Jazzy Girl Ch 2

It was a keen night, the kind New York is famous for, all breezy and city-crisp with that distinctive fall-festival feel of Yankees baseball, Lincoln Center opera and Village jazz. Autumn in New York is a wake up call for the mind which has hibernated the sweaty summer away and emerges refreshed and invigorated and ready to contemplate its urban treasures in the Fall. New Yorkers love when the weather breaks so they can put on their big coats and hats, walk down their windy Avenues past the gathering leaves and steamy vendor carts, and turn into their marbled museums, jewel box theatres, cushioned concert halls and fabled parks, all bursting with the promise of smart diversion, intellectual challenge and cultural buffet. There is nothing more alive, more robust, more stirring, than the event-redolent air of October in New York.

I got to The Village Gate about 9pm, washed and shaved and looking my downtown best in soft leather pants, white silk shirt, clean underwear, and a black trenchcoat, which made a nice show of billowing and whipping behind me like some kind of superhero cape. (Jazz Man!)

I hadn't been able to get the previous night out of my mind. Making furtive love to Bonnie in the back room of The Bitter End, hands tied, moments away from discovery, ("fucking", the kids call it) was astonishingly erotic, and I had to masturbate twice before falling asleep. I contemplated another "go" that morning, but I hoped I'd be seeing her at the Gate that night (perhaps even at my studio later) and thought it would be best to abstain - give me a chance to reload, if you will.

I had called Bonnie to invite her, and got her machine, so I left a message. I wanted her to come to the club. I wanted to see her again, badly. But as alluring as Bonnie was, and as aroused as she got me, it was Julie's voice that had sent me over the edge, and caused me to explode into Bonnie's body. Julie had set the mood. Pale, messy, sexy Julie with the whiskey voice. Julie, who I couldn't get out of my mind, for whom I'd written a song in fifteen minutes, whose ruby lips kept my inspired all day, for whom I shaved and washed and dressed my jazzy best. And as my black coat cut through the air like a blade, I found myself walking down Bleeker eager to meet her again.

I entered the Village Gate, and there she was, wearing black leggings and white blouse (a little more upscale for the Gate), her mass of blond hair almost combed. She and the band were all set up and ready to go. Apparently she liked my re-write of her song, because she said they were going to work it into the second set.

No sign of Bonnie.

The crowd was swank, mostly locals. The Borough people would be coming in later, drunk and over eager to "experience the freaky", which is why they come to the Village, though I can't imagine any of them ever find "the freaky", whatever the hell that is.

Bonnie hadn't yet arrived by the time we started our first set, and I wondered if she wound up "hating herself in the morning". Maybe I scared her off. Damn.

So we started. I played around on the keyboard as best I could, and did harmonies for those songs I knew, and generally I didn't suck. Then the band let me solo with "Hoop Girl" while they improvised behind me. Nice that.

Halfway through the song, Bonnie arrived. She was dressed in another stunner dress, a silky white thing which showed off her tony limbs. Yummy. Though she smiled at me she looked a little nervous, darting her eyes around the room, as if she were being naughty and feared getting caught.

We finished the set to smart applause, then took a booth in the back, with me and Bonnie, the band and their girlfriends, and Julie sitting next to Dean. Dean kept a dominating arm around Julie at all times. The booth was small, and the girls sat on their boyfriends laps, so we made for a nice, intimate group, snuggled around a table candle, listening to the harp player who played lilting angel music between sets.

As the others chatted Bonnie leaned over to me and whispered, "Last night was incredible." I noticed she was breathing hard. "I've never done anything like that before."

"Me neither." I whispered. "Did you like it?"

She placed a hand on my thigh for an answer. I guess I didn't respond right away, because she timidly pulled her hand back, as if she'd made a mistake. So, I placed my hand on her knee, making it clear how I felt. She sucked in a big breath of air, and I could feel her foot taping nervously. She placed her hand on top of mine, pressing it down against her thigh under the table. Her eyes were black and dark, her pupils wide as saucers. I could almost hear her heart pounding.

Then she opened her legs.

"What can I get for you all?" asked a Waitress, suddenly appearing.

Dean ordered a beer, and a red wine for Julie (though I got the impression she would liked to have ordered for herself). The band settled on an assortment of mixed drinks, and the girlfriends decided to do some tequila shots.

