Me and Jerrykins (otherwise known as Liktrik Dik) had agreed to do a busking tour of Germany together, and there was this great soul food restaurant outside of Frankfurt near the U.S. army base that we'd been to on our last rape and pillage of the Vaterland. So, after a day's worth of back-to-back street pitches, we decided to stoke up on black-eyed peas, chitlins and ribs.

The place was full of GIs and Jerrkins started talking to this dude from Philly. He kept slapping this soldier on the back and saying "Whoa, Home Boy! Right On!" The manager of the place was a great guy, real cool. And like, even though it was a Monday night, he convinced us to bring the acoustic piano into the restaurant to have a bit of a jam.

I thought great! The vibe seemed right, so we humped the piano out of the van, onto the dolly and started playing straight away once Jerry'd got his electric guitar set up.

When I'd do my solo street set (with Jer bottling) it was mostly ragtime with some of the old boogie woogie in between. When we'd do it as a piano-guitar duo, the set was almost total blues, except for a couple of Santana numbers thrown in. BUT when the two of us were playing for ourselves for free and for fun, we would do Jazz numbers, you know bebop and stuff like that.

The big trouble with street music is that you start out by playing your entire repertoire to see what works. Then you watch the edge (the crowd) and the drops (the coins). If you find that you always lose your edge (or nobody drops anything in the case) when you play a certain number, then you don't play that one anymore, period. It doesn't matter how great you might think the song is. If it goes down like a lead ballon, you chuck it.

Consequently, you get to a point where you've got 7 or 8 songs which are proven moneymakers, and you play those same 7 or 8 songs 7 or 8 times a day 7 or 8 days a week. And you get so fucking bored you could scream (but you do make money, which after all is the point).

Which is why I thought that it was so great that this guy asked us to bring our instruments into his "All-American Soul Food Restaurant". I reckoned that we'd have some enlightened ears who would be able to dig the music we were really into, and not have to play that street level stuff again, especially since we knew we weren't going to make a bean.

We did about ten songs or so, then it started to get late, and Jer was getting drunker and drunker. We put the 600 lb. black and white toothed monster back into the van, and just as I thought we were going to crash out (the back of the van was fixed up with a mattress), Jerrykins starts screaming at the top of his lungs "You motherfucker, don't you ever do that to me again!!!"

Let me explain at this point that one of Jerrkins little problems had to do with the fact that after almost every gig he would get raving drunk and start screaming about how everybody in the world that he had ever been associated with had fucked him over in some unforgivable manner. Whisky can sure release some ugly demons, man. The most tiring thing about these temper tantrums, is that they were almost as regular as clockwork. Finish the gig, watch him down four or five beers, a couple of shots of tequila or whatever, and here come the fireworks folks. It's no wonder he hardly ever got any pussy while he was on the road.

Anyway, he's screaming "You fucking bastard! How could you do that to me!?!" I had no idea what he was on about and told him so. He begins raving that I embarassed him in front of a "Home Boy", by playing Jazz and having a jam. I asked him what it was that we were supposed to have played to impress those grunts. "The set, man. The set!" By which he meant Blues after Blues after Blues. The slow Blues, the fast Blues, the funky Blues, the Blues with the break, the rock Blues, ad infinitum.

Oh, yeah, great! Just what I was dying to do: Play exactly the very same blues set that we'd already played a dozen times that day, a dozen times the day before that, and a dozen times every day for the whole last week. Give me a break!

He continues raving "The Blues is what the people love, but Oh No! YOU want to play Mr Kool Jazz. Couldn't you see that they weren't into that? And then you start JAMMING! In the key of D!" I said to him "What's the matter, man? Can't you play in D?" Well, that really set him off!

I wish I had a nickel for every time we've done gigs playing to a full house and he's suddenly launched into some tune that I'd never even heard before in my life with an impossible set of changes and just told me "Follow this". Turnabout is fair play, Jack!

Then he announced that he was taking the next train back to Zurich, picked up his bag and his guitar and pissed off down the road. He even had the nerve to DEMAND that I drive him to the station! Believe me, I wasn't about to. Anyway, I was at least one or two beers over the limit, and the last thing I felt like doing was trying to negotiate the one-way systems of downtown Frankfurt with a drunken maniac trying to ruin my eardrums screaming and shouting all the way down the road. Huh-Uh, No way.

