Sleeping with Jack is an exercise in practiced passion and hidden restraint. He loves believing he makes me vibrate. He takes it as permission to violate and ravish me. By the time we both cum, he is vibrating too. I lay in his arms purring. He goes instantly to sleep. I cannot stop the shuddering and shaking. He turns away from my jerking body. I cuddle up next to him, purring and experiencing random bouts of shaking. I finally get up and take a shower, after which I kiss him on the forehead and leave. Riding my bike to the Grove, I feel fifteen again. I never will get a car in Miami. Yet, even Tommy now has a car, Auntie Em’s. I am so retarded.

I knock softly on Jake’s hotel door. He pulls me into an embrace. I stop trying to control the vibrations. That giving-in feeling at the base of my stomach engulfs me. I sigh and let Jake ravish me. I cum three times before he finally explodes deep inside me. We settle into the bed. After several minutes I slip out and start to get dressed. Jake will have none of it. He backs me up against the balcony door.

“I love fucking standing up,” he whispers in my ear. I throw my arms and legs around him as he pushes me against the glass door. Licking my ear, he whispers how hot I am. I  reach for his straining dick and place it against my asshole, pulsing with anticipation. He impales me, stroking in and out. I squeal in lust each time he hits my prostrate gland. Pre-cum leaks all over our stomachs.

“You’re insatiable,” he sighs. “Cross your ankles and squeeze.”

He jerks each time I squeeze. My whole body shakes uncontrollably, bouncing up and down on his hips. My arms lock around his neck keeping his lips away from mine. Arching he cums deep inside me again, breaking my arm lock. His lips encircled mine, with his tongue thrusting into my mouth. My body goes slack yet still vibrating. My legs slip off his thrusting hips. He clasps me around my back and lowers me to the rug. Throwing my legs over his elbows he proceeds to fuck the crap out of me (not literally).  I quickly cum and lay back enjoying his ride into the sunset. It is a gallop. His thrusts back me against the wall. I am a ball of seizing, vibrating, shaking, purring delirium. I barely realize that he is cumming. His thrusts stop as I continued to writhe on the floor. He passively rides out my seizure. We lie there, wrapped tightly together as I continue to purr. Ripples of vibrations pass through my body. The purring lulls Jake into sleep. I fall into a well of waves washing over me in the ocean. His dick is my anchor, still hard inside me.

Jake wakes me some time later. I panic that it is already morning, but no light comes through the balcony door. I move away to go home.

“You can’t leave,” he begs, jumping up to stop me.

We spin around naked. He shoves me against the balcony door. On his knees he lathers my anal ring and quickly impales me again. His hand shoves my face against the glass door, as he brutally thrusts into me again and again. I am completely passive. My dick barely twitches. He is done in less than a minute. I have never felt so completely dominated before. As he pulls out, the shaking starts again. He picks me up, laying me on the empty bed, and strokes my head and shoulders to calm me down. All I can think is how I have to get home before Jack wakes up and misses me.

“I have to leave,” I croak, rising from the bed. My clothes are spread all over the room. Still shaking, I struggle to pick up my jeans and tee-shirt. The effort exhausts me. Jake helps me get dressed.

“That was so wonderful,” he gushes.

“Not too much?” I murmur more to myself than to him.

“I love it when you purr,” he whispers. Instantly I’m purring against his chest.

I quickly push away from him. I can barely move, hoping we are done. His dick tells me otherwise. Always leave them wanting more. It was Coach Earl’s dictum for ending swim practice.

 

I rush out the door, grabbing my bike and pedaling as fast as I can go. The church bell strikes the hour. I’m desperately hoping it is not too late. After it stops at four rings, I relax. The vibrating settles down. Only the purring continues. Max wakes up and growls at me as I flop on my own bed. I laugh at how exciting cheating is. I fall asleep before thinking about walking Winston

 

I open my eyes to find Jack sitting on my bed. A sinking feeling wakes me up, knowing he is there for morning delight.

“How come you left?” he asks.

“I came to walk Winston but it was too early for him. I just fell asleep. You wore me out,” I lie. My heart detects no concern in Jack’s heart.

“It’s the big day today. Get up and walk Winston now.” It is before seven o’clock. I moan and roll over. Jack starts to join me. I jump up quickly.   My butt thanks me.

