The Girl with the Freckles Pt. 04

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Amira Adara

I was so excited that my fingers clumsily misdialed her number twice before getting it right. The minute I found out, I couldn’t get to the phone fast enough; Janet needed to know asap. She was going to flip out. My parents had just informed me they were going to Florida for a month to begin searching for a place to retire.

Relocating to the Sunshine State had always been my dad’s dream once he stopped working. My overprotective mother initially resisted; she didn’t want to leave me – her “baby” – until I completed College and embarked on a sensible career path. Both my parents were in their forties at the time of what they euphemistically referred to as my “unexpected arrival.” This four decade generation gap exacerbated the predictable advent of adolescent rebelliousness, alienation, angst and the frequently oppositional nature of our interactions. By the time I was 18, at best, our familial relationship had devolved to a state of peaceful coexistence or benign neglect; at worst – guerrilla warfare. Such was often the fate of “late life” children.

It wasn’t like I was a bad son. My grades were consistently excellent, I never got into any serious trouble, I had a job, paid for everything relating to my interest in music (which they habitually referred to as ‘that stupid waste of time’), no drug or alcohol problems; I even matriculated at a City University school because I knew the tuition costs were negligible. It didn’t matter. They never seemed satisfied with anything I accomplished, while I snarkily disparaged their stifling bourgeois values. At that point in our lives, we simply could not get along; which is why the announcement of their month long pilgrimage beginning that Friday felt like a moment of supreme liberation.

Of course, that wasn’t even the best part. Since engaging in that first weekend’s orgy of nearly non-stop sex, Janet and I hadn’t been able to find enough time or the right place to satisfy our insatiable lust. Now, I hit the jackpot; 30 days’ worth of opportunities for undisturbed intimacy with the carnally-crazed freckled girl of my dreams, all in the comforts of my very own home.

“OH MY GOD!,” she screamed, as soon as she heard the news. “THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING! I CAN’T WAIT ‘TIL FRIDAY.”

Her voice dropped to a near whisper.

“There are so many things I’ve been dying to do with you, you’d better work on your stamina.”

“Hey, the program starts today,” I assured her. “Push ups, sit ups, weight training, cardio, lots of rest, a little yoga, maybe I can score some performance enhancing drugs…”

“Good boy,” she giggled. “I don’t want that body of yours conking out after a day or two. I’m making you my love slave, you’ve got plenty of work ahead of you.”

“Shit, I’ll sign up for involuntary servitude if I get to have that gorgeous freckled body of yours butt naked in my bed…you’ll get a run for your money,” I replied with equal enthusiasm. “Now practical matters. You know I’ve got the gig Friday night. You gotta find a girlfriend or someone to cover for you so you can stay with me for the weekend.”

“Relax, it’s already taken care of,” she reassured me. “‘member I told you Julie was coming to see you play? Her parents are out of town and I told my mom I’m staying with her all weekend. She was gonna let you sleep over her place so we could be together, I was gonna surprise you.”

Julie was her oldest and closest friend as well as gymnastics team mate. Janet referred to her as ‘my other sister.’ Without ever having met the girl, I could tell they shared a deep bond. Even after I knew her offer of ‘sexual sanctuary’ was superfluous, I was grateful she was willing to accommodate us. That’s what good friends do.

“There is one thing we have to deal with,” Janet said sternly. “I’ve been putting her off, but mom really wants to meet you. She won’t bite, I promise, but we should just get this over with. She’ll love you, you’ll see. Friday? Before the gig? Pretty please?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I relented. “But let’s keep it short, no…like..dinner or anything, I’ve gotta help Bruce set up.”

“Yay!,” she exclaimed. “I promise, short and sweet. Then I can drive you to the club and help. Maybe even give you a little, umm, ‘morale boost’ before we go in.”

“That would be very helpful,” I conceded, anticipating what she had in mind. “Talk to you tomorrow, ‘bye beautiful, love you.”

“Love you too,” she replied.

I greeted Friday’s arrival with the same eager anticipation I felt on that Friday, three weeks before, when Janet and I had our first date. My overwhelming attraction to her began way back in 7th grade. To my delight, she harbored the same equally intense feelings for me. Since our amorous epiphany, we never wanted to be apart. Nothing is more idyllic than the pristine passion of two eighteen-year-olds rapt in the throes of their first true love.