Bonnie opened her legs a bit more. What the hell was she up to? We were surrounded by people. Next to Bonnie was Tyler, the chubby little drummer, and he slid over a bit, thinking she needed more room. Bonnie starting moving my hand up her thigh. This was seriously crazy! No one noticed, she was moving very slowly, even joining in nonchalantly on the conversations. But if things were going where I thought they were someone would definitely find out.

Bonnie seemed to want to be in control here, so I let my hand be a dead weight, a toy for her to play with. She slid my hand further up her soft leg, with no resistance from me. She wore no stockings that night, and her skin felt very cool and smooth. Once my hand reached her upper thigh she carefully selected my index finger, slipped it under her dress, and pressed it against her panties, which bulged with her springy bush. The crotch fabric was nicely damp, and the pressure from my finger indented it slightly into her pussy slit. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, like she'd been waiting all day to be touched "there".

"I'll have a Heinken." I said, ordering as casually as I could.

Something about hearing my voice turned her on, and she pushed my finger into her as far as her panties would stretch. I made no effort to press or maneuver; she was doing all the work, masturbating herself, but with my finger.

I looked over at Tyler sitting next to Bonnie, and so far he had no idea what was going on. Across from me was Julie and Dean, and they must have had a good view of my arm disappearing below the table in front of Bonnie, but that was normal (I could be holding her knee, right?). The table-cloth was enough to drape in her lap, so even if someone looked down they couldn't see anything.

Bonnie was clearly aroused. Her nipples were poking though her thin dress, and a bead a sweat trickled down her neck. She had goosebumps all over her skin, terrified of being discovered. I kept remembering her mantra from the night before: "I don't do this". I guessed that she hadn't had a lot of experience, despite being very sexual, and now, with exhibitionism, she had found a new way to feel liberated, and sexy. I still wasn't much into public nooky, but I have to admit I was getting pretty hot with this chick fucking herself under the table with my finger.

The panties were getting in the way, so Bonnie pulled them aside, and slid my finger under the wet crotch, directly onto her skin. She nearly jumped out of her seat at that. I could feel her springy public hair, and wet lips opening at my touch.

"And for you?" asked the Waitress.

All eyes were on Bonnie.

"Let's see..." she said, her voice shaking, while she pushed my finger inside her with a faint "squish". "Should I have a tequila, too?"

"Hell, yes! Go for it girl!" said one of the girlfriends.

She swirled my finger around, making room, getting it good and wet.

"I'm not a great drinker." she complained, her lip trembling.

"So, we'll make you one, sweetheart." said another girl. "C'mon! Do a shot!"

She hooked one finger around my thumb, and tightly pressed the tip against her clit.

"Okay," she gulped, "I'll do it."

The girls cheered, the waitress left, and everyone went back to their conversations. Bonnie pressed my thumb against her clit with one hand, while fucking herself ever so slightly with my index finger. Her breathing became ragged and her eyes rolled back in their sockets. She tilted her head down, so no one could see.

She worked herself like that for a while, while the table talked. They were a pretty chatty group, and no one seemed to notice her masturbation.

"So, Freddy," said Dean, "Didn't you used to have a CD out? I think I heard of you."

"Yeah." I said, startled to be the sudden focus of attention. "I had my fifteen minutes."

"What happened?" asked Tyler.

"I don't know." I said. "It got to be grind, you know. It wasn't fun anymore. It became more about the schmoozing, and less about the writing. I lost my muse. Old story, right? Anybody want to yawn, go ahead."

"So, what, you don't write any more?" asked Dean.

"'Jazzy Girl's' my first good thing in about a year." I said.

"A year?" asked Julie, interested. "What were you waiting for?"

I looked right at Julie's beautiful, pale face set behind those wonderful ruby lips, my finger deep in Bonnie's cunt. "Inspiration." I said.

Bonnie's masturbation was getting heavy, and her arm was starting to noticeably move, so she clamped her thighs together, trapped my finger inside her pussy, squeezed her twat muscles, and freed her hand. Her legs started to tremble, and I knew she was close to cumming. She grabbed a couple of tissues out of her purse, pretending that a sneeze was approaching.

"Are you okay?" asked Julie. She was staring at Bonnie, wondering if she was having some kind of attack. Everyone else was busy conversing.

"Have to sneeze...have to sneeze..." Bonnie managed. Her thighs squeezed tighter, practically breaking my finger. Her orgasm was peaking, and Tyler could feel her shaking.