We walk Max and Winston to Robby’s back yard. He tosses out two joints and tells us to not wake him up. Jack refrains from getting high so early, thankfully waiting to amp up his sex drive for the show. I give Max a shotgun and pick up a second-hand high. I calm down. I leave Winston at the house and ride with Max in Jack’s pink Cabriolet to his house for breakfast.

“Let’s shower together,” he tells me. “You stink.” Max barks in agreement. I wonder if it is sex stink or guilt stink. Probably both. After lathering up I give Jack head, to keep him from attacking my ravished butt. After eating breakfast, I insist we lay in the hot tub, to recover some flexibility down there.

Jack is full of ideas about the evening’s show. He wants Tommy to play guitar as he recites his Mark Twain anecdote.

“He doesn’t know how to play,” I note.

“Jace can guide him. All he needs to do is strum. Then, he can play with the Hillbilly Brothers once he’s done with his tall tale.”

Jack contacts Jace, who is navigating Tommy, as they drive Auntie Em’s car from Ft Lauderdale. I visualize Tommy as a 14-year-old behind the wheel. I still cannot believe he is sixteen. They show up before noon. Jack revels in showing Tommy his mansion of a house. The boy is easily impressed. We are surprised that he brought his gang of sophomore boys and his girlfriend to hear him perform that night. Soon we have a pool party of ghetto kids jumping in and out of the pool in their soggy boxers. Mummy soon appears, taking charge by directing the kids to the pool cabana where less revealing swim attire is provided. Isabelle makes BLTs and grilled cheese sandwiches for everyone. Soon we’re on our way to Michael’s for dress rehearsal.

 

We aren’t the only ones to bring 15-year-olds to our final practice. John, Stu and Mike Jr have a group of their swim team friends there. The groups quickly meld into one gang of raucous teens. Michael’s house is invaded.  Michael has them all convene in the garage – out of sight, out of mind.

Jace takes Tommy in hand and has him strumming an acoustic guitar. Under firm guidance, Tommy soon sounds competent enough to perform. Complimenting him on his newly found talent, I tell Tommy he was now going to play on the Hillbilly Brothers set. He’s ecstatic.

 

The show is scheduled to start at 8 pm, but by six there are so many kids crowded into the music room, thanks to word-of-mouth and Jack’s flyer, that Mrs. Antonio sets out a huge pot of spaghetti with buckets of her special marinara sauce to feed the masses. I laugh at Tommy’s face, half covered in sauce. As I wipe it off, Jack is right there to supervise. Fooling around with the high schooler is not allowed. Little does he know who his real competition is.

 

Mike Sr. suggests that his jazz quartet start earlier than planned as many in the adult audience are already enjoying cocktails at the Globe replica. I ask Jake if he and Jack want to repeat the Rimsky-Korsakov ‘Scheherazade.’

He smiles, “I hoped you’d let me play. I went to Spec’s and rented a cello.’  He has been speaking with Mike Sr. Jack is glad to show his chops on the MOOG. I leave the kids in the music room enjoying their meal, and set up the mic on the Globe stage. There are so many adults at the cocktail party, no one notices me until I speak into the mic.

“Welcome, party-goers,” I have to repeat it several times to get their attention.

“Tonight we’re celebrating the return of Shakespeare’s Globe Theater to Coral Gables. We’ve planned an evening of music to welcome in 1977.” No cheers, yet.

“Later will be about rock n roll, but for your cocktail drinking pleasure, we plan to start with something more mature. Please welcome my friend Jake Stern on cello and my boyfriend Jack Stone on keyboards, performing Nikolai Andreyevich Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Scheherazade.’”

The guests are surprised to be treated to music of their liking instead of raucous rock. Jake walks out from off-stage with his cello, sitting on a chair in the front of the stage. Jack follows, standing where his MOOG is set up. They receive polite applause and begin the prelude.

 

Jack smiles at me as he plays the love song. I feel so guilty. The audience returns to their drinks, politely listening without the cocktail chatter. After fifteen minutes of recital, Jake finishes with a flourish. I step back up to the mic.

“Now we have what everyone’s been waiting for. Our host and my patron, Mike Antonio, has revived his college jazz quartet for your listening pleasure. It’s jazz, so don’t take it too seriously.”

