The mist that slips through the dim strands of light that penetrate the darkened room ebb and flow with close sighs, and the murmurs of the few dozen souls inside fill the tight darkness, saturated. On stage under the hot lights men play: shiny instruments in slick black hands, as hard notes ring true and the crowd responds like the faithful listening to someone speaking in tongues. The jazz is rhythm made pure, deep bass that moves the easy to climax with nothing but the warm vibrations through hard wood seats, and tonight everyone is easy. It’s hot, and everything is wet.
We sit in the back, a small table in front of us. Half empty cheap glasses sweat on the old, scratched wood top and leave notes in circles for the next worshipper. The dark wine wall behind watches our backs and beneath me the chair is stiff, like it isn’t as old as the rest of the joint, or maybe somebody just glued it back together. I start to think something else about that chair and lose it as she shifts in my lap. Whatever it was is gone and I couldn’t care less. It’s dark, and nobody can see us.
In the far corner of the room a bouncer is keeping tabs on the congregation, and a bookie on the east wall is keeping tabs on him. Two guys in Brooks Brother’s suits stick out like a sore thumb and watch the bookie. I smile at the balance of power but forget all about it when I see her hands sliding up her thighs. She wore a dress tonight, thin straps that get lost in that tousled wild hair that covers her shoulders but shows the V of her neckline and everything it promises. It’s black, and it’s getting shorter.
Bouncers watch the room and bookies watch bouncers but all I can see is the hemline. It’s doing a magic act before my eyes, staying low across her thighs while somehow disappearing behind her. I love magic. The magician turns her face slightly so I can see the wicked grin she’s wearing. I look down to see that’s all she’s wearing. She does that magic thing again and the wicked grin is suddenly on my face instead.
“Abracadabra,” I whisper. She elbows me in the ribs and shifts her hips back as the edge of the dress falls around us. It’s one swift motion and the sharp pain in my chest gets confused by the warm rush of heat that settles over me a little lower. I bite down on her shoulder. She thinks it’s revenge but it’s really the only way I can keep from sighing that lustful sigh that would quiet the crowd. It’s sexy, and she’s okay with revenge.
The song is throbbing through the crowd and she’s dancing, though no one can tell but me. It’s an amazing game and I’m all for it. Small pressures against me, slight shifts of her silken body against the material covering my lap, stiff with the thrill that fills me and she’ll reach that point. Once, twice. I could do this all night. She’s using me the one way I like to be. I know it; she knows it. If the bouncer was paying attention he’d know it, too. Third time’s the charm and she lays back against me as her body nearly collapses with the weight of the release. Her skin is slick, covered in a fine, silky dew. The ice I pull from the glass melts like I tossed it into the sun as I slide it over her neck, cool drops running south, between curves, pausing ever so slightly on her belly before sliding beneath. She almost laughs with the icy caress, that unmistakable laugh that comes with closed eyes and leaves with her lip bitten gently between her teeth. It’s cold, and her body shows it.
Just when I think the game is over she rises slightly, and with that magical touch I’m released from that black cotton prison. She’s cold and hot at the same time but in a second all I can tell is that my body is a part of hers. No hesitation this time, no time to savor each perfect fold of her body. She wants me and she wants me now. This is so not the time to argue and for once I listen. Point for me. There’s no room for obvious motion and there’s no room in her. Pure muscle control and she owns me. Wow. Points for her. It’s like nothing else; her body pulses and contracts around me, controlling every sensation as if we were moving together, pressing against one another in that frenzied way. The frenzy persists, but it’s contained like some kind of flesh on flesh organized chaos. I like that and almost think about writing it down as she tightens around me. How the hell does she do that? Her body is consuming me and this time I have to bite into neck or we’re caught. She’s trying so hard to keep us under wraps but it’s getting to her. The chair vibrates beneath me with the bass and it translates through my body, throbbing into her. I make eye contact with the bassist for one brief moment and he smiles. He makes eye contact with her, bedroom eyes, her lips slightly parted, teeth clenched together and the tempo picks up. Delicious screams bounce off the walls from elsewhere in the room, but this rhythm is just for us.
Her hands tighten on her thighs, bracing herself as her body works mine and my whole body remains as rigid as possible, transferring as much of that vibe to hers as I can. It’s moving through us, electric and sensual, pulsing and perfect. The bassist is driving the crowd into a musical orgy. They holler and shout, rapturous as he plays for us, his eyes still fixed on hers and she grinds. I lose myself and the world and everything except for her as she draws me in deeply, deeper still, letting the soft weight of her body press down on me. Ragged breaths add to the mist and in a brief moment of clarity between releases I feel her, bearing down on me and her body contracting involuntarily, one after another, drenching me. I can’t see her face but I know she’s biting that lip again. Another wave crashes through me and I’m lost once more.
There’s something phenomenal about having people cheer and applaud while you have sex. The crowd continues it’s uproar as the bassist takes a well-deserved bow and loses sight of us in the standing audience. We would take a bow as well but neither of us could stand if we tried. A soft breath escapes my lips and brushes across the back of her neck, just cool enough slide goose bumps over her smooth skin and make her giggle. I love that sound and close my eyes, listening to it mixed with the cheering masses as I grow soft inside her, her back pressed against me, head on my shoulder as that silky hair glides over my cheek and neck. I lost count of how many times we peaked.
What the hell? It’s jazz, and tonight everybody’s easy.