Jazzy Girl Ch. 5

A sunbeam struck my eye, and nudged me awake. I checked my watch. It was 10:36am. Next to me Julie snored peacefully. Her pale cheek was smeared with ruby lipstick. Her eyes were covered by a jungle growth of brown hair. Her round shoulders looked soft and smooth. I stared at the deep valley of her cleavage as her naked bosom heaved up and down under the covers. She was an old world beauty, soft and curvy, but with an edgy scowl and sharp Roman features. She was beautiful.

I rubbed my eyes. My fingers were sticky, and smelled of sex. I got up, cold and nude, and quietly slipped on my slacks. I crept out of the bedroom, my bare feet sticky against the cold floor, the door opening softly with a creak.

Christie's door was open. There was no sign of her, so I made my way to the chilly bathroom to clean up. It was a dingy water-closet, really, with a black commode, a tiny, make-up stained sink, and a damp shower basin surrounded by a plastic curtain drawn on a string sporting several dripping stockings and bras. A wicker hamper under the sink held some dirty laundry, and a black, frilly thing was poking out under the lid. Curious, I lifted the top and pulled out a pair of used, black panties. I held the silky underwear up to my nose and took a deep sniff. Just as I thought - they weren't Julie's. Julie's smell was very distinct, very gardenish, and she didn't seem to be into the black frill underclothing thing. No, these panties belonged to Christie, her slinky dancer roommate. They smelled a bit dank, but also fruity. I looked around the bathroom and found a box of passion fruit douche -- Christie's, I assumed.

I chucked the panties onto the sink, ran a finger of toothpaste through my teeth and splashed cold water on my face. I looked at myself in the cracked mirror and said, "What the hell was last night all about?"

I knew I was involved with another exhibitionist. Last night, with Christie in the room, and later watching us, Julie was able to become aroused, and reach orgasm. I recalled the first night I saw her, singing so passionately at The Bitter End, the mike stand pressed between her legs. Did she cum then, too, in front of the screaming crowd?

First Bonnie, now Julie. I wasn't sure how much of this I could take.

Still, I was strangely turned on. Maybe not so much by the thrill of being watched, or possibly caught, but by the thrill it obviously gave to them. Both Bonnie and Julie reached monumental arousal through their brash public displays of passion and lewdness, and in their excitement I found excitement.

And then there was the "I love you" thing. Julie would never have said it without really, truly meaning it. And I had said nothing in return.

Did I love her? I was undoubtedly fascinated and infatuated with her. She was brainy, soulful, and I liked who I was when I was with her. I felt, yes, that I did love her. So why couldn't I say it?

I decided to not be a prick and go home just yet. I was going to wait for Julie to wake up. So, I went to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of juice, plopped onto the sofa and watched a little news from a tiny TV they had stuck up on a couple of milk crates.

It seems the Mad Cracker had struck again the night before, this time setting off a display on the Brooklyn Promenade, giving the entire South Street Seaport a fantastic show. Again he sent a letter to the media, promising to give his biggest show yet on his ex-girlfriend's birthday, which was coming up in a couple of weeks. He promised a "light show like the city has never seen!"

"Damn." I thought, "There's one way to say I love you. Send a few bottle rockets over Manhattan."

I turned off the news and looked around for something to read. On a footlocker coffee table was the Times crossword puzzle. I could never finish one of those damn things, and I wouldn't have given it a second look, except this one looked different from any other Times puzzle I'd ever seen -- this one was finished. Every square had been filled in, with no crossed out letters or mistakes. In ink! Damn! Jazzy Girl be smart.

After a few minutes Julie came out of her room, wearing a bathrobe, looking crumpled and sexy. She didn't say a word, but poured herself a cup of milk, and joined me on the couch. We sat there for a moment, drinking our drinks, listening to the sounds of the morning traffic outside. Finally she slid into me, laying her head on my chest, and I held her in my arms.

"Good morning." I said.

"Good morning." she replied. "Thanks for last night."

"You're welcome." I said, "Thank you."

She hesitated. "Sorry it was so weird. Can I tell you something?"

"Yes." I said, putting my glass down, and squeezing her into me.

"I'm frigid. I've never really been able to have sex. Dean was the best. He was this big, great looking guy, and I could feel something with him, but not enough. And he got pissed about it, a lot. He's an asshole, I don't want to talk about him. I'm just telling you so you'll know what kind of a nut case I am. I'm just bad at sex. But you..."

