The Intern and Other Stories Read online

  “You mean you...”

  “Yes,”

  “Oh: and you want to...”

  “Absolutely.”

  “When and where?” I grabbed my things, this was better than jazz. This was a story.

  “Last week, my local hotel,”

  “No silly, when and where do you want to meet? I say now,”

  “Err, okay” I didn’t let her hesitation put me off. I was out of my chair, grabbing my coat, leaning forwards over the desk, the telephone cord at full stretch.

  “I need to know everything,” I warned her.

  “You’d better make it a long lunch then,” she sniggered.

  We made plans and I hung up. The tube couldn’t go fast enough for me as I fought my way through the lunchtime crowds to Tower Bridge. I practically ran to her usual lunchtime haunt at St Katherine’s Docks. Paula leaned forward across the table, picking at her napkin as I sat down.

  “I’m still so excited.” She trilled off her story at top speed; it was difficult to get her to slow down enough for me to pick up what she was saying.

  “Calm down, girl,” I said. She took a deep breath.

  “Okay.” She made a show of calming herself down by placing both hands firmly and slowly down on the table in front of her. She began again. I was all ears.

  *

  I went in to my local hotel last week. It had a jazz weekend on. You were working and I couldn’t find anyone else to go with, so I went by myself. On the Friday night, there was an open mike session in the hotel bar to get the weekend started. All the bands were there to do short gigs, to give people a flavour of what was to come.

  You know me, I adore getting dressed up so I wore a black knee-length dress and shoes; made myself look respectable. I grabbed a seat by the bar. The bartender knows me as I go in often so he put out some bar snacks for me. The place was filling up quick. I was glad I had got there early. All the regulars were there and a few people I didn’t recognise, presumably from out of town. The management turned down the lights to enhance the atmosphere. You can’t have it too bright or it spoils the mood.

  This couple came in. Thirties, maybe older. They looked respectable, professional looking. The woman sat on a sofa opposite the band and the man came to the bar to get drinks. He was handsome, grey hair at the temples, slim, polite. He asked if he could squeeze to the bar so I spun round on my bar seat to let him through. He got two drinks and went off to join his companion.

  He came over a few more times in between bands and would apologise for disturbing me. The next time he came across, he was more talkative.

  “Hi, sorry it’s me again. My wife tells me I have to introduce myself this time, as I have disturbed you so often. My name’s Jack.”

  “Pleased to meet you Jack” I said. We shook hands and chatted as he waited to be served. I looked across at his wife. She raised her glass to me and I raised mine back. She smiled. It was a warm smile. A genuine one, not a mouth smile which says I’m only smiling because I have to, but a whole face smile; eyes and all.

  “Ann and I couldn’t help but notice you’re by yourself.” Jack said.

  “I come in for the jazz at weekends.” I explained, prattling on as the barman got their drinks together. They were in London for the festival and Jack asked if I knew of any other good places to listen to jazz whilst they were in the city. I gave him the names and addresses of the various clubs I usually go to.

  “Look,” Jack said pausing as he turned to go back to Ann,

  “If you’re by yourself and need some company, why don’t you come and join us?”

  I usually wouldn’t, but I thought, what the hell. I was feeling lonely and it’s always awkward being a woman by yourself at a bar. You always look, well, desperate, or worse, available. I said I’d be glad to and took my drink over. He introduced me to Ann. She was dressed smartly in a black and white suit, pearls and patent black shoes. Elegant through and through.

  “Great jazz outfit” I offered.

  “Why, thank you honey.” She had an East Coast twang.

  “You American?”

  “Boston, but we’ve settled in London. Jack couldn’t leave the rain.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. She had a great knack of making you feel at ease.

  “You’re up here for the jazz” I said.

  “Oh sure. Big fans.” She used her hands a lot to add expression. I was mesmerised by her. We talked as Jack excused himself for a while. He wanted to talk to the band who were packing away their instruments.

  Ann and I hit it off straight away. We talked jazz and about the festival and where they had been and where they wanted to go; about Boston and New York, where they had an apartment as well as their house in England. She had met Jack when he had been over in New York on business and they had got married over there. Now they split their time between New York and London. She knew all the jazz clubs over there and was especially fond of the Cafe Carlyle on East 76th and Madison where Woody Allen plays.

  “We’re regulars there; it’s only a short cab ride from our apartment over- looking Central Park.” I was fascinated by Ann, by her stories, her accent, and her hands. It was an occasion where you strike a cord with somebody immediately. You can’t say why, you can’t describe it, you get a connection. It happened with her.

  “Wow, great life.” I found myself nodding as she spoke. I was jealous. I love New York. I’ve only been a few times and Ann’s description of their life there made me want to go again. Jack came back over. I moved from the stool to sit next to Ann. The sofa was, shall we say, intimate, and we were squashed up together, but I didn’t mind. She certainly didn’t move away to make room for me as I nestled in beside her.

