If Music Be The Food Of Love 3

I'd been dating Carly for a few months. We first met on evenings out with groups of friends. After a few such meetings I decided I liked her quite a lot. When I asked her out she replied "Oh, yes, Ok. That'd be nice." Though I'd hoped for a little more enthusiasm than was embodied in that word "nice" I arranged a dinner date at a new and well-thought-of restaurant. The evening was a success in that we found much common ground; we both relaxed as the conversations progressed. The main interest we shared was music. I have a very wide musical taste veering towards Jazz. Carly was very strictly classical, and even then very definite and esoteric tastes, such as Stravinsky, Part, Ligeti and Schoenberg. I can easily listen to the first four, but Schoenberg? Not even for a modern jazz fan, though perhaps oddly, I like Glass and Reich, who were heavily influenced by him. When we said goodnight and I attempted a rather clumsy peck on the cheek, she failed to anticipate it and moved at the crucial moment so I kissed thin air. We were both able to laugh about it, so she then kissed me on both cheeks.

I phoned her a few days later asking for another date. This time she responded with a little more enthusiasm. We soon became firm friends, and after about six dates, lovers. She is a very good-looking woman, more handsome than pretty, tall, slender, dark-eyed and -haired with a very nicely proportioned body. Her breasts, in particular, are large, smooth-skinned and nicely firm in my hands. Her nipples responded well to my manual and oral ministrations I was delighted to discover, as I undressed her on our first night together. So, all ought to be rosy on the girlfriend front, except that...well... I don't wish to be unkind or judgemental, but to me she lacked passion. We made love two or three times a week but it always seemed to be very low-key to her, despite my best efforts to arouse her. This lack of sexual energy was definitely a barrier to me wanting to move the relationship on to a more committed and deeper level. It changed in a very unexpected way.

I bought two tickets to one of a series of outdoor concerts held each summer in the extensive grounds of a stately home near my flat and invited her to join me. When I told her what the programme was, her face fell, "Oh, well..."

"Carly, you're such a music snob! Excerpts from Carmina Burana, excerpts from the Planets, Beethoven's fifth and then finishing with the 1812 Overture. Your approach to music, you know, academic and technical is fine. After all, you're a trained professional. But music is meant to do more than just satisfy the rules of harmony, however they might be formulated. It's supposed to evoke emotion. Strong emotion. And it does for me. The pieces we're going to hear were composed to be highly emotional. The fact they've become slightly...er...cheesy just shows how successful they've been at engaging people over many decades, doesn't it? What's so bad about that? Come on it'll be fun!"

"You're right. I am a snob, But really, yes I'd love to come. I'm sorry I was a bit..."

"Snotty?"

She elbowed me in the ribs, "I was going to say 'thoughtless', because you've been so good as to buy me a ticket. I'd love to come, really."

"We'll take a picnic," I said, "Let's hope the weather's good."

It was. It was a glorious summer's day with no wind or clouds. I made us up a picnic stowing it all in a rucksack. Knowing the vagaries of English summers, I added a large blanket. Even on the hottest days, the temperature drop as the sun goes down can make it feel really chilly. The concert wasn't due to finish until after nine.

Carly looked very good in a yellow shirt top and short tartan skirt. Her legs were long and nicely tanned, looking good even in flat shoes.

We walked around the grounds in the early afternoon before selecting a spot in dappled shade under a huge old oak tree. It was near the back of the music arena, but was slightly raised, so we'd be able to see the stage well. Carly added, mischievously "...and we can leave easily if we're bored!" I elbowed her in the ribs that time.

We ate our picnic and drank our wine during the early part of the concert, the tree providing a welcome backrest. The Carmina Burana was well done, notwithstanding the amateur choir, the Mars and Jupiter also well done, but the Neptune was a little tentative, I thought. The Beethoven fifth, though, was excellent. Carly seemed to be enjoying herself, saying little, giving the music her full attention. As the orchestra prepared for the climax of the evening, the 1812 Overture, it became quite cold in contrast to the heat of the day as the sun went behind the old building. I pulled out the blanket, which was a large one, throwing it round us both. Carly snuggled up to me. I put an arm round her, pulling the blanket close with my other hand. It sheltered us like a small tent. By chance my hand came to rest on her knee. Liking the feel of her flawless skin, I squeezed her knee and left my hand there. She didn't move it. The closeness of her, her perfume, plus her own scent were turning me on. As the first quiet strains of the 1812 started, I hugged her a little tighter. She put her face up and we kissed tenderly. Feeling adventurous, I squeezed her knee again. Her thighs were together, but I ran my hand a little way up them. She didn't try to stop me, so I began gently stroking her smooth, cool thigh. At one of the minor climaxes, to my amazement, she opened her legs. Not widely, but enough for me to reach higher up her thigh with my caresses.

