Jazz And Sex
What I’m about to relate to you is possibly mindblowing. It’s my account of an intimate relationship I had in 2002 with a jazz guitarist named Pat Martino. Pat is American and white. He has been a jazz guitarist for more than half his life. I mean, the man is practically a veteran in what he does! There aren’t enough words to describe his talent.
With that said, on with the story...
It was October 2002. I was at the Orange County Performing Arts Center in Costa Mesa, California looking my best for a jazz concert that I was going to go to that night. It was at Founder’s Hall at the Jazz Club.
When I got to the Jazz Club, it was dimmed with the exception of the stage lighting. I was lucky enough to get a table NEAR the stage, where a couple also sat, They seemed to be enjoying themselves, and were well-dressed. We chatted for a bit while Pat and his musicians were onstage getting ready. At the dimly-lighted, I managed to read the program, which proved to be very interesting.
In a few minutes, the show started-and what a smashing show it was! Like I said before, this man is practically a veteran! He was absolutely awesome onstage with his other two musicians. The entire evening made me feel like I was back in the 1940s. It was so romantic with Pat playing cool jazz on his guitar. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that we even made eye contact. Yep, it’s true. While Pat was performing, he was looking into MY EYES! That’s so unbelievable. Was I in heaven or what? The fact that he was good-looking didn’t hurt either, especially when he was wiping off sweat during the performance.
The show went on for a good while and at the end, we all applauded and the trio handled it graciously. What happened next was unforgettable:
Everyone was leaving and I was getting ready to also (Pat and his band were going to perform again, but I only paid for one show) when a man stopped me by saying, “Excuse me, young lady?”
I didn’t think that he was talking to me. I was going to leave with the others when the man actually approached me and said, “Excuse me young lady. I need to talk to you. I’m an employee here.”
This time I paid attention.
“Yes, what is it?", I asked-trying to be polite.
“Mr. Martino would like to meet you,” the man said.
“Really?", I asked excitedly, “are you sure?”
“Yes,” the man said, “in fact, he asked me to try and find you.”
“This is a joke, right?", I asked-grinning.
“No, it’s not,” the man said, “in fact, wit right here. I’ll go get him.”
“Okay,” I said. Then I sat down at one of the tables and waited, preparing myself for a possible practical joke. But the joke would soon be on me.
A few minutes later, the man came back and sure enough Pat was with him. I was in absolute shock! I couldn’t speak for a short while.
“There she is Pat,” the man said, “there’s the young woman that you wanted to see.”
“Oh my go—", I started to say, but the shock stopped me from finishing the sentence. There he was-the one and only Pat Martino in the room, with me! We were the only ones there.
I gathered my composure after a short while, stood up , extended my hand and said, “It’s very nice to meet to meet you sir.”
“Please, call me Pat,” he said-and shook my hand. Boy did he have a strong grip!
After I managed to let go of his hand, Pat asked me, “What’s your name?”
“Juni,” I said, “but it’s pronounced ‘you-knee’ “.
“I see, Pat said, “well it’s very nice to meet you Juni.”
“Thank you Pat,” I said.
Pat looked at his watch and said, “Well, I have to get ready for the next show, but what do you say we get together at 11 p.m.? Are you old enough to drink?”
“Yes, I’m 26,” I said.
“Great,” Pat said, “I’d take you to my hometown, Philadelphia, but that’s a bit out of the way. However, I know an intimate place we can go to. Meet me here after the show.”
“I will, but I can’t stay and watch,” I said, “I only paid for one show.”
“Well, stick around anyway. It’ll be our little secret.”
“Okay,” I said giggling a bit. I felt like a little girl!
I stayed for the next show, which was just as smashing as the first one. As Pat wanted, I hung around and waited until everyone cleared out of the room. A few minutes later, Pat came out and said, “Let’s slip out the back. We can get out of here faster that way.”
“Okay, let’s go,” I said.
