Pete and I met with many of the most famous jazz musicians of the time. Mostly I just smiled and shook their hands, not really recognizing their names...or music, although I found listening to it enjoyable. (Really, though, who would name their child 'Bird'? Musicians.) At one club we abused our credentials, as usual, to meet the artists, but this time a there was an unfamiliar small combo led by a pianist. He was a short, dapper man with gray hair and a charming smile. Pete introduced us to him. When I don’t stop him, he kisses it again and again, sliding his hands under me. He lifts my back slightly, arching it. He showers my stomach with kisses, his lips touching every inch of my skin between the shirt, still pushed up below my breasts, to my navel. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, relishing the feeling of his lips against my skin, closer than any man had been. I moan softly as he slides his hands up my sides, pushing my shirt even higher. Sitting up a little, I allow him to. More

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