JAZZ CITY j brooke

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I HEAR that train comin' a rolling down the bend, my mother said always be a good boy, when i hear that whistle blowin', I hang my head and cry. I killed a man in Reno,...just...to watch him... die." That's what Johnny Cash says, steaming from my 65 Lincoln Continentals radio, here in New Orleans.

STEAM, sweat, pouring down my tiny breasts, dripping along my vendetta loins, crashing in my baby indigo's. I'm so jacked up, fueled up with sex heat, saliva drools, I'm going to fucking detonate. I need to heat up, burn it up, fuck some sweet girl, or I am going to simply flame out. It's New Orleans baby doll, pronounced like "New Or Lens", where ever you all are. Jazz City, trombones, Al Hirt, trumpets, saxophones, a hot box of lust, a must, if your hit up, wanting to share some sheets, off the street, foot stomps, moaning, groaning with some hot bod just washed up from the gator swamps. If your dreamin' of crawdads, effoute, Bouillabaisse, some goddesses sweet tastin' drip, along some bayou slum, some high street chic, just outta town, down near highway fifty six, just past the shanty towns, listen up here, I got the list. You know the type, a blond harlot, little sheer slip, bare foot slut, no education, nothing really, but southern agate eyes, pout of melon lips, dumb luck, sweat everywhere, dirty hair, moonstone water gems woven in it. A Louisiana tramp on a romp, angel wings, never washed, no hips, smelling like water Lillie's over there, near camp LeJeune, home of the army boys, made of ignorance, pure passion, and platinum baby doll tits.

I'm Jen Jen, a cool, hipster girl, brunette, bangs cut, hip huggers flares slashed along tiny hips, 32 outta a Baton Rouge, a doctor, a gynecologist, I like to be near the source. I like to light it up, like to think I'm all sex crazed, all bullet proof. Party girl, fearless girl, head in the clouds outer space, cunt, napalmed up, me, I'm on a whirl, what ever.

Bumping in, 65 black Lincoln Continental, classic, big white walls, plastic steering wheel, a big ole back seat, good place to have a rummage sale of sex, like a tight bourbon treat, very neat.

From, Baton Rouge, New Orleans is the phat, summer, cicada's singing, sweat everywhere like a exchange of semen, no hillbilly boys for me. I want that girl with eyeliner smudged coon eyes, illiterate, primal, carnal, a fucked up New Orleans beauty itinerant queen, eyes striking out southern moon beams.

In the club, humid like a morbid crinoline orgasm, pool table, sorry two, juke box ejaculating summer and country songs. Heavy, soldiers, moon shiners, truckers, nice looking boys, I sidle up to the bar. I know what I am, no Teflon on this girls soul. Turned up the transmitters, blister my skull, never a pessimist, always SETI, searching, probing deep space cunts for that special extraterrestrial.

Place is packed, squirrel guns stacked at the door, country boys, wild girls, lots a bleach, mini skirts, spandex, it ain't nineteen eighty four, sure could fool me. Looks like Anita Bryant rules the roost, Donna Summer too, Willy, Reba too, where is my baby cakes, fuck, doesn't nobody see I'm on the make. Christ I'm melting, shake and baking, rattle, roll, cunt ready to deep fry some cookies, anything, something, like I said, I'm a southern doll.

Gulp, sigh, pout, there she is, dervish, ecstatic, arms blistered into the air, pure fire, firing squad smiles, ignorant, bad teeth, unbelievably gorgeous, dance floor, naked feet, soiled. I can smell her stink, wet, pungent like Orchids, some kinda weird color in her tramped up eyes. Dirty bare feet, dancing toes, tangled, soiled hair, Christ I can smell her cunt from here. She ain't seen a shower, not a bath in week, my fucking knees are weak, she's nothing more, less then a full sexual mind fucking tweak.

Hoochie, goochie, place is stacked, spandex girls, stiletto girls, cheap perfume, body odor, tank top girl, army men, swamp men, music on tilt, dancing, prowling, Hank Williams raging from the juke box. I move in, a hundred dollar bill, stuck in my hand, money talks, bull shit walks. I stick my cunt against hers, lean in, whisper lies, you know the walk, come with me baby doll, a C-note, maybe buy your sweet ass some shoes. Kisses, sweat minglin', smiles, child incest body slapped again my tits, breath like bayou Lillie's, she gets it, grabs my hair, smashes lips like plumbs against my own, tongues clicking, digging, I take her hand. Stares everywhere, we turn, girlfriend's, sex fiends, real friends, move though the crowd, out of the bar.