"You need to sneeze?" he asked. "I can help!" He pulled an ornate snuff box (an actual Goddamn snuff box!) decorated with an old New York sleigh-ride scene, like a mini Whitman Sampler box. "It was my grand-dad's." he said. "I swear this shit works. Here!"

Tyler placed a pinch of snuff powder under Bonnie's nostril. Everyone turned now to see what was going on, and Bonnie was at once terrified and thrilled by the attention. She was breathing like a marathon runner now, and her whole body was shaking, though she did her best to hide it. She was leaking all over the seat, and her smell was freely wafting now. I prayed no one else picked up the odor in the smoky room.

Bonnie inhaled the snuff, held her arms up, and waved her hands frantically like a hovering hummingbird, waiting for the explosion. AAAAAACHOOOOOOOOOO!", she exploded, whipping her face down into the tissues three or four times. "AAAAACHOOOO! AAAAAACHOOOOO! AAAAAACHOOOOO!" At the same time a gush of juice burst out of her cunt, leaking down her lovely legs. She collapsed onto the table and allowed herself one, deep, ferocious moan. "Ooooooooooo!"

There was a stunned silence from our group. They all looked at me.

"Allergies." I said, shrugging.

Suddenly the entire room burst into applause.

"Holy shit!" said Dean, whistling.

"Told you it worked." said Tyler, snapping shut his snuff box.

"My God." said Julie, joining in on the applause.

Bonnie collected herself long enough to wave to the crowd, "Thank you! Thank you! Please come back for the supper show."

She was amazing. Even during this lewd public display she managed to be funny, and charming. For all anyone knew she just had a terrific sneeze, and not a knee-bending orgasm. How the hell she pulled that off I don't know.

Bonnie relaxed her thigh muscles and I was able to slip my finger out, drenched as it was. In fact, my whole hand, up to my sleeve, was soaking in juice. I grabbed a few cocktail napkins and surreptitiously cleaned wiped myself clean under the table.

Julie couldn't stop looking at Bonnie, and I wondered if she suspected anything. "You sure you're okay?" she asked, brushing away her messy hair to get better look at my date.

"Fine. Now." sighed Bonnie, closing her legs.

"Oooo'Kay." said Julie, clearly curious. Then she pulled out a cigarette. "Anybody got a light?" she asked.

I pulled out some matches. "Lose your lighter I again?" I asked, striking a flame.

"She'd lose her fucking head if it weren't bolted on." said Dean, getting a few laughs from the band, though Julie didn't seem to appreciate the humor. I got the feeling she didn't like him much. She seemed too smart for him.

"It'll turn up." she said, grabbing my hand and lighting the cigarette. "Always does."

As she lit her stick I noticed her nose twitch, and I suddenly realized that my finger, my hand, my sleeve, all still rank with pussy, were directly under her nose. She sniffed again, searching, and I quickly blew out the match, hoping the smoke would mask the smell. I casually pulled my hand away and folded it within my other one, on the table, like an innocent schoolboy listening attentively to his teacher.

Julie smelled the air again, giving me a suspicious look. Then her eyes shifted over to Bonnie who was squirming a bit in her wet seat.

I tried not to look Julie in the eyes, and hoped she'd just shrug the whole thing off. Who knows what she smelled, or what she suspected? And honestly, did I care?

For some reason, yes, I did care. I was interested in Julie. But aside from coming up with a plan to get Dean and Bonnie to sleep together and have Julie and I run to each other for comfort sex (or some other Penthouse Forum scenario) I didn't see any chance of us getting together. Still, I was interested in her, and I cared what she thought, so I averted my eyes and swore to not light any more cigarettes that evening.

The conversation continued, and, whenever Dean would let her speak, Julie proved to be a brilliant talker. She seemed to know a little something about everything, just as comfortable with history as she was with music and current events. But that asshole Dean kept interrupting her with snide little comments like, "Watch out, boys, Julie's got another opinion!"

The harpist stopped playing. Dean checked his watch and said, "Up, dudes. Time for the second set. Pete's not here so, Freddy, my man, if you'd like to make a hundred..."

And right then, with perfect Lenny and Squiggy timing, Pete comes running into the club. "I'm here, I'm here!" he shouts, robbing me of another fifty bucks.

