Choral Evenings Pt. 01

It took me a few phone calls to people who obviously either didn't understand what it was I wanted, or at least preferred to give that impression, but as usual, perseverance paid off and I finally found myself talking to what was clearly an older man, one who immediately grasped and who apparently took a personal interest in my plan.

He explained that although the thing I wanted to purchase, if he could find one, would probably not be too expensive in itself, there might well be significant costs in restoration and then especially the transportation. This would have to be done by a specialist company, who charged what he considered overly high prices. However, if he was successful in obtaining what I wanted, he would also be prepared to travel down and make sure its final tuning was correctly adjusted.

Having giving me a rough estimate of what he thought might be involved, which - although rather more than I thought it might be - as an investment in what I hoped it might deliver, was in fact very much less than I could well have been prepared to pay. So of course I immediately agreed to it.

When I had renovated and modernised the cottage I had been at pains to insist that all that work should, wherever possible, respect the character of the original building - not simply gut the place down to four walls and a roof then insert a 21st century place inside those. So I had demanded that the carpenters do their best to either source old timber that could be reworked, or seek wood that could at least be made to blend in with what original timbers we could leave in place. I did much the same thing with the stone-masons and even spent a considerable amount of time hunting down fittings that would not clash by screaming out their modernity.

So the fact that the piano-tuner immediately understood what I wanted the second, third or even fourth-hand piano to look like, was heartening - but I quite understood when he said it might be some little while before he came across not only something that would fit in, but one which he would be able to bring back to life again, as an instrument.

However, it was only a matter of ten days or so before I received a call back from him - and even he sounded excitedly pleased when he described what it was he said he had found for me.

He said he thought it would have been one of the range of instruments designed purposely for the connoisseur who had but limited space in which to accommodate a piano - as opposed to the grandiose 'furniture display pieces' that the Victorian merchant class had been so fond of. He compared those monstrosities to the flashy cars and unnecessarily overly large houses that today's equivalents use to publicly display their suddenly acquired wealth. 'This instrument was designed and built for a musician Mr Dawson, it was to be played, not just to be looked at. And the fact that it was given an iron frame - not timber - has meant it's had the very best chance of surviving this long. Not that it won't need a fair bit of work; there are half a dozen hammers I would like to replace and of course all the felting needs to be re-done, and maybe a string or two. But it's not going to cost you an arm and a leg - that is if you want me to buy it and get to work on it for you.'

I told him to go right ahead, and began looking forward to the next stage in my plan to win the heart - and maybe possibly, perhaps eventually, even the body too - of the ever more delightful Bethany,

It wouldn't be strictly accurate to say that my every single waking moment was being filled with thoughts of her - although I certainly found a great many were - I still had my work and the other day-to-day commitments we all have in our seemingly ever more busy lives. But - and this was most unusual for me - I did find myself quite frequently day-dreaming about her; of how she had looked, and that incredibly powerful effect she had had on me, that very first evening, at the concert. I mean how could it be possible that just seeing someone from such a great, and totally impersonal, distance, could leave me with the image of her burned so indelibly on my brain?

But it undoubtedly was so!

Then the evenings we had spent in the choir practice, when I had found myself constantly looking across at where she was standing - noting even minute details of the changes in what she was wearing - and straining to hear the sound of her voice through all those which encompassed us.

And most vivid of all were those other evenings, or at least small parts of them, when it had been just the two of us together at her piano. Those times when I could look down at her; see each of the individually stray hairs at the base of that ever-present coif, see the slender and pale creamy beauty of her neck, her small, neatly shaped ears, see just the hint of the swell of her breast. So many, so very small parts of her, but they were more than enough to continue to fire the amorousness I had felt towards her since that very first moment...

However, in the meantime our weekly practices continued, and once Bethany had showed me where and how to spot those sometimes cunningly hidden key-notes she began to sing one or other of the parts with me.

