Violin Lessons

"Come with me my beloved and we'll soar beyond the moon."

"Sing for me love and I'll be ready soon."

Chorus of "Chalo Dildar Chalo" from the film "Pakeezah"

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"I see you're having girlfriend troubles," said the oldest club member to the most melancholy.

The busty, ample assed Lilly knelt by the most melancholy with her face turned resolutely away. She had a red ball gag forced in her mouth. Her shoulders and bottom and thighs showed recent red lines. She and the most melancholy had been together but a few days and things were evidently not going well.

"She is a wretched girl and I don't know why I let her move in," said the most melancholy.

Lilly bobbled her head in a mocking manner and then bounced and clutched at her neck when the black choker which was all she wore buzzed.

The four friends sat in easy chairs that faced one of the fireplaces in their club's lounge. The fattest member sat in the chair nearest the hearth. He was busily assembling kebabs on the stomach of the girl who lay across his lap. She coated the pieces: peppers, onions, tomatoes, mushrooms, and scallops with the sauce she kept pooled in her cunt and then arrayed them on her stomach. The fattest member took a skewer and slid each piece onto it. The girl squeaked nicely each time the sharp point nicked her. He handed the assemblage to her and she held it out over the coals in the hearth.

After watching the show for a moment, the oldest asked the most melancholy, "What's the problem?". Then to Heather, the woman who sat on his lap, "I'll have a drink my dear and see that I get some this time."

The oldest member's doctor had told him to cut down on the alcohol so he only drank from Heather's lips.

"She has ghastly taste in music," sighed the most melancholy, "I came home yesterday and was assaulted by the most appalling muck. I made her lie with her arms behind her back in between the speakers. I tied her wrists and ankles together.

"I started with Cream's 'In the white room with black curtains'. I played my favorite Led Zeppelin, REM and Rolling Stone cds. Loud. After 5 hours, confident I'd made my point, I told her to apologize and suck my dick. The harlot began to sing, if you can call it that, something I later learned was 'Beauty and a Beat' by that tit Bieber."

The most melancholy shook his head sadly. "And worse," he continued, "Like all women, she is not supportive. You know that I have to publish a scholarly paper soon or my position will be in jeopardy?" The most melancholy was a professor at a local college. "I've all but completed a work on the justly obscure and deservedly forgotten authors contemporary to James Fenimore Cooper? I ordered her to proof read it. You know what the bitch said? She goes: 'You throw out those shit cds and play some Beyonce and I'll correct your crappy paper.'"

Lilly began to hum in a mocking muffled nasal tone a tune that the four friends would've surely recognized if only they hadn't left the youth culture years before. Her rendition was terminated by a buzz and a choking squawk.

After a pause to allow poor Lilly to regain her composure and the proper kneeling position, legs spread, arms up, hands behind her neck, the richest member said, "That reminds me of something similar involving my daughter Adrienne. Perhaps, after another round, you'd like to hear of it?"

For amusement, they made Lilly fetch from where it stood along a near wall, a wheeled stool with a large phallus affixed to its seat. From the look on Lilly's face, as she pushed it over to them, she did not fancy the thing at all.

For once Lilly was in luck. The richest member touched the shoulder of the incomparable Janetta, the girl who knelt beside him.

She rose gracefully to her feet and crouched over the stool. The four men watched raptly as she spread her delicate pussy lips and eased herself down on the largest member. They admired the way her color heightened, her eyes widened, and her breath quickened as she sank on it to the hilt.

"Be sure to get more kebab fixings," ordered the fattest.

Then Lilly pushed the stool across the carpet to the bar. The pair drew admiring glances and comment from the other little groups of club members.

The barman assembled a heavy tray with drinks and appetizers and handed it to the lovely Janetta.

Halfway back, a group more rowdy than the club really approved of pelted the pair with bits of brioche. Others along their path followed suit in an unseemly fashion.

When they'd run the gauntlet and returned safely and the contents of the tray had been transferred to the coffee table and Janetta had lifted herself from the stool with a satisfied sigh, the richest member took the lovely Janetta to the men's room, "to attend to a call of nature".

The three remaining friends soon began, as they often did, discussing the richest member with some envy.

"Did you see," said the most melancholy in a tone of disbelief, "Where he and his entire ménage, wife, daughters, sons in laws, and Janetta attended that White House soiree? When was it, last Saturday?"

"How many children does he have anyway?" asked the fattest without taking his eyes off the kebab that his girl held over the coals in the hearth.

"The appropriate unit of measurement here," said the oldest, "Is the mormon. He has kids numbering one mormon. All daughters."

"The Post described Janetta as the special friend of his oldest girl," said the most melancholy, "How much do you think his wife knows?"

After brooding a moment, gazing at the fire, the most melancholy went on, "He keeps Janetta in a luxury apartment in Tysons Corner. What's that place called? The Reserve? Jesus. My wife threw me out for far less. Small potatoes really. She caught me in my office enjoying a graduate student. "

Here Lilly made muffled sounds which could be easily understood as "Served you right too, asshole."

