.

I waited until I heard Christie leave the building before opening the closet.  Julie lay there on top of a floor of boots and high heels, her legs spread wide, her feet pressed against the jams, her eyes wide as basketballs, sweat pouring down her neck, her nipples thrusting out hard from her voluminous breasts, furiously humping three very wet fingers.  It was an obscene, erotic sight.  She looked up at me, lost in lust, unable to remove her fingers, with a pleading, "Christ, help me!" look on her face.

I lowered myself to the floor and placed my face between her wet legs, taking in her earthy, garden scent.  Shoving her fingers aside I stuck my tongue directly onto her clit.  She took a sharp intake of breath, grabbed my ears, and pulled me in closer, burying my nose in her drenched, herbal pussy.  

As I smacked and slurped my hand came upon a nearby shoe.  It was a pointy, alligator high-heel thing, more Christie's style than Julie's. 

"Is this Christie's?" I asked.

"Yes...." she managed, pulling my head down, not caring about any Goddamn shoe. "Ahhhhhhhhh!" she yelped, bucking her hips up against my face.  I  dropped the shoe, and began lapping at her sweet loins. 

She grabbed my ears and started fucking herself with my tongue, dripping like mad down her butt crack.  I traced the river of juice down with my finger and pressed it against her bung hole.  "Ahh!" she complained, squirming her butt away. But I pressed again, holding her still, until I could pop my finger a tiny bit inside, just up to one knuckle.  "No! God! Fuck!" she yelled, pressing my face into her pussy. "This is so fucked! Ahhhhhhhh!"

I tickled her rectum, coaxing the muscles open. "Ah! Ah! Ah!" she cried, as the finger thrilled her. Then I slipped my finger full into her ass.  "What! NOOOOOOO!" she screamed! "OH MY GOD! YESSSSSSSSSS!" Her ass lifted up and fell down onto the pointy shoe. "OWWWWW!" she cried.

I continued to lick and lap her cunt loudly, squeezing her nipples, until she shuddered and surrendered a tremendous pool of gushing cum which leaked and spilled all over the alligator skin, ruining Christies' shoe for good.

To Be Continued...




Jazzy Girl Ch. 6



A gaggle of white swans honked noisily in the pond, which was actually a plastic children's pool ringed by an assortment of foliage and rocks for an "authentic" look, though where in the wild swans swim in plastic Power Rangers pools I have no idea.  Homely girls in horrid orange and white taffeta gowns that threatened to eat them were escorted around by pimply faced ushers in powder blue tuxedos.  Brazen squirrels leaped onto serving trays, snatching bread and nuts, and spilling martinis and white whine spritzers.  The bride and groom, both blanched and dull looking, were arguing with the caterer about the aesthetic difference between chocolate covered cherries and white chocolate covered cherries, and how he was ruining their special day, just ruining it!

I hate weddings.

The New Blue News was booked, last minute, to work the reception of an outdoor wedding in Jersey.  The bride's parents had turned their backyard into a kitschy wedding theme park with biting swans, wilting floral arches, moldy red carpeting and white doves that escaped and flew away an hour before the ceremony.

We were stuck on a couple of shaky risers next to the tool shed, under a maple tree which dropped heavy, golden leaves on us all afternoon.  We played lots of Sinatra, Big Band, and great but overdone stuff like "As Time Goes By". The things you do for money. Sheesh.

There were three young girls in particular who kept bugging me to do some rap numbers, and giggling and making faces every time I said, "Sorry we don't that." Actually, it got to be a fun, flirty kind of thing after a while. I've been onstage enough to know when young girls find me attractive, and these kids were definitely interested.  But girls at that age don't hand you phone number, they bug you with dumb requests and make faces.  So I started making faces back, and even promised them one rap number later if they got me a beer.  Off they went to the bar and, with much furious pointing towards the stage, convinced the bartender that the drink was, indeed, for an adult.  They returned with their prize like Dorothy and friends with the witches broom, demanding their reward.  "Later." I said, grabbing the beer and launching into "Summer Wind".

"Awwwww." they groaned, making more faces.

One of the girls was named Mindy. She was the Bride's sister, a flower girl, who was allowed to wear a very pretty little shift, instead of the horrible taffeta, which was a good thing because she was a cute teeny thing, just eighteen, freshly scrubbed, with white teeth and shiny skin and braided hair surrounded with a laurel of flowers. She was very toasty to look at, and I needed some sort of diversion because the rest of the day pretty much sucked.

See, Julie and I were fighting.

It had been a week since making love at her place.  Julie and Christie had talked things out (though I don't think she ever told Christie about hiding in the closet and watching her blow me to heaven), and I decided to pretty much avoid the flat altogether.  So I gave Julie a key to my place and we spent the next several days there, eating meals together, doing crossword puzzles, and trying hard to have normal, private sex.  She was good about making sure I "had my fun" in bed, but no way was I able to get her, in any way, "off". I was patient with her, but she wasn't as patient with herself, and cursed and screamed at her "Goddamn stupid body!" every day.  I was beginning to think that she didn't see much of a future in our relationship.

And that was sad, because every day I grew more and more in love with her.  Her music was complicated, marvelously mathematical and precise, but edgy and unpredictable at the same time, much like she was.  I wrote lyrics to many of her old pieces, and it was the best stuff I'd ever done.  I was in awe of her talent as a composer, and as a performer.  Her voice and stage persona were electrifying.  And beyond all that, she was a smart conversationalist, and could give an opinion on any subject.  She was brash and shy, smart about the world and dumb about herself; she was a concert of contradictions.  Pure jazz.  My Jazzy Girl. And for four vibrant (though passionless) days we were inseparable.

Then Bonnie called.

Bonnie! Whom I had wildly fucked that first night I met Julie. Bonnie, who also craved public sex. Whose body was a river of erotic wetness.  Funny, crazy, lovely Bonnie! I thought I'd never hear from her again. Not after what I did to her sweet little bottom, in her apartment, with her fiancé watching from the street below. 

But there she was, on the other end of the phone, telling me that she wanted to meet me, Sunday night, on top the Empire State Building, at night. She wouldn't say what is was about, only that she wanted to see me.  I remembered our conversation just a few weeks earlier when I told her I'd never been  to the top and would love to see the view, late at night, but that I would only go if taken, for "an event" I think I said. What could she have in mind? 

She wouldn't say. She just wanted me to come. And, like the idiot I was, I said, "Yes."

I had to tell Julie, I just did. I tried to play it all cool and natural, and convince her that nothing was going to happen, but Julie became unreasonable, and left the apartment, chucking my key at me.  I hadn't told her everything about my relationship with Bonnie, but I knew she could tell that it was pretty hot and heavy going, and she was obviously jealous.  

The sex thing was definitely hanging Julie up.  I thought about exploring the exhibitionist side of Julie, like I had with Bonnie, but I still didn't understand the whole fetish, and hoped that she and I could work things out behind closed doors. But it wasn't working, and Julie was torturing herself, sure that she was some sort of freak. No wonder she blew up when I told her I wanted to see an old girlfriend.

She wouldn't talk to me, and we didn't even see each other again until jumping on the bus together to get to the wedding gig.  We sat in separate seats and didn't say a word to each other all the way out Jersey.

After a flaccid first set we took a break, and I tried to talk to her.  She stopped me and said, "Look, we know where this is going, so let's just let it go, okay?" and walked over to the bar with the rest of the band.  

Well, damn it, I tried. What more was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to lose my mind like the Mad Cracker and start shooting fire-works all over the city just to prove the size of my affection?

