by Nick Scipio

Copyright┬ę 2002 by Nick Scipio

Sex Story: A Jazz Club Story - "There's a line for the women's room," she said to me as she shut the door behind her. She grinned mischievously at the sound of the click when she pressed the lock. "I didn't feel like waiting." (This is the second of five Jazz Club stories.)

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Petting   .


Standard Disclaimer

This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT read any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio ( This story may be freely distributed with this disclaimer attached.

Copyright (c) 2002-2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

It was the week after Thanksgiving and the countdown to Gabriel's Christmas party had begun. It was always on the first Saturday in December, and it was a big event among our circle of friends. It's a slow time for our business, which is why he spent almost all his time decorating his house. At last count, he put up something like twenty-four fully decorated Christmas trees, ranging from a few five-foot trees to a trio of monsters in the living room that topped twelve feet.

So I was surprised when Gabriel asked if I wanted to have a drink with him at the Jazz Club. It was Tuesday, and I'd planned to stop by after work, but I thought I'd be alone. With Gabriel along, I knew I'd end up listening to the party menu, again. He was my friend, however, as well as my business partner, so I was more than happy to have his company.

We arrived shortly after they opened, and the bartender was pouring our whiskey before we had even rounded the railing at the top of the stairs. Gabriel headed for the couch and I relaxed into the comfort of my favorite easy chair. The weather had turned cold and stormy, and I was still chilled from the short walk into the restaurant. There was a fire burning in the fireplace next to my chair, and I was happy for the warmth. The Macallan would go a long way towards warming me as well, and I took a sip, letting the sherried liquid roll over my tongue. Warm on the outside, warm on the inside, I thought to myself.

I began the comfortable ritual of packing my pipe as Gabriel launched into his favorite topic of conversation.

"I just got the Shari's Berries I ordered," he said.

"Shari's Berries?"

"You know. I told you about them last week."

I shook my head and used the pipe to gesture for him to explain.

"The strawberries dipped in gourmet chocolate?"

I shook my head again.

"The ones that look like little tuxedos?"

"Oh, right. I remember now."

Gabriel seemed satisfied, and I lit my pipe, puffing contentedly as he talked about the chocolate-dipped fruit. I settled into the padded luxury of the chair and savored the flavor of the Cavendish. Gabriel began chatting merrily about the Northwest Smoked Salmon from Harry and David, and I nodded at the appropriate times.

As Gabriel talked, I gazed out the window; the weather had turned decidedly ugly by the time I was halfway through my first glass of Scotch. Dark, wind-whipped clouds had moved in, and the forecast called for scattered snow showers before midnight. So I wasn't surprised that the bar was filled with only a smattering of patrons. I was surprised to see the leggy brunette and her friend coming up the stairs.

The week before, they had both been at the bar, enjoying an after-work drink. I'd imagined that it was simply a one-time-only girls' night out, since I'd never seen either of them before. After the brunette had purposefully given me a glimpse of her well-trimmed pussy, I hadn't expected to see them again, either.

But there they were, and the two seats at the end of the bar were free, just like the week before. They sat down, neither of them sparing a glance my direction, and I turned my attention back to my pipe.

As Gabriel talked about the Fat Witch brownies he'd ordered from Chelsea Market, I once again studied the brunette. She was wearing an elegant suit of dark pinstripe fabric, a white dress shirt, and a patterned red tie. The skirt was cut to mid-thigh, and showed off her tanned, elegant legs. The form-fitting jacket hugged her trim stomach and accentuated her breasts, and I found myself mesmerized by her figure.

Truth be told, I was hoping for a repeat of the previous week's teasing, but she never looked my way. So I quietly resigned myself to enjoying the memory. She chatted with her friend, crossed and uncrossed her long legs, and occasionally brushed her hair back. I simply watched her, with only half my attention on Gabriel and the Scharffen Berger chocolate he was talking about.

I was most of the way through my second drink when I felt the need to use the restroom. I set my pipe down, took the last sip of my Macallan, and excused myself. I knew that when I returned, another Scotch would be waiting on me and smiled to myself at the thought. I walked past the brunette and her friend and headed downstairs without a backward glance.

There were two women waiting in line to use the women's restroom, but the men's was unoccupied. I stepped inside and turned to shut the door. Just before it latched, I felt resistance, and when I stopped pushing, it swung towards me. I stepped back, prepared to politely tell the man at the door that the room was occupied, and then froze mid-step.

The brunette stepped into the restroom and her eyes met mine.

"I didn't feel like waiting in line," she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Her voice was a higher than I'd imagined, but rich and smooth.

"Sure," I said. "Be my guest."

I stepped towards the door, preparing to leave, but she leaned against it, her hands on the knob behind her. The door latched, and then with a start, I heard the click as she pressed the lock.

Her lips quirked into a teasing smile as her eyes smoldered, and I wondered what she had in mind. My penis began to stiffen, but the uncertainty of the moment kept it from doing more.

Her eyes flicked to the toilet and then back to my face, and she arched an eyebrow at me. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked.

"No." I looked her in the eye and measured her reaction.

She didn't flinch. "Then don't let me stop you."

I'd gone to the bathroom in front of women before, but all of them had been long-term girlfriends, not women I'd just met. I hadn't even really met this woman, I thought to myself with a rueful chuckle. I arched my eyebrows at her, as if to say, "Are you sure?"

She merely looked at me, an unreadable expression on her face. I took a step towards the toilet and lifted the seat. As I straightened, she moved towards me. She pressed herself against my right arm and I felt the swell of her breasts through the fabric of her jacket.

"Here," she said, steadying herself with a hand on the small of my back. "Let me help."

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