Mike Sr. leads his friends out. He asks Jake to sit in, making it a quintet. Now I’m getting a big grin from my other lover. We plan for them to play for at least an hour. Waiters circulate among the guests, refilling drinks and offering hors d’oeuvres. The guests begin chatting quietly, making the Globe seem like a outdoor cocktail bar. I return to the kids in the music room, who are oblivious that the performance already has started.

 

Tommy is a bundle of nervous energy. Having to perform in front of his friends from high school is throwing him off his game. I take him back to the garage to bolster his confidence. We walk in on Grant and his posse. Clyde instantly spots me.

“That yer new boyfriend, lover?”

“Naw. He’s too old for me.”

“Com’n and hit the spliff,” he waves us over.

It is just what Tommy needs. He can care less when he is high.

“You boys ready to perform tonight?” I ask Grant. They are dressed in their best Nation of Islam coats and ties.

“We’s always ready.
“Jist wait until Tommy and I finish our country set. I’ll wave y’all up.”

“Same as always –  back of the bus.”

“No way. The Jackson Five come on after y’alls.”

“See.’

“Don’t fret. The stage will be all yours to amaze or shock the crowd.”

Tommy decides to try out his tale-spinning on Grant’s posse. It does not take long before the boys are laughing and repeating his phraseology. Tommy’s confidence soars. It is time to make our entrance. I have Grant’s boys go to the music room and get the kids to join us at the Globe Theater. From off-stage I catch Mike Sr.’s eye, giving him the cut signal to end their performance. They are ready after an hour of Duke Ellington and Dave Brubeck. They get a nice hand as they pick up their instruments and exit the stage.

 

I drag Tommy onstage with me to the single mic.  We do our Smothers Brothers routine.

“Looky here, Tom. We’ve gots us an adult audience tanite.”

“Oh, the horror, Huck.”

“Maybe if’n y’all tell ‘em a story ‘bout our ad-ventures, they may like us.”

“Ya mean ’bout Tom and Huck, livin’ large in the Everglades.”

“I’s sick o’ that one. Ya ain’t gotta new tale?”

“How ‘bouts when we went out west and I gots me a real six-shooter.”

“’Cept ya neva could hit the side of a barn.”

“Don’t tell ‘em that.”

“Hows ‘bout when you was the hero?”

“You’s always the hero, Huck.”

“Then y’all tell the story.”

By now the kids are streaming into the backyard from the music room. Tommy’s friends from Lauderdale, seeing him up on stage entertaining the adults, rush down front to cheer their boy on. The rest of the kids follow and most of the adults move out of the pit area, leaving it to the youngsters.

“Lookee here, Tom. The kids is arrived. Ya gots to be mighty funny now.”

“What’s funny is if’n y’all jist stands here while I’s a’spinnin’ my tale.”

“They’s all yours, now. Don’t let me down.”

“You’s my hero, Huck. I ain’t never lettin’ y’all down.”

He reaches down and picks up the acoustic guitar, strumming away as the Mark Twain tall tale is spun. Spontaneously he decides to sing our version of Bobby McGee

 

 

‘Busted flat in Lauderdale

Waitin’ for a train

Feelin’ nearly faded as my jeans

Huck he thumbed a diesel down

Just a’fore a rain

Rode us all the way to New Orleans’

 

He keeps strumming and proceeds to tell his tale.

 

‘We’d bin playin’ cards a’fore headin’ west. I’s nervous ‘bout injuns and such. Somehows I won me a real six-shooter. I’s armed to the teeth with that there pitiful little Smith & Wesson.  But I thought it t’was grand. It appeared to me to be a dangerous weapon. It only had one fault—ya ain’t never gonna hit nothin’ with it. One of the other card players practiced awhile on a cow with it, but as long as she stood still and behaved herself she was totally safe; then as soon as she went to movin’ about, I got to shootin’ at other things, and she come to grief.

It was a reliable weapon, nevertheless, because, as the driver afterward said, “If she didn’t get what she went after, she would fetch somethin’ else.” And so she did. She went after a deuce of spades nailed against a tree, once, and fetched a mule standing about thirty yards to the left of it. Huck did not want that mule; but the owner came out with a double- barreled shotgun and persuaded him to buy it, anyhow. It was a cheerful weapon—‘Smith & Wesson.’ Sometimes all its six barrels would go off at once, and then there was no safer place in all the region round ’bout ‘cept right behind it.

