Neither did the real musicians.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. You're glowing with sweat, your hair is loose, tumbling over your shoulders, you're practically begging for it right there.I let go of your wrists and grab the hem of your skirt. You're such a little slut, you're not fooling anyone. You instinctively grab for it as I tug hard on your skirt, trying yank it off you. I hear a delicious ripping sound, and end up with the skirt round your hips. What a slut you are. My cock hurts. Trapped in my jeans, rock hard, yearning for release inside you - I. More

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