  As we listened to the next band, I became keenly aware of Ann. I was looking past her. Ivory skin, dark hair, pretty face. I could feel my thigh pressed up against hers. She shifted occasionally to stay comfortable, swinging her leg to the beat. I could feel the gentle rasp of her stockings against my knee. She shifted once and I caught sight of the telltale lump of a suspender through her tight dress. I’ve had a few experiences with women. Mostly drunken fooling around at University, nothing serious, but our proximity and the jazz got me to wandering what she was wearing under her dress. I started to get turned on as the jazz worked its magic on me. When the band finished, Jack went up to speak to them and buy them drinks.

  “Jack loves talking to the bands” I said,

  “Yeah he was a good player when he was younger, but he broke his lip trying a new mouthpiece after a long jazz session. He couldn’t keep the high notes bright anymore. So he gave up rather than play below his best.”

  “Oh that’s a shame.” I had heard of the injury which can affect all brass players and can cripple a promising career.

  “Yeah, he misses playing,” Ann took another mouthful of wine. We were both tipsy by this time. I had brought a bottle over with me and we had gone through it between us. She had ordered another.

  “Still a good kisser though.” She smiled.

  “Good lips; deep lungs,” she rested a hand on my knee as she said it.

  “My kind of man.” I said innocently taking a swig of wine. We looked at each other and both burst out laughing. Her hand lingered on my knee a moment and she gave it a gentle squeeze. It sent an electric tingle all the way to my sex and I let my lower leg brush against hers. She looked around the bar. Everyone else was engrossed in their own conversations. No one was paying us any attention. She looked back at me, and gave me a slow wink. It was obvious we were attracted to each other. She put her hand back on my thigh and left it there. In the dark, we looked for all the world like two friends sitting together chatting and sharing a bottle of wine.

  We talked more and I moved closer so our legs were more in contact. She pressed her thigh back against me. I had my elb
ow on the back of the sofa cradling my head in my hand and let my breast push against her upper arm. My nipples stiffened. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. Jack came back and I sat forward, feeling guilty. Ann didn’t take her hand off my thigh. If Jack noticed, he didn’t say anything. I began to wonder whether he knew his wife was making a pass at me. The music started up again. As everyone looked at the band. I took my elbow off the back of the sofa and slipped my hand down under Ann’s bum. She lifted herself up enough so I could get my hand under her. I felt her suspenders and the line of her knickers. I pushed my fingers as far under as I could to where the bulge of her pussy began. I caressed it gently with the tip of my finger. Ann shifted towards me. She was obviously as up for it as I was.

  At the end of the set, Jack said he was going to speak to the band. Ann suddenly spoke up

  “You know honey” she said,

  “I’m feeling tired and it’s kinda crowded in here. Do you mind if I go back up to the room for a while?” He was all, yeah, sure you go for it, then she added,

  “Paula do you want to come up? We can talk some more, it’s less noisy up there; but only if you want to.” I could see Jack was itching to go spend time with the band and I was itching to get my hands on his wife.

  If I want to? I thought. Try and stop me. As calmly as I could, I managed to say,

  “Yeah sure, why not?” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice, but my heart was booming out of my chest. I managed to throw in,

  “You know, I’ve been in here all these years and never seen the rooms.”

  “That’s settled, then,” said Ann, taking my hand as she rose from the sofa.

  The walk through the foyer to the lift was interminable. I followed behind Ann drawn along in the slipstream of her perfume. She had a great figure and the way she walked in her heels accentuated the sway of her hips. God, I wanted to have my hands on her.

  We got to the lifts and stood in silence, waiting for one to arrive. The lights above the door counted down one by one. The doors pinged opened and a group spilled out past us, we pressed together face to face to let them pass our breasts interlocking. Ann held me gently to her with one hand. It was all I could do not to kiss her right there and then. The mirrors at the back of the lift reflected us as we walked in. Jazz played softly through the intercom. The two of us looked good together I thought. Ann preened herself in the mirror and turned to me. She moistened her lips with her tongue. Tingles shot through my pussy as she looked straight into my eyes. She had started to lean in to kiss me but as the doors slid shut, this guy just squeezed in. We moved apart. He stood in front of us and pressed the button for the floor above ours.

  “Sorry Ladies” he said

  “Are you going up?”

  “Absolutely” Ann replied “All the way.”

  There we were, standing inches away from each other and we couldn’t do anything. The lift started up and my stomach lurched not only with the movement of the lift but the thrill of the situation. Ann leant back on one leg, resting the heel of the other against the wall. I felt her cup my bum with her hand and squeeze it. She slid her fingers through the slit in the back of my dress and worked them into the warmth at the top my thighs. We were so horny but there was nothing we could do. I looked up at the floor indicator as Anne continued to rub her hands in between my legs as the floors ticked up. It was my own personal horny-o-meter, and I was ready to go through the roof.

  “You ladies here for the jazz?” the man asked, not turning around, making small talk,

  “Yeah for the music” said Ann,

  “And to have a good time,” she flicked her finger between my legs. I startled and feigned a cough.

  I could have stayed in the lift all night but it stopped at our floor and we got out. The man stepped aside to let us out.

  “You enjoy yourselves” he said.

  “Oh we will.” We ran out laughing.

