1. Jazz


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

    get out of here. It’s last period anyway.” And that’s what we did. I cut school all the time, so it wasn’t a big deal, but Gabe said he never did anything like this before. He was in the honors track, even if he didn’t pay attention in Algebra. He was on the school’s debating team and seemed pretty serious, but there was also something else I sensed, something I couldn’t put into words, a kind of wildness underneath. All I knew was I felt excited to be cutting with him. He got his guitar out of his locker and we walked out of school and went to the park across the street. We went over a hill and sat down on the grass under a big tree. Gabe took out his guitar and tuned it. He looked at me then started playing something by Bach. He called it a partita. I was amazed at how his fingers moved so fast and how he bent over the guitar and concentrated. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I loved those intense blue eyes, his long hair falling over his face, the way he moved his head and those fingers gliding over the strings. He looked up at me after he finished and said, “I’ve been working on this like crazy for a month. What do you think?” “You’re amazing. I never heard anything like that. All I know is jazz.” “My dad was a classical pianist then switched to jazz. Can I hear you sing now?” “I don’t know. It feels weird singing jazz in the park. I need someone playing.” “Come on,” he insisted. “Sing something.” “I always sing along with records. I never sang without music but ...
    here goes.” I took a breath and sang, “ All of Me.” I sang it real slow, super slow, and made it sound sad, “Why not take all of me. I’m no good without you.” I remember closing my eyes and pretending I was singing to someone I couldn’t see, but I was talking to him with the words, pleading, “take all of me.” I opened my eyes when I finished and Gabe was staring at me with his eyes and mouth wide open. “Hey, you’re great, Ginger. That was something else.” “I never sang for anyone before. You’re the first person who ever heard me,” I said, loving how he looked at me. “I hope I’m not the last,” he said. “You have to sing for my dad. You’ve got a great voice! You’re amazing.” “Really, you really think so. When can I sing for your dad?” “Tonight, come home with me for dinner. He’s got to hear you.” “I can’t. I gotta get to work in an hour at Roma’s.” “Come afterwards,” Gabe insisted. I told him I would. He played another piece by someone named Scarlatti and then I had to go. He told me he’d come get me at Roma’s, and he did. I remember looking at the clock, thinking about singing for Gabe’s dad, going over the words of songs I liked, trying to think what I’d sing. It was pretty slow at work and it seemed like forever. I wanted to look good when I sang for his dad and was glad I had worn a pretty paisley skirt and white peasant blouse I got at the thrift store. It wasn’t real short but came up above my knees. I liked how it fit and with my long, dark kind of wild hair and thought I ...
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