Of course when singing within the choir the individual's voice is required to lose its distinctiveness; the perfect choral sound is gained from the precise blending of the sum of the whole, not from a melange of soloists. But when I heard it in isolation I realised that she had been blessed with a rich and well rounded mezzo-soprano voice - one which had a quite remarkable range that was able to include notes from mid contralto right through to being at the lower reaches of a true coloratura.

She really did have a beautiful singing voice - and I told her so, receiving an unexpectedly and almost maidenly blushing 'Thank you!' in reply.

So we stood and sang and played together, very happily, for those three or four weeks - and although we were only occasionally interrupted by one or other of her son's sudden appearances we were probably both always keenly aware of their actual proximity.

Then the piano-tuner called to say that my piano was ready and wanted to know which day I could be available for the move of it down from the city, and having arranged to take a day off from work, I looked forward to seeing what my money had bought.

And if the mere look of it gave any indication of what it might sound like I certainly wasn't disappointed. It could well have been built with exactly my small cottage in the mind of its creator, both its compact size and the colour and tone of the beautifully crafted exterior blending perfectly with the exposed timber I had been at pains to preserve inside the house.

Just as most houses were back in those times, mine came with what had clearly been a parlour and a living-room, neither of which were particularly large, and I had at one stage been tempted to have the intervening wall removed, to make one much larger space. But as the removalists carefully inched the piano into what had been the parlour - and which I had now decided I would call my music room - I was very, very glad I had not.

The instrument not only immediately blended in because of its outward finish, but its modest size also gave it a perfectly 'tailored-to-fit' appearance. Then, while I gave the workmen a beer or two, the piano-tuner sat down to make some final and purely minor adjustments to it - then, once the others had gone, he gave me a ten or fifteen minute demonstration of its sound. And although by no means a true connoisseur of the piano it was obvious even to me that what I had bought was something I should treasure.

So I could hardly wait to see if what I hoped for would now come about - it all depended on just how Bethany responded to the invitation I had been planning during these few weeks - an invitation I would offer during the coffee break in my next singing lesson.

Chapter 4

It was only during my short walk around to her house that I realised that I had probably been far too hopeful of Bethany having a positive reaction to my purchase - and that I should possibly restrain my expectations and certainly lower my imaginings of what it might ultimately lead to.

But, as things turned out I was not to be disappointed - because when she suggested that it was time for us to have our usual coffee break, I took the plunge and asked her if she would be able to pop round to have it at my place - explaining that I had just purchased something that I would like to have her opinion about.

'Surely the boys will be all right on their own for a while?' I added.

'Of course they will Mark - and I'm flattered that you should want me to give an opinion on something. I'm intrigued. And anyway, I'd love to have the chance to see what changes and improvements you have made to that charming old house.' she said.

'Oh it's nothing too mysterious - it's a piano. But I had to try to find one that fitted in with the rest of what I've had done with the cottage - and a woman's eye is always so much better than any man's could be.'

'A piano! How wonderful, I didn't know you played!'

'I don't, well not for a very, very long time now - and although my mother did insist I take lessons for a while, I hated it of course, and never got down to learning to read music, so she relented and let me give it up. But then, while just fiddling about on the keyboard I discovered that I could play pretty well, just by ear. So that's as far as my keyboard skills ever went.'

"Even so, I'm sure you'll get a good deal of pleasure from being able to take that up again - so come on, let's go around to take a look at it. I'll just let the boys know where I'm going.'

As we took the short stroll we chatted about the various kinds of music that we each enjoyed playing and when I opened the door and took her inside I could immediately tell that she was impressed by both the alterations themselves, and the way the new parts blended with the restoration of the older areas of the house.

'You've had it done beautifully Mark, it's a credit to both you and local tradesmen.' She said with obvious sincerity.

'Yes, they've been marvellous, I'm very grateful to all of them. But now let's go and see what I hope is the 'pièce de resistance'.' I said, opening the parlour - or music room - door.

