Girl Chapter II
by Dixon Carter Lee ©
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 hibernates the sweaty summer away and emerges refreshed and invigorated
and ready to contemplate its urban treasures. 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. I really wanted to see her.
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 they 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, me and Bonnie, the band and their girlfriends, and Julie sitting next to Dean, who kept a dominating arm around her 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 her 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.
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 mine, pressing them against her thigh. Her eyes were black and dark, her pupils wide as saucers. She looked like a bird in a cage eyeing a cat. I could almost hear her heart pounding.
Then she opened her legs.
"What can I get for you all?" asked a Waitress, suddenly appearing.
We all started ordering, clockwise around the table.
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? On her other side 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 on the conversations, but if things were going where I thought they were going we would definitely get caught.
She 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. She wore no stockings that night, and her skin felt very cool and smooth. Once my hand reached her upper thigh she carefully selected one of my fingers, the 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.
"Would you like a glass?" the waitress asked.
"No." I said, thinking that I needed to be as "hands free" as possible.
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 the night before: "I don't do this". I guessed that she had not had a lot of experience, despite being very sexual, and now she had found a new way to feel liberated, and sexy. I still wasn't much into exhibitionism, 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 my finger out of her pussy, slid it under the wet panty crotch, and placed it 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 and 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. "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 took so long? 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.
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.
|Another top quality story by Dixon Carter Lee.|
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