Of course, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the evening’s prelude. I’d successfully managed the “meet the parents” thing a illegal bahis few times before, but never for a girl that I cared about so deeply. I was nervous. There was some consolation in the fact that I only had to face her mom. Fathers tend to be far more paranoid when it came to young men competing for the affections of their precious little angels. Besides, I did sort of have a way with mothers. Still, I suspected if either one of her parents knew what Janet and I had been doing, they’d immolate my genitals and ship her off to a convent.

But, true to my word, at 6:30 I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. Janet, who must’ve been waiting with her hand on the doorknob, immediately let me in and gave me a quick kiss.

“Mom, he’s here!,” she shouted.

I stepped into the living room as her mother was walking down the hallway. She was an attractive woman; at least ten years younger in appearance than I knew her to be. She had a great figure and facial features virtually identical to her daughter’s – minus all the freckles that I loved so much.

Extending my hand, I politely greeted her with, “how do you do ma’am, I’m so happy to meet you.”

“Oh, come over here and give me a hug, no need to be so formal,” she warmly responded as she bypassed my handshake with a friendly embrace. “Janet has told me so many wonderful things about you, I feel as if I already know you.”

“Gee, well that’s just… swell,” I blithered (thinking to myself ‘why do I sound like Richie Cunningham in an episode of Happy Days’).

“But,” she added, “I do have to admit this boyfriend-girlfriend thing happened pretty quickly.”

“Actually,” I countered, “Janet and I have known each other since Junior High. We’ve always liked… well, secretly had crushes on each other without ever knowing it. I’m just glad we’re finally together now. She’s…she’s very special. I really care for her.”

She smiled, and said, “that’s so sweet. Janet, I like him.”

“Thanks mom, told you he’s terrific, but we really do have to go, he has to help his band set up,” Janet interjected.

“Ok, Ok, I won’t keep you. But not too late tonight, and call me tomorrow from Julie’s, please?,” her mom relented and then turned to me. “As for you, young man, I insist you come by for dinner, soon. I know Janet’s dad is looking forward to meeting you, and I’ve been told I’m an exceptional cook. Deal?”

“Deal,” I agreed. “I’m glad we met, and Janet and I, well, I think you’re going to have plenty of opportunities to get to know me better.” I took Janet by the hand and looked into her eyes.

“We’re going to be together for a long time.”

Both mother and daughter beamed at me, and then hugged. We said our goodbyes and off we went.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Janet optimistically chirped, as we drove to the club.

“Nope, not at all,” I replied. “Your mom’s nice, I liked her. Did I do ok?”

“You were fine, once you stopped acting like Opie,” she teased.

“Yeah, I know, nerves. I was just so desperate to make a good impression, I came off like an idiot,” I admitted. “You know it’s only ’cause I love you and I didn’t want to screw things up.”

“You didn’t,” she replied. “She liked you, I can tell.”

We arrived at the venue early and Janet parked in the empty lot behind the warehouse across the street.

“Ready to go?,” I asked.

“Nope,” she replied as an impish grin spread across her freckled face. “I think you might be experiencing some residual nervousness after that traumatic interrogation from my mom. Wouldn’t want it to mess up your performance tonight, so I feel obligated to relieve your tension.”

Her hand snaked across my lap and began to massage the swelling bulge in my jeans. She undid my belt, popped the snap, pulled down the zipper, reached inside my briefs and unsheathed my fully erect cock. Her head dropped into my lap, and I felt the warm wetness of her mouth engulf my turgid shaft. Then, Janet began working her oral magic, as only she could. Soon, I was swept away by the mounting waves of pleasure from motion of her clinging lips, up and down, again and again, until that sensuous combination of intense suction and luxurious lubrication ignited explosive jets of my semen. When I finished orgasming, she released my flaccid organ from her mouth. Not a trace of my ejaculate could be found; she swallowed every last drop.

She deftly rearranged my clothing, looked up at me with a triumphant expression, slowly licked her lips and said, “Ready to go, when you are.”

Janet’s unparalleled mastery of fellatio was a transcendental experience. It took several minutes to regain full use of my faculties. It was pointless, trying to articulate how she made me feel; words were inadequate. I simply looked into her eyes, took her in my arms and kissed her as passionately as I could. There was a slightly bitter taste to her kiss, perhaps the faint residue of my overpowering orgasm.

As we crossed the street, Bruce’s van with all our equipment illegal bahis siteleri was pulling up to the service entrance.

“Good timing,” he told me, exiting the vehicle. “Hey Janet, gonna help us out?”