"Yes?" I said.

"You made me - wet - the first night I met you." she continued. She paused a bit, letting that sink in. "And I actually had an orgasm. On stage. Do you remember that second set...?"

"Yeah. I remember."

She laughed nervously, "I think it was pretty obvious to everyone. Not to Dean, though. I told him a few days later though, and he got royally pissed. I think he knew it was because of you. Anyway he's history."

"Julie," I said, "I'm an okay looking guy, but, you know, I have to ask, and I'm just being clerical here but -- you got wet from just looking at me?"

I remembered my furtive fuck session with Bonnie in the back room of The Bitter End, and my suspicion that someone had been watching us. "C'mon, Julie. Showtime." Wasn't that what I heard someone say in the hallway while screwing little Bonnie?

Julie didn't answer me at first. She dropped a hand to my lap, and nonchalantly began rubbing me through my pants, playfully testing for any hardness. "Last night was strange, wasn't it?" she said.

"Yeah." I said, "But I liked it."

She whispered, "I have never been that wet."

My cock was rising, and she felt it. She shifted her arm, rubbing against my growing bulge. I kissed her. She was warm, and receptive. I placed a hand inside her robe. She was naked, and her ample breasts fell into my palm. Her nipples were pointy. I moved my hand down her stomach to her mound. She had opened her legs for me. She wanted me. I slid a finger over her pussy...

It was dry.

I moved my hand back up to her face, and cradled it as I kissed her harder, biting and licking her neck. She opened her robe and I suckled on her tits. I tried her pussy again, and again found it cold and dry. Finally she pushed me away, tears in her eyes.

"Shit!" she said, "I'm a fucking freak of nature! I don't know what it is! I thought, Goddamn it, if I just let loose, you know, tried something crazy, like last night..."

The spanking, I remembered. I thought that whole incident was weird, how she had let loose with a straightforward, "Let's fuck" and how she pulled down her panties and offered me her ass for spanking. And I remembered how she abruptly stopped when the passion experiment wasn't working, and she wasn't feeling anything but foolish.

She continued. "I'm sorry. God, I really think I need a psychiatrist. I want to be with you, but my fucking body just won't cooperate!"

"It did last night." I said. "Julie, you were sexy as hell last night."

She whispered again, "Because we were being watched."

"So that's your thing." I said. "I'll tell you what I'll do. Next time we go into the park to rehearse we'll have sex instead."

"What?"

"Yeah. Right there on the hill. I'll bet people throw more money. We can use the extra change to buy you therapy."

She laughed, then said, "What the hell am I going to say to Christie?"

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Jogging, probably," said Julie, looking over to the door where a dance bag sat waiting. "She'll be back soon though, to get her bag, she's got a dance class at noon."

"You want me to talk to her?" I said.

"God no!" she replied.

"Seriously, I could." I said, "Or better yet," I continued, kidding, "you could hide in the closet and watch us have sex. The exhibitionism thing works both ways, you know. I know she's willing."

"She sure as hell is," laughed Julie, "You heard her talking about you last night. 'Stony cock!'"

Then Julie stopped laughing, and got all serious. She stared at the closet. It was against the far wall, and was already cracked open. Anyone sitting in there would have a clear view of the couch.

In the hallway we could hear someone opening the front door to the building. Julie looked at me quickly, a gleam in her eye. She patted me on the crotch once, feeling how hard I still was. Then she got up, crossed the closet, looked at me, said, "Enjoy," and ducked inside.

I know you can't see me, dear Reader, but do I look like I have a "Dangerous Sexual Encounters Wanted" sign tacked onto my forehead? What the hell was going on this month? I go through a year long dry spell, with nary a woman or a decent lyric in sight, and now I had to buy stacks of new blank lyric sheets to keep up with the new songs I was writing, and a loufa just to scrub the daily scent of female sex off my body. It all started two weeks earlier, with that damn Hunters moon in Washington Square Park. Two weeks! In two weeks I had had fantastic, dangerous, public sex four times, with two women, and had written a dozen or more great songs, more than I had written in two years. And now Julie, a girl I could see myself actually settling down with, or moving in with, or, hell, maybe just stalking, at any rate a girl I wanted to be with one-on-one was asking me to get blown by some babe while she watched and diddled herself in a closet. "Am I cursed?" I started wondering, "Or blessed?"

