tagNovels and NovellasJazzy Girl Ch. 4

Jazzy Girl Ch. 4

byDixon Carter Lee©

"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.

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byDixon Carter Lee© 0 comments/ 17988 views/ 3 favorites

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