Orchestra Practice (750 Words)

This particular "mature" guy is a community member of the local college's orchestra, plying his wares on the French horn. It's an annoyingly difficult instrument to play, but having the skills -- not to mention having my own professional-grade horn -- seems to create a little bit of demand for my talents.

Happily married and

three times their age

, I don't lust after the young ladies, the student members of the ensemble who are taking the course for credit. It's not that I don't find some of them physically attractive, but clearly, to me at least, they are

children

, and have not a whiff of the maturity and

je ne sais quoi

I expect from the ladies of my life experience. These are kids, with kids' attitudes, postures and the general nonsense that goes along with 18-22 year olds. And their smartphones.

But then there's Olivia.

Olivia is 20, a sophomore studying viola. She is quiet, reserved, and serious in demeanor; her

Mona Lisa

smile is rarely seen. Her look and bearing is that of a fashion model; with just a little makeup she'd be a real stunner. She is slender with subtle curves and

beautiful

legs, assets she frequently dresses to emphasize. This is to the chagrin of a department professor who told her to tone it down on two occasions, including providing a T-shirt for the time she wore a crop-top to rehearsal. She definitely has the body for it, but, yeah, it was a bit much.

The question is, "

Who

is she under-dressing

for?

" The guys her age, especially the music majors, are nerds. Most are gamers, and those who aren't are outright oblivious. Even the percussionists in our group, elsewhere known for "reputations", are simply dorks.

Okay, the tuba player is a cool kid; talented, too. But he doesn't hang with Olivia or the two or three girls I usually see her with. He should.

It's hard to keep my eyes from wandering in Olivia's direction during practice. I recently overheard she is transferring to another school for next year, so my time "enjoying the scenery" is growing short as we prepare for our final concert.

I so badly want to ask our director, a good friend, what Olivia's story is, but I'd better not. That's especially since I know he and I have similar tastes in women, having caught him more than once leering after my wife. Not that

she

minds; "In a heartbeat" she declares.

Speaking of my wife, she's given me blanket permission. "Go for it," always with a too-knowing chuckle. Sigh.

Anyway, after our rehearsal I am in a practice room putting my horn in its case, having left the door open since there was no reason to close it. There is a bit of chatter in the hallway, mostly the kids carrying on in the way they usually do, separate from the adults who comprise about two-thirds of the orchestra.

There's a soft tap on the doorframe. I glance up and almost fall off the piano bench I'm sitting on. It's Olivia. She is wearing an entirely-too-short pleated skirt this evening, barely two or three inches away from showing things.

"I know you look at me a lot during practice. You're not a pervert, are you?"

I sigh, "No, Olivia, I'm not. You are very attractive and it's a challenge to not enjoy your beauty. You know how to dress for it. Most girls your age haven't a clue."

"Well what do you think?"

"I think that the guys in school here are idiots for not getting to know you better. You seem to be an enigma to them. You are

to me

. Why are you here?"

She subtly smiles, closes the door, and twists the lock.

"You're not like the other men in the orchestra. Why is that?" as she sits next to me on the bench.

"Cyan and I are young at heart. We feel like we're 25-year-olds trapped in senior-citizen bodies."

"She sure knows how to dress sexy, too."

"She does. Still, why are you here alone with me?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

She stands and lifts that skirt. No underwear. Her incredible legs do indeed go all the way up.

"Uhhh... uhhh..." I stammer.

"You won't see me again after the concert next week. So here's your chance to be 25 again."

Olivia reaches for my belt and zipper, pulls my penis out, and sits in my lap facing me.

"Be quiet!" she whispers as she pulls me into her.

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