The Girl with the Freckles Pt. 05

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“Can’t you just try doing a slap bass? We need that percussive snap, more funk feel,” I pleaded with Danny.

“What the fuck do you want from me? I told you a million times,” he growled, half angry, half frustrated. “I can’t slap! YOU fucking play bass if you think you can do it!”

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “Alright, alright. I’ll try’n work out an alternate bass line.”

“Wait,” Janet quietly interjected. “Maybe there’s another way. I went to Sam Ash last week and this audio tech guy was demo-ing an envelop follower. It sounded like a wah-wah without the pedal, and you can automatically set the speed of the tone shift. Sounded really cool on guitar; bet it’d produce a funk bass sound electronically. Anyhow, I got my hands on the schematic, my dad looked it over and he had all the parts, so…….”

She reached into the backpack at her feet, and a compact metallic box fitted with phono jacks, a foot switch and control knobs magically appeared.

“…….we built one…it was supposed to be a present,” she continued. “But… wanna give it a shot?”

We all looked at each other incredulously. Bruce broke the silence.

“Patch it in,” he said.

She unplugged the bass and connected her technological handiwork, making some adjustments on the box. Danny plucked a note on his bass, and out came this clipped, funky synth tone; just what the doctor ordered.

“Holy fucking shit!” Danny exclaimed. “This thing is amazing! I sound like Bootsy fucking Collins! Jan! You actually built this thing? You’re a fucking genius!”

“Well, the basic circuitry really isn’t that complicated,” she began her matter-of-fact explanation.

“Maybe for you,” I quickly interjected, cutting off the pending hypertechnical oral dissertation none of us could possibly grasp. “But this bunch of morons never got much beyond LEGOs and tinker toys. Come over here, my freckled genius.”

Janet strutted her way towards me as I put aside my guitar. I grabbed her by the waist, and in sweeping theatrical gesture she hooked an arm around my neck, tossed back her head, and curved into a graceful supinated arch that should’ve been impossible, but for her gymnastics training. I leaned forward and our lips locked in a prolonged, blatantly lascivious French kiss. Our ‘audience’ responded with a raucous ovation.

“Can I be next?,” Steve pleaded.

“Hey, I called it,” insisted Danny.

“You freakin’ eunuchs should just step aside and let the Master gratify her,” Johnny smugly declared. “Little Miss Freckles has earned that privilege.”

“Gentlemen, puh-lease!,” she protested in an affectedly genteel ‘Scarlett O’Hara’ voice.

“You are impugnin’ my virtue. ‘Sides, I’m far too much woman for any’a you to handle….’cept of course, this man,” she concluded, as we kissed again.

“Yeah,” I sneered. “Hands off the merchandise.”

“Ok assholes,” Bruce interjected. “Time to get back to work. Shit, we have less than an hour before the neighbors call the cops and my parents pull the plug.”

So, we dutifully resumed the rehearsal. Steve pounded the skins, Johnny sang lead and played rhythm guitar, Bruce handled keyboards, the freshly ‘funkified’ Danny on bass, and me – our unofficial musical director – wailing away on lead guitar. Of course, I would be sorely remiss for failing to credit our newly minted and now certifiably indispensable band member. She was a sound engineer, par excellence; electronics wunderkind; and the freckle-covered girl of my dreams.

It had been only two and a half weeks since Janet’s official induction into our band, yet she managed a seamless assimilation. At first, I had my concerns. We were a typically ribald group of guys in our late teens, hardly inclined to self-censorship or impulse control. I was worried they might resent or feel uptight around a feminine presence, especially one with whom I had a pointed romantic entanglement. On the flip side, she might easily take offense at the constant flow of lewd comments, sexual braggadocio and cutting – but essentially harmless – personal gibes. It seemed that way at first. Bruce, Danny and Steve appeared somewhat guarded during her initial rehearsal. But naturally, Johnny, who felt compelled to hit on and/or abuse anything from Mother Teresa to a homeless crack head, started in from the get-go with his ‘Miss Freckles’ routine.

Janet was coyly unaffected, and once the others saw how artfully she parried his ridicule and disingenuous Don Juanism, the atmosphere returned to its normally unrestrained state of productive mayhem. Irrespective of Johnny’s pseudo-predatory flirtations, there were no simmering undercurrents of sexual tension. While they genuinely liked and respected Janet, none of my band mates shared my peculiar affinity for girls blanketed with freckles. Conversely, given the historically platonic nature of her relationships with the opposite sex (present company excepted), she had grown accustomed to being ‘just one of the boys.’ So, illegal bahis for all parties concerned, things couldn’t be better.

