The Jazz, The Crowd, & Her

Every year on the shore of Lake Michigan, where the Milwaukee and the Kinnikinnic Rivers meet, there is a music festival called Summerfest, a.k.a., The Big Gig. Numerous stages going at one time. Everything from blues to hard rock. And always a crowd.

They went one hot sultry night, years ago. A group of college friends. Mostly to hear Maynard Ferguson at the jazz stage. Sitting for hours and listening to various groups and musicians. Just feeling mellow and cool and all those good sensations you find with the right company and the right atmosphere. And somehow that hot muggy air just added to the mood. Everything moving at a slightly slowed speed.

He was the loner in the group. The 5th wheel. The unmatched one. But his company was good, and he never hit on the attached ladies, so he was always welcome.

It being his turn, he went to get some beer and wine coolers for the group. The area in front of the beer and wine booth was a milling throng of people. The heat and the music created great thirst that night. People were all standing close, the crowd moving slowly forward. No frayed tempers, everyone just nodding to the mellow bass line of the jazz, tempered by the distant pounding from the rock stage on one end of the festival grounds, and the twang of blue grass on the other end.

She stood slightly behind him, and to his right. Just in the corner of his vision. A glimpse of long blonde hair, a slender form in t-shirt and jeans. A flash of white teeth when she laughed, talking to her friends. A vague impression of blue eyes.

His hands were hanging down at his sides. Accidental brushing of bodies was constant, and hardly noticed.

He realized his fingers were resting against the front of her very tight jeans. He moved them fractionally away...being polite. She moved, or the crowd moved her, back into contact. He moved his fingers away again. And again, the front of her tight jeans brushed against his hand.

So very slowly, his fingers lightly traced lines across the front of her jeans. No more than a brush…a whisper of contact. No words were spoken. No eye contact made. Just two people in a dense crowd…dim light…heat…and music.

Growing more bold, his fingers pressed harder. He thought he felt her jeans getting damp where her thighs met. He could feel the outline of her lips through the worn denim. And he pressed slightly harder against that spot.

He felt her hand brushing against his. He pulled away, prepared to mutter an apology…stammer an explanation about the crowd and losing his balance.

But in a moment he felt her hand again..pulling his back towards her. And as their hands touched, he realized there was a ring on her left ring finger. No, two rings. A married woman.

As he resumed his soft caresses, he realized that in that brief interval she had opened the zipper on her jeans. The crowd was so dense...no one could see this. But he could feel the opening. He tried to turn to look at her, but when he did she moved away from his vision. And from his touch.

So his eyes went back to the front, and his hand was again met by hers. Guiding his fingers slowly into the opening in her jeans.

At first he felt the hot smooth skin below her navel. Soft, yet with the firmness of a young woman’s body. Exploring downwards...he discovered she was not wearing panties. He reached the soft downy hair...now damp with sweat. He paused there...gently caressing the mound.

Again her hand moved to his. Encouraging further exploration. Pushing it firmly downwards. The tip of his middle finger touched the top of her lips...just barely. Teasing her. He curled it to press towards her, then moved it away. He felt her hips move in response...seeking to draw him deeper.

He pressed harder...and felt the hot wetness of her. His finger tip grazed her clit...slick and hard. Then it slid deeper.

All the while the crowd was pressing around them in the dark...the pounding from the rock stage in the distance...the subtle bass line still playing on the jazz stage.

Pushing deeper still, his finger slipped into her opening...now dripping wet. Laying it along the length of her pussy lips...indirectly rubbing her clit as he probed her. Feeling her hips move in response...her body pressing closer to him in the crowd. Her breast, covered by a t-shirt but no bra, rubbing against his arm. He could feel her hard nipple brushing against him.

The tip of his finger slid in and out of her, then pulled out to rub moisture against her clit. Both her hands grabbed his wrist...forcing his hand deep inside her jeans. Her hips moving hard now...fucking his fingers. Using him for her own pleasure.

Suddenly she leaned against him...resting her weight on his arm. He felt her legs squeeze together. He heard her moan in his ear. Then a flood of moisture seeping out of her, coating his fingers.

As her breathing slowed...he withdrew his hand, slowly caressing her as he did. He raised his fingers to his mouth...licking the juices from them.

He turned...but she had slipped away into the crowd.

He never saw her face...didn’t know what she looked like. Except for long blonde hair, and a flash of blue eyes.

And the jazz beat went on.