>> |
Anonymous File :-(, x)
"Yes?" "Oh, don't let me interrupt you. Please, do keep playing."
Her hands resumed their little ballet over the ivories, but this time the melody was not so assured. I could hear the thoughts in her head, could hear them in every note.
Who is this man? Why is he just standing there? What does he want? Should I call a teacher? Oh no, what time is it now, are any still around? Should I just wait for him to go away?
This was my fetish.
And her appearance was so well maintained. Not a speck of lint or pilling on her blazer. Hair that long and not a single tangle. Her hands reminded me of the way a spider perched on a wall is not very frightening. Not very sexy. Until it starts moving its eight legs in time.
And she did that thing, of course. That thing they all did. The little nod of the head as she fingered a chord right, reassuring it, putting it to bed.
It'd be almost a shame. That those extraordinary pale hands would soon be clasped over her mouth in horror. That her appearance, hourly in the upkeep, so prized by her and no doubt by others, would have to be disgraced so. My medical condition would see to
"Was there something you wanted?" "Sorry? No, nothing. You play so well. Don't stop."
She soldiered on, resuming at the wrong place in the music, bringing only anxiety to a piece that asked none. Abruptly her foot shuddered on the pedals and caused an unbearable discordance. As I looked for what had unsettled her, I saw she was not watching the music.
She was watching me. Reflected. In the gleaming black of the piano. And that meant I could see her right back. Startled that I could stand behind her and still make eye contact, she looked away. With nothing left to hide from me, her playing became worse than ever.
And my penis became a rod of steel.
Mere feet from her head, I whipped it out and throttled it like a wild animal. In turn her eyes grew large with terror
|