“That’s why I’m here, just let me know what you want me to do.”

“Excellent,” he replied. “I’m gonna get the dolly from inside, you guys can start unloading. But be gentle, ok?”

We quickly began removing the assorted amp heads, speaker cabinets, microphone stands, booms, effects busses, mixing board, all the instruments and bags full of cables. Janet held her own, lifting and stacking 30 lb. speakers with relative ease. I, on the other hand, accidentally dropped one of the amp heads when I lost my footing.

“Shit!,” I grumbled. “It doesn’t look damaged, hope I didn’t fuck something up.”

Bruce returned with the dolly, and after several trips, we began patching the system together. The first sign of trouble came when he switched on the rhythm guitar amp. It emitted a annoyingly loud hum that wouldn’t go away. Bruce removed the back panel, but after 20 minutes of fumbling around, threw up his hands in futility.

“I can’t figure out what the fuck is wrong,” he admitted in frustration. “Everything was working perfectly when I checked last night. I don’t know, maybe we can run Johnny’s guitar through an open PA channel, but it’ll sound like shit.”

As we mulled over our options, Janet quietly began examining the interior of the amp.

“Excuse me guys,” she interjected. “I think I see the problem. The ground wire is detached. C’mere, take a look.”

Bruce shot me an incredulous look.

“She have a clue about any of this stuff?”

I shrugged and replied, “What’ve we got to lose?”

“Bruce, hand me that flashlight,” she requested, sounding very self assured. “Over there, in the corner. The solder broke, probably during transport.”

It was the amp I dropped.

“Fuck me,” Bruce cursed with exasperation. “I don’t have a fucking soldering iron, what the fuck can I do.”

“Wait,” Janet calmly responded. “got an idea.”

She sprinted out the door and quickly returned with a small leather case and make-up bag. She took out a pair of well worn wire strippers and carefully removed the excess insulation from the loose end of the detached ground. Then she deftly spliced the wire to a bobby pin she pulled from her makeup bag. The pin was clipped inside the hole where the ground had been attached.

Then she looked up at Bruce and matter-of-factly inquired, “Got any electrical tape or duct tape?”

He handed her a small strip which she used to secure the jury-rigged connection.

“Try it now,” she instructed.

Bruce flipped the switch; no hum. Without a word, he helped her up, and lifted her off the ground with a huge bear hug.

“You,” he joyfully pronounced, “are now an official member of this band.”

Then he asked the question that I was dying to have answered.

“Like, how do you know so much about electronics?”

“My dad,” she explained. “He’s an electrical engineer. When I was seven he started me building crystal radios, then circuit boards. Now I’m into robotics. I’m planning to major in physics and engineering.”

“So why didn’t you tell me that when I was showing you how to roll cable,” he queried. “I mean, you should’ve been telling me what to do.”

“Hey, I didn’t wanna seem pushy or anything,” she replied. “It’s your band, your equipment, I just wanted to be helpful.”

“Damn, I’ve been dying to find someone to run the board while we’re performing, be a live sound engineer. Interested?,” he asked.

She glanced over at me, as if asking for dispensation. I gave her a discreet wink.

“Well, sure,” she said, pointing at me with a smile. “‘Specially if it means I get to spend more time hangin’ around that guy.”

Bruce considered her response for a moment and looked at me.

“You cool with this?,” he asked.

“Totally,” I answered.

Bruce and Janet huddled over the mixing board, and in 15 minutes time, he was satisfied she could do the job. She would use headphones to monitor the mix and adjust levels throughout the performance. Bruce and I had prepared a cheat sheet with pre-sets for every song, but stopping to make these adjustments would have screwed up the continuity and flow of the set. Finally, we had someone capable who could handle the job.

When the rest of the guys arrived and Bruce introduced our new sound engineer, the news was met with some skepticism. Naturally, Johnny was the chief cynic.

“Her?,” he sneered. “You think Little Miss Freckles won’t fuck things up?”

“I mean, no offense, but does she have any experience at all?,” Steve chimed in.

But Bruce was adamant.

“She’s worked with far more complex equipment, this is like child’s play and she has the pre-sets for every song and if she didn’t fix pretty boy Johnny’s amp before you guys showed up, we’d be totally fucked. I know this shit, and I’m telling canlı bahis siteleri you, she’s fucking doin’ it.”

Since Bruce had the last word when it came to the technical stuff, everyone strategically backed down. This time, I did my hand-signal level adjustment routine with Janet running the mixing board; it went off like clockwork.