The front door opened with a jangle of keys and Christie entered, sopping wet from her run. She wore form fitting biker's pants and a leotard top. She was thin and trim, taught, muscled and fit.

"Hi." she said, startled to see me, looking around for Julie.

"She's out." I said. "Went for juice, and bagels. You just missed her."

"Oh." she said. "You guys do something together later?"

"Just kicking around."

"Cool." she said, hesitating, wanting to ask me something.

"She said you have a class to get to."

"Fucking ballet." she said, kicking her dance bag. "I hate ballet. But my manager says I need it, so..."

She turned around to shut the door, and I took in her body. She was an study in lines, two round, cupping buttocks neatly flowing into toned thighs and sculpted calves. Her skin was tanned and even, and glistening with athletic sweat.

I glanced at the closet, which Julie had left cracked open a good two inches. I knew she was in there, sitting on the floor, her robe open and her fingers hoping to explore a moister field of dreams than usual. I needed to move things along here.

"Listen, Christie, I could leave until she comes back..." I said, acting as if she had a problem with my being there.

"No." she said. "Sit. Wait. It's okay."

"Okay." I said, "I just thought after last night..."

She looked down at the mention of the previous evening's adventure.

"Look, I'm sorry about that." I continued, "I swear, I didn't know you were there until the end, and by that time I really wasn't able to do much about it."

Christie looked up and smirked. "No, probably not. Julie and I will talk about it later."

"Don't be hard on her." I said.

"She wanted me to watch you guys. That's why she asked me to leave the door open. That's not freaky?"

"She didn't plan it." I said, "It started when you came into the room and..."

"You were awake then?" she asked, surprised. "I thought you were out cold drunk?" She narrowed her eyes at me, "Great. So you heard what I said about ---"

"Yeah," I said, "but I know how women talk. It doesn't mean anything."

Christie got all embarrassed and said, "Yeah, well, sometimes it does. I gotta' towel off."

She bounded off into the bathroom, and closed the door. I expected Julie to poke her head out of the closet, but she didn't make a peep, so I just sat there, and waited for Christie to reappear. Bringing up her lusty comments about me last night was a good idea, maybe it would get her thinking. I heard her rumbling around in the bathroom. And then I suddenly remembered something - I had left her black panties sitting on the sink. She was sure to see them, and wonder what they were doing there. I decided that this was a stroke of good luck, and began to wonder about how she was going to react to the possibility that I was examining her underwear in la toilet.

After several minutes Christie re-appeared, her limbs and back dried of their sweaty glisten.

"So. You. Singer-boy!" she said, coming over to the couch. "Just what exactly did you hear last night?"

"You want me to repeat it word for word?"

"No." she said, then adding, bravely, "Just tell me what you thought of it."

"I think Kyle is a bizarre aberration of humanity that should be pitied and sent to a penal institution for the criminally deranged and moronic."

Kyle was her boyfriend who, for some unfathomable reason, didn't like blowjobs.

"'Penal' institution, that's funny," she said, coming closer. "What about the rest of it?"

"The rest of what I heard?" I said. "I think I was pretty much, let me check, uh yeah - I was turned on. Christ, who wouldn't be?"

"Yeah?" she said.

"Yeah."

There was an awkward pause while she stood over me, her hands on her slim hips

"You use our bathroom today?" she asked.

"Yeah. Earlier."

She looked down at my lap. "Mm-hm. You still turned on?"

"By last night?" I asked.

"By whatever." she said, looking me in the eyes, daring me to answer.

I looked right back at her. "Yeah. I think I am." I said.

"Mm-hmm." she said. She folded her arms across her chest, like she was angry and didn't know what to do about the situation. Her arms were thin, but nicely muscled, and again achieved a perfect aesthetic line as they ran up to her strong shoulders and veined neck. Her leotard held a lovely contour of her small, round breasts. She had removed her sports bra in the bathroom, and her tiny nipples were poking out through the lycra.

"Okay." she said simply, deciding something. "So let's take care of it."

