Memphis is a city known for its music. It really depends on who you ask as to what kind of music that might be. Truly though, it’s the blues. W.C. Handy and his trumpet brought the blues to Memphis from Mississippi cotton fields. Others followed, like B.B. King and Albert King. The Saturday nights of long ago on Beale Street remain legendary. Great music, cheap liquor, and fine times was there for those who sought it out. Blues remains the lifeblood of Memphis music tradition but most people pay little attention these days, even most of those who live in or near the city itself.

Some people you might ask about Memphis music will mention Elvis. He does represent the blending of black gospel music and rockabilly sounds into something even he didn’t ever completely understand. Carl Perkins might have understood it, but Elvis was better looking and moved his hips like no white man before him. The Sun recording studio was where it happened for them and others like them.

Memphis music also has the Stax record label tradition. Isaac Hayes, the Barkays, and others brought soul music a distinctive flavor, crossing it over onto white radio stations before anyone had time to object or stop it. Sam and Dave used to come to Memphis to record from time to time.

Memphis is where I ended up when I finally said, fuck it, I ain’t taking this shit no more.

That was about a year ago now. I chucked the job and most everything else, deciding quickly that I could probably revive a music career long dead playing bass for jazz groups. I did play a few gigs in Chicago, Philadelphia, Cleveland, and New York City but I kept feeling the urge to head south. I had done some studio work in Memphis years ago as a back-up musician so I loaded up the car and pointed it toward the big river, the Mississippi.

Settled in Memphis, I played with a few bands and did some studio work but mostly I discovered I wasn’t as good as I used to be and the grind of it all was more than I wanted out of life. After all, I had said fuck it to get out from under the pressure, why just accept different pressure? But I had come to like Memphis, so I resolved to stay. I tended bar on the side while I continued to play with a couple of bands and got to know some people in the restaurant business. In short, I put up what little money I had left and struck a deal with a couple of silent partners. The deal let me open my own place. I named it, the Trane Station.

I liked the location immediately, midtown Memphis on Madison Avenue just off the Overton Square area. It’s a corner bar with aged wood siding. Some friends and I decorated it with old pictures and junk we’d all accumulated over the years. I have pictures of my namesake on the wall and a stock of Coltrane CD’s for the sound system. We painted the drop ceiling black just for kicks and found out later that customers got their jollies from blowing toothpicks through straws into the ceiling like blow dart guns.

It’s my place and it’s fun. We have a band playing jazz every night of the week. No cover, no drink minimum. All the place is about is music, plenty to drink, pretty good food, and a friendly environment.

The Grand Opening for the Trane Station was a special night. I had planned the night along with the two managers I had hired. One was the kitchen manager, the other for the bar. Whenever we’re busy I still work behind the bar myself, and that night we were packed. The music was really hitting the crowd right. The band was a collection of friends who were playing the night as a favor. My two silent partners were in town and loving it all too. People were sitting and standing everywhere it seemed. The waitresses were working hard to keep up and did a good job but I never thought we’d ever be so busy.

We all happily worked our asses off that night. And when the band stopped at 3:a.m. and the crowd started to thin, we had to admit to a feeling of relief. We’d done it and lived, done it very well, in fact. We closed the door at 4:a.m. and popped the first bottle of champagne.

There were hugs and high-fives all around. I watched the crew shuffling in every direction, tired but wanting to finish and go home. I hugged and shook hands with everyone I could get to before settling into my office chair behind an old wooden desk. I wanted to see the receipts for the night, hold them in my hand, fondle them, before I had to put them away in the night safe.

My silent partner from up north didn’t knock as she came in the door. I had watched her staying to herself most of the night, lingering near the bar. She wore jeans, tight jeans, and a beige silk blouse under a black blazer. She is a tall woman with black hair and a witty inquisitive smile. Even with the blazer she wore you could see her large breasts and shapely ass.

As she stepped into the office, my silent partner was indeed silent but nevertheless she had a huge smile on her face. As she sat down and leaned back in the chair across from me all she said was, “You did it.”

“Nope,” I smiled feeling more than pleased, “We all did it. It’s going to work. It’s going to be good.”

She just smiled and nodded her head. “Jed told me to tell you he had locked up on his way out,” she said, “He gave me this last bottle of champagne.” She held up the bottle to show me. “I took the liberty of opening it. May I pour us each a glass?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, she just began to pour. “Did you ever think,” she asked, “when we met on the internet that we’d someday become partners in a bar?”

When she looked up at me I just smiled and shook my head, no.

“Thank you,” I smiled to her sincerely.

She raised her glass and I did the same. We sipped champagne in our private salute to our success.

“So,” she began with a near smirk, “What can I do for you now?”

“I sincerely cannot think of a thing. You’ve been wonderful,” I told her.

