1. Jazz


    Date: 12/9/2015, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: Sisyphus, Rating: 5, Source: LushStories

    jazz that I cared about more than anything. Forget about school. It didn’t exist, though they tried to get me to come. School was unreal. It was crowded and I didn’t care about what happened in 1812 or want to read the lame books like, “Silas Marner” and… well, I forgot what other books they assigned that didn’t have anything to do with my life. I had no friends. The girls cared too much about clothes, boys and getting into a good college. The guys were jerks and just wanted to get laid or shoot hoops. The music they listened to was dumb. I didn’t fit in, that was for sure. There was one guy named Gabe I liked. I met him when I was a senior and already eighteen. He always carried a guitar on his back and I’d see him on the fire escape practicing. He was a loner, like me. He had long black hair and was definitely not a jock. He seemed serious, like he was always thinking about something. He was in my Algebra class and I could tell he was bored because all he did was doodle. I saw his doodles—music notes all over the page and lots of swirls. One day after Algebra, I asked him if he liked jazz. He looked at me, startled, like he wasn’t used to anyone, especially a girl, talking to him, let alone asking him a question, but the first thing I noticed were his intense blue eyes when he looked at me. “Well, I see you like music because I see you practicing on the fire escape and noticed you’re doodling in algebra.” I paused. “So, do you like jazz?” “Kind of,” he said, “I guess. My ...
    dad’s a jazz musician. I’ve been taking classical guitar lessons.” “Classical,” I repeated. “Cool! I‘ve never heard classical guitar.” “I play a little jazz,” he said, “but I really love flamenco and Bach.” “You said your dad’s a jazz musician. What kind? I mean, what instrument does he play?” I asked as we started walking down the hall. “He plays piano and has a jazz trio. His real job is an accountant, but he plays jazz on weekends at different clubs.” “I’m gonna be a jazz singer,” I told him. It was the first time I said that out loud. I didn’t know why I said it, and it scared me to blurt it out like that, but it also felt great to finally tell someone my secret thought, my dream. It felt right to say it to him because he loved music. There was no one else to say it to. Not at work. Not at school, until then, so I repeated it, just to hear the words again, “Yeah, I’m gonna be a jazz singer.” Gabe looked at me like I was from outer space then smiled. “Cool,” he said. “Good for you. Not too many kids around here are into jazz.” We continued to walk down the crowded hall without speaking, but I knew we were both wondering what to say next. It was weird to find someone who loved music like me that wasn’t rock and roll. Finally, just before he stopped to go into his next class, he asked, “Would you like to hear me play the guitar?” “Sure. I’d like that.” I said. “Would you like to hear me sing?” There was an awful silence. Finally he asked, “When?” “Now,” I said, “let’s cut and ...
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