Once our instruments were tuned and everything was set up, we had about an hour before going on. Janet and I headed to the main entrance to look for her friend Julie.

“Do you think I overstepped my bounds? I mean, I didn’t..like…ask for this, and the last thing I wanna do is mess things up for you and the group,” she said with palpable anxiety. “I know I can do this, but I… maybe should’ve waited…talked to you first, I d’know, gone to, like, some rehearsals or something…you pissed at me?”

“Nah, it’ll be alright, long as you don’t screw up the mix too badly,” I jokingly reassured her. “Actually, you already saved my ass tonight when you fixed that amp I dropped. Our strutting little Prima Dona would’ve had a shit fit if you didn’t. Besides, it’s kinda cool my girlfriend gets to be in my band, and I keep discovering all these hidden talents you have…other than the one you demonstrated in the car..”

She giggled and playfully punched me in the arm when I noticed a stocky, diminutive girl wearing a bright green silk shirt and miniskirt waving and bounding towards us.

“JAN!,” she exclaimed.

“JULES!, YOU’RE HERE!,” Janet shouted, as her best friend Julie practically flew into her arms.

According to Janet, Julie’s body type was ideal for gymnastics. She had a tomboyish physique: barely five feet tall, broad shouldered, virtually flat chested, and extremely well muscled; hardly my type, but for that one seductive feature my girlfriend neglected to mention. She was a flaming redhead, with – as is characteristic of gingers – a plethora of freckles.

As they chatted excitedly – seemingly oblivious to my presence – I took the time to study Julie’s freckles. Unlike Janet’s, they were large and orange colored; very densely packed across her lightly tanned face. They were equally plentiful on her exposed forearms up to her fingers, and trailed down her neck to her chest. While I found the total package somewhat lacking, especially compared to Janet, I had to admit – her freckles turned me on.

When I finished my assessment, I decided it was the right moment for a timely intrusion.

“So, pardon the interruption ladies, but shouldn’t we get the formal introductions out of the way?,” I interjected.

Julie pivoted and wrapped me in a giant bear hug. For her petite stature, she was strong as an ox.

“Formal-schmormal, she countered. “You’re my sister’s boyfriend, don’t you think I know everything about you already?”

Then she stood on her tiptoes and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. I hoped she couldn’t feel my erection as her body pressed into mine.

“Well,” I replied, “Janet told me all about you, too but she totally forgot to mention all those sexy freckles.”

Both girls blushed with my reference.

“Yeah, Jules, believe it or not, this guy actually loves freckles, thinks they’re hot,” Janet confided. “We used to get teased at gymnastics when we were younger, the mean girls kept calling us ‘the freckle twins’…drove us nuts.”

“Yeah,” Julie agreed, “until I started beating the crap out of anyone who said it. But it’s nice to know a good looking guy thinks I’m cute. Too bad you’re taken. Anyway, I came to hear you play and now I’m psyched that my girl’s gonna work the controls. You know she’s, like, a total electronic genius, right?”

“My girlfriend’s full of surprises,” I replied. “Hey, time to get ready, we gotta go, but we’ll hook up after the show, ok?”

“Sure, good luck guys, later,” she replied as we hustled back stage.

We huddled together, our pre-performance ritual, but this time with my freckled girlfriend included in the circle.

“Guys,” I said, “this is going to be our best show ever. Guaranteed.”

“No doubt,” Bruce concurred.

Then Janet, sounding completely self possessed, calmly added, “I won’t let you down.”

Her quiet confidence seemed to assuage the undercurrent of concern, as we took the stage. From the opening chords of our first song to the last of three encores, we never sounded better. Instruments, vocals, effects, everything had a clarity and balance that was perfect. Janet had performed better than any one of us – myself and Bruce included – ever thought possible.

When we gathered back stage, we all took turns lauding, high five-ing and hugging her. Finally, Johnny – her greatest detractor – hushed us up and said, “Guys, I formally declare that Miss Freckles is an official member of the group. We can vote on it, but I say she’s in no matter what.”

“Are you kidding? It’s not worth performing without her,” Steve chimed in.

“Got my vote,” Danny concurred. “Can I vote twice?”

“Hey, it was my idea to begin with,” Bruce insisted.

Then they all shifted towards me, waiting for what was expected to be the foregone consensus vote.

“I d’know,” I replied. “Can I have a few days to think about it and get back to you?”

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