  The lift doors closed and Ann put one hand behind my neck and pulled me to her and kissed me. My heart leapt. I tasted her lipstick and the wine. She had a firm, smooth tongue and luscious lips. My pulse raced. We arrived at the room and she pulled me in after her. Muted sounds of Miles Davis filtered up from the bar, filling the room as light spilled in from outside casting long shadows across the room. I’ve always thought the sound of good trumpet jazz is like a girl whispering yes. Great jazz, like great sex, is pure improvisation. You can’t rehearse it. Ann pushed me up against the wall and kissed me urgently, seeking out my tongue with hers.

  “You were driving me crazy down in the bar,” she said

  “I couldn’t wait to get you up here.”

  Our breasts pushed up against each other as we kissed, reaching behind each other to undo the zips of our dresses. We let them slip to the floor and stood there in our underwear. Ann looked absolutely stunning in a white basque and suspenders. The pearls at her neck were gorgeous. I kissed the pearls around her neck and the tiny ones in her ear lobes, tasting the bitterness of her perfume. Her hands were all over my body. I felt my bra pushed up as she took a breast in each palm, gently rolling my nipples between her fingers. I unhooked my bra, sighing as she took a breast in her mouth, sucking it in as far as she could, her other hand pulling me toward her by the small of my back. I laced my fingers into her hair and pulled her onto it, leaning my head back. It had been so long since I had had a woman on my breasts. No man can suck breasts like a woman. They suck too hard, or too soft, never right. Ann got it right on the button. I buried my face in the back of her neck as she sucked my nipples. Waves of her perfume and hair spray wreathed through my senses. I could feel her warmth along the entire length of my body; she pushed me back to the bed.

  Ann slipped my knickers down crawling on all fours on to the bed beside me. She kissed me from my neck down over my breasts to my tummy. Her fingers running lightly over my body as I lay there, surrendered to her touch and to the music. She flicked her tongue around my belly button and as I thought she was going to go for my pussy she went as far as my pubes and then came back up to my breasts. She was teasing me with her tongue and her fingers. Her hand slid down the outside of my thigh as she brought her mouth to mine. I was trembling as she let her fingers come up the inside of my thigh and I spread my legs in anticipation, willing the fingertips on to me, but again they slid away at the last moment. They barely brushed the wisps of my hair as she moved them up to my breasts, leaving my pussy untouched and aching for it. She did it again and again; I cried out as she avoided my pussy each time. It was such a beautiful agony. The sensitivity of my pussy grew the more she ignored it. The more she teased the more I wanted her, the more I wanted her the more she held off. I put my hands to her head and pushed her down to my groin,

  “Please, please lick me.” I begged her.

  Ann traced the length of my body with her tongue as she moved in between my legs. She missed my pussy going down, diverting her attention to the insides of my thighs. I covered my face in my hands. If she didn’t lick me soon I was going to go crazy. She lay flat between my legs and worked her tongue up the insides of my thighs in circles. I could smell her perfume getting stronger as she moved up to my pussy and then she paused. My God I thought, this is it; she’s going to lick me now. Barely perceptible at first, I felt the merest tickle of my hair as her tongue brushed against the lips of my pussy. I cried out. The relief of finally feeling her tongue on me was indescribable. My lips were swollen in anticipation and opened up to her. The tip of her tongue swiped so gently across me, hardly touching me. The lack of stimulation made my pussy all the more sensitive. The less she touched me, the more I felt it. She moved her attention to my clit, the intensity of the sweep and swirl of her tongue around it was heaven. I surrendered to the music as I gave in to her. She must have heard the tempo of the music change as I could feel her stroking around my clit to the rise and fall of the trumpet. My pelvis moved of it
s own accord. The pressure in the pit of my tummy was reaching fever pitch. I felt my pussy tighten to the sound of the music as it ascended higher and higher, reaching for the highest note of the piece. Right then, I got to the brink, a split second before you climax when you know you are going to come and nothing, nothing can stop you. A flood of release began to sweep over me. And in a crash of notes and gut trembling spasm, I came. No more tension. My body was in total free-fall. My body plummeted helter-skelter along with the music. I was crying, I was screaming, I was gripping Ann’s head between my legs, rigid with the strength of my orgasm. She carried on licking me. She knew if she stopped, she would ruin it: starve me of the aching, wonderful release. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t speak and I came again. Having surrendered myself to the music and let it carry me away, my body relaxed. It was over and I could breathe again.

  “Geez honey, you nearly ripped my head off” she said as she crawled up the bed to my mouth and kissed me. I’d never tasted so good on a man as I tasted on her.

  We lay there in the dark, wrapped in the sound of the jazz. We could have been in New York or Paris, it didn’t matter. Real after-midnight jazz. The best session I had ever had.

  *

  Paula’s eyes were wet. I had never seen her so emotional.

  “Great story, Paula,” I found myself nodding. No words can convey what I feel at such moments. Often, all I can do is say thank you for sharing.

  I decided on one final question.

  “What would you prefer, good conversation, good jazz or good sex?” I know she loves to talk and she adores jazz and, boy, she obviously enjoys good sex. She thought for a while and replied

  “You know” she said stretching

  “Pastorius summed it up when he said: I’m not here to raise consciousness, I’m here to wet some panties.”

  You can’t say better than that.