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    The Musician Taryn always always always makes sure she’s remembered. Someway. Somehow. Yeah, that’s a good way of putting it. But there’s more to this sex kitten. More to this sensual siren. She’s realizing she wants…..wants…well…she wants to mean something. Inspire. Motivate. And not always sexually. She’s got a soul like everybody else. Just nobody knows the humble and modest part of it. But God, how the hell does she share that? One day off has just began at 9:00pm on a chilly rainy Saturday night. Jay’s at a gay couple’s retreat with his on and off beau trying to find true love. That leaves Taryn to herself. And by herself. One day off. A day to reflect and rest. She decides to reflect with a walk on the square. She walks to her bay reading window and stares at the small raindrops hitting the panel quietly yet steadily. She thinks, “ Rain. That’s cleansing. It’s also cold and wet. Better dress accordingly.” Some things never change. Across the square at the Rhyme and Reason Music Bar, a quiet loner rebel type base player is sitting backstage in a chair kicked back against the wall balancing w/ one leg, strumming empty notes. Yearning to write something new. Be more than just top billing on a marquee. All of the screaming purple mohawks, stage diving, and black lipstick on everybody is getting boring. Strumming, balancing, strumming. A breath of fresh air. A muse. Hell, maybe just another gin and tonic is what he usually has before he gets ready to perform. At least 2 or 3 back to back. Ends, up being 5 before the curtain goes up.Keeping up with the fashion and blending in with the crowd, Taryn walks into the Rhyme and Reason, folds her clear England style umbrella, unbuttons her full lengts eyes.h black trench coat which a hostess with purple and green Shirley temple curls and cat eye glasses takes and seats her at a solo table in a far back dark corner. Before sitting down, Taryn adjusts her sleeveless pitch black pant suit so the wide leg pant would breathe freely as she sits. Twiggy style black sunglasses still rest on her face as she smiles at the waiter and orders an amaretto sour with a red straw. A black tribal medallion pendant drops to her cleavage. A piece she always wears with this all black outfit that matches a quaint onyx ring and black diamonds design her ear lobes. Reflecting incognito tonight she thinks as the lights went out, the crowd goes ape shit, curtain goes up, then a spotlight. Silence. Deathful silence. Taryn tilts her head for the awkwardness of the beginning of the show. He strums the first note to a soulful but angry ballot. Then the tempo picks up, hits the roof, and fills the room. The lights. Oh my God, the lights. Glad she kept her Twiggys on. Bright rave light sticks begin spinning. Entering, exiting, and crossing strobe lights. She sees the show through fragments of identifiable movements. But the bass player never makes another move other than strumming his instrument to the same rhythm. He never even opened his eyes. The rest of the band is rockin away. The song abruptly stops and all at once, the waiter sets Taryn’s drink down, Taryn takes a drag from her cigarette, slides her sunglasses off, the bass player opens his eyes. Eye contact is made.The bass player sprints off stage and through a back door that leads to a dark alley. He had to get air. He shook his head and shivered as he realized its raining cats and dogs. Thought he saw……..something……out in the audience. Or was the booze just talking back to him. As two blonde bimbo groupies in sequined mini squirts asked if they could get in., he opened the door and notioned for them to come in. Before he closes the door, he sees an oversized umbrella, a black trench coat, and a lit cigarette turn around and walk away quickly towards the all night diner across the street. He barely maneuvers through traffic to catch up with her. Pouring rain and bright headlights blur his vision as he finally bursts through the diner’s door. He frantically looks left to right. No sign of her. Then an older waitress with a bleach blonde beehive hairstyle asks, “ You play in that band across the street, don’t ya? The bass player?” He shakes his head yes still out of breath. The vintage waitress cracks on her gum, reaches in her pocket, pulls out a sticky note in the shape of a red heart. “ This is for you,” she says, winks, and walks away. I’m across the square. 3rd floor.