Piano Man

"I'm a little bit drunk. Dripsy, if you will."

We trekked the stone steps from the driveway to the front door. It was raining moderately, as it had for almost 30 days straight. Portland, Oregon had received almost one-third of its yearly rainfall in one month. He unlocked the door for me and allowed me to precede him through the doorway. He caught the dog by the collar as she attempted her escape.

"She can't get out. She'll be down the block and invisible within seconds."

"Where should I put my coat? I look like a drowned rat."

"Anywhere is fine. Just be wary of the dog hair. It gets into everything."

I placed my jacket on the back of the chair near the kitchen. I surveyed the room pointedly. The coffee table held a blue-green bong, bills, records, books, sheet music. It was a bachelor pad in every way. In the corner was an aging baby grand. The keys were well-used. Many people had loved this piano intensely. This man obviously did. Jazz permeated every corner of the house. Next to the piano was a bookshelf covered in biographies of musicians, stacks of records. John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Sarah Vaughn.

I sat down on the couch. He placed his leather jacket on the coat rack and sat near me. He grabbed his laptop and began going through the motions. He checked email and read comics and surfed MySpace. I inched closer, making sure my side was against his. He got up to put on a record. I don't remember who it was now, but it was fabulous. My head found the curve of his shoulder comfortably. He's so big compared to me. My thumb is maybe the width of his pinky. We'd compared earlier. He placed his huge hand on my back, like a shield. I'd never felt safer. He ran his hand up and down my back, slowly. The music is soft, soothing. Smooth alto sax solos over deft piano. He slowly massaged the center of my back, stopping for a moment when I jumped a bit.

"Did that hurt? Do you want me to work on it?"

"Oh, could you? That would be great."

I sat up and leaned forward, balancing with my forearms on my knees. He scooted closer and began to massage. And it was heavenly. Twenty years of piano had made his big hands strong and skilled. He kneaded the muscles carefully, periodically reminding me to breathe, to relax. I moaned softly as I relax into an altered state. My reactions are slowed, barely conscious. I'm lost in the sensations. His hands moved to my neck. He tells me to lie down on my back. I lay my head in his lap as his fingers pressed into my neck.

"I need to take you home with me. Pocket-sized. So I can just enlarge you when I need a massage, and then put you away again."

"If I had a nickel for every time I heard that..."

"You'd have a nickel?"

We laughed. I cuddled up to him again. He looked tired. I was still wired from the buzz.

"You don't have to stay up with me, you know."

"Well, maybe I won't." He stood up. "I'm going to bed. You can join me if you want."

I'm not sure he saw my eyes light up. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all." He headed toward the bedroom.

I walked in and closed the door behind me. I removed my bra through my tank and began to remove my pants. He removed his shirt and pants, stripping to his boxers and climbing into bed. I lay next to him and let him put his strong, warm arms around me.

"There's no way I can sleep like this," I said.

"That's alright."

His hands roamed over my clothes. He kneaded my ass cheeks and pawed at my body firmly with his huge hands. Finally he moved to my breasts, pressing at my nipples through my shirt. He pinched the small bars in them, twisting them. He kissed over my chest and neck, biting at my collarbone. I rolled over and straddled him, and staring into his face, I removed my shirt. My firm, round, white breasts bounced from their restraint, my nipples erect. He grinned slyly and massaged my chest, careful not to catch the piercings. He sat up and let his mouth trace the nape of my neck. I pulled him closer in encouragement. He leaned back again, and I balanced on my knees and elbows over him. He ran his hand along the crack of my ass, gripping me as he reached the bottom. I sighed loudly as he gripped my pussy firmly and began to rub. Please, I moaned. He slipped a finger into my panties and found my clit, rubbing at it slightly, teasing. My breathing quickened and he directed another finger to my hard nub. I begged him to slip inside me. He slid a finger in and stroked my insides. I'd been waiting to feel these fingers for days. I moaned for him to use two, assuming I could handle them. He obliged and I gasped. Two of his fingers were at least three of mine, and much thicker.

"My God your hands are huge!"

He brought his fingers in and out of me, faster. I began to moan louder. I covered my mouth to stifle the screams. I'd never been so filled by a lover's hands. He used his thumb to tease my clit as he worked, feeding off of my pleasured cries. He lifted my lower body with one of his hands, placing me over his bent knees, elevating me. He continued to finger me and began to use his mouth on me as well. The two sensations, which I am incapable of on my own, sent me into a frenzied bucking. I pushed against his thrusts with my body, crying louder and with more intensity. Finally I clasped my thighs around his hands, pushing his face from my pussy. My muscles tensed hard as I came. My breath was ragged and harsh, and as he stroked my back I came again. My body hadn't been so sensitive in years. I collapsed against him and pulled him close to me as I calmed myself. He nibbled at my neck, clearly proud of himself.

When the highs subsided, I glanced at his erection. Oh whatever shall I do about that, I asked. I peeled his boxers from him and took him in my hand. I gripped him and stroked, eager to return the favor. I pulled the band off my wrist and tied back my hair, lowering my body over his lower torso. I ran my tongue around the head, taking him in my mouth. I bobbed up and down on him until he asked me to stop. I want to be inside you, he told me. Those fabulous hands took me by the waist and I straddled him again. He placed a condom over his solid erection, and I slid onto him. I pulled up slowly, watching his face. His mouth hung open and his eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensations of my tight, tight young pussy grasping at him. He placed his hands over my hips as I rode him. I leaned forward to support myself and moved faster, then slowed almost to a stop. I rose so that he was barely inside me and then slid down, taking him to the hilt in one swift movement. He gasped as I did it twice more, and he came. He gripped the condom as I slid off of him, his body spent. He thanked me, but I refused. It was I who thanked him. For I have no gift anything like those hands. We spent the night recovering, then fucking again and again. Twice, three times. He fingered me and I sucked him and soon it was daylight. I packed my things and he drove me to the bus station. I had class the next morning and couldn't afford to be stuck in the passes. As I fell asleep on the bus, my nipples ached and throbbed. I knew it may be months, years before I saw him again. Something to look forward to, I thought. Great jazz, and big, strong hands. My strapping, strong, twenty-five year old piano man.