“Hey, Juliette’s trying to get your attention.” Pete Hayden touched Chad Silver’s forearm and Chad turned his gaze to the door into the smoke-filled room and picked out of the haze the middle-aged, hefty woman with the red-and-blue streaked long hair who was poured into a red, frilly, rack-emphasizing blouse and a black skirt. The two men, blond Chad, nineteen, and the taller, heavier, darker, and slightly older hirsute Pete, were sitting on a platform on adjoining wooden stools, strumming guitars. Chad’s tenor was soaring over Pete’s bass in a Simon and Garfunkel song.

Chad managed an insincere smile as Juliette shuffled forward, stepped up on the platform, leaned down with a purposeful jiggle of her breasts against Chad’s arm, and said, “You know how I invited you to do the improv thing with Sean and Inez at the CD Friday night?”

“Yeah, Juliette,” Chad answered, then he raised his voice above the din of the crowd at the Cellar Door in Georgetown on an M and 34th Street corner just on the D.C. side of Key Bridge over into Rosslyn, Virginia. Not that much of anyone could hear him on a Tuesday night in May in 1965. This wasn’t much of a music night at the Cellar Door during the week, even though the club was a well-known folk venue in the nation’s capital. For most of these folks it was a source of beer at a younger age than you could buy it across the bridge in Virginia or even in Maryland on the other side of D.C. And they came here to ream out the establishment in high-flying words they were just learning in school.

Chad, a student of government, with a music minor, at the nearby George Washington University, by day could drink beer in D.C., but not in Virginia or Maryland until he was twenty-one. But he didn’t come to the Cellar Door for the beer. He and a few of his “whatever makes you happy” friends were into the folk music scene. The Cellar Door was a venue for first-class folk groups on the weekends like Sonny and Cher, Ian and Sylvia, and Sean and Inez, and Chad came to rub shoulders with them and, sometimes, with a few of his friends from GWU, he sang backup for them.

He sang there with Pete too, who wasn’t part of the college crowd. Pete was a bodybuilder high school dropout who worked as a waiter at the Orleans House restaurant across Key Bridge in Rosslyn, Virginia. The two had been brought together by the harmony match in their voices, and they now were roommates as well.

Juliette, the club manager with an apartment upstairs, put on a special act three or four times a year when she thought the crowd had turned over. In this act whatever professional talent that was on stage—more a platform at the end of a medium-sized room—asked if anyone wanted to come up and sing a few songs with them. Chad was among those trained musicians salted around in the room—other GWU students, like Chad—who would come up and do a slick job as backup for the artists. Occasionally, a tone-deaf drunk would also come up, but his or her isolated antics would be entertaining as well.

Chad, movie-star handsome, blond, and well-built, had become a favorite of forty-year-old Juliette, who was described by some as buxom and by others as hefty. To keep him on a leash, she let Chad in on this act if he was available. It was more than his clear tenor that prompted her to do this, though.

“You know that I invited you to do the act behind Sean and Inez Friday night. If you’re interested, you could run transport for them as well. I know you have a car. They’d have to be picked up and taken back to the Iowa Jima Motel across the bridge by the Marine memorial. Maybe you’d like to do that for them. It would give you more time—private time—with them. They’re cutting a record, you know. They may need backup instrumentalists for that. Pretty soon they’ll be too big in the business for the likes of the CD.”

“You know I’d kill to be able to drive them around,” Chad said. “But why do I sense that there’s an ‘if’ condition here?”

“No condition, of course,” Juliette said, but by the way she leaned into him and put her hand on his hip, slipping her fingers up under the hem of his T-shirt, he knew better. “If you’re finished with your set now for a while, maybe you’d like to come up to the apartment and smoke some shit with me before you have to go on again.”

“I guess I could do that,” Chad answered. And he guessed he knew what he had to do to get the driving assignment. He really did want to get close to Sean and Inez. They already had two records out. He’d worn the records out, playing them. If getting close to them meant letting Juliette wear him out...

Juliette, forty and hefty, not ugly but not so pretty either, an Amazon of a woman, insatiable and zaftig, with big tits and broad hips and puffy labia, wore the nineteen-year-old college sophomore out in her upstairs apartment.

They sat on a worn sofa in Juliette’s small living room, Chad more or less reclining into a corner and Juliette sitting cross-legged, nearly hovering over him at the other end. The blond-wood, modern-style coffee table was pulled up close enough for her to reach the ashtray with the joint in it and the two beers, both of which she periodically took up, took a drag from, and passed to Chad for him to use as well.

They’d paused inside the door out to the landing, standing against each other long enough for Juliette to offer her lips for a kiss and for Chad to purposely miss and kiss her on the cheek. Her hands were busy during this awkward interlude, though, and she unbuttoned her blouse and let her pendulous breasts swing free. She took one of Chad’s hands and moved it to her right breast, and, in feeling this up and pressing her nipple with his thumb, he did show some interest. Chad was an all-American boy; he couldn’t resist big tits.

“It’s hot in here. Let’s get comfortable,” she said, seemingly belatedly because she’d already freed her doggies. But she was referring to him and had pulled his T-shirt over his head before he was fully aware she was doing it. Her fingers went to his chest, and the two stood there on the stair landing, breathing heavily as they worked each other’s nipples with their fingers.