"Sorry, pal." said Dean, shrugging and stuffing fifty bucks into my shirt pocket. "You was great, my friend. Thanks."

So the band got up to play, and I settled back to watch. Bonnie kissed me on the lips (with just a hint of tongue) and excused herself to the ladies room. Alone in the booth I used the time to "wipe-up" a bit, running a few cocktail napkins over the happy vinyl cushion beneath Bonnie's sweet bottom. I ordered two more drinks, patted the bills in my pocket, snuggled into Bonnie when she returned, and listened to the second set.

Now Bonnie's little under the table finger-fuck adventure had left me supremely hot, and I leaned over to her and asked if she'd like to leave (I had made the bed and cleaned the bathroom all in preparation for a female visitor that night). She said, "Not yet." and placed a hand on my thigh.

Well, I expected this. Bonnie was going to jerk me off under the table. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, exhibitionism, again, not really being my thing. But I was turned on by how much she was turned on, so I opened my legs a bit, giving her easier access to my wares. She responded by rubbing my crotch, and unsnapping the buttons of my leather pants.

I leaned back, took a sip of beer, paid the waitress, all with Bonnie's hand snaking its way down into my underwear. It was seriously cramped in there (leather pants will do that), and she couldn't really wrap her hand around my penis. I was glad about that, actually, thinking that maybe she'd get frustrated and let me take her home. But, for some reason, I found myself slipping my jeans a few inches down my ass, making it easy for her to straighten out my cock and release it into the air. It popped up like a limp hot air balloon the quickly inflated and rose.

Bonnie made no effort to be gentle and started squeezing and jerking it hard, her arm disappearing under the table and rocking up and down very lewdly, and very visibly. Between the cold air on my cock and her public jerking I felt frighteningly exposed. Fortunately the crowd was focused on the band.

Still, I wanted to take no chances so I whispered to Bonnie, "Take it easy. People can see." Her response was to grab me with two hands and jerk me off even harder. The booth was in a corner in the back, and it was fairly dark, but not so hidden that someone looking over wouldn't be able to figure out that a girl was yanking some guy's meat. "Jesus, Bonnie." I whispered, looking around feverishly.

Bonnie, too, was scanning the room. At one point an elderly woman turned our way, looking for the waitress, and Bonnie froze. But once the woman turned back, the jerk-off session continued.

Bonnie let her guard down only once, to look down and watch my cock getting pumped. "Ohhhh", she said breathlessly, as if discovering a beautiful new flower, "look at that!", and buried her head in my lap, sucking my cock in front of the whole room.

I can't remember a damn thing about what she did exactly, how she used her tongue or if I hit the back of throat or what, I was too much in shock to retain any other feeling than utter terror. I do know it didn't last long, just a few furious sucks, but enough to send a bucket of blood to my prick until it was as thick and hard as a baseball bat.

She quickly released me and sat up, anxiously looking around for signs that anyone had caught her. She sipped her tequila nervously, dribbling the liquor down her chin, the glass rattling in her hand. I sat there, my cock almost peeking over the edge of the table. Thank God she stopped when she did, or I would have shot straight up in the air like a fountain, spraying our table, and maybe someone else's.

I was about to slip my cock under the table cloth when I heard Julie say from the stage, "And this one is for Freddy Blue!" The whole room followed her gaze back to me, and I absolutely froze. I couldn't even smile. I just turned to stone, hoping no one had an embarrassing sight line. My cock was behind the table, but it was out my friends -- out and dressed to party. Bonnie slid a little closer to me, which blocked me pretty well, but, damn, I was still pretty freaked out by the whole thing. Bonnie smiled, and kissed me on the cheek. I guess this was her revenge for my kicking that door open last night (when the waitress at The Bitter End almost caught us).

Julie started singing the new version of "Baltimore Taxi", now re-titled "Jazzy Girl", with new lyrics by yours truly, and, I must say, for something I polished off in rush, it wasn't bad work. No brilliant effort. Still, a fun little ditty, and the crowd liked it. The new lyrics turned out to be as fun and snappy as the music, and worked much better than the old ones. Julie sang it well, of course, with a throaty, loopy phrasing that fit the song to a "T".

"Down on the East Side he once knew a girl,

A brown-haired, grey-eyed beauty, skin a doll-like pearl,

She spun his poor heart 'round and 'round like a twirl-a-whirl,

She loved him, broke him, tossed him out, that Jazzy Girl!"