Fire in September

This is our contribution to the 750 Word Project 2022. The story below is precisely 750 words according to LibreOffice Writer and Word.

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"Excuse me, Ma'am, but can I smell your cunt?"

Words to describe the person I spoke to would include every one adjacent to gorgeous in Roget's.

She gasped. "Wha— No! How dare you!"

"Then it must be your feet that stink."

Brie laughed pretty hard, almost dropping the sticks she'd been absentmindedly twirling. "Okay, that was pretty good."

I smiled.

"What's about this big," she approximated a thirteen inch circle with her hands, "is tight, and you've always wanted to play?"

"That'd have to be your butt, Brie."

"Wrong," she laughed. "A drum!"

"Jeez. Y'all are acting like middle schoolers. We're on in five," Sonia said. "I put an updated set list on your stands. We're leading off with Hey Nineteen."

"Sonia, what's the longest and funniest name you've ever used for a bra?" Brie asked.

She chuckled. "Don't get me wrapped up in your game."

"Come on. It's a tradition. Helps loosen the mind. Makes it easier to improvise."

She appeared thoughtful. "I don't know, hooter harness? Titty tents? Nipple knapsacks?"

"In German, you could use stopsemfromfloppin," I offered.

Brie laughed. "Over the shoulder double boulder holder, for the win!"

Sonia did, too. "Yeah, that's pretty funny."

The rest of the band assembled. I gave Brie a quick but tender kiss before we all took positions behind the curtain. Brie climbed her riser and sat on her throne.

The lights went dark. We could hear the chanting crowd before the voice from above introduced our act. I felt the breeze caused by the rising curtain and the subtle chill from the stage cold-vapor foggers. Brie tapped a rubber pad. We all heard it click in our in-ear monitors, synchronizing all of our internal metronomes to the 120 beats-per-minute tempo of our opening tune. On the third beat, the stage lights illuminated, and we began our evening.

Sonia's trombone wailed through the mid-bridge solo with practiced ease and precision, quoting various artists' licks and phrases expertly, listening to the responses of our audience, gauging its mood. I on alto sax to Sonia's left and Freddie with his trumpet to her right punctuated her performance with synchronized stings, favoring ninths or augments to add tension, resolving to major chords.

Simon played lead guitar and Samson tapped the bass. Their voices melodically sang the repetitive outro:

The Cuervo Gold
The fine Colombian
Make tonight a wonderful thing.

The crowd of about three hundred quickly joined in and shouted, "Say it again!" as had Steely Dan on their original 1980 recording. We could all feel it. It was going to be a good night!

Our set list included seventeen songs from the likes of Chicago, Steely Dan, Jethro Tull, and others. About two hours after we began, we played an encore before the curtain fell. I was glad I was only a performer while Sonia had the business to run, making sure an accountant was ready to calculate our take of the tickets so ASCAP would get their money and distribute royalties to the artists which licensed us to perform our derivatives of their copyrighted works.

Each of the musicians and background vocalists were handed checks for two hundred dollars at the end of each performance. The lead singers earned three hundred. I'd always wondered how much Sonia netted. Not much more, I suspected, because her car was as beaten down as the one I was loading.

"That was a great set," I said as the last of Brie's drum set went into the back of the old Ford pickup.

"Man, you were smokin' doing that altissimo stuff in September."

"Earth Wind and Fire takes me there. I've always loved their stuff."

"And I love yours and how you get me there. Let's get home. I'm kinda horny."

We took a long shower together to rid ourselves of stage funk. At least the LED lighting wasn't scorching hot as incandescents once were, but we'd both worked up a significant sweat on stage anyway.

"Oh god, I love it when you do that," she whispered as I tongued a fresh, clean, special place while stroking her wet, slippery clit with my thumb.

Her orgasms could reach epic proportions when enticed with a little lingual affection to her booty.

After several, I mounted her from behind, expending the last of my energy in filling her with my semen.

I grinned in relaxation.

"I love you, Brie."

"I love you, too," she said, turning off the light as I snuggled up to my beautiful naked wife.

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