'Oh yes Mark, yes, that's just perfect!' she responded enthusiastically when she first saw the piano. 'It looks as though it was actually made for this room, doesn't it!'

'Thank goodness, I thought it might be just me who thought that.'

'Oh no, it's absolutely terrific - and what's its sound like?'

'Why not find out for yourself.' I suggested, giving her an overly happy grin.

'May I?'

'Of course, that's the main reason I invited you around. And whilst you tinkle a few ivories, I'll go and see about that coffee - or would you rather have something a little stronger?' I suggested.

'Thank you, but no, coffee will be just fine.'

I was only gone for five or so minutes, but in that short time Bethany had made herself comfortable on the velvet covered swivel stool that had come with the piano and after a short period of doing not much more than a few finger-warming exercises, she began to play. Apart from knowing that the woman who had so captivated me that very first evening was now actually sitting in my house, playing my latest acquisition - just the sound of having its music pervading the entire house, was wonderful.

When I returned with the tray and had put it down on a nearby occasional table, I went over and stood beside her while she finished the piece she'd started. Don't ask me why it was that the ring suddenly caught my eye - but it did. I had of course previously noticed that she always took off that somewhat over-large dress ring before she began playing, but until then it was always her hair, her face, whatever I could see of her that held my gaze. But that time, perhaps just because of the way she had placed it on top of the piano enabled its facets to catch the light in some particular way, it did.

'That really is a most beautiful ring Bethany - I'm afraid I'm not very good at recognising particular stones, but that one does look rather special.' I said.

'Yes it is, well it's special to me - it's a topaz.'

'As I said, it is very beautiful and I imagine someone very special must have bought it for you. I mean apart from its size and colour, and perhaps it's the way it has been cut, but it seems to reflect almost exactly both the highlights in your hair, and those sparkling flecks of colour in your eyes.'

Even before I had completely finished the sentence, Bethany's head turned, sharply, staring up at me, her expression one of both surprise and pure amazement.

'You're the very first person - other than the jeweller - either man or even a woman, who has ever said that.' she said, her voice expressing the emotions I had seen on her face.

'Well that surprises me - although this is the first time I have noticed it as strongly. But, you mean you bought the ring yourself?'

She gave a low, throaty chuckle, and replied. "Oh yes, I treated myself, I figured I was owed it - I mean after a protracted and messy divorce, that is.'

'You too?'

'Ah so we also have that in common. Well, what's past is past.' she answered philosophically.

'And what will be, will be?' I suggested with a cheeky grin.

'Most definitely Mark, most definitely. But, coffee first I think.' she answered as she pushed herself up off the stool - leaving me to contemplate exactly what she might have meant by the use of that loaded word - 'first'.

In spite of her saying that just coffee would be fine, I had taken the liberty of adding two small glasses of a rather fine brandy - just in case she should change her mind. And although we talked about the merits of the new piano as we slowly sipped the coffee, I could see from the sometimes more deeply thoughtful look on her face that she was not entirely concentrating on our conversation.

But it was only when I reached for the glasses and offered one to her, which she accepted, and I said, as I raised mine to my lips - 'Given that we have been practising French music, perhaps the appropriate toast should be - À votre santé'

And she then replied with the much more intimately personal - 'À toi Mark.' - that I allowed my, until then almost totally suppressed hopes, to rise rather more than a mere fraction.

'There are a couple of rooms in the house that I have failed to show you Bethany.'

'Really - and they are?' she asked with a positively knowing smile.

'The bedrooms.'

'There's more than one?'

'Mmm, one never knows when an unexpected guest might wish to visit.' I answered.

'Surely there are some guests who would neither demand, nor even expect, their own room.'

'Not so far.' I replied meaningfully. 'But would you like to see them?'

'Naturally, we women are renowned for our curiosity.' she replied as we both, as one, emptied our glasses, then stood for a moment.