-TEven though its only across a small courtyard that everyone calls the square, it felt like lightyears as he climbed three flights of stairs, turned the corner, and find Taryn sitting on the steps. Cool and calm as a cucumber. Hair, Makeup, jewelry, and outfit still perfect. She’s sitting on the steps with toned legs spread wide open. Her elbows resting on her knees her eyes fixed on him. He’s soaked head to toe in black leather and suede. Still out of breath, he never takes his eyes off of her. She gestures for him to follow her into her studio apt. At first, he hesitates, but then walks through the door and she closes it softly, slowly locking it.The studio apt was pitch black except for the lightening striking taking quick electrical atmospherical images of grey suede furniture, side tables and a winding staircase. Taryn walks with full stride across the wooden floor. Her heels clunk and tug at his heart at the same time. “ Sit “, she says without turning around. He obeys. Heels clunking came closer to him. Her obsession perfume lingered his nasal passage. He’s now shivering as she hands him a towel and mens size lounge pants. She gestures for a trade. His wet clothes for the dry ones. She turns and disappears into the laundry room. Then some tinkering in the kitchen. She returns with two black mugs of steaming tea. She hands him a mug and slowly blows away the steam and whispers,” Careful. It’s very hot,” and sits back on the love seat opposite of him. The bass player finally gathers some gumption,” Where did you come from? I mean, ummm, who are you?” He is now stumbling over his own words. She crosses her thick thigh over the other and watches him over the rim of her mug. She wants to believe her nonchalant mild sexual charm is breaking him down slowly. She heard somewhere “less is more”. Maybe. She inhales cooly,sits up,sets her mug on the glass coffee table, and stares at him. He follows suit. “ I believe we’ve been looking for one another for quite sometime,” she replies as she traces the rim of her mug with her index and then traces her bottom rose lips. Thunder cracks through the black sky following another lightening photo shot of two bodies beginning to gravitate towards each other, slowly. The lamp flickers. “ It’s like you knew I needed something. New. You. Somehow,” he said without breaking eye contact. Another roarful crack of thunder. Taryn tilts her head softly, “ Is that right? Lightening strikes again. Lamp shakes and shivers. I’m not one for lyrical miracles and all but, we might be onto something,” she replies with a whisper. He replies, “ Well I live for lyrical miracles and I think you’re it. He crosses the coffee table and kneels down next to her. Let me learn your body. Play its beautiful notes. Write its beauty all over my body. You. Your body. He caresses his hand up her leg to mid thigh. Needs to be beautified. Purified with whispers. Both hands are holding her hips. I want to taste you. All of you. Mind, body, oh yes body, and soul as well.” That was it for Taryn. She’d found what she wanted as well. He unbuttons the bottom of her shirt and runs his hand across her navel. She tries not to swallow hard. Tries to steady her breath. Give in to him, Taryn, she thinks to herself. He looks up at her. Let him sing to your body. Into her hazel eyes. “What does T stand for?” Another crack of thunder, the lamp bulb not only sizzles, then sparks, finally shattering apart. Total darkness. Total silence. Just their breathing hard. She throws her head back and whispers, “ Taryn.” He rips her shirt wide open. Buttons fly everywhere. Pitch black. There’s a rustle and bustle. Lightening strikes revealing Taryn straddling her musician but her back is arched almost completely backwards as he grips her hips and burying his face in her lacy black bra. His biceps are bulging. Dark. Rain pounding on all window panes. Thunder shaking the Earth. Lightening strikes again capturing Taryn on her back, hair carefully layed off the side of the loveseat, her musician in between her legs, his face buried in her neck, his hand holding her up by her neck. He moans. She whimpers. Dark. Shattering thunder roar. Flash of his hands spreading her thighs. Darkness. “ Keep your heels on,” he whispers into her quivering pussy. Wind and rain take over the outside world as he dominates her insides. Flash. He pushes her face down into the loveseat gently but firmly. Darkness and silence falls upon the lovers for just a moment. Darkness. A hustle and bustle. “ Please?” she whispers. I have to. I want to. Please.” “No, he gasps and moans. It’s about……he moans…oh shit….its about your body tonight. He groans. Please she begs breathlessly.. He moans louder. Lightening strikes a vision of her musician sitting on the loveseat, her on her knees, head bobbing up and down. He reaches for the back of the couch with one hand. Darkness. Moaning. Groaning. Flash. His other hand on her head aiding the rhythm . Pitch darkness surrounds the bodies. “ More!” she screams. Yes! Yes! He grunts. His hand slaps her left ass cheek as hes got her bent over the glass coffee table pounding her ass. Thrusting and groaning overpower the thunderous roars as both bodies hold onto one another giving into the explosion. Literal thunder and lightening accompany the musician, his muse, and their mind blowing toe curling climax.

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