Musical Erotica
Keys and Kisses
She groans as my hand navigates between her legs…
The growing crowd watches fixedly as her fingers dance across the keys. Some, mostly the women, sit mesmerized by how simple she makes it look, her ability to instill emotion — angst, anger, joy, sorrow — inside each listener. Others, mostly the men, are more entranced by her beauty. The seduction of the music a mere ruse so they may trace her form with their gaze. I know the music well, having taught it to her, so instead of watching her, I take my time eyeing the crowd. She’ll want to know how pleased they were.
As the piano rings in a crescendo, I think back to those early days. How her fingers were unskilled with the ivories but could stroke the essence out of me in a matter of minutes. How she couldn’t carry a tune, even if she’d put it in a bucket, but could bring me to my knees with the erotic purr of her moans. She can still utter me breathless, speechless even with her considerable talents, but she’s mastered the art of playing piano, much to my surprise and sadness. What will become of her, of us, once she feels we’re done?
She’d come to me years before, a wisp of a woman, barely old enough to be more than a girl. Old enough, she was, though, or at least her employer thought so. I had my doubts, but she has a charm and a…
