I really didn't expect to tame her nor even bother trying, regardless of how badly she needed it. Extending a wing for her to nestle under between her drinking binges and her debut album release hubub was all I could muster. I figured having her lips wrapped around my cock was better than around a bottle of vodka at least. And on many a lazy afternoon, when we'd wake up and linger in the soiled bed, smoking cigarettes, surrounded by my vintage hot rod magazines and cheesecake pulps, I'd play a stack of 45's on an old record player I had bought for her.

She'd giggle as I'd dance naked, exclaiming how it would be so perfectly British and mod and retro for her to cover Toot's "Monkey Man" as I'd skank the popatop. I'd play all kinds of stuff for her, Donny Hathaway, The Collins Kids, 60's girl group records, making her inhabit my perverted fantasies about the Ronnettes, my fetish for their surreal beehive hairdos and heavy painted eyes.

She'd imagine herself as the kickass yet totally vulnerable girl group harlot of my dreams, and I'd chill her to the core with the true story of poor Ronnie, enchanted by her svengali producer Phil Specter, who married her and kept her prisoner in his dark mansion for the next 20 years, recording her endlessly but never releasing the music, getting off on holding a gun to her head when he fucked her, the kind of guy who wrote and produced this song. Amy would sing it and masturbate for me while I played the guitar. All for my kicks to be sure, but I was feeding her too.

More importantly, I got her to digest. Well schooled in jazz, Amy was the real deal, but how could she have any insight, being so young, so famous with only a handful of gigs under her belt? It took more to understand the blues than just getting high and acting a mess. I made her listen to Dinah Washington like she never had before, and as we fucked and swayed and Amy sang and we cried at how beautiful it was, we both knew this is how it could be.

She would have to stop tormenting herself with the boys if she wanted to be a woman like this, if she wanted to belong to a man like me. Did I expect her suplication to be forthcoming? Not really - the world was her oyster, and it didn't think she needed a daddy.

So I was intrigued when she asked me to watch her on Jools' show, saying she had a surprise for me. I duly tuned in and caught her as she nervously summoned herself before the orchestra, hands bothering thighs and then she began her message to me..."did you say I had a lot to learn?"

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