Pissed now I grabbed a beer, walked the other way, across the yard, and disappeared into the garage which the family has converted into a playroom for their kids. The walls were painted red, blue and yellow. It had a large Sesame Street rug and hundreds of toys, board games, hula hoops, and bikes and shit thrown around. The place looked like Pee-Wee's Fun House. It set away from the house, in the back, and had an entry door and windows which looked out over the yard.  I plopped into a big bean bag chair which crushed and sank as I sat, hefted my beer, and sulked.

Out the tiny window I could see Julie across the yard downing a glass of wine and throwing bread for the miserable swans.  She looked pretty miserable herself.

I finished the beer and was about to go for another when I heard someone say, "Oooo!  Sitting on duty!  I'm telling!" 

I turned around to see that my teenie groupies had followed me into the garage, including Mindy, the cutie, the flower girl with the floral laurel. "I'm telling!" she repeated.

"I'm on break." I said, "And yes, I'll a sing rap song for God's sake!"

"Ask him!" one girl giggled.  They all shoved each other around, whispering, and sneaking little smiles at me.  Finally, Mindy stepped forward and said, "You know that girl in your band with the big boobs?"

The other girls all giggled at the word "Boobs."  "Mindy!" they chided.

"Yeah.  What about her?" I asked.

"Okay," said Mindy, rolling her eyes, and chewing some gum, "Is she, like, your girlfriend?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," said one of the other girls laughing, "Mindy wants to go out with you!"

"Shut-up!" squealed Mindy, smacking her friends on the shoulder. "I'm serious!"

I looked out the window again.  Julie was talking to one of the ushers, a tall, goofy-looking kid who'd had his eye on her all day.

"We're kind of broken up." I said.  "So I'm free."

"Oooooo Mindy!" the girls teased.

"I am so going to kick your butts!" said Mindy, turning a bright red.

I stood up and walked over to them.  They all retreated a bit.  I was a good foot taller than they were.  "Don't you think I'm too old for you all?" I said in my best adult voice.

"We're Seniors" said Mindy.

"Just." I said.

"My mom is ten years younger than my Dad." said another girl, hiccuping.

"Lisa's drunk!" squealed one girl.

"Oh screw you, Terry, I am not!" said Lisa, hiccuping again. The girls burst out laughing.  

"You been sneaking some of the champagne?" I asked.

"My brother got us a bottle." said Mindy.  "He's one of the ushers. That's him."

I looked out the window at the tall kid who was talking to Julie.

"Don't those tuxedos suck?" said Mindy.

"I like your belt." said Lisa, reaching and fondling my buckle.  

"Lisa!" said Mindy, giggling.

"What?" said Lisa, really having no idea what the problem was.

"Don't grab his belt. God!" said Terry.

Lisa dropped her hand, suddenly aware of what she was doing. "Oh God!" she said, laughing. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, you can look at it." I said.

"I like it, too." said Mindy, quickly, hoping for a turn.

"Go ahead." I said.

Mindy reached out and rubbed the buckle, which was shaped like a musical note. Her fingers were tiny, with short, painted nails.  "Ooo, nice." she said, stroking the buckle. "Are these leather pants?"

"Yes." I said. "But I think they're too tight on me."

Mindy shook her head. "Nu-uh. They look great."

"So." said Terry, laughing.  "You guys going out?

Mindy dropped her hand away from my buckle and said, "I swear I am just kidding you guys! God!"

"Oh she so loves you!" laughed Lisa.

"That's it!" said Mindy,  snorting, "You guys are so lame! I am moving back to Chicago!  I hate you!"

Out the playroom window I could see the band taking to the stage, ready for the second set. "Okay." I said, "I'll try to do your rap song now. But don't expect much!"

"Yea!" they shouted, following me back to the stage, hooting and shooting like my own private cheer-leading squad.

"I have a request." I said to Tyler, as I hopped up onto the stage. "Can you give me some kind of a rap beat?"

"Sure." said Tyler, knocking out an easy rhythm on the drums, and I improvised a silly rap song.

"Her name is Mindy,
From the Windy city, 
She sure looks pretty,
And for her I sing this stupid rap ditty,
Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!"

The girls screeched with joy, pushing and shoving Mindy around and teasing her until she turned a beet red.

"Her friends are lame,
'Cause they're all the same,
I forget their names,
But they drink too much Champagne,
Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!"

I improved a couple of more verses and finished to good-natured applause from the crowd, squeals from the girls, and some very strange looks from the band.

"Okay," I said, chugging down another beer, feeling no pain really no longer caring about the Bride's request list, "Let's have some fun." I launched into "Hoop Girl", and the band gleefully followed.  We finished to great applause, and several corny loud "Bravos!" from Mindy who sat on her Daddy's lap. He, and all the other adults, seemed to enjoy the second set, as we went from one original tune to the next.  All our new stuff.  Julie's music and my lyrics. We finished with a kick-ass version of "Jazzy Girl" which Julie really tore into, sending an electric thrill through all the powder-blue tuxedo boys.

Julie and I clicked on stage, like we always did, but as soon as the set was over it was brick wall city, dude. Julie just wouldn't give me any truck. She wouldn't let me explain that I had no intentions about Bonnie. She wouldn't let me say that maybe I was an idiot for agreeing to see her, or that maybe I'd call it off. I couldn't say anything. Looking back I realized that only thing I could have said, and should have said, was what was in my heart, "I love you."

But I was too pissed, and getting too drunk, to think clearly.  It was over with Julie, and I didn't give a fuck about anything any more.

So after the set we split again. Julie went to throw crumbs at the poor swans, and I grabbed another beer. Most of the guests went inside the house to get their dinner, some thin roast beef and hard potatoes, and, of course, the horrific white chocolate strawberries.

The band went to eat, but I wasn't hungry.  I was in a weird mood, thrilled at the set, but still pissed at Julie for not trusting me, pissed at Bonnie for calling and starting this whole issue, and, I think pissed again at Julie about her frigidity.  I hated to admit it, but I was taking it personally that she and I couldn't have sex alone.  I just didn't get this whole exhibitionist thing.

So I grabbed my beer and went back the garage playroom to hide and sulk.  I stared out the window and saw Mindy, alone, searching for me.  She saw my face in the window, and came inside.

"You were so great." she said, stepping into the dusty garage.  She seemed a little nervous around me, stammering and not knowing what to do with her hands. She nonchalantly poked around the playroom, picking a few toys here and there, finally settling on a jump rope, and attempted a few jumps. "You really were so funny. No doubt! Everyone is talking about it. It was so funny, though our moms are yelling at us because of the champagne."

"She's right." I said.  "You should stick to beer."

"Can I have a sip?" she said, and I handed her my bottle, which seemed to big for her little fist.  She took out her bubble-gum, and took a sip.  It must have been too bitter for her because a bit dribbled out of her mouth as she pulled it away in distaste.  I pulled out my shirt and dabbed her mouth with the end. "Thanks. Yuk." she said.  "You actually like that stuff?"

"Yep." I said, leaving my shirt untucked, and taking a big swig.  It was my sixth beer that day.

Mindy seemed nervous, and kept playing with the toys, kicking over some blocks, riffling some cards, chewing and popping her gum mindlessly.  She was desperately searching for something to say or do.  Without her friends egging her on she felt adrift.  I thought again how pretty she was.  She looked younger than eighteen. She had a child face, a lovely, lithe body just filling out, and her charmingly arranged hair, braided on top her head, and crowned with wildflowers.  Her eyes were moist with infatuation. 

Eager to keep to the conversation going, she came up with "Um, can I see your belt buckle again?"

I knew she wasn't that interested in my buckle, but this was her way of reinitiating a physical contact that we'd had earlier.  In her mind this was a safe, familiar way to be intimate.

"Sure." I said.

She reached out and fondled the buckle.  "It's so cool" she said, not really having anything else to say.  "You should tuck your shirt in."

