I was still talking to her on the phone, trying to make casual conversation, but in my head the thought of musical notation mixed in my head with dist...nt, half-vanished memories of the Parisian jazz cafe I visited on my first trip to Europe. I remember I had a dry martini, just simple gin and vermouth, and then another, and I must have listened to that band for hours. I’ve been to plenty of other jazz clubs since then—they’re popular in big American cities—but I’m glad I first encountered one. Felder lifted himself from behind her."Sure, baby. You deserve a drink after the performance you gave."He came into view between her feet. She watched with revulsion as his thick flaccid cock dangled from the clump of hair beneath his paunchy belly. It was wet and sticky, and a thin trail of semen broke away as he moved from her. It seemed impossible now, but it was true enough... this man had just fucked her... yes, that was the word... fucked her, used her like some common whore. God, it was. More

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