He hated himself for his weakness. His father wouldn’t approve. Richard would silently mock him. His inconvenient lust was starting to affect his music; during practice today, he had missed two cues in the Beethoven C minor. Deidre had given him a sympathetic look. He had simply wanted to drop dead. If he couldn’t even impress her with his playing, what was the point?
There was a soft knock at his door. Hurriedly, he replaced his cock in his trousers and sat up. “Come on in,” he called, expecting Harv. When the door swung open, though, he was face to face with the object of his fantasies.
She was dressed in her usual black. Rather than the form-fitting, Emma-Peel-like costumes she mostly favoured, tonight she wore something delicate and flowing, with a scooped neckline that showed off her exquisite shoulders. Her lipstick was softer, cherry instead of fire-engine red, and she was barefoot.
“Good evening, Albert.” He cringed. No one had called him by his full name since his mother died. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”
“Um, sure. Come on in, like I said. What’s up?”
She sat herself on his bed, her garment swirling gracefully around her. His nose twitched as the air filled with patchouli. “I know that I’m being nosy, but I’m concerned about you. You seem terribly tense. So tense that you’re making mistakes in your performance, mistakes that I know you wouldn’t normally make.”
“I’m really sorry about today. I don’t know what was wrong, but it won’t happen again.” Al felt as guilty and miserable as a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar.
“I’m not blaming you. I just want to help.” She gestured towards the entrance. “Why don’t you close the door, so that we don’t disturb Harvey? And then I have something here that I think might help you relax.”
Al recognized the earthy smell of marijuana before she even produced the joint. He hastened to follow her instructions. Harv didn’t approve of drugs.
He found a lighter in his bureau and applied it to the joint until the tip glowed red as Deidre’s hair. She inhaled a lungful of the sweetish smoke and held it for thirty seconds. At the same time, she held him with her gaze. Was she challenging or inviting him?
Al felt his cock swell uncomfortably inside his trousers. Deidre passed him the smouldering butt, her fingers brushing briefly against his in the process. It was only the slightest touch. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions, he told himself. It could be completely innocent.
Yeah, right. Here she was in his bedroom, sitting next to him on his bed, with the door closed, wearing something that looked more or less like a negligee. Innocent? Hardly. But she was the one in charge, that was clear. He didn’t dare to make the first move.
Trying to ignore his throbbing hard-on, he took a big hit of the pot. The harsh smoke seared his lungs. As he released it, he felt the drug rush through him, lifting him like a strong breeze. “Mmm. Good stuff. Thanks. But I wouldn’t have expected someone like you to — indulge.”
Deidre laughed, that low, sexy laugh that made his balls tighten to aching rocks. “There’s a lot that you don’t know about me, Albert. Here, take another toke.”
Al obeyed her. He figured that he would always obey her. The second lungful was more powerful than the first. He closed his eyes, floating on a cloud of lust and THC.
The next thing he knew, her hands were in his crotch. “What have we here?” She laughed again. “You seem to be already unzipped and ready for me.”
Oh God! He must have forgotten to zip up after he jerked off. Embarrassment welled up briefly, but the drug soothed it away. Her hands were precise and knowing. Her fingers danced along the length of his shaft with the same power and skill that he had noted when she fingered the neck of her cello. She plucked a pizzicato rhythm on the sensitive ridge underneath the head of his cock, then played him with long lingering strokes that arched up his spine. His groans were a new kind of music, as she brought him ever closer to crescendo.
Dimly, Al smelled scorched cloth, where the forgotten roach was burning itself out on the bed. He concentrated instead on the odours of his sweat and her musk. He could smell her true scent now, oceany and dark, overpowering her herbal perfume. She’s excited, too, he realized. She’s not just doing this out of charity, or for the benefit of the trio. His cock leaped in her hands at the thought.
Marijuana alters the experience of time. He could appreciate every detail, every sensation: the rough callouses on her fingertips, the soothing warmth of her palm, the rustling of her garments, the rush of her ever-quickening breathing. Blood pounded in his swollen penis. His heart pounded in his ears. Her fingers drummed against his flesh, a primitive jungle rhythm that drove him wild.
At any moment, he was sure, he would explode, and yet it went on and on, an endless rise and fall, eternal as a Beethoven sonata.
Suddenly, there were new sensations, wetness and heat, organic and irresistible. Al’s eyes flew open. Deidre’s head of tangled purple locks was buried in his lap. Her painted mouth engulfed his cock. She sucked at him as though to consume him.
Al had a raw, hyper-clear image of scarlet lipstick smeared all over his penis. A choked scream tore itself from his throat as he emptied himself into his colleague’s welcoming mouth.
As the vibrations died away, he smiled to himself, feeling both silly and self-satisfied. Perhaps having her on the premises had been a good idea after all.
Deidre brushed her sticky lips against his. “Now, Albert,” she purred, “why don’t you help me to relax?”
Harvey had never considered himself to be highly sexed. He would go weeks or even months without masturbating. He found images of half-naked nubile girls selling blue jeans embarrassing and in poor taste. He knew that Al visited “gentlemen’s clubs” occasionally, but personally he had no interest. Harvey’s diversions tended to be on a different plane: music, art, literature, the occasional movie.
Since Deidre had joined the trio, though, Harvey had been feeling like a randy eighteen-year-old. Her mere presence was enough to harden his cock to the point of pain. When she spoke to him, her sultry voice full of soft Russian vowels, he felt his own power to speak escaping him. Her always assertive gaze was a ray gun that froze him in his tracks, or perhaps more appropriately, melted him into a featureless lump of swollen, aching flesh.
It wasn’t just the aura of blatant sexuality that surrounded her. It had something to do with her music, her cool, controlled technique that contrasted so strongly with the passion flowing from her instrument. It was intense, visceral. Each vibrant note penetrated his flesh to settle in his groin.
Most of the time when they played together, Harvey managed to concentrate on the score and execute his part in a manner that was competent if not inspired. If he happened to glance over at her, though, he was lost. He saw the way she clasped the belly of her cello between her thighs, and imagined himself in its place. He watched her fingers travel over the sounding board and saw them dancing across his flesh.
This morning he had messed up the second movement of the Schubert B flat so badly that they had to start over.
Al hadn’t made any comment. Harvey had been surprised to find sympathy in his brother’s look, rather than the expected scorn. On the other hand, Al seemed to be playing exceptionally well today. His blunders of yesterday did not repeat themselves. His solo passages soared with a new lyricism. Harvey noticed that Deidre was smiling at Al, her face alive with pleasure and approval.
For the first time that he could remember, Harvey felt jealous of his brother.
Al was not generally the perceptive type. Still, he couldn’t miss the fact that Harv was turned on by Deidre. The moment Harvey walked into the practice room this morning, Al had noticed the swelling in the crotch of his brother’s baggy trousers.