In the morning, I woke up broke, hungover and hungry (come to think of it, that's how I used to wake up every morning in those days). I knew I couldn't go home until I'd made enough money to pay my rent, and in any case I only had enough gas in the van to make it to the next street pitch.

I drove to Weisbaden, where it was pissing down with early morning rain. Impossible to play the street, impossible to do anything else but wait in the van until the weather broke.

I finally got a chance to hit the walking street in the afternoon. I drove up one of the little side streets adjacent to the pitch, asked a friendly bystander to help me hump the piano onto the dolly, and wheeled it into place. I just left the beast there in the middle of the street while I found a parking place.

I was hoping that the piano would still be there when I came back. It was. There aren't too many people in this world who would be interested in stealing a battle-scarred old street piano. And even if somebody did start pushing it down the cobblestones, chances are that I'd be able to catch up to them pretty quick.

I launched into my street set like I always did, with plenty of loud talk, lots of action, and the old fancy fingerwork "Radiate those Eighty-Eights!". The edge was huge and the coins were rolling in.

I always made more money playing on my own than I did with Jerry anyhow. I mainly brought him along because I needed someone to bottle the crowd, plus it was handy to have someone watch the piano and hold down the pitch while I was out parking.

Still, it was very frustrating for him to just do the bottling (which I referred to as "numismatology" - the fine art of collecting rare coins. And some days the coins are rarer than others!) and never getting a chance to play his own axe. So I let him play with me so that he could get his jollies, in spite of the fact that the money was better when I played solo. Also, it was a "break from potatoes".

Just as I finished up the set, it started drizzling again. And it drizzled and drizzled. The money's good when it's not raining, but when in Northern Europe, there's no telling when that will be. Then it was just half and hour before the shops were going to close for the day, and even though the sky was still looking moody, I knew I had to try another set.

The last half hour is the worst time of the day to play the streets, for two reasons: First, eveybody's more or less spent all the money they brought with them to do their shopping, and secondly, they're all running around nervously trying to make sure that they got absolutely everything on their list before the shops shut their doors for the day.

I took the plastic cover off, and, like usual, took off the front bit of the piano so that the punters could see the hammers moving, like a kind of puppet show, you know. Taking off the front also makes the piano a lot louder, which is very important for the street.

I always used to begin with the "St. Louis Blues". I'd start slow and mysterious with the minor intro. This attracts their attention, but doesn't actually create an edge. Then halfway through, I shift into high gear, going wild and fast on the chorus. That crystallizes the crowd. By the end of the song, I can feel the energy pulsing from behind me. (One of the disadvantages of playing piano in the street is that the crowd forms BEHIND your back - they like to watch the action of the hammers moving. The other disadvantage to this system is that you can't keep an eye on the case, often people will pretend that they are putting money in, but in fact they are taking it out!!! Which is also why I liked to have a partner/bottler - to make sure people don't rip me off.)

Well, I was pretty sure that it wasn't going to be a great set, what with all those factors against me, and when I heard the sky rumble again as I got to the end of the first song, I didn't know what to think. When I turned around, there were about six people standing there, and only one of them clapping.

As she was standing there clapping, I heard the sky rumble again, so I walked straight up to her and introduced myself. She had that starry look in her eye, and I suggested we go for a quick coffee.

She said she'd never seen anyone with an acoustic piano begging in the street before. I told her that in reality I was Clark Kent, and I was just trying to get enough small change to make a quick call from a phone booth.

She was from Czechoslovakia, and that gave me a chance to launch into one of my favorite subjects - Beer. Pilsener Urquell and Budvar are some of the finest beers in the world, and I said that although I had drunk a lot of Czech beer in my life, she was the very first girl from there that I had ever met.

I told her that I was going to Frankfurt that evening and asked her if she'd like to come along for dinner. She practically jumped for joy when I suggested it. I knew I had it made.

I thought to myself "Jerrykins, no more jerrykin me off. Not only do I make more money with you not around, I also get more cute girls." I got another innocent bystander to help me put the piano back into the van, the behemoth probably ruining his lower spine for life. And me and the Czech girl went driving down the autobahn direction Frankfurt.