After supper a woman got in our coach, who lived ’bout fifty miles further on, and we three hadda take turns at sittin’ in the cab. Apparently she was not a talkative woman. She would sit there in the gatherin’ twilight and fasten her steadfast eyes on a mosquiter rootin’ into her arm, and slowly she would raise her other hand till she had got his range, and then she would launch a slap at him that would have jolted a cow; BLAM and after that she would sit and contemplate the corpse with tranquil satisfaction—for she never missed her mosquiter; she was a dead shot at short-range. She never removed a carcass, but left them there fer bait. I sat by this grim repeater and watched her kill thirty or forty mosquiters—watched her, and waited for her to say something, but she never did. So I finally opened the conversation myself. I said: “Them mosquiters is pretty bad’round about here ’bouts, ma’am.” “You bet!” “What did I understand you to say, ma’am?” “You BET!” Then she cheered up, and faced around and said: “Danged if I didn’t begin to think you fellers was deef and dumb. I did, b’gosh. Here I’ve sot, and sot, and sot, a-bust’n muskeeters and wonderin’ what was ailin’ ye. Fust I thot yee was deef and dumb, then I thot you was sick or crazy, or sumthin’, and then by and by I begin to reckon you was a passel of sickly fools who couldn’t think of nothin’ to say. Wher’d ye come from?” The Sphynx was Sphynx no more! The fountains of her great deep was broke up, and she rained the nine parts of speech forty days and forty nights, metaphorically speakin’, and buried us under a desolatin’ deluge of trivial gossip that left not a crag or pinnacle of rejoinder projectin’ above the tossin’ waste of dislocated grammar and decomposed pronunciation!

How we suffered, suffered, suffered! She went on, hour after hour, till I was sorry I ever opened the mosquiter question and give her a start. She never did stop again until she got to her journey’s end toward daylight; and then she stirred us up as she was leavin’ the cab(for we was noddin’, by that time), and said: “Now you git out at Cottonwood, you fellers, and lay over a couple o’ days, and I’ll be along some time to-night, and if I can do ye any good by edgin’ in a word now and then, I’m right thar. Folks’ll tell ya I’ve always ben kind o’ offish and partic’lar for a gal that’s raised in the woods, and I am, with the rag-tag and bob-tail, and a gal has to be, if she wants to be anything, but when people comes along which is my equals, I reckon I’s a pretty sociable heifer after all.” We resolved not to ‘lay by’ at Cottonwood.’

 

Half-way through the story, people are laughing and slapping their thighs. Some kids shout Tommy’s words or expressions, back at him.  As he finishes, I run back out on stage.

 

“Pretty good tale, Tom. How’s about we get the rest of the band out here and you join us in a sing along.”

“I kin be in the band, Huck?”

“Sure thing. The Hillbilly Brothers.”

“Making babies with one another,” Tom finishes our signature line.

The kids look shocked. The adults are not sure they heard it right. The teenagers just shake their heads in dismay. Dave comes out and jumps on the drum set. Hippie hooks up his bass, smiling and winking at Anna and Little Greg. John brings my guitar and hooks us both up. We are ready for country rock.

“Where’s Robby?” I yell. “This songs for you. ‘One Toke over the Line, Sweet Jesus.’

 

 

The Jacettes run out and keep Tommy on key for the ‘who do you love’s and the ‘sail away’s’

Robby is in the back, glowering at me, not willing to light up.

“I guess Robby’s not holding. How ‘bout it, Grant?”

He grins and lights up spliff.

We proceed to play several Grateful Dead songs.

 

As the mellow weed odor wafts over the adults in the back, there’s a mass exit for the supper Mrs. Antonio has laid out in the dining room. The true jazz freaks stay with hopeful looks on their faces for their lost youth. Tommy gets all teary after having played several songs. He stops playing and puts his arms around me, swaying as we sing, just as we had done at the old Sawgrass Campground. John stops playing and has an arm around me from the other side.

 

“Guess this is the signal for baby makin’” I quip. “Com’n here Grant. You and your posse is on.”

His face lights up. He passes a spliff to a kid in the pit, as he and the Hialeah crew hop up onto the raised stage as the country boys leave. They surround the mic and a capella sing doo wop without an introduction.

 

I grab Dave, running back to the music room where the other Out-Crowd members are waiting their turn.

“Why are the black kids playing?” Stu is afraid they are being bumped.

“No worries, Champ. They’re warming up the kids for your dance party.”