Chad had fucked her before, so this wasn’t exactly new ground they were covering. She wasn’t pulling him into anything they hadn’t done before. But, like before, she was the one doing the initiating. The impression that he was hot and bothered for this wasn’t there. Juliette’s hand slid down to his crotch, and that caused him to turn and walk over to the window, where there was a record player.

“You’d said downstairs that you’d received a new Sean and Inez recording from their manager—to listen to before they come on Friday,” he said.

“Yes, it’s there by the record player. You want to listen to it?”

“Sure,” he said. He wanted to do anything that would delay the inevitable. “If I’m going to sing backup on any of their new stuff, I should know what I need to fill in.”

“You put it on, and I’ll get us a couple of beers and something to mellow us out.” First, though, she stood at the door into her kitchen and, posing for him, although he was trying to show interest in the album cover he was taking the record from, Juliette reached under her skirt, released the clips on her garter belt, and made a show of pulling her stockings off. As he got the LP going, she went into the kitchen and came back with two beers and a joint. The ashtray was already on the coffee table.

That’s when she got them both on the couch.

“Make yourself comfortable on the sofa, and let’s get a little high and listen to Sean and Inez,” she said, which was what led to Chad reclining, shirtless, into the corner of the sofa on one side and Juliette, breasts swaying through the open gap of her blouse, sitting more in the middle than at the other side of the sofa, making sure that Chad got more of the beer and more and deeper drags on the joint than she did.

He lay there, back into the sofa corner, his legs dangling off the middle of the sofa, looking dully at Juliette with a sloppy grin on his face, as she unzipped him, fished his cock out of his jeans, and bent over and took the shaft in her mouth. What young all-American guy was going to try to back out of a blow job?

He moaned when he was hard and she was leaning over, holding his cock between her breasts and rubbing it. She leaned over more and kissed him on the torso and licked up to his nipples. Then, at last, he moved his arms around her, lifting her blouse off her back. Chad groaned as Juliette moved over him, hiking up her skirt, slipping off her panties, and putting herself in position on top of him. Her hand took his cock and moved it to her clit, rubbing herself with the bulb of the shaft.

“You’re so big, baby. So hard,” she whispered. “Such a stud. Be good to me, baby.”

If he wasn’t half stoned and hadn’t known before they’d come upstairs that they’d be doing this, Chad would have laughed then. He wasn’t doing anything, not really. She was doing it all. She was being good to herself, and that was just about the extent of what was happening here. Well, he’d gotten hard and was keeping hard. He wanted to continue doing special things here at the Cellar Door, and he knew what he had to do to keep those favors coming.

It wasn’t so bad, though. She wasn’t a looker or young and she was jiggly heavy, but she had a cunt, and she knew how to move on a cock. If he closed his eyes...

Juliette positioned herself above him and moved the bulb of his shaft in position between her puffy labia. Chad groaned and she whispered, “Oh, baby, yes, baby,” as she sank on the shaft. She cupped her left breast and rubbed its nipple against Chad’s cheek. Instinctively, his head turned so that he could inhale the nipple into his mouth and give it suck. His hands glided down her back and clutched her buttocks. Her pelvis rose and then descended. Rose and descended. Rose and descended.

With a shudder, his eyes held shut, Chad fell into the fuck, moving his hips, clutching and manipulating her buttocks, fucking her. A channel was a channel was a channel.

“Yes, baby,” Juliette murmured. “Fuck me. Fuck me good.”

They brought their rhythm into synch, and, resigned and with instinct taking over, the half comatose Chad took over the thrusting, grasping and squeezing of Juliette’s plump and slack butt cheeks and rhythmically thrusting up with his pelvis, as the victorious woman raised her torso, arched her back, worked her breasts with her hands, and mewed in satisfaction. Across the room, the record had long ago played the side it was on and the only music in the room other than the grunts and groans of sex was the scratching of the record needle at the center of the record.

They listened to the other side as, both fully naked now, Juliette was working Chad’s cock up again with her hands and mouth, he was reclining back on the sofa, puffing on the joint, until, Chad completely mellowed out, she took his hand and led him into her bedroom to lie, half conscious, but hard and moving by primeval instinct, between her spread and bent legs. Arching her back, cupping the young man’s balls with her hand, Juliette guided the bulb of his engorged cock to her cunt again and rubbed the glans between her folds and against her clit, whispering, “Fuck me again, you big, beautiful stud. Fuck me good.” Placing the cock head in position, she thrust her hips up, impaling herself on him, he responded drunkenly to the thrusting, and they were back to doing what copulating animals do. Burying his face in her cleavage, Chad fucked her to a second coming on her bed while she pretended the beautiful, virile young man, young enough to be her son, wanted her so bad that he was pinning her to the bed and taking her by force and from uncontrollable need.