"I'm too tired," I said wearily. Out the window I saw Mindy's brother trying to wrangle another drink from the bartender.  Somehow, knowing that her brother was right there, right outside the window, gave me a thrill.  I don't know what the hell came over me. Something to do with being pissed at Julie, mad that it was all over, and way too drunk. And, there was something else. I think was excited with the idea of being intimate with this young, attractive girl, with her brother was so close.  Had I caught the exhibitionist fever?  I looked down at my pulled out shirt tail. "You do it." I blurted out to Mindy, not really thinking.

Mindy hesitated, then pushed my shirt back into my pants, first just tucking it under the waistband, then pulling my belt away from my stomach and making room to push it in further.  I kept looking out the window, pretending not to feel anything, when secretly I was thrilled.  Mindy's brother only had to look up, and he might see his sister standing very close to me.  My heart started pounding, and I knew I didn't want this feeling to stop.  I felt scared, but powerful. And aroused.

Mindy got the last of the shirt in.  Her whole hand was inside my pants.  She was about to pull it out, when I grabbed her hand and held it there. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, knowing what I was doing.

 "Isn't that your brother?" I asked, ignoring her question.

Mindy started to pull her hand away, but was distracted by my question.  She looked out the window.  Her brother was outside walking around, munching on a chicken leg, sipping his booty of beer, checking out the band instruments.

"Yeah.  Barry." she said.

"He older than you?" I asked.

"A year." she said.

"He tease you a lot?" I asked.

"Yeah. He can be a doofus." she answered.

While we stood there, looking at doofus Barry, pretending not to be in any kind of actual contact, I pushed Mindy's hand down into my pants.

I didn't know what the hell I was doing.  I was a little pissed, a lot drunk, and suddenly very, very turned on. I couldn't help myself. Suddenly I wanted to deflower this kid in front of the whole wedding assemblage, particularly her older brother.  I honestly didn't think I'd go that far, but I was running on instinct here, and couldn't, or wouldn't, stop.  The only thing that would have stopped me is if Mindy had screamed or run away, or even pulled her hand out of my pants.

But she didn't do either of those things. Actually, she went so white that she couldn't move. She had her hands inside a man's pants.  A real man!  And a cute one!  Who had sung a song just for her!  Hell yes this was dangerous, but this doesn't happen to a girl every day!

It was a tight fit, so I removed my own hand, and left hers there. She started to cautiously explore the mysterious confines of my pants, brushing about the soft leather, scraping against the zipper, slipping under the elastic underwear waistband, searching through the folds of tucked-in shirt to the taught skin of my hairy belly.  Her index finger pushed into my belly button while her hand hovered above my steadily growing cock.

"Look at Barry." I said. "I think he's hitting on Julie."

She was nervous, and didn't want to talk.  As long as I looked out the window she had the illusion that I didn't know what she was doing.  It was a seductive lie, and she took advantage of it, wiggling her fingers around, reaching further down, until they tickled the head of my cock.  Upon touching my penis she froze, startled, unsure of how to continue.

I kept talking. "God! She pissed me off the other day. I'm just so mad at her."  I was sounding like a pre-teen, all emotion and petulance. 

Mindy stared out at her brother, handing Julie a plate of food. "He's a dork." she said, barely able to get any air out.

"Does he treat you like a kid?" I asked.

"He calls me Little Princess." she replied, resting her fingers now on my cock, freezing, registering the moment, the feel, the experience.

"I don't think you're a kid." I said, unbuckling my pants, slowing pulling down the zipper. I could hear her breath quicken.  We both continued to stare out the window. I leaned forward, ostensibly to get a better look. "You seem pretty grown-up to me." With the increased room in my pants, and by leaning forward, I had pushed my cock straight up into her palm.

Her eyes started darting all over the backyard, looking for parents, friends, police, anyone who might catch us.  She didn't do much with her hand but hold my cock.  There really wasn't enough room, and she frankly didn't know what else to do.  




Jazzy Girl Ch. 6



I would have taken longer, maybe seduced her a bit more, but I had to pee from all that beer, and knew I couldn't keep this up for long, so I reached in and pulled my cock out into the air.  Mindy stepped back and took a long, shocked look at this enormous hard-on sticking out of my pants.

I looked her right in the face. "I'm just so mad at her!" I said. 

Something about my girlfriend angst emboldened her, made her want to comfort me, and she instinctively started stroking my cock.  After three strokes she became aware of what she was doing, and looked down.

"Oh my God." she said, watching her little hand slide over my bumpy, thick tool.  "Is this okay?"

"It feels really nice." I said. 

She stopped, getting a little nervous, and just held my prick like a doorknob. 

"Do you want some more beer?" I asked.

"Sure." she said, happy to have something else to do.  She held onto my cock, afraid of it, but unable to release the sucker.  She took out her bubble-gum, and I tipped the bottle for her, feeding her the beer like a farmer feeds milk to an orphaned lamb.  The beer ran down her pearly throat as she gulped.  When it was empty I pushed the bottle into her mouth, just a bit, her lips widening to accommodate the neck.  I pulled the bottle out a bit, and pushed it in again, back and forth, until she began to suckle.  

"Do that to me." I begged.

She squinted, confused, then, looking down at my cock, she seemed to understand. 

"Really?" she whispered.

"I want you to." I said.  "I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you were old enough."

She gulped, then carefully knelt in front of me, my monster cock bobbing in her face.  She wrinkled her nose at the intimate, adult smell, but kept her face there.  She was still holding her gum and looked for a place to toss it.

"You can put it back in your mouth.  It's okay." I said.

She popped the gum back in her mouth, chewed it a bit, then opened up and took my penis between her pink lips.  She tested the size, and taste, and finally gulped it in, sucking once or twice before pulling it out, her sharp, little teeth scraping against the skin.

"Oooo. Nice!" I said. "Have you done this before?" I knew she'd be pleased by the question, which implied that she was experienced, and good.

"No." she said, curling her lips around me and sucking again.

I looked outside. Julie and Barry were on the stage, and she was telling him all about the instruments.  The moment I saw them my cock engorged, and I pulled little Mindy's flower covered head into me, nearly gagging her.  Shit! They could see me if they looked over, and I was excited by that. I had turned into a Goddamn exhibitionist!

Mindy gulped, and pulled her head back, gagging. 

"Sorry," I said, "you just feel so amazing." I pushed her head over my cock again, and she took me as best she could.  

She sucked for a while, and then, sensing that something more should be happening, pulled me out of my mouth, popped her gum and said, "Are you liking this?".  Her eyes were moist, eager to please.

"Oh yes." I said. "You're perfect.

She smiled. "What else do I do?"

"Use your gum." I said, suddenly.  She narrowed her eyes at that, not understanding, but took a deep breath, put my cock back in her mouth, and started swirling her tongue around, pressing the stiff little ball of gum against my cock like a tiny ball bearing.  

"Mmm." I said, enjoying the sensation.  The whole gum thing turned me on. "Now, blow a bubble." 

She pulled my cock out of her mouth, stuck her tongue into the gum, make a kissy face and blew out an enormous, pink bubble.

"I'm going to pop it." I said, and pressed my cock into the bubblegum.  The bubble popped, collapsing and sticking to the thin skin of my prick. "Now, use your teeth to scrape it off." I said.

She seemed to like that idea, if only because bubble-gum was something she understood.  She began to alternately suck me and scrape away at the sticky gum with her teeth, gnawing it off bit by bit, like a cat using her fans to nibble food from your hand.  It felt and sounded like she was devouring my penis.  "Oh Christ!" I yelled. She got every last strand, and chewed it all back into a ball.

"Mindy, do you want to try something else?" I asked. "Something to make you feel good?"

She stood up, and nodded, breathing lustily.   

