That Jazz Feeling

You take another sip of the cheap beer that I've picked up and lean back into the couch, gazing up at the ceiling. The pleasant, cool-warm glow melded nicely with the sound of my record player, and the warmth of my arm beside yours. David Bowie's "Fame" wafted around the small basement room, just loud enough to hear but not too loud to make it difficult to talk. We had the house to ourselves, but still confined ourselves to the basement, where we could stay cool, safe from the summer heat.

Stealing a glance at me, you see that I'm lost in the moment, eyes closed, fingers tapping lightly in time with not the music, almost erratically. I'd pick up the cadence of the lyrics, then switch to tap in time with the bass, then with the beat. I wasn't keeping time, just letting the music wash through me. You smirk at my un-selfconscious enjoyment and attempt to emulate it, closing your eyes to bolster a temporary refuge from your own thoughts. As the song draws to its close, I jump up and move to the record player. I let it finish, smiling, and stop the player, looking up to you with a grin on my face.

"Great, right?"

"Mmm," you murmur pleasantly, knowing that I'm not looking for analysis, just a moment of shared joy.

"Okay, let's see..." I place the record back in its sleeve and start rooting through my collection. "Oh, this one is great, let me know if you've heard it."

The drum intro sounds familiar, and then you immediately recognize Paul Simon's voice. The song doesn't sound familiar, and you admit it.

"It's called 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover."

"Ha. You trying to tell me something?"

I laugh, and give you an exaggerated nod. "Oh, yeah, I thought this would be the most sensitive way to break it to you."

You roll your eyes and sip your beer. You notice a familiar look cross my face, and I run up stairs, saying "Be right back!"

That look, the one that says I've come up with another joke, one that was probably more effort than the punchline was worth, makes you sigh in exasperation. I could be like a kid sometimes, you think, with the silly jokes and weird ideas I came up with on the spur of the moment. You like it, even if I don't always think things through before rushing into the next thing. Besides, it was worth it, with how I treated you, and I was pretty good in the sack. Your mind wanders, remembering last night, the bottle of wine, and the cigarettes we'd snuck while I was the man of the house, and then making love on the living room floor. Falling asleep next to each other. The warmth in your belly deepens, and coalesces into a tiny spark. You toy with the idea of fanning it into flame, or letting it sit and see if it dies on its own, as you hear Paul Simon's litany of abandonment methods run its course.

Slip out the back, Jack.

Make a new plan, Stan.

You don't need to be coy, Roy,

And get yourself free.

I clatter down the basement stairs, holding a record. "It's my parents'. I thought I'd expand on the theme."

I lower the needle onto the right track, and sit next you again, grabbing my beer. A slow, R&B groove begins, and a deep, Barry White-like monologue begins, talking about how sad he is, to be delivering some bad news. He has to break up with you, and on your last meeting, he wants to kiss and say goodbye. Your parents have the same album, "Kiss and Say Goodbye," by the Manhattans.

Looking up at the ceiling, you roll your eyes again, knowing I'm feigning nonchalance, but stealing glances at you, anticipating your reaction. Without turning to me, you say to the ceiling, "Well, I guess this is it, he's all done with me. If only I'd been better to him, maybe it wouldn't have come to this!"

I stifle a snicker, enjoying it as I always do when you play along, even when (especially when) I'm being quite silly.

You sit up suddenly, as if something had just occurred to you. "But wait! Maybe there's still time!" And you turn to me, a look of heat transfixing me in my seat. Your voice lowers, and gains an attractive husk. "Maybe if I show him what he'll be missing..." And you swing one leg over me, and sit on my lap, careful not to spill either of our beers. You bring one hand behind my head and twist your fingers into my hair, and pull me close as you lean in and plant a deep kiss.

"Mmmm," I hum appreciatively. I make as if to pull back and quip in return, but you have a good hold on me. I seem to mentally shrug and lose myself in the kiss.

This continues for a while, a true makeout session. Our beers forgotten, we exchange kisses passionate and tender, hurried and slow. For a while, we lay on the couch, kissing and touching, hands roaming but without purpose. Almost lazily, we simply enjoy making out, our breathing only getting slightly deeper, our hearts only racing slightly faster. Once the cheesy but soulful Manhattans record is finished, you take the initiative this time.

You get up, pretend to consider the record selection carefully, and studiously avoid acknowledging my hopeful looks. Running your finger down the spines of the various albums, you know that my eyes are locked on a single one. You pass it a few times, and self-assess. The flicker you felt earlier has definitely been fanned, and has become more of a candle-flame. Much hotter, still slightly fragile, but could burst into a roaring blaze in moments.

It started as kind of a joke. Both sets of our parents had always been fans of the blues, and jazz, from way back in ancient history. They played it when they wanted to relax, or when they ate a romantic dinner at home together. We'd initially commiserate with each other over their out-of-date tastes, and lack of modern sensibilities. And then, one of us (neither one of us can remember), was being silly, and talking like we were a married couple: "Dear, how was the pot roast, did I overdo it?", "work was an absolute bear, Darling, I need to relax." And then Coltrane Plays the Blues was put on, and we began another of our ubiquitous necking sessions. But something weird happened. The music got under our skins, weaved itself into our muscles, filled our hearts and we finally understood. This was music for making love. And it was the first time we'd made love, and it was incredible. Ever since, it was used as a shorthand for "I want you. Now."