We slipped out and into his car. It was a nice, comfortable car with a good smell. Pat started the ignition and off we went, riding through the streets of Costa Mesa. I couldn’t believe that I was riding with him, in his car! I had these strange feelings-feelings that something was going to happen. Nah, I thought. I mean, we’re just going out for drinks, right? The worst that could happen is that we would get drunk and fool around, but what were the chances of that happening?
I should never underestimate things.
Last night, Pat and I were so wasted that he couldn’t even drive. However, we spent a lovely night in the backseat of his car making out and couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. We ended up sleeping in the backseat until the next morning when he drove me back to the Performing Arts Center, where my car still was, and after dropping me off and telling me that he had to go baclk to the airport and catch a plane to Philadelphia, he asked me for my number. Of course, I wrote it down with a pen and some stationary that he had in his car. He snatched the pen and paper, said “bye” and drove off.
Pat called me from Philadelphia a couple of days later, and he actually sounded sober this time. He asked me if I wanted to fly over there and seehim, and I told him that I’d have to think about it. He gave me his number and told me to call him when I’ve made a decision. I said okay and he said the same.
I actually had to THINK about whether I wanted to go to Philadelphia or not to see Pat. I mean, I did want to see him but I didn’t have a strong sense of urgency. But on the other hand, I’ve never seen the city before and perhaps Pat could show me around.
A day later, I called Pat on the phone and I told him that I would love to see him and he was delighted. He gave me his address, and told me that he would even show me around the city. I was tickled and made arrangements to see him next week, via the airline.
I couldn’t wait!
The next week:
I was on my way to Philadelphia, with Pat’s address in my pocket. I was so excited, even more excited than when we first met in Costa Mesa. I tried to stop myself from getting too excited, but I’m sure nobody cared. I just couldn’t help myself though-I was so happy!
Well, I finally arrived in the city at 9 p.m. that night. It was late, and what I wanted more than anything was to check into a hotel and relax. I could visit my honey tomorrow.
That night I managed to find a hotel and check in for the night. When I was in my room, I called Pat and told him that I was in the city, and that I’d go visit him tomorrow. He didn’t take it personally; he could wait a day.
The next day I managed to go to Pat’s home, and what a home it was! It was so stylish and elegant. Of course, he’s a famous jazz musician, so what can I say huh? Anyway, first off he asked me if I wanted a drink. I said yes-some tea would be nice. Little did I know that my tea was about to be spiked!
Pat came out of the kitchen with the two cups of tea and said, “To us.”
“To us,” I said.
We clinked the cups together and I took a sip of my tea, as did Pat. Funny though, my tea tasted strange. It wasn’t bad, but within a few minutes I felt a warm, pleasant, dreamy sensation. I can’t explain it to you, but it was wonderful.
“What’s in this tea?", I asked.
“An aphrodesiac,” he said, “I slipped it into your tea before I gave it to you. I’m sure you’re feeling a little drowsy right now, but that’s okay.You feel warm and drowsy.”
“I certainly do,” I said, “but it’s so wonderful. I can’t help it.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Pat said, “you should just relax and enjoy this pleasant dreamy state. You just want to relax...relax...relax...”
“Relax,” I sad in a somewhat dazed state.
“Okay, relax,” Pat said, “don’t fight...you’re getting tired...so tired and sleepy. Don’t fight against it...relax...you are entirely calm...you are tired...so tired...hear only my voice...you are so tired...and sleepy...you are tired, so tired...your eyelids are so heavy...relax...you are tired, yes so tired...and your eyelids are so heavy...yes so heavy...relax...you are tired and sleepy...your eyelids are so heavy...so heavy...so tired...you hear only my voice and you are so tired...and sleepy...yes, and you hear only my voice and you are so tired.”
Pat’s voice was so hypnotic, just like when he spoke at the Jazz Club. Oh God, I couldn’t resist it. My eyes..feel..so..heavy..can’t..stay..awake.”
Then my eyes close and everything goes black.
I couldn’t see what happened next, and for a while everything was quiet, but then I felt some strong arms pick me up and carry me to another room, and lay me down on a bed. I could feel a soft pillow under my head. Then I felt my clothes and everything but my underwear being removed. Unbeknownst to me, we were going to have sex.