"Okay," I said, "But you don't want to get pregnant, right?" 

She shook her head. Outside she caught of glimpse of her big brother.

"So, I'm going to be real careful, okay?"

She nodded, too nervous to talk, but game.

"Come here." I said, and kissed her.  Christ, was she waiting for that! She melted into my lips, letting me do all the work, crushing her little face into mine as she moaned and squealed, squeezing me with her thin little arms.  She tasted like fresh strawberries and champagne. 

She became aware of the window, and realized that she was kissing an older man in full view of her brother.  She started to pull away, but I held her.  "They can only see our faces." I said.  "So we just won't kiss, okay?"

She nodded.

"Okay," I said, "Let's try this."

I lifted up her shift.  She was wearing white, strappy shoes and no stockings.  Her toes were delicate and painted.  "Pretty toes." I said.

I lifted her dress up further.  Her limbs were thin and hairless.  I ran my hands up her legs, up her sinewy thighs to her ass, and rubbed her panties.  She was so excited that she rose up on her toes, nearly falling over me. I placed a hand inside her panties and pulled them down and off, tossing them onto a "Twister" game that somebody had left out.  The panties were yellow bikinis, with bright blue dots. 

I could almost hear her little heart pounding as I put my hands under her dress again. "What are you doing?" she whispered?  I kneaded her naked ass, ran my hands down her cheeks, my fingers just brushing the tiniest hint of fur between her twig legs, and lifted her easily into the air.  "Ohhh!" she said, startled at being lifted. Her little legs naturally wrapped around my waist for support. I now held her suspended over my penis.

She seemed literally swept away by this whole thing, and kept holding her breath, scared, but aroused.   She could feel the tip of my cock beneath her, and knew that I meant to impale her. "Is it going to hurt?" she managed to ask.

I held her easily with one hand, and used the other to maneuver my penis against her small pussy, which was bald but for some fine baby hairs.  "If it does," I said pressing the head inside her lips, "you tell me to stop, okay?"

"Okay." she said with a trembling voice.  Then, as if marking a moment of great import, she kissed me deeply, earnestly, with just a touch of pleading, as if to say "Gently, please."

We both looked out the window.  Julie and Barry were getting another drink from the bartender.  Barry was touching her arm, very excited to have so much attention from her.

I lifted my cock into Mindy's snatch, getting about an inch in.  She winced. "Should I stop?" I asked.

She shook her head no, and tried to wiggle me in further, with no luck.  We needed more moisture, and I couldn't wait for foreplay.  I needed to excite her - and fast.

"Mindy," I said. "Is there a boy in school you like?  A boy you've been in love with for years, and never told anybody?"

She looked at me like I could read minds and said "Yes.  Ricky Sherman."

"Do this," I said, "close your eyes and picture Ricky wearing his gym shorts.  He's playing basketball.  Do you see him?"

"Yes." she said, her eyes closed.

"Picture him going into the boys locker room, all alone.  He's in front of his locker, and he takes off all his clothes, and he turns around.  Is he naked?"

"Yes." she said, gulping.

"Okay. Now you're naked.  He picks you up, like this, and kisses you, like this..." I kissed her.  "And starts to pull you down, like this...." I lowered her more onto my prick, bending it, waiting for the moisture which would allow it further entrance.  "Do you feel it?"  I asked.

"Yes." she said, her eyes tightly closed.  "Ohhhhhhh." she moaned, burying her head in my chest, and starting to drip from between her legs.  

"I'm Ricky," I said, "tell me what you've always wanted to tell me."

"Oh Ricky," she said, biting my shoulder, her pussy getting wet, "I love you."

I pushed my cock into her.  It greased in easily, sliding though her tight tunnel. "I love you, Ricky." she said again. My cock pushed into her vagina, and pressed against the thin wall of her hymen.  "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" she cried.

"I love you, too." I whispered, thrusting up, ripping her maidenhood, and plunging deep into her body.

"Arrrgghhhhhh!" she cried in pain. 

"Should I stop?" I asked.

"Nooooooo!" she yelled, her eyes still closed.  She bit my shoulder again and said, "Ricky, I love you!  I love you!" I could feel her tears dampen my shirt as she wept and cried out Ricky's name.  "I love you so much! Oh, God, Ricky, I love you!"

I watched Barry outside, while I screwed his little sister. I pumped my cock up into Mindy's snatch, but didn't need much thrusting.  She was so tight, and smelled so good, like baby powder and soap, that I quickly came to the brink. Mindy, too, climaxed fast, shuddering and shaking and crying up a storm. "OOOOHHHHH RICKKKKY!" she screamed cumming hard. I held her tightly, letting her finish, not moving. 

Finally she wilted, and I pulled her off me.  She collapsed to the floor, still shuddering with little aftershocks. I placed her under the window sill, her back to the wall.  

"Remember I said we have to be careful?" I said. She looked up at me, my cock glistening with her juice, and nodded. "I can't have my orgasm inside you, so you need to help have one outside, okay?" This seemed logical, so she nodded her agreement.  "Hold me." I said.  And she did, grabbing onto my penis with her doorknob grip again.  "Use your mouth, and get ready because it might be a little messy, do you understand?"  She nodded that, yes, she did understand.  Thank God for Sex Ed.  

I could now face the window directly.  So, there I was pissed and drunk.  I put my face against the glass, gripped the frame with my hands, looked right at Julie's face, and fucked Mindy in the mouth.  

"OHHHHHHHH!" I moaned as she took me in and sucked my cock, pressing her bubble-gum around the shaft, slurping and gurgling and tossing her hair over my loins. I pumped and pumped and pumped  her tonsils until I felt the cum inside me rise, higher and higher, ready to burst.  I froze and yelled "Suck hard! Now!"   She pulled me in, scraping her teeth against my cock as she sucked as hard as she could, and I looked at Julie and came like a fire hose, grabbing the back of Mindy's little head, pulling her onto me, gagging her.  I came and came and came, one milky squirt after another, filling up her mouth until finally she pulled back, coughing up cum, and squeezed the last bit of semen out of me with her fist.  I shot again all over her face, blinding her, sending a streak of white come across her flowered hair. 

"FUUUUUUCK ME!" I cried as I blew my spunk, a thrill running through me as I looked at Barry and came on his sister.  There were strings of sticky cum crisscrossing her lips, cheeks and forehead, and her hand was full dripping white goo.  "AHHHHHH SHIT!"

After the last rope of semen squirted across her face I squeezed out the last dribble of goo from my cock and said, "You're great! You are great!"

She coughed up a little semen, wiped some spunk from her eyes and smiled.  Then she felt the sticky cum in her hair, and dripping down her face. "Oh no!" she cried, cupping a hand under her chin to keep the goo from spotting her pretty shift.  

I grabbed her tossed underwear and used it to wipe her face and hands clean.  We did the best we could, but she very much needed to clean up properly.

"It's so messy. I'd better go to the bathroom." she said, moving to leave, limping a bit as she walked.  A small spot of red blood lay spattered on the floor.

"Hey!" I said.

"Yeah?" she answered, turning back, a stunned look in her eyes.

"If you do that to Ricky, I think he might suddenly know you're alive."

She smiled, her sudden increase in experience giving her all sorts of ideas.  She came over to me and kissed me sweetly.  "Are you really going to stay broken up with that girl?"

"I don't know." I said.  "I don't know if she wants me back."

"She's crazy." she said, chewing her gum brightly. "Bye. Thanks."

She left the playroom and limped across the yard, her soiled panties hidden in her fist.  Barry noticed her walking strangely, and asked if she was okay.  She nodded, and disappeared into the house, looking back once to the garage with a smile.

She looked okay, though I was worried about her, after fucking her mouth like that.  And, shit, I did just take her virginity.  

