Piano in the Den

My appearance and weight seem to matter to a lot of people. I am tall and beautifully worn in by the den holding me captive. Sometimes I think I am old, perhaps because of the way I sound. A small difference in the way I move, and in the way I feel, forces me to consider the time I have kept. Perhaps that's why I now sleep for most days?

I am dressed to match the walls surrounding me; or perhaps the walls are dressed to match me. I see how my brown complexion is somewhat similar to the wooden planks that lie beneath my heavy legs. I am almost invisible in this den. I am almost safe.

Chair is next to me. I do not know why they have called him chair, I certainly would have picked a better name if someone had bothered to ask me first. Perhaps Lloy? Al? He is always next to me anyway, keeping me company when it gets darker. Even though he doesn't speak to me, I always know he is there. Sometimes I sing to him.

Familiar footsteps enter my room. I know who it is: Kelleher. His breath is so comforting to me now, his touch; there is no part of me he has not explored with his tender hands. I do love his hands, so firm yet so gentle. His visits were almost weekly now.

He moves chair from next to me, so that he can be the one closest to me instead. He uncovers my most private area, the part I keep covered until our music begins. I am eager and naive, too trusting, yet so safe in his hands. Surely my trust could never do me wrong.

In our first days together Kelleher's rhythm seemed off, like he did not understand how to play his part with me. I've noticed he runs his fingers over me more knowingly now, I've noticed how much he cares. He is perfect, my Kelleher. My dearest. My Master.

"Charlotte?" He turned his head away from me. He stood up and walked over to the door, which he opened. In came a beautifully held woman, so sweet that her scent suffocated me instantly.

I was vulnerable in this position, uncovered, worn in and somehow unable to move of my own accord. My most private place was opened for Charlotte's eyes to divulge. Her eyes sucked me in, as if they had hands of their own, reaching out and pulling me closer to her gaze. I felt aroused.

"Are you ready?" Her two lips formed this sentence. She was looking at me, as if expecting me to reply to her. Kelleher looked at me too, smiling his smile which I knew so well. Forever did it seem they stared at me, while I stood exposed and half played.

Yet I am silent when untouched. I look inviting when no one is holding me. There is something about the way I stand which makes those around me want to press their fingers into me; like a lock that fits my many keys.

Kelleher and Charlotte begin to fondle with my most private parts. They make me sing with every probing touch. I enjoy singing, but I am confused by who is playing now. Who is the master to this song? Who am I submitting to? Which pair of hands belong to me?

I recalled how my timing and rhythm over the past few days, had been ugly and erratic, manipulated by the hands of juveniles. Smothered by the dusty cage of this den. Filling in the bitter cracks over my body where children had carved in their names, expecting worship for their destruction.

Kelleher had dusted these cracks many times. Yet my hopes that he might reach out and wipe down the bruises, the broken pieces of my body; today, had withered. Charlotte seemed to have a hold over this master, which made him weak to the music. Did I belong to Kelleher anymore? Did kelleher belong to Charlotte? I did not know.

Again, I say I am beautifully worn in by the den holding me captive, like in a cage. If a piano; then I'm standing helplessly in the den, and choice is a word forbidden to the repertoire.

If not; then I choose my master. From right now I choose who presses down, unlocking the keys to my skin, beneath clothes I choose to apply.

If not; then I deserve to learn my own music- and kelleher, he will never play my piano again.