Soft-Mouth Trumpeter

"You can enjoy them too, Sugar," she whispered.

And I surely did, taking them in my hands and playing with them. And dipping my head down and taking her nipples in my mouth, giving them a workover with my soft mouth as she arched her back, clutched my buttocks, and thrust hard and rhythmically up into me, giving me her load.

"You do real nice and you're easy," she said afterward. "You do tricks for men back in that hick town of yours, don't you?"

"For favors more than money," I admitted, "and not much money when it's on offer. It ain't a rich town that I come from."

"But there are a lot of men who want younger men's asses in your town, I'll bet."

"I've never experienced a shortage of them," I answered.

She laughed. "Doll, you're worth good money in New Orleans. Young, beautiful, and fresh seeming--and you really got that soft mouth."

What could I say other that thanks? But even then I was thinking she was talking about my trumpet playing when I now know she was talking about an entirely different profession and art.

"It's really too early in the day to find anyone in the Bourbon Street clubs to audition for," she continued, "And I bet you haven't brought enough money to see you through until a club paid you for a gig even after you were hired."

"How much do you think I would need?" I asked. I whistled and felt a little sick when she named a price. I'm sure she was exaggerating because it was becoming clear she had a motive to, but still, I didn't have a fourth of that on me.

"You know, you're just the bottom that some of the johns around here want. You are so sweet and such a golden angel. And I have a piece of a stand on the street where they will pay good money. You know, if you took one trick a day--like today before those running the music bars in the Quarter arrive for the evening--you could stay here with me, we could split your take, and you could probably stick around auditioning until something came up."

"One trick a day?" I asked. I suppose when I asked that Jaime knew I was hooked on the idea.

"Well, that and giving me whatever I want to cover the room and board. The johns run by my stand in the afternoon, well before anyone opens up one of the Bourbon Street music clubs."

"I'd have to stand on a street corner and attract a man?"

"I'd be there with you, Sugar. The men know me. I'd take the money, they'd know what my rules were and that they had to take you to a motel that didn't have bedbugs, and they'd know to return you in good shape or Jamie would show her cutting skills."

It sounded so simple, and it, in fact, wasn't too bad. Jamie wanted "soft-mouth" blow jobs more often than johns cruised over to the curb, gave her money, and opened the car doors for me, but the whole thing was kind of kicky. I gained a lot of professional status and experience and the schedule worked well for us to hit the clubs--Jamie, again, aiding me with her contacts there--and me to show what I could do on the trumpet.

* * * *

"Hi, there, Rick. Howyadoin'?" It was the Rio garage owner, Frank Steele, reaching me on my cellphone. He sounded cheerful, which wasn't normally like him. He wanted something.

"Fine," I answered, although it wasn't. It wasn't fine at all. "How are things in Rio?"

"Rio may be hopping, if you're interested in doing some hopping."

"What do you mean, Mr. Steele?"

"I mean that me and Harry Haskins have a proposition for you. We miss you--and you know how. We want to try to get you back to Rio."

"How's that?" I asked.

"You know that line of closed-down houses that had been turned commercial on Doffe Talley Road?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, Harry and me bought one of those and want to make a music club out of it--bring some folks from elsewhere into town to drop their money. Harry will play in the club and train up some of his students to do that too."

"That sounds real good. Hope you can make a go of it."

"Key to getting that done is that Harry and me would like you to come home, Rick. We both miss you, but more than that, you and your music would make such a difference in making this work. You'd headline at the club, of course. You and that soft mouth of yours. There's an apartment upstairs you could have as your slice of the partnership. You wouldn't have to shunt yourself between your aunts' houses and you could be your own man, do what you want."

"That sounds like an idea--at least for a couple of years," I said, suddenly relieved.

"Harry said you were real close to be New Orleans ready. Some more learning from him and experience in a club of your own down here and you could go anywhere they're doin' good music."

"The apartment upstairs. I could use it for anything I wanted?"

"Well sure." He paused. "You mean could you go into a whoring business all your own?"

"Yeah. That out-of-town business coming to the club. Some of it could come upstairs for pay. Not you and Mr. Haskins, of course. Servicing you could be part of the business arrangement. But I've learned some things here in New Orleans--business things and stuff about how much such servicing was worth--in money. I could come back if I could run a side business of my own too."

I didn't want to admit to him that I'd learned damn nothing yet about getting a long-term gig in a New Orleans jazz club.

"Then it might be a deal? You might come back to us."

"I'm closer to coming back than you think," I answered, with a laugh.

After I clicked off, I laughed again at how true that was. I was already half way back to Rio from New Orleans on the bus. I'd already bombed out in New Orleans. But I'd just learned what Mr. Haskins had told me was so. Every club I tried out in said that I was good--that I played well, had a real soft mouth for the trumpet--but that I was young and wasn't ready yet. Maybe two more years of lessons from the right musician, one who'd done it in New Orleans, and some more experience in lesser clubs and I'd be ready for Bourbon Street.

Well, I wasn't too hardheaded. Mr. Haskins had been right and he was the right teacher to continue with for the time and experience I needed. He'd done it in New Orleans. He knew how to prepare for it.

I had already decided to return to Rio for a couple of more years of preparation.

But I wasn't returning with my tail between my legs, and now Mr. Haskin and Mr. Steele were providing me a good path to my goals. I wasn't returning as I had left because I'd met a busty, self-confident T-girl in New Orleans who had pulled me further into the lifestyle and taught me how I could use what I had and make as good money--at least for a while--as I could with a soft mouth with blowing a trumpet.

I would make it; it could see now just how I could get that done.