What the hell was wrong with me?  Was I intentionally trying to fuck up my life, just as everything was going so well?  Was that why I couldn't tell Julie that I loved her? Because I expected everything to fall apart, and for my life to turn back into shit?  Was seducing Mindy just part of a self-fulfilling prophesy?  Was I destined to lose everything I'd recently gained?  Surely the Moon God wouldn't do that to me!

As guilty as I felt about Mindy, I rationalized that she was okay, and everything was fine.  I enjoyed her.  It was nasty and lascivious, and as shocked as I was to know I had those urges in me, I still enjoyed her, and thought about her long after we left Jersey.

Later that night I tried masturbating to the delicious memory of Mindy's delicate little body impaled on mine, and her gorgeous puppy-dog eyes widening at the sight of my cock, and her baby cheeks wet with my cum, but I couldn't, and I realized that what I wanted, what I craved, was the desire to do it in public.  I was just like Bonnie. And Julie.

I thought about my newfound fetish, about how excited I got, and how much I craved the experience again.  This wasn't a sickness, or a fever. It was chaotic, brazen, crazy -it was jazzy!  I understood the craving now.  I understood Julie now.  

I picked up the phone and called her. 

"Hello?" she said, picking up.

"It's me." I said.

"Yeah?" 

"I haven't really been very understanding about this whole Bonnie thing.  I get it that she was someone I had great sex with recently, and that you have problems with sex, and I can see how that might make you feel inadequate, and how you might think I might not want you anymore."

"Geez, you think a lot of yourself." she said, witheringly.

"But is that it?" I asked.

She hesitated. "Yes."

"And I think I understand a few other things."

"Like what?"

"We'll get to that later." I replied. "So, what if you come with me?"

"Where?"

"To meet Bonnie, on top the Empire State Building."

"What?"

This was perfect. Julie needed this. She needed to express everything in public. That's why she sang in front of people. That's why she needed to be watched to have sex. That's why she couldn't seem to deal with my seeing Bonnie - because she needed to be there, be a part of it. "It's perfect." I said.  "She'll see that I'm with you, and you'll see that she sees it, and that will be the end of it."

Julie was silent for a moment. I knew she liked the idea of being there when Bonnie and I met. It was a concept she could understand.

"Okay." she said, then added, with relief, "I thought we were broken up."

"We were." I said, giving myself an excuse for my actions that afternoon. "But I think I understand you better now.  And..."

"Yes?" she asked.

"And I think I might be in love with you."  I said.

She paused.  "Are you sure?  Am I sure?  It's only been a couple of weeks.  How in hell can we be sure?"

"I don't know." I said.  "Something's going on with me, with the city, with the universe.  I don't need six months.  I know it now.  I love you."

We talked for an hour before I said, "This is stupid.  Come over."  She grabbed a cab, got to my place, and we had amazing sex  on the fire escape overlooking the courtyard behind the building where at any minute anyone could look outside and watch us.

To Be Continued...




Jazzy Girl Ch. 7



"Your moon is in Taurus.  Expect a day like no other."  said Julie.

"What?" I asked, looking up from the crossword, pencil poised.  Julie lay on the floor, wearing her standard Sunday afternoon kick-around panties and tank top, her voluptuous body pushing out and filling the raggedy underclothing like cantaloupes under sack cloth, curving and rising, with occasional sharp clefts dipping down into deep feminine valleys.  Creamy arms and lush legs lewdly sprang out from tight cotton underwear caves.  The pale skin of her face and neck, scrubbed and smooth, were as inviting to the teeth as a crisp, white pear.

"Your horoscope."  she said, holding the paper above her as she lay on her back, a mess of brown hair splayed on the floor behind her. 

"Do you believe in Astrology?" I asked.

"Crap." she said, tossing the paper aside and rolling over. "What are you working on?"

"'Transformation of a liquid into a soft, congealed mass.'"

"Say what?"

I held up the crossword.  "Eleven letter word, beginning with 'C'."

"Oh." she replied.  "'Coagulation.'"

It had been twenty-four hours since our reconciliation after the Jersey wedding.  Twenty-four hours since I told her that she should come with me to meet Bonnie (this night) at the top of the Empire State Building.  We'd spent the whole time at my place, making love on the fire escape, and once on the roof, and now we were just lounging about, working our way through the Sunday Times and feeling very lazy and happy.

"You know, if it weren't for that brain of yours I wouldn't have nothin' to do with you." I said, filling the word into the little blocks.  "C-O-A-G..."

"Couldn't you just love me for my body?" she asked.

I looked up.  She was crawling towards me on her hands and knees, her breasts swaying beneath her, the curve of each naked globe peeking out from the sides of her tank top. Love that.

"Oh yes." I said.  "I could do that."

She crawled up to me, shoved aside the paper, unzipped my fly, wrapped her ruby lips around my flaccid penis, and sucked.

Then the phone rang.  

Just as well.  Things were going so well now I didn't want to blow it (excuse the intended pun) by having lousy intercourse on the couch, what with the blinds closed, and no one watching us from a closet or videotaping us for the nightly news or nothing.

"Hello?" I said, grabbing my nearby cell phone before it could ring again.  My cell phone was now our band business phone, and I didn't want to blow (sorry again) a gig because I was getting a lazy Sunday B.J. 

"Hello?  Is this Freddy?" asked a young, female voice.

"Yes." I said, thinking the voice sounded familiar.

"Hi! It's Mindy!  From yesterday?" Then, more softly she added "You know, from the wedding?"

Holy shit!  Mindy!  She of the bubble-gum and flowered hair and sexy age bracket.  Little Mindy who had blown me and received me and will always remember me as "the first"!   How could I have been so stupid?  How could I have succumbed to her sweet, groupie ardor and my newfound lust for public perversity? The kid was calling me at home, for God's sake, while my girlfriend, my love, my partner in music and life, knelt between my legs, my cock in her mouth, her teeth edging up the shaft as she popped the phallus out with a dribble of sexy saliva and asked, "Who is it?"

I cupped the receiver and whispered the first explanation that came to my muddled head, "Ex-girlfriend."

"Ooooo, really?" said Julie, cupping my balls and slipping me back into her mouth with an even greater enthusiasm for her work.

"Hi, kid." I said into the phone. "Long time no see."

Mindy giggled, as only young girls can. "Yeah, right!  It was just  yesterday!"

"How'd you get my number?" I asked. 

"My sister hired you, remember?" she said simply.  "I got the number from her." Sondra was the bride who had hired our band.  Mindy was her flower girl.  Great!  So now an adult knew about our connection.  This was getting serious.  How was I going to handle this?  I pictured myself in jail, doing the prison laundry, wearing an orange jumpsuit and becoming my roommate's "bitch".  Fuck!

Julie slurped and gurgled as she sucked, trying to be as loud as possible, her messy brown hair bobbing furiously in my lap.

"I can't really talk." said Mindy, very quietly, "My mother would kill me if he knew I called an older boy."

Older boy?  Now I was an "older boy"?  Shit!  

Wait a minute, I thought,  she's eighteen. I remembered now.  Unless she was lying.  No.  She wasn't lying. She was just small for her age, with doe eyes, twiggy legs, a tight, wispy-haired snatch, translucent skin that smelled like baby powder and...

Suck, suck , suck went Julie, about to get a mouth full of cum.

"I just wanted to tell you some things, okay?" she continued. In the background I could hear the Spice Girls brashly belting out some spurious girl anthem.

"Okay." I said, holding Julie's head as it bobbed.

"First thing is, I could barely walk yesterday!" she chuckled sexily.  "That was my first time, you know?"

"I know." I said, as Julie grabbed me in her fist, and pumped. 

"I just wanted to know," Mindy continued, "was it okay?  Did you like -- me?"