She was really cute. I remember thinking to myself "Wow, she's really cute!" As we were driving along and talking about everything except what we were both really thinking about, she said something like "I feel so peaceful with you" and scooted across the seat so I could put my arm around her. (Ah, the beauty of automatic transmissions!) That's when I first noticed what a set of tits she had on her! The blouse she had on was so loose and puffy that it was hard to tell what size they were. Not only was she really cute, her boobs were amazing! Big and firm, and just the right form! You know, if they're too big, they can be ugly or even monstruous, and if they're too small, well, they might be nice to look at, but they're not that much fun to play with. Hers were hefty, almost muscular, and beautifully proportioned. I have to admit I do like full plump breasts, especially when they're attached to a woman with a pretty face and a shapely figure like this one. With my arm around her cruising down the road, I could just feel the side of her bosom warm and soft against my hand. I wanted to grab it all and squeeze it and roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

But first we had to get to Frankfurt. I had heard that there was a section of the old town there where they had a bunch of bars. She knew exactly where it was, so we parked nearby and went for a pizza.

After the meal, we had a walk around. Since I had never been there before I wanted to check the place out and see where the best place was to do a set. It's a pretty small area, and the only place I could see to do a street pitch was this one place where the streets come together at the bottom.

There was another place at the top that could've been good, but right where I would have set up there were a bunch of rough looking gypsies running a coin game scam. You know the game, three trick cups "Which one is the coin under?" You can buy the cups in any magic shop, and it doesn't matter which cup you think it's under, when they pick up the cup it's never there. A magician friend of mine showed me how it works, there's a false bottom. Anyway, I didn't want to hassle with these guys and I was more intent on getting into this girl's pants than doing a pitch.

We went into a piano bar for a drink. We stood right behind the piano player, and I was watching him real close to pick up a few tricks. He was a little short, fat guy who was sweating like crazy. He played Fats Waller style, with a curious twist - whenever he would come to a complicated bit, he would slow down. It seemed perfectly natural, but you couldn't actually tap your foot to it. At first, I thought he was doing it for my benefit, so that I could really see what was going on. But afterwards, I realized that that was just his style. I got into a conversation with him and we talked about all kinds of music and pianos and stuff.

After a while we had another walk around, but there didn't seem to be much else to do, so I told her I'd drive her home. It didn't take long to get back to Weisbaden, and on the way she asked me where I was going to sleep. I told her that I didn't know, which was a lie, of course, but just the one she wanted to hear.

When we got back to her place, I was just playing it cool. She offered me something to drink. I had a sip of my drink, and she had a sip of hers, then she put her drink on the table and began kissing me. I was on my way down her blouse with my lips, and she followed me down. The next thing I knew we were rolling on the floor, and our clothes were flying off in all directions.

She couldn't even wait to get into bed, she wanted me to start fucking her right there on the floor. I was a little surprised at how soon she stuck me into her. But OK, if you want it on the floor, here it is.

I was pretty excited, and what with no foreplay and suddenly finding my hard-on up inside her writhing wet hole with her crazy with desire, panting and moaning and moving herself back and forth and up and down faster and faster, it was really difficult for me to hold back from cumming immediately.

I needed some breathing room, so I slipped out and got into the bed. I thought that would give me enough time to desensitize, so that I could give it to her the way she so badly wanted it.

When she got into bed seconds later, she was hotter than ever. I had gained some control, but not as much as I would have liked. I manage to avoid shooting my wad for another few minutes or so, while she went nuts on top of me. But she was relentless and even though I asked her to slow down, she wouldn't. Suddenly (in spite of thinking of linear algebra theorems, upaid bills, my mother-in-law, and the like), primodial juices came bubbling up from the very depths of my being. Under momentous pressure, made even more intense by attempting to stop the release, forced out through the only means of escape possible, a geyser of hot steaming semen spurted into the depths of her pulsating pussy coating its inner walls and penetrating her most secret places.

If it weren't for the fact that I was already lying on my back, I would have collapsed.

It had been a long day for me, what with all the drinking and the arguments the night before, driving around all day, the rain etc. I was beat!

And she was frustrated. I tried to rub her off with my famous fingers, but she wouldn't have it. I was already beginning to lose consciousness.

Some time later, she started shaking me. I was in the land of la-la. She said "I can't sleep". I replied "Well, I can" and promptly proceeded to prove it.

In the morning she woke me up with a cup of coffee. I felt pretty good, and I thought I'd make last night up to her. So I started kissing her and feeling her boobs, trying to get my hand down her pants. But she said that she didn't want to make love. Well, I 'd heard that before, so I kept insisting. And she kept on insisting that she didn't want to. I managed to get her blouse off so that I could see what her magnificent tits looked like in the daylight, and hoo-whee did looking at them and squeezing them ever give me a bone!