“No,” she almost whispered as she sat her glass down and moved to stand, “I mean what can I do for you right now.”

She stepped around the desk to stand beside me. The touch of her hand on my face had a cool, soothing feel. Her fingers worked their way into my hair, stroking me it seemed. I closed my eyes, it felt so damned good to be touched, so I didn’t she her as she bent down and kissed me. Her lips were soft, delicate but expressive, the feel of her tongue greeting mine sent a warm charge through my entire body. She broke the kiss and smiled into my eyes.

“So what can I do for you?” she asked again now allowing that I understood her question.

“Take off your clothes,” I told her.

I watched her step back from me to the middle of the floor. Her shoes came first. She tossed them toward the wall. I was surprised when her jeans came next. The fastener and zipper were opened without her ever breaking eye contact with me. She slowly turned until her back was to me before she began to wiggle them down her thighs. The blazer covered her ass but I saw the jeans slip to her knees before she bent at the waist to push them further and off her feet. No panties. When she bent over her ass said hello to me, offering a nice vertical smile from her pussy. The dark hair and thick lips seemed to revel in their gentle shine. She was already wet. She stood and turned, the black triangle beneath her blouse drew my eyes. She slipped off the blazer and tossed it to a chair. The blouse unbuttoned smoothly and was gone leaving her only in a bra, a bra that surely struggled valiantly to hold her full breasts. She reached, loosed the clasp, simply letting it fall to the floor. Her nipples were large and only beginning to respond to the feelings I was sure moved inside her.

“Lean over the desk,” I said simply.

She stepped forward without a word to stand in front of me in my chair. She slowly turned her back to me and bent to lean forward onto the desk. I watched her get herself comfortable, picturing her breasts pressing into the money and receipts I had had scattered over the desk. Her smooth rounded ass was only inches from me, her slightly spread legs gave me a nice view of her pussy.

I reached for the bottle of champagne and began to slowly pour it down the crack of her ass. It was cold and drew a gasp from her but she didn’t move away. The champagne splattered at my feet but I continued to pour a slow stream, watching intently as her puckered ass and pussy seemed to move, either trying to avoid or find the cold liquid.

As I continued to pour a light stream, I reached for her and ran a finger over her lips, spreading them, letting the cold yellow liquid enter her, wash her. I moved my finger not letting it stop in one place. It moved over her clit, her pussy, and up to her anus where it made gentle circles before inserting just the tip to give her something to think about.

Sadly, I ran out of champagne, but I kept the bottle and began to gently move its cold mouth over her pussy. I knew she was wondering what I was doing and what I was planning to do next. Her puzzled anticipation pleased me and I smiled to myself. To give her more to think about I slowly eased the tip of the bottle inside her, just the tip. I watched her lips spread around the small mouth of the bottle, taking it, whether reluctantly or eagerly it didn’t matter. I watched with pleasure as her hips began to move. A rhythmic side to side was the first movement then a subtle pushing back. She wanted more.

I kept the bottle slightly inside her and moved to kneel behind her. I held the bottle firmly in my left hand while I moved my right under her to find her clit with my thumb. I began slow circles over her hardening clit as I leaned forward to do the same to her puckered ass with my tongue. Her moan came as music, the music of passion and pleasure.

I took the bottle away and moved my lips to her pussy. Her taste was dry wine and womanhood. It was like nothing else I’d ever had and I felt no control. My thumb worked harder on her clit as I lapped at her pussy, pausing only to occasionally thicken my tongue and spread her lips. My face was pressed hard against her, my nose against her rosebud. Her hips moved to fuck my face as I did all that I could think of to please her.

She breathed a gasp saying, “I’m cuming,” and she did. I lapped and drank and savored the essence of her orgasm. I drew in the very moment of her ecstasy, the shutter of her body, the tensing of her ass and legs, the throbbing of her pussy.

It seemed like several minutes before she calmed. I planted gentle kisses along her pussy, her thighs, anywhere I could kiss.

“Inside me,” I heard her say faintly, “Inside me, please, now.”

I stood and unzipped my khaki shorts, noticing the dark round stain from the drooling pre-cum she inspired. I took my cock in my hand and moved it up and down her slit to wet myself. With an even stroke I pushed the thick head inside. The sight of her lips stretching around me, drawing me in, was extremely erotic, inspiring. I reached up and gripped her shoulders to pull her back to me as I pressed myself completely inside her.

I didn’t stroke her, I didn’t pound her, I just let her hold me there inside her, let her grip me with her pussy and make me cum, make me cum in bursts of light and heat.

Neither of us spoke but both of us knew that things were going to be good, business and pleasure.

copyright 1999
All right reserved.
For written permission to use, contact coltrane_2000@yahoo.com