I looked down at my saliva coated cock, and Julie's tight fist jerking me off.  She looked up at me.  Her gray eyes narrowed with lust.  

"Old girlfriend, huh?" she said, dropping a spaghetti strap and showing me an indecent breast brashly popping out of her tank top, topped by a thick, red nipple aching to be tweaked.

"Oh yeah," I sighed, "I liked you."

Julie raised an eyebrow at that, and placed my cock against her breast, rolling it across her nipple. 

"Good." said Mindy, seriously.  "I liked you, too.  Do you want to hear something?"

"Sure." I said, as Julie released another breast. 

"I tried what you told me." continued Mindy.  "That night, I mean, there was a party at my friend Lisa's house and Ricky was there and, God, I was so scared, and he was acting all like 'Who are you, again?' 

Julie placed my cock between her glorious globes, and squeezed them together.

"But then when he went to the bedroom to get his coat I followed him" Mindy went on,  "and I did it to him, you know, with my mouth, and he, like, completely jigged out!"

Julie fell back onto the  couch, pulling me on top of her, my cock still sliding between her boobs. 

Mind continued, "So we're, like, going out now -- I think.  Anyway, it was so cool because I wasn't scared, and, you know, he was really nice."

I fucked Julie's hilly tits, pushing my prick into her mouth with each forward thrust.

"Anyway," said Mindy, "I thought I should thank you, you know, for everything."

"That's great." I said, making sure I got this information across to Julie, "Ricky's a lucky man to have someone sweet like you."

Julie bit my cock in response to that, and laughed.  I was getting close now.

"Thanks." said Mindy.  "So, the other reason I called is that I wanted to warn you about something..."

Julie squeezed her creamy breasts tightly over my cock, pinching her red nipples until she squealed in pain. I was cumming between her breasts.

"My father wants to talk to you." said Mindy. "He's going to call you later."

"What?!" I cried, spraying cum over Julie's neck and chest, "Arrrrrgh!"

"Are you okay?" said Mindy, "Oops! My Mom's coming upstairs.  I've got to go!"

There was a click, a dialtone, and she was gone.

"Fuuuuuuuuck!" I yelled, as Julie, her proud nipples milky with cum,  took me between her lips and sucked me dry. I fell over her, delirious, my sopping cock softening in her warm mouth.

It had been one hell of a sticky, sexy month, ever since that glorious harbinger moon rose to presage my fortune's change. So much had gone right.  Bonnie's daring sexual power, Mindy's sexual awakening, and Julie's extraordinary sexual re-birth -- and little me along for all the rides.  I had written more than 20 new songs, enough for a new CD, all of them based on Julie's jazzy music, and experienced an artistic Reformation.  And most glorious of all, I was a hundred percent, Grade A in love with Julie.  I knew I was, the minute Mindy hung up.   I also knew that it was all over, that I was going to prison, or worse, about to be shot by some outraged father.

Thanks a lot, Moon God. 

I was scheduled to meet Bonnie at the top of the Empire State Building that night.  I assumed that she wanted to meet there because I'd said I'd never been, but what she had to say to me I had no idea.  We didn't really have a chance to talk that last day, when I coaxed her into getting boned in the rear so she'd have the temerity to stand up to her fiancé. Maybe she was physically or psychologically hurt by that, or pissed, or hell, I don't know, maybe sodomy was illegal in New York and she was going to have the SWAT team meet me up there and arrest me, so I could now go to jail on two counts of sexual perversity.  

A month ago I wouldn't have considered any of this bullshit.  A month ago I hated everyone.  "Fuck people!" wasn't that my mantra? What the hell had happened to me?  Why would the Fates give me so much, love, sex, career, artistic expression, if only to snatch it all away?  A month ago I was just another walking wounded, an unnoticed bug crawling through the garbage of Manhattan.  Now what was I?  Where was I going?

"I love you." said Julie.  She meant it, and deeply, but she suddenly realized how she looked, with my flaccid penis limp and sticking to her cheek, her ruby lips smeared by phallic violation, and her breasts crushed under my thighs, and she began laughing.  

"I love you, too." I said.  I laughed with her and together we rolled off the couch, hysterical and giddy and deliriously happy.  

A few hours later we jumped in a taxi and headed uptown, stopping  at 34th and Fifth. Outside the traffic lights sparkled against the steel and glass buildings like Christmas window displays.  It was a clear, crisp night, with a still, expectant air.  

Parked on Fifth was a large flatbed truck with a lumpy canvas covering some sort of oddly-shaped machinery, and a little man in overalls and a Yankees cap running around, releasing ropes, and checking his watch.  

You see odd shit all the time in New York, but for some reason this little guy caught my eye.   I turned to him.  I recognized him. It was the Mad Cracker! I'd seen him that first night I'd noticed the Moon in Washington Square, and here he was again.  He looked at me, and seemed to know that I recognized him.  He was about to run away, when I smiled.  What nut case this guy was! He'd been shooting fire-works off all summer, just to impress some girl.  Something about how insane that was appealed to me, and I gave the odd little dude a smile.  He smiled back, held a finger to his lips as if to say "Shhh", then disappeared behind his truck. 

Was he planning a show for tonight? I didn't know. I suddenly wondered just what it was he had on the truck. If it was fire-works equipment he must have had a hell of a lot. Maybe tonight was the big night he'd been promising; the amazing fire-works display he said he'd give the city on the occasion of his girl friend's birthday.

I lost sight of him as Julie and I crossed the street, and entered the Empire State Building.  That was the last time I or anyone else ever saw him.  The Mad Cracker was never caught.

I couldn't wonder too much about him, as I had a host of other things on my mind that night.  As we rode the elevator up to the Observation Deck I thanked God that Mindy's father hadn't called yet.  I had my cell phone in my pocket, hoping he'd call me there and not reach my machine at home, which Julie might have heard.

We got out of the elevator, stepped onto the deck, felt a stiff breeze, and took a look at the most breathtaking view in all of New York City.  Everywhere majestic skyscrapers thrust up like a sea of mortar and steel stalagmites.  Most impressive of all was the Chrysler Building, with its sharp art deco crest and proud spire stabbing up at the sky.  And above it all, sparkling down on this jewel of a city like a hovering white diamond, was a brilliant, full moon.

A large group of Russian tourists took our elevator back down, smiling and shaking their heads at the amazing view. There weren't too many people left on the deck.  It was very late, and the guards would probably be closing soon.   

Julie was unusually quiet, and kept holding onto my arm, a slight smile on her face, like she'd been keeping a secret all day.  I patted her arm, and together we peered down to the streets below.  

You couldn't see straight down because the building spread out below, and because the deck was set away from the edge, and nets were placed around the perimeter to catch anything that some idiot might choose to chuck off. Still, I could make out the Avenues as they stretched for miles uptown, like a dozen Colorado Rivers cutting through a dozen stone Grand Canyons.  Coursing along the rivers were cars, taxis and busses, carrying millions people home, or to work or to play.  

Here in the great wide open I felt a sudden thrill of exposure, knowing that so many people below could see this monumental stone shaft, the phallic allegory not lost on me, Chester. I felt a rush of sexual excitement.

"What are you thinking?" asked Julie, picking up on my mood.  

"Kinda' like the whole world is watching us, ain't it?" I said with a wink.

She looked around to see who was near.   Another couple kissed in the corner.  Two older people milled about, taking turns at a pair of binoculars.  A Guard stood by the entrance door, as a family went passed him, on their way to the elevator.  Soon we'd  be the only people left. "What are you thinking?" she asked, a little more playfully, giving my crotch a squeeze.

"Are you crazy?" I said. "I wasn't thinking that.  Really."  

"You never really paid me back for this morning." she said with her sexiest, throatiest voice.