An hour later, when Chad stumbled down the stairs, alone, and walked into the intoxicating, drug-drenched haze covering the Cellar Door performance room, the partying was still going on, albeit with a thinned-out crowd. Pete Hayden was back on stage, sitting next to Chad’s empty stool, and singing “Blowin’ in the Wind.” The audience that remained was stoned enough now that he could be heard over the murmur of voices in the room and to those listening, Pete was every bit as good as the professional talent would be.

“So good of you to show up again. Hey, where you been?” he asked as Chad perched back onto his stool, not too steadily, and picked up his guitar. “Did you forget break was over and that we’re getting paid as a duo?” He had a bit of irritation in his voice, but Chad knew it wasn’t genuine. Pete relished the opportunities to sing solo. He also knew that he was here more as Chad’s accompaniment than on his own standing—and, the real reason for irritation, if there was any genuine irritation, he knew where Chad had been and that he had been earning his pay—their performance gig—here. Pete wouldn’t have minded to be in Juliette’s good graces and to get his hands on her tits himself.

“Sorry, man,” Chad said. “I lost track of time. Have we done ‘Sound of Silence’ yet?”

They hadn’t, so they did.

After the 2:00 a.m. closing at the Cellar Door, Chad drove them home to Pete’s Colonial Terrace apartment across Key Bridge and off Wilson Boulevard in Rosslyn. Pete was the one with a name on the one-bedroom apartment mailbox. They rode in Chad’s pride and joy—and biggest expense—his red 1958 Ford Fairlane convertible.

Inside the front door to the apartment, Pete gathered Chad into his arms and kissed him. Chad went with the kiss but he wasn’t holding up his end of the lust. “Sorry, Pete,” he said, as the older, more muscular man drew his lips away, “I’m really tired tonight and have an early class tomorrow.”

“I can smell her on you,” Pete said. “No telling you’re getting something out of this. But let me do you a favor—let me fuck the scent of her away.”

Chad didn’t want to discuss what he’d gotten out of giving into Juliette sexually again. Pete pulled him into an embrace and went into another lip lock. Chad responded more passionately this time, but he drew away again and said, “Maybe for that a shower is better. What I need is a shower and some sleep.”

He got the shower but not much of the sleep.

When he came out of the bathroom, with a towel wrapped around his waist, he saw the pile of Pete’s clothes on the floor by the bed—the only bed in the room, a queen. Pete came up behind him and embraced him, one arm wrapping around the smaller man’s chest and the hand of the other one wrapping around Chad’s cock, stroking and engorging the shaft. He buried his lips in Chad’s neck, latching onto the younger man there with his teeth. Pete’s cock was hard, pressed against the small of Chad’s back.

Chad didn’t have to pretend arousal with Pete as he did with Juliette. Sighing as Pete loosened the sheath of his hand on Chad’s cock, so that the younger man could stroke freely in the hand, Chad moaned low in his throat, reached a hand around to put Pete’s cock in position, and thrust his hips back, taking Pete’s thick, long, hard cock deep. They fucked there, standing, between the bathroom door and the bed.

As tired as Chad was and as willing as he was to go with male or female from a sex is sex is sex philosophy, being fucked by a man aroused him more than fucking a woman did.

Pete fucked Chad from behind, with the younger, smaller man bent over the bed, after Chad had sucked Pete’s cock erect for a second taking and Pete had knelt behind Chad and eaten his ass out while milking the younger man’s cock. And before dawn, Pete drew Chad into his embrace, both men on their sides, Pete facing Chad and Chad facing away, and, bending and pressing Chad’s left knee up into his chest, entered him again, and fucked him deep while Chad, half awake but a hundred times more willing and into the fuck than he had been when semicomatose with Juliette, rocked back on the shaft filling and stretching, and eventually flooding him.

As Chad’s 9:00 a.m. Economics 103 course session was starting over on the GWU campus, Chad was saddled on Pete’s cock, as his roommate lay on his back on the bed and held Chad’s waist between his hands. Chad had his hands run into Pete’s dark chest hair, was rubbing Pete’s nibs with the heels of his hands, and was bucking, bucking, bucking on Pete’s cock. As Pete dressed to meet the Orleans House restaurant opening up the hill on Wilson Boulevard in downtown Rosslyn, Chad was dozing on his back on the bed, fondling his cock, purring softly to himself, and free of all thoughts of having fucked Juliette the previous evening.

The two guys didn’t pull an all-night fuck like this very often, but being able to do a music gig at the Cellar Door was arousing to them and they usually celebrated like this after they’d been on stage.

Inez’s thin, naked body was under him on the bed in the Iowa Jima Motel in Rosslyn, her knees rubbing his hips, her back arched off the mattress, her red hair fanned out from her head, Inez sucking on the knuckles of one hand, with the other arm flung out from her side, her fist clutching at the chenille bedspread, as Chad, crouching between her thighs and grasping her waist, watched the root of his cock moving in and out of her cunt. It had seemed she would be too frail, too narrow across the hips, too small of cunt to take his cock, but she swallowed it right up and was moaning deeply for him as Chad fucked her. This was sexier, more arousing than he’d thought it would be. It certainly was more arousing sex than he had with Juliette. He went with women to get something—something other than the sex—but this, this was pretty good. She was a real honey, and she was tight, and she was dripping for him, murmuring for him to fuck her good.