By ten o’clock, all music making had to cease and desist, or we ran the risk of being permanently evicted from our carport-cum-rehearsal studio. In an ostensible display of progressive parenting skills, Bruce’s folks had magnanimously agreed to this repurposing of their garage after they ‘accidentally’ discovered a single, solitary roach hidden in his room. Now, they were cultivating their wayward son’s more constructive pursuit of music, while keeping tabs on him (and his choice of friends) for at least some of the time. Given the less than enthusiastic response our practice sessions engendered from a few elderly neighbors, they had occasion to regret this decision. In any case, it was an ideal arrangement and we didn’t want to screw it up, so we scrupulously adhered to their rules.

After we finished cleaning up and storing the equipment, it was still only 10:30 on a Friday night. We were all jazzed up from playing and wanted to chill for a few hours. Since my parents were still basking in the Florida sunshine 1250 miles away, my place was the logical destination. Steve and Danny wanted to pick up their girlfriends, some pizza plus a few mind-altering substances; Johnny would drop by with whatever trophy he bagged on his nightly ‘chick safari;’ and Janet ran off to pick up Julie, her ‘beard,’ so she could spend the night with me. We all agreed to rendezvous at my house in an hour.

Unfortunately, Bruce was out; a casualty of parental restrictions, one of the numerous conditions they set in exchange for our rehearsal space. Although nearly 19, he could only stay over at a friend’s past 11:00 if a parent or guardian was on premises. In spite of all the temptation, he never attempted any subterfuge. So, once again, he dutifully took one for the team, accepting incarceration in their protective custody. It was truly ironic, since Bruce was probably the tamest member of our crew.

As for me, I was ecstatic that Janet was staying at my place for the weekend. Since my parents left on their Floridian odyssey, my house had become our private little den of iniquity – check that – pleasure palace. We made love at every opportunity, and it still was never enough. But those times when she spent the night and we could wake up in each other’s arms, those were the most special. Though we’d been together for just a few months, I could not imagine my life without her. It was love; but love could get complicated.

Tonight, I had to deal with the enigmatic “Julie” factor. It was only recently that the three of us together had gotten very stoned, and our friendly drop by quickly morphed into an evening of carnal firsts. Julie was a virgin. But that night, under the auspices of her best friend – my girlfriend – she’d handled her first penis, given her first blowjob, experienced cunnilingus, gotten rimmed, participated in a ménage a trois and had her pussy penetrated by a cock. I was directly involved in each one of those firsts. Even though the morning after saw no wrenching expressions of regret, contrition or lingering awkwardness, I still felt ambivalent. No denying, the experience was wildly erotic. Julie was a spunky little redhead who, like Janet, had a face and body absolutely inundated with freckles. I was attracted to her, and enjoyed the sex; by all accounts, so did she. But, as much as my 18-year-old libido went into overdrive at the prospect of being the meat in their freckled sandwich, I didn’t want Julie, and more importantly, Janet, to get the wrong idea about my intentions or true feelings. It was a slippery slope.

Compounding the awkwardness, my band mates were stopping by with their dates in tow (plus Johnny, presumably with his conquest du jour). I was concerned Julie would feel like the odd man out. Cannabis was certain to be distributed for general consumption, and I was intimately aware of the effect our favorite recreational narcotic had on her sex drive and inhibitions. I wasn’t sure what to expect or how to react, but events were set in motion, and I’d simply have to let things play out.

Janet and Julie were the first to arrive. The diminutive freckled redhead sprinted ahead and nearly tackled me with a giant hug and a kiss that lingered a bit longer than what could be characterized as “friendly.” I wondered if this foreshadowed things to come.

“Hey gorgeous,” I said, taking notice of the short skirt, high heels and tank top that flattered her compact gymnast’s body. “You look really hot tonight. If my girlfriend wasn’t around, I’d be all over you.”

She smiled slyly at my innuendo, which I blurted out carelessly, without thinking.

“Hey!” interjected my pouting girlfriend. “Don’t get any crazy ideas… that’s like, my department.”

Janet removed her denim jacket and approached in a deliberate saunter, so I had ample time to survey her carefully cultivated look. She wore my favorite illegal bahis siteleri form-fitting capris which complimented those long, lithe legs, and a hot pink tube top that exposed her taut midriff and bare shoulders. Seeing her decked out in couture flaunting the dizzying display of freckles across her shoulders, arms and décolletage had it’s predictable effect on me. Julie strategically retreated as Janet melded into my arms, and we unabashedly linked lips in a deep, long, demonstrative kiss.