"There are too many people." I said, "Including a Guard with a walkie-talkie.  And besides, Bonnie will be here any minute."   

A gust of wind slapped my face.  I felt very much "out in the open", and it thrilled me to have Julie this close, contemplating what we were contemplating. I smiled at her, and she knew she had me.

"Good night!" said the couple, passing the Guard, and leaving the deck.  There were only two others left, the older couple laughing and looking through binoculars in the corner.  

Julie and I casually moved to a more secluded part of the deck, near one of the metered viewfinders.  I leaned against the rail.  Julie looked around to see that no one was looking, then took out a pair of scissors.

"What the hell are you going to do with that?" I asked nervously.

Julie kissed me on the lips. "Trust me." she said, with entirely too much confidence.  She pulled my coat pocket inside out, and cut the bottom of the pocket, then shoved it back inside.  She dropped the scissors, reached into my pocket, pushed her hand through the hole, and reached, unseen, for my fly.  It was ingenious.  With my long coat no one could see what she was up to. 

"You planned this." I said.

"What makes you say that?" she said, handing me a tube of K-Y Jelly.  Holy shit, she was serious.  She was going to masturbate me on top of the Empire State Building.  I suddenly realized that not only did she plan this, but she planned to do it in front of Bonnie.  God!  What a message to send to your man, not to even think about fucking around.  What a way to claim your territory!

Julie was fantastic.  I decided right there to marry her one day, if we should somehow avoid prison. 

I squeezed a dribble of jelly onto my palm as she freed my penis, which shrank from the gusty, cold air.  I slapped the jelly onto my cock. It was cold at first, but soon warmed with Julie's gentle rubbing, and in no time I was hard and slippery. 

"Feel good?" she asked.

"Oh yeah." I said. "But what about you?"

"We'll get to me." she said, sneakily, reaching into her pocket, grabbing something, and reaching around with her other hand. I felt something cold and hard encircle my penis. She was wrapping my cock with some kind of string, pulling it taught.  I couldn't see what it was, my coat was closed, but it felt amazing, like she was tying up my penis.  

She wrapped her hand around my prick and jerked me off. The thick, wiry string, whatever it was, rubbed along the jelly slick shaft like a cock-sized slinky, sending an electrifying sensation through my loins.  

"Fuck!" I whispered.

"Freddy!"   It was Bonnie.  She stepped over to us, smiling and waving.  Shit!  I couldn't exactly receive her like this.  I couldn't hug her, or even turn completely around.  Julie had me in one hell of a position.

I managed to turn and peck her on the cheek.

"Great to see you." I said.  "You remember Julie, right?"

"Sure, hi." said Bonnie.

"How are you?" said Julie, slipping her hand back up into my coat pocket, but surreptitiously tugging the cock string, tightening it around the shaft, squeezing the veins which pulsed and pushed with blood.

I could see that Bonnie was surprised, and a little disappointed to see Julie.

"We're on our way to a club." I explained.

Bonnie took note of Julie's closeness to me, and her hand disappearing into my coat pocket.  "Oh. Sure." she said, understanding that we were now a couple.  Then she smiled brightly, and held out her hand, displaying the sparkling rock on her ring finger.  "We did it.  Tony and I got married."

"Oh that's great!" I said, giving her another peck.  I think she would have liked a hug, but that wasn't about to happen, not with the poky boner I had under my coat.

Julie must be loving this, I thought.  She continued to pull taught on the string, leading and corralling my cock, like she had just roped herself a steer and was readying it for branding. 

"It's been wonderful!" said Bonnie.  "I wanted to see you because I just had to tell you how much I love him, and how happy we are, and I know that a big part of that has to do with you!" She looked at Julie, wondering how much of the past she should bring up.  "Freddy gave me some advice, and it just worked out so beautifully." she explained.

"Congratulations." said Julie, meaning it.

"Thanks!" said Bonnie.  

This was a little strange. (A "little?".  Hell it was downright bizarre!)  Bonnie clearly wanted to see me alone, but I think she was secretly glad to have Julie around.  It would mean that our meeting would be short, and free from any "temptations".

"We're living in my apartment." Bonnie said, then correcting herself, "'Our' apartment, I mean.  At any rate, we're still in the city.  I know how much you love it here, too, and I couldn't think of a better thank you present than to get you to the top of the Empire State Building.  Corny, huh?  But don't you just love it?"

We all turned to regard the skyline below us.  "It's a great present, Bonnie." I said.

"Wow." Bonnie said, looking up. "Look at that moon!  It's enormous!"

While Bonnie looked up I chanced a look down, peeking inside my coat to see what the hell it was Julie had coiled around my cock.  It was a string of some kind, all right, made of a ribbed metal, thin but strong.  

"Oh my God!" I said to myself as I realized what it was -- a guitar string.  The same guitar string I had used to tie Bonnie's hands last month, the night we all met. The night I furiously fucked Bonnie in the back room of The Bitter End. The room where I heard someone crack open the door, and I suspected that we were being watched. The same night I heard "Come on, Julie.  Showtime!" in the hallway.  

So Julie had been watching us!  She saw everything! And her orgasm in front of the whole crowd was a direct result of watching us make love.  She had been so turned on by the whole thing that she retrieved this guitar string from the dirty stockroom floor, and kept it all this time.  And now here she was, using it to tie up my manhood in front of the woman I had first used it on myself!  Brilliant woman!




Jazzy Girl Ch. 7



Julie smiled, her piercing gray eyes twinkling with mischief, and she knew that I guessed everything, and she tugged on the string, choking my cock, pulling it back flush against my stomach.  It was painful, but exhilarating.  With my cock pulled tight I could turn around now and not risk poking out of my coat.

"Really what I wanted was to give you this." said Bonnie, handing me a photo.  It was a picture of her leaning dangerously far out of an apartment window, sopping wet, with an intense look of deep pain (and pleasure) on her face.  I remembered when it was taken, just a couple of weeks earlier, by her fiancé Tony as he argued with her from the street.  It was at that exact moment, I recalled, that she had finally spelled out her anger and displeasure for Tony, and I, hidden behind the blind, had sodomized her from behind.

It was an intimate gift, and Bonnie looked nervously to Julie, who regarded the photo with amusement.  "You look pissed." she said.

"I was." said Bonnie.  "But in a good way.  Right there that's when I gave Tony the ultimatum to choose us over him, and it worked.  I couldn't have gotten there without Freddy."

I hugged her (carefully).  "Thank you." I said to her.  " I love it.  I wish you all the best in the world."

"Thank you." she said. Then, looking over to Julie, she wished us the same.

There didn't seem to be anything else to say, so Bonnie kissed me on the cheek, said goodnight, and headed for the elevator. Julie released her grip on the guitar string, and I sighed with relief and with joy at the sudden rush of blood that thrilled through the veins and ridges of my poor penis. I looked up and saw Bonnie taking one last look back, a curious expression on her face, and I wondered if she guessed what we were up to.  She smiled, blew me a kiss, and disappeared.  

I never saw her again, but I still have the photo pasted inside my keyboard case.

Julie slipped her fist back over my cock, and slinky-jerked me again, the wire rolling across the ridges of my shaft. My cock was on fire with sensation, and I was primed.  We looked around.  Only the Guard remained, out of sight, and the elderly couple far over in the corner.

I wrapped Julie inside my coat.  She turned her back to me, and lifted her skirt.

"Feddy?" she said.

"Yes?"

She pulled down her panties, and pressed her naked ass against my cock.

"Thanks for asking me to come along." she said.

I squeezed another dollop of K-Y Jelly onto my palm.

"No problem." I said, slopping it onto my tool.  And then, with a sudden desire, I rubbed some Jelly into her ass crack, and brought a finger to her hole.