They surround Tommy, telling him how great he was. He already knows. Mike Jr. has everyone gather round, pumping up for their set. I join Jake at the side of the stage. He is enjoying our musical revue, from classical to rock, from 1880 to 1977.

“You are a showman,” He compliments me.

“Wait until we actually play our music after the kids are danced out,” I want his approval of my music.

He has that ‘I want you’ look. I drag him off to one of Michael & Jenna’s secret make out spots. He has me purring again. I break away, afraid I will lose it on stage. As I pull away, Jake just smiles. It does not take much to satisfy him.

 

It is time to introduce the Out-Crowd. They are crowded behind stage. I give Grant the cut sign. They bow and jump back into the crowd.

“Catch your breath, everyone, ‘cause up next is the Out-Crowd. They want you to dance your hearts out and your feet off. Two years ago tonight we was in shambles after our founding member Jace was shot and killed. We played his tribute concert at Viscaya. These guys, Stu and Mike, stepped up to sing and dance when I was too devastated to go on. Now they’s stars on their own with Dave, Jazz, and John backing up Stu and Mike. It’s the Out-Crowd”

 

 

They start out with ‘Stand by Me,’ Mike Jr somehow carrying it off, sounding like a real adult. Next Stu acts like a 50-year-old man, doing the Big Bopper’s Chantilly Lace.

 

They quickly move into dance tunes. The kids are ready, after the romantic doo wop, to get out and dance.

After fifty minutes, the band needs a break. Punch is set up by the door to the music room. Unlike high school, the drinks are not spiked. A crowd surrounds Grant and his posse, as he takes out a fresh spliff. I direct him and his new followers to the garage.

“Back of the bus, again,” he complains.

 

It is getting late. False Gods needs to go on by 11:20 in order to finish right at midnight, for Michael & Jenna’s love duet. I do not want to rush the Out-Crowd’s dance party, but I have to rescue them from the clutches of Grant’s pot den in the garage. I am standing with Jake and see Mom Watt standing by herself. We cross the lawn and I introduce Jake.

“Remind you of another party here?” I ask her about the time it was Stu debut.

“My youngest was no longer a little kid.”

“He’s phenomenal. We always knew he had it in him.”

“We miss you, Tim. No midnight sleepovers anymore.”

“I go to college. Now I’m in Hollywood doing work/study on a movie. This is Jake. We work together. He’s a composer.”

“My goodness. You never stay still, Tim. Hi Jake. I’m Tim’s # 10 mom.”

“Always #1. There is no second place in my heart,” I josh.

Jake winks at me, as I realize I have said too much.

Mom gives us a funny look. “Am I missing something?”

“Nothing we can talk about.”

“Oh, Tim. You always are way ahead of me. Now I’m shocked.” My moms never miss noticing who I love.

“Don’t say anything to Jack.”

“Gosh, I wouldn’t but he’ll be devastated. He’s just a boy.”

“That’s the problem.”

She gives me a wry look of understanding and shakes her head. I feel like crap. The truth does that. Jake just looks embarrassed. Time for the second half of the dance party.

“Wanna ‘shimmy shimmy’ with me?” I ask.

“I think I’ll dance with Jake.”

We all laugh and head for the pit.

Jack appears. We all shimmy together. It’s time for the resurrection of False Gods.

 

We gather backstage. Michael and Robby glaring at each other is nothing new. Actually their tension always makes us tighter, keeping it together. Hippie is sad that Anna and Little Greg are already home. After he had played the pot song with the Hillbilly Brothers, she left in a huff, swearing to pray for him.

“You’re let loose now. Go out and enjoy yourself.”

“Just no groupies. You can have ‘em. I hear you’re straight now.”

“Never believe what you hear.”

He looks disappointed.

The Jacettes are practicing their moves with Jill, waiting in the wings to do her song about Jace. Everyone is rehearsed and ready. All we have to do is execute.

 

As the Out-Crowd finishes their last dance song,  Stu grabs the mic.

“I hope you enjoyed the dancing. Now, it’s time for the main attraction. Tim’s been my bestest friend since I was nine-years-old and he showed me I wasn’t stupid. He needed me to sing at the Jace tribute two years ago and now I’m a star. I owe it all to him. It’s my pleasure to introduce the world’s greatest rock n roll band, at least in Miami, False Gods.”

 

 

 

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