The Violinist

The violinist's fingertips drummed upon the neck of the violin as they pulled the fluttering notes from the tortured instrument, his right arm working the bow rapidly back and forth across the vibrating strings. A bead of sweat formed on his brow due to the vigorous and high paced solo he was performing, though his focus was so intense that he did not notice the perspiration.

The crowd listened in raptured silence as he played, almost breathing a sigh of relief as his solo came to a crescendo, ending abruptly to allow the music to transition to a more gentle and peaceful sound.

He lowered his bow gracefully, like a gymnast finishing a routine. He had several measures to rest before he would play again, and his eyes wandered the audience, drinking in their love for the piece.

A woman caught his eye, her fabulous yet elegant red dress separating her from the respectful black of the other concert goers. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, allowing for her pale neck and shoulders to be exposed to the air. He noted her perfect posture, upright and attentive.

He was transfixed momentarily, his eyes tracing a path from her hair to her ears, following the curve of the neck down past her breasts, arms, hands, hips, and legs. His heart momentarily kicked into overdrive as he saw the smooth skin of her thigh through the split of the dress and he suddenly remembered himself. Remembered where he was. His eyes flicked to hers and for an instant they made contact, though she looked away to another section of the orchestra.

He gathered his focus and made ready to play once more. A simpler melody this time, a small piece of the greater whole. A particularly sublime section of tranquil sounds.

An image came unbidden to his mind, as if put there by someone else. Knees on the floor, thigh-high black stockings that bit ever so slightly into the skin leading upwards to a gorgeously round and pale bottom, it's plump cheeks coloured a searing bright pink and criss-crossed with angrier red lines. He could almost feel the heat coming from the skin.

He mentally slapped himself, amazed at his loss of concentration. He was an experienced professional and rarely made mistakes, yet here he was with his own mind running away from him. He focused in harder still upon the melody, playing louder than he was supposed to as he drove the bow across the strings with force.

Another lull in the music, and his eyes unconsciously wandered back to the woman in the crowd. Her eyes yet again found his, and this time he locked onto them without thinking. He felt his soul blaze with energy and his chest inflated, drawing oxygen into his body and making him feel powerful.

Her eyes fell gracefully to her lap, not because she was shy but almost as though she consciously chose to submit under his gaze. There was something intoxicatingly feminine about it, and she knew it. It was a mark of her supreme confidence and grace that she could embrace this aspect of herself.

She adjusted her position in her seat, shifting her legs from one side to the other while keeping her knees together. The violinist was again greeted with an unbidden mental image, this time of hair being freed from it's tight and restrictive bindings to fall freely down a smooth back, only for his waiting hand to then grasp it forcefully.

He couldn't believe what he was doing. He needed a bucket of ice water pouring over his head. He breathed deeply and meditatively, clearing his mind of all noise and distraction before looking back to his conductor, relocating the measure and beat. The music continued and swelled in power as it drew towards his next and final solo. He realigned his being with the course of the melody.

There was a sense of great anticipation from both the audience and the orchestra, as all knew the piece and were spellbound by the rising waves of emotion that compelled them to listen. The violinist's heart swelled with joy as his moment approached.

The woman closed her eyes, blissfully giving herself over to the music and letting it bring her consciousness to a heightened state.

The violinist's focus was absolute this time as he dove into the solo, striking at the strings with vigor and passion. She watched as his fingertips alternated between fierce pressure and soft caresses of the neck of the violin, only to retreat again and again. His pace quickened and the orchestra strained to keep up with him, his pulsing rhythm drawing them on to an ever more powerful crescendo.

In a moment of almost spiritual awareness his eyes again fell upon the woman. She no longer had her eyes closed, but was watching him intently. She had one hand laid across her chest and was breathing deeply and quickly as the music drew to one final ecstatic crescendo, ending the concert in dramatic fashion. The lights fell and there was silence for a few astonished moments before the crowd erupted into cacophonous applause.

The violinist wiped down his instrument with affection and placed it in it's carry case with great care before lifting it and heading out of the backstage area. Outside he found the same woman in her red dress, now with a warm coat wrapped tightly about her to protect her from the night chill. She gave him a meaningful, hungry look and within the hour he was letting her into his apartment and hanging her coat on a hook by the door. He briefly marveled at the soft skin of her neck, the perfection only broken by the soft and almost transparent vellus hairs that were raised in response to the cold temperature of the outside air.

He placed a bottle of wine and two glasses down upon a coffee table and excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he returned, both wine and woman were missing.

He said nothing, sensing a game. Moments later he found the wine and glasses, both filled and sitting on the nightstand by his bed. On the floor was a beautiful red dress, appearing for all the world as if it had been dumped unceremoniously - but he knew better. This was by design. He smiled to himself at the little mystery.

The woman was missing, and the hunt continued. He was sure she was hiding in the en-suite bathroom, but rather than end the game so soon he decided to play dumb and moved to other rooms of the large apartment first, calling her name. He would have her wait patiently for him.

He "searched" the rest of the apartment and even took a sip of wine before finally returning to the bathroom door. He grabbed the door handle and slowly turned it, taking his time to enjoy the moment. As he pushed the door open he saw an unstrung violin bow, laid neatly across the floor before him. Tracing his eyes upwards he noted two stockinged feet, together and pointing in his direction. From the feet his eyes followed two legs, perfectly motionless and folded at the knees, up to the top of the thighs where - as in his vision - they bit lightly into her skin. He then drank in the full view of her exposed and vulnerable body, buttocks pointing upwards towards him in a position of offering, her face submissively to the floor with her arms out in front of her, perfectly straight and aligned. Her posture created the most perfect curve of the back and he simply stood, taking in the beauty of her.

He loosened his tie and closed the door softly. Now the real music would begin.