Maybe it was the photo Bonnie brought me, I don't know.  I don't have a big thing about sodomy, but it felt bad, and we were being bad, and I just went with it. And Julie let me.

I slipped a greasy finger into her ass.

"O-kay." she said, not sure if she really liked the invasive, rude feeling, but she wriggled her ass around a bit until my finger slid in to the base, and her muscles relaxed.  

I pumped her a bit with my finger, watching over my shoulder for the elderly couple and the Guard.  Then  I pulled out my finger, greased my cock again, and slid the head into her ass.

"Oh fuck, that's too big!" she complained.

"Should I stop?" I asked.

"Yes. No. Keep going.  Shit!"

I pushed further up her rectum.

Julie grunted.  "It feels --- uggggghhh --- too big.  Holy shit I can't believe I'm letting you do this.  How do women get off this way? Christ! Ugggghhhhh!"

"Should I stop?" I asked.

"No.  It's not bad.  I just ---- fuck! ---- don't see the point in ---- Oh God! ---- Uggggghhhhh!"

My cock was completely up her ass.  I looked down and stared at the shaft disappearing into her alabaster crack, spreading her rosebud bung hole which glistened with jelly.

"Enjoying the view?" asked a gentleman.  I quickly covered my coat around Julie, and turned us around.  A man of about 90 years stood before us with his wife, a crumpled, smiling woman of about the same age. It was the elderly couple we'd noticed earlier.  They both wore thick bifocals, and I'm sure they had no idea what we were doing.

"Yes." said Julie, squeezing her sphincter muscles around my cock, suddenly aroused.  "We are."

"It's amazing." I said, also aroused, my cock pushing against the cramped walls of her rectum.

The little old lady held tightly onto her husband's arm, as if she were presenting him to the Queen of England. "He built this, you know.  Sammy built all this."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Doris!" the old man chuckled, "I didn't build the whole thing.  I was just a worker. On this building.  Some seventy years ago."

"Really?" I said, intrigued. "You built the Empire State Building?"

"Oh, I carried bags of cement over a few girders. I was just a kid." he said modestly.

"We were married right here." said Doris proudly.

"That's right." said Sammy.  "A few months after the dedication I married this beautiful young girl right here on top of the world."

Julie squeezed her cheeks, crushing my cock.  "Is tonight your -uh--anniversary?" she asked.

"That's right!" said Doris.  "We were married right here, right where you're standing.  It was a cold day, like this one. We were just saying what a nice looking couple you were, and we were wondering -- are you two married?."

"Not yet." I said, giving Julie a start.  "But, maybe we'll do it up here, too?  What do you think, honey?"

Julie was shocked.  Sqeeeeeeeeze went her ass.  "Are you serious?"

"My goodness!" said the gentleman, pulling up his collar.  "Don't make us force you into anything!"

"Let's go down, it's getting cold." said Doris, suddenly deciding that we should be alone.  "Good-night!  And good luck!" she said winking.  They left, taking the elevator back down to earth.

Once they were gone Julie grunted, "Are you serious?" 

I decided I was going to propose, for real.  But I wasn't going to do it with my cock in her ass (what kind of story is that to tell the kids?).  I still had no plan to get down on my knee and hand her roses - no, I wanted eroticism, but something a little more fun for us both.

Without answering I slowly pulled my cock out of ass with a "whoosh".  Then I entered her pussy from behind, and began to pump her.

"Oh, that's better!" she said. "But, Freddy..."

"Julie," I said, thrusting, "will you..."

And then my phone rang.

"Fuck!" I said, knowing who it was.

"You'd better answer it." Julie said, sliding her pussy back and forth, trying to sliding the guitar string smartly across my prick.  But it was no good, my cock was already starting to wither. 

I pulled out my phone.  "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Freddy Blue of the New Blue News?" said a deep, male voice.

I thought about lying, but didn't.  "Yes." I said, weakly.

"You were with my daughter Mindy yesterday..." said the man.

"Yes." I said, not moving. 

"Who is it?" asked Julie, picking up on my angst.

So, dear Reader, there I was, on top the Empire State building, king of the world, making love in full view to a woman for whom I was seconds away from proposing, when the phone rings and threatens to blow me and my happy little world off the observation deck and send me crashing 100 stories to the pavement below. I swear, at just that moment, a silver cloud blew across the moon, and the night air chilled to freezing.

Of course this happened.  I saw it all so clearly now. This month, this happy, sexy month, was just a final tease, a cruel joke Fate played on me before finally obliterating any chance I had for happiness and success.  After a year of depression, poverty and crushing loneliness this was a last look at all the joys I would never know.  

"Who is it?" Julie repeated, leaning back to hear the caller.

I was going to jail,  Julie would leave me, and I would never write another song for as long as I lived, and would end my days as a sad, dirty old man whose despair was only heightened by the happy four weeks brutally inflicted upon him by the vindictive Moon God.

"Mindy told me that last set was all original material." said Daddy.  "That's why I'm calling.  My name's Gary Clark. I produce music for an on line house called "Lunar Music", and we've got a pretty good stable of artists.  Anyway, I love your stuff and would like to talk to you and your partner, 'Julie' isn't it, about recording a CD and getting it out on line, MP3 and all that, get some radio play, definitely a music video or two, nothing with lots of smoke and half naked women, you know, something new, classy, something that fits your unique style of jazz and pop, and really shows off what Julie can do on stage. 'Jazzy Girl' is pretty snappy, and we'd like to put that on the fast track, feature it as a single.  Hell, we can talk all about this tomorrow. Sorry for the late call, but I figured you're a musician, you're up all night.  Can you come down to the studio tomorrow morning?  We're on the corner of West 57th and 10th.  Don't say no, Freddy. We really think you're going to be the next big thing."


I gulped. "Yes.  Of course.  We'll be there. Cool.  Thanks." I managed.

"Great!  See you around 10!"

And he hung up.  I was stunned, unable to move.  Julie, who'd heard everything started laughing, softly at first, and then uncontrollably until she was screaming. I started screaming.  We both screamed at the top of our lungs.

"Yahhhhooooooo!"

I loved her. I loved my life.  I loved the city and everything about it.

I rocked into Julie's body, back and forth, back and forth, until she picked up my rhythm and I picked up her joy and together we made love against the railing while below us the city sparked and twinkled its millions of jeweled lights.  

Julie leaned over the rail, pressing me deeper into sweet, wonderful pussy, and screamed down to the world at the top of her lungs, "I love you, Freddy Blue!  Wooooooooo!"

"Julie!" I screamed. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" she screamed back. 

At that moment, by some arcane cosmological crinkle in the machinations of men and women, the Mad Cracker, motivated by love, struck out with a magnificent fury.  A thunderous BOOM cracked in the air before us as a brilliant bloom of red, green and gold rockets exploded sending screaming trails of smoking lights over the rooftops of mid-town Gotham.  The air all around the Empire State Building burst with a cacophonous display of deafening bombs and spider-webbed explosions of color and light.

I heard a crackle of walkie-talkie, as the Guard was quickly called down to the surface to help search for the happy mad-man.  Julie and I were now alone on the top of the world.

I flung off my coat.  

"YESSSS!" cried Julie, lifting off her dress.

I ripped off my shirt and dropped my pants to my ankles.  Julie unsnapped her bra and kicked off her shoes.  I ripped her panties from her lovely hips and chucked them off the building where a stiff wind caught them and carried them passed the nets to sail out over the jeweled city. 

"YESSSS!" I screamed.

We stood there coupled, naked to the universe, exposed to the Moon God above us, brilliant fireworks exploding and stinging our skin like falling meteors, cumming in unison, while the whole, crazy, spinning world watched us from far, far below.

THE END