And having weighed and measured your want for me, you found it pleasant, and decided it was past time for you to get your fix. So you pluck the album from the shelf, and place it in the player, all the while continuing to ignore my eager-puppy grin. For God's sake, my tongue was practically hanging out. No, it was, and you realize I'm once again trying to make you laugh. As usual, I succeed. As the music starts to fill the room, you reach over and lift my chin, closing my mouth. Then you resume your earlier position, straddling my legs.

What follows is a kiss with the passion of need, of urgency, and of the promise for more. Hungrily we lose ourselves in the kiss, and my hands roam over your sides, your ribs, and (my favorite), around to the small of your back. You can almost feel your pulse in your belly as I pull you closer, and you take the opportunity to arch your back a little, and grind down into my lap. Of course, you can feel how excited I am, and you smile at my predictability. Naturally, I take this as a promising sign and my hands move to your hips, to aid in your search for friction.

Like kids, we dry-hump slowly as we make out, me recognizing your love of the build-up and you just enjoying the contact. My erection is angled so you can rub up and down it, giving you that pressure you love, as well as the occasional jolt on your awakening clit. I brush your hair back, and you throw back your head as I start to lightly kiss where your shirt leaves your upper chest exposed. I continue to build your arousal, knowing that it will pay off in the end, content to enjoy your movement in my lap and the taste of your skin.

Suddenly you growl slightly and push me back. I'm a little puzzled, but recognize your mood. You pull your shirt off impatiently, and I do the same as you reach back to undo your bra. Shaking it off hastily, we meet again for another kiss, this time pressing our chests together, loving the contact of skin on skin. My hands caress your naked back, as if, starving, I could consume you just with my fingers and hands. I once again start kissing your chest, except, as you'd expect, focus almost solely on your breasts. Boys will be boys. Not that you mind. In fact, feeling my kisses and licks all over your breasts, and the little sucks on your nipples, you think to yourself that you'd be lying if you hadn't been craving just this.

The attention to your breasts, and the thrill of naked flesh, not to mention your constant grinding, has started to bring forth that latent wetness that you knew we'd both need, and enjoy, so much. Plus, you NEED me at this point. So you stand up abruptly, unfasten your pants, and slide them down and off, keeping your panties on. You know how I love your panties, and besides, you like me to work for it a LITTLE. As you stand up you see that I do that uniquely male magic trick of getting naked almost instantly. I grin and reach out to you, still sitting on the couch, and you return the smile as you kneel over me once again.

I'm not the only one who loves your panties, you think, as you once again start to rub yourself on me, this time just feeling the soft cotton as the only barrier between us. Both our heads tilt back as we each revel in the sensation, you grinding down on my naked dick as your pussy lips start to spread, sharing your wetness first with the thin material of your panties, and then with me. I'm content to sit passive, hands lightly on your hips, as you masturbate yourself on me. You start to let out little whimpers as your moisture steals some of the friction from between us. You look down to see a healthy amount of precum emerging from me, and you make the decision that we've both waited long enough.

You take your hands from the couch behind my shoulders and grip my cock in one hand, and use the other to pull your panties aside, revealing your needy chasm. No time to undress further. You guide myself to you, and into you, and once I'm in position, you sink down completely. Oh, God, you can never get enough of this, you think to yourself, as you feel me fill you from tip down to base. You've clenched half the muscles in your body in anticipation, and now you slowly let them relax, as I hiss, in my own world of pleasure. You let the jazz wash over you as you un-stiffen, till the only tense thing left in your body is the big erection now sheathed in your willing vagina.

Having worked yourself into a state of need, you take this time to bring yourself what you crave. You bear down on me, grinding and shifting, rotating your hips in place, both feeling my cock shift in response against your inner walls, and bringing your clit against my pelvic bone. Continuing to gyrate, you occasionally lift yourself partially off me, only to slam back down, as if trying to force more of me inside of you. I start to take part in this ritual, sensing that you don't have quite enough stimulation to reach orgasm. I guide you to continue fucking yourself on me, and then have you suck two of my fingers into your mouth, coating them with saliva, and then I bring them down to rub your clit myself. Your tempo has increased, and you can now focus your efforts on continually filling yourself with and then depriving yourself of my stiff dick. Your hands on my shoulders to brace yourself, my fingers strumming your clit in the way I know you like, you're driving yourself towards the first orgasm of the night.

Gradually, by degrees, you feel it approaching. You bounce yourself on my cock slightly harder, slightly faster, and I take that as a signal to redouble my efforts. And just like that, you're over the edge, and little lights flash behind your eyes. You immediately pull my hand away, and drive yourself down, burying me deep inside you, and gasp as the orgasm has its way with you. I let you come down from your cum, caressing you gently, knowing my time will come. Eventually you start to respond to my touch, and your pussy's convulsive grip on my dick starts to even out. "Thank you," you give me a kiss, one that grows more fiery as it transforms from gratitude to acknowledgement of what is next.