She was pulling on my hard prick and I really needed to come again, but she just would not let me take off her jeans. I said "Look, I've really got to cum. If I don't I'm going to suffer all day." Blue balls ain't no fun, baby. I told her "If you don't want to make love, then go on and suck it."

She looked shocked and said she'd never done that before. I gave her that disbelieving look, and told her "Come on, don't hand me that old line!" But she said she really hadn't. So, I explained to her how to do it. At first she was reluctant to take it in her mouth, but finally I convinced her with "Don't worry, it won't hurt you".

She held it gingerly between her fingers, like she was afraid to grip it. And then she kissed it lightly at the end. I said "Put it in your mouth", and she did.

It was true, she hadn't ever had a male organ between her lips before. Because right after she put her mouth around it, she looked up and said "It's soft at the end!" That's right honey, now get back down on it. Be careful of those teeth, um-hum. Now just suck it like a little baby sucks a nipple. You're getting it, yes, yes.

I took her hand to show her how to wank it up and down while sucking away. Then I explained to her where the most sensitive part of the glans is, and to lick it right there while it's inside your mouth.

I started her to jacking it off a little faster while she licked and sucked me, so that I could get my nut.

Well, she knew that I was getting ready to come, but she chickened out at the last minute. I said "Hey, how come you stopped?" But she was afraid of my spunk squirting down the back of her throat. I told her "Look, you gotta do something". I was sooo close, so I took her hand and made her bring me off. She was a bit clumsy but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing. I wiped the jiz off my belly, and put on my trousers.

Then I put together my flute (which I always took everywhere with me), and started playing some romantic riffs. She was smiling, and said that I really played well. I was only about ten bars into the tune when suddenly the front door opened!

The first thing I thought was "Oh shit, it's her boyfriend!" But no, it was her mother. Which for her was just as bad. Not a mere two minutes before she had been sucking my impatient dick, and suddenly here's Mom letting herself in with her very own key to the apartment! It's a good thing we weren't making love, old mother dear would have had quite the little surprise in store for her, eh?

The girl turned bright red (a dead giveaway that she was being naughty). Her mother politely asked me what I was doing there ("Ah, well, you see, uh, I was just giving your daughter here, um, private lessons about, uh, the correct way to, ahem, suck cock, you know"), where I came from, etc. And then they began arguing in Czech together, which of course, I don't understand a word.

I mentioned that I was just on my way out, and it was certainly a pleasure to drop by to play a little flute for your daughter, etc. I made a rendez-vous to meet the girl at some Czech bar in town a little later in the day.

The girl was late for the date, but I was doing just fine all by myself knocking back the Pilsener Urquell on tap. When she did show up, I was pretty surprised. I had more or less forgotten all about her.

We talked about a bunch of different things, and I asked her how to say "Hello" in Czech. She said "Ahoy". Then I asked her "What about 'Goodbye'?" "It's the same 'Ahoy'". Well, that's easy to remember, isn't it? After a while, we got in the van and went back to Frankfurt. I had seen the place where I wanted to play, and it was just a question of hanging around until the time was ripe.

When we got to the bar district in Frankfurt, it was still early. We had dinner together. I told her that I wanted her to bottle for me, and explained just what it was that she would have to do and how to do it.

When doing street music (and I believe anything in life), it's very important to be at the right place at the right time. Ya snooze, ya lose. She said that she wanted to go look up some friends, and we made an appointment to meet later.

Well, I got the piano out (with a little help from some drunken British soldiers), rolled it out to the pitch to reserve the "power spot", and waited. And waited, and waited.

Pretty soon the street was throbbing, and I knew that if I wanted to make any money I would have to start playing then and there, with or without a bottler. It was great!!! I had loads of people all around eating it up. I did my full set and then took the standard 20 - 30 minute break. Still no sign of the girl. I started into my second set and my friends the British soldiers showed up. Even though they didn't put much into the hat, they were great crack.

I finish the second set, and just as I'm packing up, here comes little miss you-know-who strolling down the street. Well, I was a bit upset with her, because I knew that if I'd had a bottler I would've made double or triple the money than what I actually got. Also, she was just plain late.

I say "Hey, I thought we made a rendez-vous for 9:15, and here it is already almost midnight! What's up?" She could tell that I was upset, but she wasn't about to kow-tow to me. Then she started screaming at me in Czech, and the only thing I understood was "Ahoy".


copyright 2005 Jeff Brent

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