Music does things to me. It's a part of me. It's a constant. When I fell off the jungle-gym there was music coming from the room next to the sick-bay at school. It was bad, but it was music nevertheless. The first time I got drunk - there was music. Actually there was Madonna - Like a Virgin - how appropriate. The first time I had sex, and then the first time I was properly fucked - two different occasions as far as I'm concerned - there was music, always music.
No surprise then that I fall for those that play music. Not pop music - that's way too easy, way too....everywhere. I'm more interested in the studious, dedicated classical musician who on the face of it is as stuffy as the halls they play in, but beneath that exterior can often lurk energy and passion most of us could only dream of.
The steps outside St. Paul's Cathedral in London are just incredible in the summer sun, and I was walking towards the City when I passed them last week. I looked up, envious of those people with the time in their lives to sit and soak up the sun, seemingly ignorant of banks, taxes, and pressing appointments. Like the boy with the cello. The boy with the cello! I say 'boy', when in fact I guessed him to be about 19 - with the round spectacles, untidy mop of hair, out of control side-burns, he just looked like he needed taking care of. I stopped to look at him - from the safety of fifteen yards and the privacy of my sunglasses.
Because he was sitting, it was hard to guess his height, but I settled on a neat six feet. He was totally oblivious to the world as he read some well-thumbed book and ate a baguette almost absent-mindedly. It may have been because it had been so long since I last came courtesy of someone other than my own dexterous fingers, or because of a trace of mayonnaise on his upper lip that just wanted licking - whatever, my pulse was racing. As I watched and imagined, a girl rushed up and sat beside him, talking about something or other. I noticed her flushed cheeks, long dark hair and her clothes - at odds with everything - old-fashioned knee length denim skirt, a billowy white blouse, and flat slip on shoes she slipped out of as soon as she sat down. Somehow, though - it looked perfect on her.
By this time I had propped myself against a wall pretending to read. I just watched, listened and imagined what they were talking about, whether they were together, whether they were good together. She kept talking as she took bites from her Yorkie Bar, but he seemed to take little interest in what she had to say. At one point she reached past the book, took his face in her hands and kissed him hard on the mouth. He seemed to come out of his trance and the kiss became something more intimate, more suggestive. Her skirt had ridden up her thighs enough to reveal creamy flesh, and as she twisted to kiss him, her left leg splayed out to balance herself, affording me a sudden flash of white knickers. I fancied that I saw the indent of her womanhood, but I think that was probably my overactive imagination. All too quickly, the moment was gone, the skirt was smoothed down, and normal service resumed. And I was no less worked up.
I was about to go when she looked around her, pretending to be looking at something in the distance and ran her hand up his right thigh, and rested it on his crotch. He made no attempt to remove it, although he seemed to bow his head even further into the book. I decided that I'd had enough of the distance between the players and the audience. I walked in a wide arc that took me to the side of the stairs, up the back way, and I managed to sit three steps behind them. I could hear their conversation quite plainly now, and it seemed as if I wasn't the only one suffering from a heat that wasn't entirely due to the summer sun.
"We could use one of the rehearsal rooms, we could lock the door...we could, you know"
She was getting little response from the young cellist, but it didn't seem to deter her.
"I'm so fucking wet, I have been all morning - all through lectures. I swear I could have come if I'd put my mind to it. Come on, let's go back to the college."
Her accent spoke of a fine upbringing, fine schools; although she dropped the odd t and h as many do in order to sound sufficiently London. Such a pretty voice saying such dirty things was almost too much for me to bear. I'd totally forgotten what I was doing with my day - this now seemed the most important thing in my life.
I was startled out of my reverie when a voice asked me what the time was. I blinked and looked at the girl who had twisted around, lying on her stomach looking up at me enquiringly.
"Um, I'm not sure, hold on and I'll check my mobile." As I delved into my bag, I had my own job keeping my balance and unwittingly returned the favour from a few minutes ago.
"One twenty four" I declared, before noticing that her gaze was fixed firmly between my legs. Did I close them in an embarrassed rush? No. Did I open them wider to afford her a better view? No. I just let her look. After just a few seconds, she looked up and thanked me. Not before I got a perfect view of her breasts nestled in their lacy bra. Not too big, not too small. Just right.
She turned back and began talking to the cellist in a voice so low I couldn't make out what they were saying. He half turned as if he was trying to look at me out of the corner of his eye, before turning back and shaking his head in a kind of frustration. She elbowed him, and this time he nearly looked all the way around.
I couldn't help myself. Knowing he was going to look properly soon, I reached down under my dress, and pulled my knickers aside, and as I did so it was like a torrent of wetness gushed down onto my fingers. I had just finished dipping a finger into the pool gathering at the opening of my vagina when he turned around fully, eyes wide, mouth open. She was looking, too - not with hunger, but definitely with curiosity.
I let my knickers go with a snap, and sucked gently on my fingers before bringing my knees together and smiling innocently down at this pair of young musical lovebirds.
"So, I said. Will you play for me?"
They exchanged a glance. It was an incredibly long moment, which seemed to ask a hundred questions, but there was no doubt as to the answer to them all.
"Yes" She whispered for them both.