“Why the fuck did I ever agree to let those guys come over?,” I quietly hissed my self recrimination to her. “When all I really wanna do is tear that top off and suck those freckled tits right this second.”

“It’s ok, we need to be nice, they’re our friends,” she consoled me. “..and besides…. as soon as the opportunity presents itself,” she whispered softly, “I’m gonna suck your cock and fuck your brains out.”

The racing beat of my pulse was pounding in my fully engorged phallus; I could feel it pressing against her, and I was certain she could too.

“Hey, no secrets,”Julie whined. “Or I’ll tell your mommy on you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing you’d be interested in,” Janet insisted, as we let go of each other. “Just band related stuff, umm, handling… equipment, discussing technical difficulties with arrangements…junk like that…”

“Wish I could be in your band..,” she wistfully sighed.

“Awww, c’mere,” Janet replied. affectionately extending her arms, inviting an embrace.

I stood back as the two friends cuddled, but Julie reached out and beckoned to me, entreating my inclusion in a friendly group hug. Stepping behind my girlfriend, I joined the love-fest; naturally, I couldn’t resist the urge to kiss the freckles on Janet’s bare shoulder while Julie stared at me intently.

A loud knock on the door interrupted our cozy little conclave. I broke ranks to greet Danny and Steve, who arrived fully equipped, as advertised, with pizzas, female companionship, several six packs and a few fat blunts. Janet led them down to the basement, our designated ‘band cave’ hang-out. Furnished with a dingy old couch, rusty rollaway bed, some threadbare cushiony chairs, a TV, stereo, a pair of cheap, beat up acoustic guitars, an old set of bongos, my grandfather’s ancient but serviceable upright piano, and a fully functional (from time to time) bathroom, it was an ideal sanctuary. Neighbors were mostly insulated from the sounds of sordid bacchanalian revelries; no need to fret over stained carpets or damaged furniture; and the naturally occurring musty, subterranean atmosphere masked any lingering telltale scents of burnt weed.

That basement was a staging ground for many of the most seminal moments in my life. The old HiFi was my gateway to discovering and cultivating a passion for all kinds of music; I spent countless hours in seclusion downstairs developing my guitar and piano chops; my nascent (albeit derivative) attempts at songwriting came to life on that old keyboard; that creaking rollaway was where I lost my virginity; and once, I spent what felt like an eternity in that bathroom, projectile vomiting my way to oblivion after drinking way too much cheap scotch for the first (and last) time.

So we settled into the basement. Steve brought Pham, this Vietnamese girl he’d been seeing on and off for about a year. She was a bit moonfaced, with fine features, long straight black hair, and a lissome body; cute enough, but inscrutability demure and nearly incapable of casual conversation beyond a few laconic responses or an occasional giggle. For a guy with no genuine interest in a serious relationship, Pham fit the bill; utterly unobtrusive, undemanding, low maintenance, always available and eager to please. Danny, on the other hand, had saddled himself with a busty bleached blonde named Stephanie. It seemed her primary raison d’être was to display as much of her mammoth breasts as legally permissible under federal obscenity statutes. ‘Steph’ was brash and boisterous; the kind of girl that pontificated at length on a vast array of topics with uncompromising inanity. It was highly entertaining when we were stoned, but equally irritating when we weren’t. Then there was Janet – with Julie by her side – dutifully busying herself, making everyone feel at home.

The pizza was hot, the beers were cold, joints began making their rounds, and the stereo was playing some of our favorite tunes; all the ingredients for a good time. It wasn’t long before I sat at the piano, Steve grabbed the bongos, Danny picked up a guitar and we started jamming to the music. Predictably, Steph would chime in, mutilating melodies with her brutally dissonant screeching whenever she heard one of her favorites. Still, there was some consolation in the accompanying choreography, which provided an entertaining view of her pendulous tits swaying like mountainous metronomes.

“You should put me in the group,” she defiantly declared after one of her more canlı bahis siteleri animated performances. “I can sing and dance, I’m hot, I got sex appeal…Danny..hello?!.. say something!”

“Umm, we uh…the material, it’s not your…hey, it’s not just my decision,” her flustered, half stoned boyfriend stammered.

“Well, how come Janet gets to be in? Shit, all she does is twist a few knobs on some ‘electronical’ thingy, I could do that,” she sulkily replied.

