“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really should have ... uhhhhh, oh my God!”
Her exclamation was because Jake had just slid two fingers into her body. She was tight, hot, and extremely wet. They had penetrated her without any problem whatsoever. He pulled them back out and showed them to her. They were glistening quite plainly with her juices.
“I think maybe I cured you,” he told her, running the fingers over the side of her face, transferring that moisture to her cheek.
She took in a deep breath. “Fuck me right now!” she demanded.
“Right,” he said, taking her in his arms and propelling her onto the bed.
She lay on her back and he climbed atop her, pushing her legs apart with his knees. He took himself in hand and then slid inside of her, feeling her muscles gripping him, sinking all the way in to the hilt.
“Oh my sweet Lord!” she exclaimed as she felt the intrusion.
“My thoughts exactly,” he said. He kissed her again and began to thrust inside of her.
She wrapped her legs around his body and dug her fingernails into his back as he powered in and out. He gave her all of his best moves, angling upward on the downstroke, grinding his pubis into hers, moving side to side on the upstroke. He alternated kissing her lips, her neck, her ears as he ground his body against her. He stroked her with his hands, touching her breasts, her butt, her hair. Sweat formed on his face and began to drip down on her.
Soon she was panting, her breath dragging in and out loudly, her face flushed and red. Her pelvis began to thrust back at him, meeting him on each downstroke.
“Jake ... Jake,” she breathed. “Something ... something is happening to me.”
“Is it a good something?” he breathed back.
“I ... I ... oh my God. Oh my sweet Lord, Jake!”
“Shhh,” he hushed. “There are other people in the house.”
“Jake! Something ... Oh my Godddd!”
He covered her mouth with his, jamming his tongue through her teeth, trying to shut her up. She kissed back instinctively but she continued to moan into his mouth, her pelvic thrusts now erratic and spasmodic. Her fingernails dug painfully into his back as she let out a final grunt and moan and then pulled his body into hers with a tremendous amount of strength.
He slowed his thrusts down as she regained control of herself. He finally broke the kiss.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “I just had an orgasm.”
“No shit,” Jake said with a chuckle. “I think it entirely possible that everyone in the house knows that.”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I’ve never had one before.”
“You mean during sex?” he asked.
“I mean never,” she said. “I kind of thought that maybe the whole orgasm thing was just a myth. Oh my God. That was intense.”
“Wow,” Jake said, in awe. “I feel kind of honored.”
“That was incredible,” she said. “I kind of see what all the fuss is about now.”
“Well,” Jake said. “How about another one?”
“Another one? I can do that more than once a night?”
“I guess we’ll find that out, huh?”
He began to thrust harder again. It turned out she could have more than one.
Chapter 7: New Year’s Day
Coos Bay, Oregon
January 1, 1992
The room was fairly bright when Jake’s eyes creaked open late in the morning of New Year’s Day, 1992. His mouth was a bit dry and had a sour taste in it—the taste of a little more wine than he was accustomed to the night before. His head throbbed with a mild headache behind his eyes and his bladder was full, straining for its contents to be released. The motley group of musicians and spouses of musicians currently inhabiting the beach house on the cliff had had themselves a little impromptu New Year’s Eve celebration the night before.
The house was completely full now, and had been for the past three weeks, since the overdubs had started. Mary and Tom, Greg and Celia, Stan and Cindy, the Nerdlys, Jake, Ben, Ted, Laura, Pauline, and even Phil were all taking up residence now. Every bed was full, every room filled to capacity. It was actually working out better than they had any right to expect—partially due to the camaraderie that had developed between them all during this long and sometimes painful process, and partially due to the set of house rules (they now numbered eighteen) that served as a guideline to keep order, or at least to reduce chaos.
The party had come together when Jake had brought home two prime rib roasts and all the fixings for the New Year’s Eve meal. Celia and Greg, who had gone shopping shortly after, had picked up a couple of cases of good wine from the Napa Valley. Mary and Cindy had then constructed a couple of impressive deserts. Ted and Tom had then pitched in for a pony keg of good beer. And so, the fourteen of them had stayed up until the turn of the year, eating, drinking, eating and drinking some more, while listening to music and gathering into groups to talk about anything and everything except the recording process.
And though everyone managed to get their drink on quite nicely—Mary, Laura and Ted had had themselves a particularly good time, Jake remembered—Rule Number 1 had been adhered to. Everything had been cleaned up and put right before everyone drifted off to bed. But there were probably going to be a few sour mouths and sore heads today.
And, alas, though it was a holiday for most of the world on this half of the International Date Line, it was not for the band with no name. Though they were allowing themselves to sleep in a bit in deference to the festivities of the night before, they had to get some work done today. They were considerably behind schedule with a few hard deadlines fast approaching. Ben’s leave of absence was over and he needed to report back to work by January 18—and even if not for that, his wife was due to have their first baby somewhere in the vicinity of February 2. That meant they needed to be sure that all of the bass work overdubs were complete for all of Jake’s and Celia’s songs before then. And Mary needed to be back to her high school orchestra by January 6, although they could still snag her back any Friday through Monday stretch that they needed her. Right now, however, they were smack in the middle of a section that featured Jake’s mother quite heavily and they needed to finish it as soon as possible before her next break.
Jake creaked his eyes open, wincing a little at the light at first, but then he quickly got used to it. He turned his head to the left, to the digital clock across the room, and saw that it was reading 9:23 AM. Not bad, he thought. A little over seven hours of sleep, give or take. Not that he had gone to bed at 2:23 AM. It had actually been closer to 1:00 or so. But he had not gone to sleep right away.
He turned his head to the right and beheld the reason for that hour and twenty-some-odd minute lag time. Laura was curled up next to him. She, like he, was naked. Her right arm was sprawled across his midsection and her right leg was intertwined with his. She was breathing softly, her eyes closed, her red hair in a tangled mess of disarray. She smelled strongly of stale alcohol and sexual musk.
They had had themselves quite the little session after hitting the sheets. Not that this was unusual. Since that first time they’d gotten naked together and engaged their compatible parts just over two months ago now, they had pretty much repeated some variation of the act every single night, and often during the morning hours as well. Jake had unleased a monster of sexual lust and desire in the saxophonist with that first orgasm—or, with those first three, to be truthful—he had pulled out of her that night. Since then, her appetite for more had been insatiable.
Jake had no problem fulfilling her desires. After more than a year and a half of nothing but meaningless one-night stands punctuated by long stretches of nothing more than his own hand and his own imagination—or the occasional porno mag—having an actual woman to care about, to form a relationship with, to call his own, and to have regular sex with was a blessing on the order of a miracle. It was amazing how such a simple thing as that could bring serenity to a troubled life, could put into perspective what had once seemed unfathomable.