Looking around carefully, I noticed that the rest of the audience were all more or less in front of us and they weren't looking at us anyway. Emboldened by this I put a little more pressure into my caresses. Carly gasped quietly, her eyes closed. "She's turned on!" I thought. I continued stroking until at the next mini-climax in the music she opened her legs a little wider. I put my hand onto her mound, which is satisfyingly prominent, and squeezed it gently. She gasped again. I kissed the top of her head. As the music lessened in intensity a little I began tracing the outline of her cunt lips through her very sheer panties with my finger. I was being very careful to make small movements just with my forearm and hand so that the movement didn't show through the blanket. I looked around again. No-one was looking at us. The next part of the music was a jaunty little section during which I speeded up a little. She spread her legs wider. "This is going to happen," I thought, "I'm going to get her off!" My cock responded; I had to shift position slightly to accommodate my growing erection.

Another smooth, quieter passage followed during which I went back to circling her cunt with a finger. The next section, using a rousing, hunt-like theme emboldened me to probe inside her panties, and as the music rose to yet another climax I slipped a finger into her vagina, quickly followed by a second, slowing my finger fucking as the music slowed before beginning to build towards the main climax which in this performance included fireworks and real cannons.

Carly's vagina was dripping by this time and as the music speeded up to the 'charging armies' section with the cannons and fireworks exploding around us I rubbed hard and rapidly on her clitoris with my thumb. I felt her come to a shattering climax in my arms. We didn't join in the applause. I held her cunt gently for a few minutes as she recovered. The crowd around us began leaving, but we remained in each others' arms under the blanket until almost everyone had gone. Eventually, she looked up at me. I gave her a long kiss on the lips, but neither of us said a word.. I packed the blanket away along with all our other detritus, put my arm around Carly and led her to the car. My cock was hard, so I had to hobble the short distance to where I'd parked. At least it was quite dark now, so no-one would notice. Carly was still post-orgasmic, her eyes soft and unfocused. She didn't speak on the journey home, but when I put my hand between her legs, she once again spread them enough for me to hold her cunt, which I did for the short drive home, stroking it occasionally. Thank the Ford for automatic gearboxes!

We flew into each others' arms in the lift up to my floor, Carly pushing herself against my erection. Once inside, she looked at me in a way that said, "fuck me, now!" so I led her to the bedroom, pushed her gently on to the bed on her hands and knees, pulled her panties down to her knees, dropped my own clothing, slid my hard cock into her very wet cunt and fucked her slowly for as long as I could manage.

To my delight, she came several times before I had my own monumental ejaculation. We collapsed onto the bed but after a few minutes recovery, I began undressing her. She threw off the remainder of her clothes herself and we slipped into bed together, her rigid nipples falling nicely into my mouth as she reached to stroke my cock, something she'd never done before.

We had another resoundingly climactic fuck, making Tchaikovsky's crescendos look tame (I told myself!) before relaxing back into each others' arms. Carly was the first to speak.

"I'd never rated Tchaikovsky before," she said quietly, "perhaps I'll listen to him more often from now on."

I laughed, thinking his Romeo and Juliet suite might fill a Sunday afternoon in bed nicely. Then there was Ravel's Bolero, Bruckner's 7th symphony...!

She moved closer, wrapping her arms around me and laying one long, smooth thigh across my crotch. I could feel what little pubic hair she had left unshaved against my thigh.

"You made me think, what you said about music," she said dreamily, "you were right that it can have some emotional content. Perhaps, should have, even. So I decided that for this concert I wouldn't try and identify every chord or change of key. I'd just try and let it...well...take me with it, wherever that might be." She looked up at me with an impish grin, "and we know where that was don't we? Tell me honestly, did you plan it?"

"Good God, no. It was just that you were so close, and you felt so good, and then my hand fell on your thigh quite by chance and I saw that no-one could really see what was happening under the blanket..."

"Oh my God! I honestly never thought about anyone seeing us! I was so wrapped up in my..our little world! Imagine...!"

"It was ok, really. I wouldn't have started if I'd thought we would be spotted."

"Do you think we'll ever reproduce that intensity?"

I thought about this for a minute.

"Honestly, Carly, I don't know. I hope so. I intend to do my utmost, anyway."

"Hmm, I hope so! I'm still gonna listen to Schoenberg, though."

That day proved a turning point in our relationship. I discovered that masturbation was the key to arousing Carly's passion. I'd masturbated her before, but without the result I'd gained in the park. Somehow the combination of the occasion, the music and her own introspection had freed something up in her. It had shown me that she was undoubtedly a very passionate young woman who just needed to be served well in order to respond fully to her inner desires. I was very willing to learn the best ways to make her happy with my hands and mouth. She loves clitoral stimulation, but finger-fucking works as well, from behind as much as in front, just as she likes being fucked from behind; my favourite position, too. I was now the enormously happy man with a tigress of a girlfriend.

And yes, we have managed to reproduce the intensity of that evening, though not often. Our 'normal' sex life is good, better than in any other relationship I've had.

Occasionally, I still masturbate her in public, outdoor events being the most amenable venues for that. We haven't been caught, yet, though there have been some close shaves when, overcome by emotion, she's made a louder noise than is wise and the people around us have looked our way. I smile and say, "She loves that bit!"