“Can you build a…whad’ya call that thing?,” he asked, turning to an amused but sympathetic Janet. “Enlopic funk-a-lizer?”

“Envelope follower…but I like your name better,” she responded, politely correcting him, and then turned her attention to his petulant girlfriend.

“But hey, Its not like I’m actually part of the group, I don’t sing or play an instrument or anything, I just help support them, same as you. I mean, I can’t tell you how many times Daniel has told me how you are….like….his muse, you send out this amazing positive vibe….all of us really feed off it.

“Thanks Jan,” she replied, sounding somewhat placated. “least someone appreciates me.”

“C’mon girl, what’re you talking about! I totally appreciate you,” protested Danny. “It’s like, that vibe shit, what she said. Listen… umm, every time I need to get inspired to play, when I run my hands across the frets on my bass, I just try and imagine I’m handling those bodacious tits.”

“God, you are such an asshole,” she wailed as the rest of us laughed at his fatuous reflection. But then, she smiled with a supercilious rejoinder, “I mean, my girls are really, like, totally awesome, aren’t they.”

“Things of beauty,” I freely admitted.

“Truly spectacular,” Janet added.

“Wish I had me some,” sighed Julie.

“A national treasure,” Steve stated with staunch conviction.

Even Pham shook her head in acknowledgment.

Satisfied with our concurrence, Stephanie quickly shifted focus.

“Can someone get me another beer…shit, I really shouldn’t, I sooo wanna drop a few….,” she whined. Weight-watching was justifiably her ongoing – but utterly feigned – personal crusade; fated, as the years passed, to be an exercise in futility.

“Oh, screw the diet bullshit,” scowled Danny, as he handed her a cold brew and eloquently proclaimed, “A toast; to Stephanie’s tits; truly, one of nature’s greatest gifts to mankind.”

We all raised our bottles and took a swig in her (more accurately, their) honor. With Stephanie’s tantrum diffused, we resumed our paramount objectives; jamming, drinking, smoking and some occasional canoodling. Consequently, with the fortunate exception of Julie, we were oblivious to the loud knocking coming from upstairs.

“Did you hear something?,” she asked me. “I thought I heard someone banging on the side door; want me to check?”

“Shit, are we too loud, I hope it’s not the neighbors, I’d better go,” I anxiously replied.

As the two of us stumbled up the stairs, the persistent knocking was clearly audible. When we got to the door, I discovered, to my relief, it was Johnny.

“Shit,” he groused. “I’ve been banging on that fucking door for five minutes, like, what the fuck!”

“Sorry dude,” I apologized. “Didn’t hear; you should thank Julie, or you’d still be out there.”

He surveyed the elfin ginger, quickly sizing her up as I’d seen him do with girls countless times before.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied. “So who brought you to the party, little girl? You legal?”

“Legal as you,” she curtly replied. “I’m a friend of Janet’s.”

“C’mon, finish this conversation downstairs; still plenty of beer, we’re jamming, Steph may not have finished what’s left of the pizza yet,” I interjected, shepherding the them to the basement.

“Didn’t bag anything tonight, huh?,” I discretely asked our resident lothario.

“Nope,” he replied. “Nothin’ but trolls and committed couples out there. I may have to tap the ginger dwarf. She come with anyone? You sure she’s over 18?”

“Yeah, but like I said, she’s Janet’s best friend, really nice girl, not your type,” I said in a conscious attempt to blunt his intentions. “Amazing athlete, by the way.”

“No shit,” he smirked. “Maybe I’ll arm wrestle her for a blowjob.”

“I heard that, pretty boy,” Julie retorted as we joined the party. “I’d take you up on it, kick your ass, but there’s nothing I want from you.”

“Oooo, she a spunky little thang,” quipped Johnny. “Tell you what little girl. You beat me at anything, I’ll, like be your bitch for the evening.”

“Hey Johnny,” said Janet as she got up and handed him a beer. “What’s up?”

“Hey Jan,” he replied, giving her a quick kiss. “Your little freckled munchkin friend thinks she’s stronger than I am, so we’re negotiating a little test. I win, she blows me.”

“Really? What’s she get if she wins?,” she inquired.

“Told’er I’d be her bitch for the night,” he yawned nonchalantly as he took a swig. “Don’t worry, nothing’s gonna happen, I won’t take advantage of poor lil’ freckled munchkin.”

The expression on Julie’s face indicated she wasn’t about to back down that easily.

“Listen asshole…,” she fumed, but then Janet quickly interjected.

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