Le Jazz HNT
Just as I was logging out last night, KK sent me that photo she took Saturday night, out back in the drizzle. Porch light on, but it’s fun being at least a mile away from any other neighbors – and half of them were inside listening to Monsieur’s Combo du Jazz Hot.
Oh sure, you can see my tits. But not my face.
Oh sure, you can see my tits. But not my face.
Tom-Tom the drummer was going in a rhythm that made me freaking randy as all hell, and Monsieur played guitar and Mistah Floyd sat in on piano. Monsieur and Floyd both sang. Monsieur sounds cool when he sings jazz, like he wears a fedora and trench coat. I got up to bus the room and KK helped, then in the kitchen I looked at her with a gleam.
“Got your camera phone?” I asked.
She pulled it out of her hip pocket. “Beaver shot?” she asked, hopefully I’m sure.
“Not this time, love,” I said, and we slipped out back.
It was a little chilly, can you tell?
Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday.
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