With her arms still folded she knelt down in front of me. Keeping her eyes on mine she reached out with both hands, unbuckled my belt and unzipped my fly. I stared at her, listening to various clicking metal sounds coming from my pants. She raised an eyebrow, still watching my face, looking for signs of hesitancy. I raised an eyebrow back at her. She smirked, and slipped a hand into my pants and released my penis. I raised both eyebrows now, and let out a small moan of approval. She smirked at me again, kept her eyes on mine, while she kneaded and tugged it until my cock was rock hard and stood up proud. "Ohhhh." I moaned, crinkling my eyes and licking my lips - and she knew she had me.

She looked down, and eyeballed my tool. I could see that she was pleased with what she saw. She enveloped a fist around my cock, and squeezed as hard as she could.

"Yow!" I said.

She continued to squeeze, watching my face, enjoying my painful reaction. There was a real look of lust in her eyes now, as she crushed my penis in her strong grip.

Then she started stroking my chest with her free hand, running it into my shirt, testing my pecs and shoulders. She pinched a nipple, and I winced. She liked that, pinched it again, held it, while getting an even stronger grip on my solid cock.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" I yelled, pushing her hand off my nipple. But I kind of dug what she was doing to my prick. I had never been grabbed like that before. I could feel the rising blood gather and damn beneath her fist.

She grabbed me with two hands now, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze - harder and harder, until I thought my cock would snap off. And the whole time she watched my face, watched me wince, watched me writhe in pleasure.

"Oh God!" I said, feeling a little light-headed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the closet door crack open another inch.

Just when I couldn't take it any more Christie sniffed at my cock, taking in its odor of moist skin, rolled her eyes back dreamily, smelled me again, then took me full and wet in her mouth, deeply gagging herself, my cock pushing against the back of her throat. "Urgggggh." she moaned, as if tasting a sixty dollar steak. And then she swallowed, taking me in deeper still, her teeth biting against the skin around the base of my pole, anchoring there. While engulfed like that, completely in her throat, she began to bob her head up and down, and suck. A furious sucking, a tremendous thrill ride sucking. And while she sucked, she hummed, vibrating my cock and sending quivers of joy down to my feet. The amazing vacuum of her mouth lifted me out of my seat, and she grabbed me under my ass, lifting me up with her strong arms, pulling me further into her mouth, lifting and lifting me until I was standing over her, almost tipping over. I came quickly, my cock pouring semen down into her mouth, while she hefted me over like a she was downing a pitcher of beer.

"OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" I screamed, firing a hot load down her throat, my legs astride her face. She leaned back until I was fucking her throat straight down, and she used her iron grip to milk every last drop out of me, guzzling it all straight down her gullet.

When I was done she threw me back onto the sofa like a used hanky. "Urrrrrrghhhhhh" she said, wiping her mouth, gurgling cum before gulping down the last swallow, a sated grin on her face. "You taste salty." she said. "I love the salty ones."

She was amazing. I had never come that fast before. My cock was stunned too, because it was still rock hard.

She came out of her lustful reverie and stared at my stiff prick, waving in the air like a skyscraper during a rough wind. "Fuck, look at that." she said, standing, and undressing. She kicked off her shoes and socks, then pulled off her leotard top and biker pants. She was wearing only her underwear.

It was sexy dancer underwear. Black, silky underwear. The same underwear I had sniffed at earlier, and foolishly left on the bathroom sink. She'd obviously found them there, figured out what I'd done, and slipped them on for me.

She climbed onto my lap, pushed me down onto the sofa so that I was lying under her, pulled aside the crotch of the black panties, lowered her pussy onto my cock, pinned my arms down, and, dear, dear Reader, she started to fuck me.

I was frozen, unable to move. She fucked me from above, violently. I could feel my cock scrape against her silk panties as she banged me. Her small tits swayed and bobbed over her rib cage as she rode me, taking me, eyes closed, lost in her own pleasure. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" she cried, ignoring me completely. Her pits were over me, and I could smell the sweat from her jog, mixed with the fresh passion fruit smell of her cunt.

"YESSSSSSSS!" she screamed, cumming hard, and laying a huge kiss on me, her tongue darting deep into my throat.

But just as quickly as she came, she jumped off me. "Julie will be back soon." she said, out of breath, still shuddering. "Zip up."

I managed to stuff my still stiff prick back into my pants, as she gathered her clothes and disappeared into her bedroom. Moments later she came flying back out into the living room, slipping a pair of jeans over black tights and pulling on a T-shirt. She also threw on some boots, and gathered up her keys and dance bag, talking to me all the while.