Below is an excerpt. My apologies to my newsletter subscribers, since it's the same one you already got.
| Dot woke up with a pounding headache, but a huge smile spread across her face. She had had the night the night before. The cat’s pajamas, really. Dot rolled onto her back and pushed off her black satin sleep mask. She stared at the ceiling, the events of the night before replaying in her head -- the drinks, the band, the friends. She couldn’t wait until she finally felt comfortable enough to get up on that stage with the boys and show them what she could do. She just needed a little more practice. That horn player last night… Boy, could he blow. She’d heard his name, though not talked to him: T-Bone Blue. Dot remembered one of the sultry numbers from the night before, a song that had had all the couples in the audience writhing together. She’d stood on the edge of the action, sipping her gin and smiling to herself, swaying, wishing she had somebody like that with her too. She also wished she had that sort of control over an audience, the ability to influence people’s emotions with her music. She knew that was still a long way off. But still, that sexy song from the night before played through her mind. She remembered the heat of the hall, the closeness of the bodies. She closed her eyes again and hummed the melody. She saw the dancers in her head, holding each other, touching, crotch grinding against thigh through the thin summer-weight linens and silks. She wanted all of that. In summer, Dot slept in the nude, the windows open to the night air. The morning had already begun to warm the house, and her breasts and stomach had a thin sheen of sweat covering them. She skimmed her hand along them, imagining someone else touching her. She swayed as she lay on the bed, hand now between her thighs, fingers pushing through the damp thatch of hair covering her sex. She moved to the music in her head, running her digits across the hot folds of her sex, dipping them into her wet cunt. Did she imagine someone else’s hand there? Surely not. She raised her hips in time to the imaginary song, grinding and thrusting. Even in this fantasy, she danced alone. It didn’t bother her one bit. She enjoyed having control over herself, playing herself with the same skill and understanding she had when she played the trumpet. No one else could know her that well, could know exactly what she needed and when she wanted it. Her fingers found her clit and stroked against it. Her body thrilled at the feeling, wanting more. In response, Dot moved her other hand up to her bare breast, grasping at it, pinching the nipple to a hard peak. A small gasp escaped her lips as she writhed on the bed, shameless in her solitude. As the imaginary song climaxed -- a long, high trumpet note in her head -- so did she, biting off the scream of her release as she remembered she had a houseguest. What would he think if he heard her coming through the halls? As the spasms receded, she still stroked and petted her sex. She turned and glanced at the brass alarm clock on the bedside table. Ten a.m. Her tenant would probably be demanding breakfast. She felt surprised that he hadn’t come to wake her and ask for his board yet. She sighed and rolled onto her back again. He’d have to wait until she finished her bath and dressed. She could get herself off again in the bath too. A nice, cold bath. Her headache had nearly disappeared by the time she stepped into the tub. |