Slam, bang, hearts shuddering, wet cunts, slapped against the stucco walls, kisses, grinding, digging, hands flailing, cunts banging, fingers squeezing tiny asses, bent backs, spines haywire, electric jolts of sparking energy. Her wild, filthy hair, splayed down her sweating face, tangled, spooled, wild eyes, dirt skin picking up every shard of fucking neon, she is an animal, so am I, so fucking what.

Make it to the Lincoln, spring the back door. I throw her in, shirt hiked, white, thin, legs wide, knees spread to sin. I dive in, bury my chin, my nose, my tongue becomes a wanderer. I eat her up, her essence is, a mix, roses, pond dreams, wet, like a owls souls dying, tongue lapping that clit, sucking, biting, moans, she likes it, needs it, small hips bucking, I fucking need it too. She shudders, vibrates, demands, screams, she tastes like copper, not here, get her in, I slap her, heft her in the back seat, close the door, we kick start it, ready to just begin.

She's crazed, speaking French, English, her mouth is all pouts, swollen lips, kisses, pounding tongues, her hair is driving me fucking crazy, soiled, twined, mixing with perspiration, her saliva, her eyes again, bolts, soldered open, she still has that hundred dollar bill stolen in her fist. I rip her slip off, naked, a white pearl, a stick of opium, more money later, I'm frantic, dramatic, my hip huggers come off, boots, blouse, I slap her down, big back seat, Lincoln Continentals are like that.

Naked, I look, her tummy is swelling, racking, eyes like a gypsy bitch of insanity. My fingers, all over her, twitching lips, red blood hued breasts, tiny cunt, I can't take it, I'm savage, mad of mind, I want to devour her filthy skin, heart, soul, brain, if she has one. I kick her legs to the ceiling light, stare at the wet pink, go down on her, driving my mouth around her clit, pink, damp madness, my only option now, I dive in, face glistening from the fluids pouring out of her. Its like swimming in a sewer of roses, I'm a pig, in the sty, my mind is a gutter, I'm completely and fucking mad. I'm a dedicated Kamikaze pilot, looking for a suicidal orgasm, if not, then death will do.

She's ramped up, got my ears stuck to those Louisiana fingers, pushing my face in, deep, cum, liquids everywhere, she screams, comes apart, a white ice icicle, brittle, body splintering, moans, groans, shimmers, I'm nuts, I need more, a fucking lot more, I drive my fist into her cunt.

Swoops of breath, rigid baby, shuttering, lips quivering begging, pleading, pump her cunt, she orgasms, throws her spine to the ceiling liner, speaks something, no language, can be Swahili, what the fuck do I care. ORGASM burst, crawl on top of her skin like a bitched up dog, up, down, a pneumatic drill bit tummy, swelling, pumping. I grind my cunt on to her lips, those trashy lips. Her tongue, lips, teeth crams my cunt, chews it, suck it, around and around the merry go around.

Oh God

There it is, she's on auto pilot, white fingers holding my butt, moving, my arms banging the Lincolns roof, sky light open now, moon blistering on the sky. I am a mercenary, down, down, down I go, bending at the waist, I orgasm, cum all over her face, fall, nothing breasts pressed to nothing breasts, spooning, encapsulated in sweat, her hair, my drooling lips, slow, now, evening out, no conversation, tales told, nothing, but heavenly rolling feelings that something perfect has rocked, and rolled.

Were done, its been nice. I dress her in some spare clothes, layer her hand with three hundred green back dollars. Love is like that, she smiles, its her thing, giving pleasure, getting paid from some elitists banal dollar roll. Doors opens, shes barefoot, walks, doesn't' even look back. Feeling hurt, I am mesmerized with thoughts of love, fallacies, lies, I can buy in, dream, think moments along a southern dive is something real, dress it up, glance back, key in the ignition, motor purring, fluff my hair, dry my face, in gear now, Lincoln rolling, blinker clipping red light, accelerate, on the interstate, Baton Rouge soon her I come. Have trusted family at home. Perfect life at home. Must be off to home. A Twist, a curl, a shower, A shower a memory

Must not be late. After all a preachers wife that would not do

 

Jbrooke is a new face to the erotic writers/poetry scene. His writing is poignate, descriptive, textural and exciting. To see and hear more go to the site of his new novel FLAMEOUT on PUREOBSESSIONS.com