I took her hand, it was not only soft, warm, but her fingers curled encouragingly around my own as I led her from the room, then on down the short hallway, and opened the door to my bedroom.

Chapter 5

She took a few steps into the room then paused, looking about herself. 'It's as beautifully finished as the rest of the house is Mark - but it is very obviously a man's room.'

'You mean it could be improved by the addition of a few more feminine touches?' I asked.

'Maybe - but what I really meant was that I'm glad to see there aren't any already around.'

'None so far Bethany.' I replied, at the same time reaching out and lightly brushing the back of her neck with my finger-tips.

She shivered, they were just faint little tremors, but I detected them, and so I allowed my fingers to slowly work their way around and up and down that narrow band of skin.

We stood like that for perhaps a minute - maybe less - then she turned, looked up at me and I saw that her eyes had suddenly become more darkly clouded. I kept my hand where it had been, using it to gently lift and press her head upwards - as I bent and brushed my lips against hers.

They were unbelievably soft, slightly moist - and welcoming!

As that first kiss turned to another, one that was slightly deeper - more emotional, I slid my free hand around her waist and eased her even closer, at the same time allowing the other to slide slowly up and down her back.

I felt her actually pressing herself against me, then her hand slipping up to the back of my head, gently urging it more forcefully downward; so, with that additional encouragement I slid just the tip of my tongue into her mouth, finding hers apparently waiting, then joining mine as the kiss grew still more obviously passionate.

We stood there, kissing and by then forcing our bodies together with quickly growing urgency, her hand pressing my lips down even more strongly, while the other - doing much the same as my own second hand had begun to - curling itself around so she could grip and squeeze my buttocks.

When we finally broke for a little extra air, I slid one hand up to cup her breast - and even through what she was wearing I could feel both the neatness of its size and its undoubted firmness, and couldn't wait to both see and kiss it. 'May I?' I whispered as my fingers went to the topmost of the buttons that ran down the front of the shirt.

'I'd be most upset if you didn't.' she answered softly, then with both hands around me and occupied with my arse, she stood while I slowly and with growing anticipation unbuttoned her.

I heard myself give a small gasp of amazement when I uncovered the beauty of what I found beneath what had appeared a very ordinary day-to-day shirt - it was a close-fitting little cami-top, made of a mix of rich but light mulberry coloured silk and lace - and as I opened the shirt front wider, as I could clearly see the dark, circular shadows of her aureoles - I knew she clearly wasn't wearing a bra.

And as the silky laciness clung so alluringly to them, I could also see that although her breasts were not on the overly large size, both their shape and obvious firmness made them, at least in my eyes, absolute perfection.

'You're even more beautiful than I thought you might be Bethany.' I croaked with suddenly lustful huskiness - then, totally ignoring the lace that sought to cover them, bent to kiss and nibble one of the quickly stiffening buds.

Her hands slid quickly up my back, holding my face firmly down against herself. 'Oh that's lovely Mark!' she sighed. 'You'll find I can take as much of that as you like to give me - but let's get a few more of our things off first.' She added as she gently urged me away from herself.

I stripped off in no time flat - only pausing when I saw what she revealed when she slid her skirt off. It was only then that I realised that the mulberry coloured cami-top was actually both matched and enhanced by some erotically tiny and wispily silk and lace panelled panties.

I knew I was staring, gawping open-mouthed, but there was nothing I could do about that - she looked beautiful, mouth-wateringly so, but not merely beautiful, she was quite simply the most damnably sexy woman it had ever been my good fortune to set eyes upon.

'Do you always wear such stunningly gorgeous underthings?' I asked almost breathlessly.

'Just this one evening of the week I have been, well, to be truthful, only these last few weeks I have.' She replied with a faint blush at the implication of her admission.

'You mean the night I've been coming round for practice?'

She merely nodded, watching - then her eyes widening - as I pushed my briefs down and exposed the already quivering erection they had been holding uncomfortably in place.