I half-lift you off me, and stand up, and then position you exactly the way you'd been when we first started kissing. You're on your spread knees, facing the back of the couch, and I push your shoulders forward so you're leaning onto it. This, you know, presents your ass and recently-fucked pussy on display for me, and you know I'm enjoying the sight. I run my hands over your hips, your panty-clad ass, around your thighs and then steal a quick grope of your wet, sensitive pussy. Once again I pull the panties aside and line up the head of my dick with your opening, but this time I'm in control. I pop the head in and out a few times, judging by your gasps how sensitive you still are. Then, the next time I'm inside you, instead of pulling out again I move forward, in one, long, slow drive.

You hum your pleasure, enjoying how different the same thing can feel, when introduced in different ways. You know how much I want this, after letting you use me like your fucktoy. Not pausing to savor the feeling of being inside you again, I start a steady, slow fucking that is just slow enough to accentuate my passage in and out of you with each motion. My hands on your hips again, I steady them this time, not pulling you back but making you stay still so I can be in control of the tempo. Your remaining sensitivity transforms into pure lust. You swear you can feel each vein, every contour of my cock as it slides across the inner ridges and walls of your pussy. The feeling of me repeatedly filling you makes you sweat and moan, and crave more, more, MORE.

The next time I move forward, you defy my hands' hold on you and push yourself abruptly back. That tiny bit of extra depth makes you lose your breath momentarily, and you can practically hear my smile over your shoulder. You know I love it when you show that you can't get enough of my dick. I start to pick up the pace, driving myself into you faster each time, while each time you push back to meet me. Soon we're both moving just as much as the other, repeatedly pulling apart, and slamming together, building each others' pleasure yet again. My thrusts are becoming more urgent, more frenzied, and as you sense what's coming you shudder a bit in anticipation.

As if sensing your tiny deviation in rhythm, I bury yourself inside you, holding your hips back. I pull on your arm, bringing your torso up, and guide your head back over your shoulder to share a steamy kiss. I pull out of you in a rapid motion, one that makes you gasp, and then yank your panties down to the floor. A stray thought occurs to you, that they must be soaked by now, but you barely have time to think it, as I've pushed and guided you back down to the couch. I maneuver you so that you're lying prone, arms above you, legs only slightly spread. Oh God, you know what's next, and you grin widely in excitement.

I climb atop you, straddling your thighs, poking my hard, now-wet cock down between your legs. I seek your pussy entrance with my head again, but this time there is no teasing. As I enter you, my legs pull yours together, and you're once again reminded why we both love this position. Legs together like this, it's like you're clenching my cock with your entire lower body. You feel incredibly tight to me, and you feel as if I'm about to split you in half with my girth. And something about the angle seems to let me drive more deeply into you than at any other time. I almost have to stuff myself inside you in the beginning, and you feel like a dripping wet, horny-as-hell, incredibly willing Thanksgiving turkey. You're barely able to stop yourself from laughing aloud at the thought, and you're grateful that I can't see the goofy smile on your face as you bury it into the couch cushion.

But your joke is quickly forgotten. Immediately, almost impatiently, I begin to loosen you up, and get your juices flowing, by never ceasing my movement. Not only in and out, but also twisting and angling my hips in ways that you're very fond of, almost getting stirred like a martini by my dick. I start fucking again, and you wonder if I'm trying to set a record for how deep inside you I can get. A couple more thrusts and... yes, I'm... THERE!

I've managed to get far enough inside you so that my head is butting up against your cervix. You're barely able to moan, muffled by the pillow, "So good... so deep... ohh..." and I thrust again and again. Every time it's like I've discovered a new perfect fit, and I start pounding harder and harder, filling you up again and again and again. You're groaning into the pillow but you're not sure if I can hear you. Not that it matters; you're getting a stellar fucking and that's all you care about.

Again, my tempo rises, and while you don't have much of a range of motion, you're making little hunching movements back at me to meet each of my thrusts. Over and over, I drive deeply into you, faster and faster. You think if you can just get your arm around... yes. You wiggle your hand beneath you, to tease your clit again, and then: magic. You're rubbing your clit as I'm stuffing you full of cock, and you couldn't be happier. Your moans rise, I can definitely hear them now, and my breath is coming in shorter gasps. I slow slightly, and then each thrust comes HARD, and DEEP. You can hardly breathe from the overwhelming feeling of me slamming, full length, into your pussy at its tightest. A couple... more... thrusts... and... I stay in, grinding my hips as if I can just push further, and you feel me erupt into you like a fire hydrant. Each blast of my cum, as it splashes, gives you another little thrill, and you're working your clit, and I'm cumming, and you're moaning, and I'm holding you, and then... You're with me. You start cumming again, clenching my cock as it spends its last twitches, and you hear me lean my head against your back and hum contentedly. Your orgasm washes through you like a warm wave; less intense than before, but no less welcome.

You lie there a bit longer, feeling my weight on your back and my cock lose some of its hardness inside you. You turn your head to kiss me again, over your shoulder. We really need to listen to jazz more often.