Her choker buzzed and Lilly grunted and clutched her neck.

The conversation had reached its end anyway as the richest member and the stunning Janetta were back and were settling themselves, he in his easy chair, she kneeling by his side. A hint of wetness on an ivory cheek and a certain renewed perfection about her makeup showed that she'd washed her face.

"Where was I?" he said, "Ah yes, I was about to, hopefully, amuse you with how my daughter Adrienne came to the aid of one of the great musicians of our age. Janetta?"

He handed his I-phone to her and when he took it back, its little screen showed text.

"It is thanks to Janetta that I know the details of this. Much of what I'm going to relate is after all not the sort of thing a girl tells her father. However she and Janetta have become good friends and Adrienne divulged all, under strict promise of secrecy. Janetta of course is strictly bound to a lack of the same, at least to me.

"I should also say, that any pleasant turns of phrase that I use are Janetta's. She is the ghostwriter of my memoirs of which this is a small part.

"Adrienne, my fourth? no third daughter, is the only one of my children to take a real interest in music. In this, at least, she takes after me. Her mother, outside of a fondness for dancing when she was young, could care less.

"At four Adrienne would tell us what to do with her older sister's Raffi cds and would instead lie for hours listening to Beethoven or Mozart. Janetta, find the picture of Adrienne at five with her little violin." He handed the phone back to the lovely Janetta.

With a few deft flicks of her graceful forefinger, she brought up a photo of a serious looking child with a cute little violin.

"She took lessons and practiced and by the time she was a senior in high school she was in the all-state orchestra and had won the state's violin competition two years running.

"To my sorrow, she left her violin at home when she went off to college.

"The events I am going to relate occurred sometime afterwards. She'd graduated and taken a job some distance from home. In the valley. She shared an apartment with a friend from college. She was dating a guy from a good family who had a good job as an engineer for a firm that makes drone microcontroller firmware. I have some money invested there. In the firm not the kid of course. My wife quite liked the kid. I found him to be a bore."

The richest took a sip of his whiskey and soda, accepted a kebab from the fattest and ate it. He looked reflectively at the fire. He handed a couple of the morsels down to the incomparable Janetta, then he commenced:

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Adrienne paused outside the door of the townhouse and listened. The sound of a violin came from inside, a Telemann fantasy she thought.

Adrienne heard a man's raised voice interrupt. She heard the man say, "Listen and watch my bow." The passage got played again, this time the sound, even through the door, was amazing, rich and full.

Adrienne waited for the next moment of silence and rang the bell.

She heard steps and the door opened. A tall slender man looked down at her. He was perhaps in his marginally healthy late thirties, perhaps in his ravaged late twenties. He still held his violin.

"Yeah?" he asked. If he liked to open his door and discover there an attractive well cared for twenty something girl with dusty blond hair that fell to her shoulders, large expressive eyes that would make the weakest among us to long to take stern measures, a taut energetic body, wearing a tee shirt and blue jeans that clung to her hips and made a nice contrast to her bare midriff, wearing sandals that showed prettily painted toes, if he liked opening his door and discovering such an apparition nothing in his face let on.

"Rafael Monetti?"

"Not here," the guy said and closed the door.

Adrienne stared at the door. She pursed her lips, contracting the soft seductive things into a tight circle. She'd gotten this expression from her mother. In her mother, it caused the canny investor to look for some safe haven in which to park his assets where they could ride out the storm that was sure to come. In Adrienne as yet, it only made one think, 'how cute she looks'.

She rang the bell again and when no one came, she leaned on it with determination.

The guy opened the door and before he could speak, Adrienne said, "Then I'd like my dad's money back."

"What?" the man looked surprised. He eyed her as if he'd discovered a new species of beetle and was considering whether science wouldn't be much better off if he forgot to report the find.

"Well, last Saturday my dad paid good money to take me to see Rafael Monetti with the Winchester Symphony. My dad'd heard him play a couple years ago in New York. My dad said Monetti was great. My dad hoped it'd get me interested again. You were the soloist. So if you aren't he, we were robbed and I want my dad's money back."

"Interested in what?"

"What do you think? Playing the triangle of course."

"Did it?" he asked.

"What?" Adrienne asked.

"Did it renew your interest?"

"Yes."

"And you and your Dad enjoyed the concert?"

"It was gorgeous. It was like I'd never heard the Beethoven before. But you know, maybe we were totally ripped off and it wasn't even the Winchester Symphony."

"There's no doubt it was the Winchester Symphony," he said dryly. "And as it sounds like your Dad got his money's worth whoever the soloist was, please get lost," he started to push the door closed but she got a knee in it and pushed it open again.

"I want you to give me lessons."

"Even though I am not me?"

"Yes."

"Even though I have no mastery whatsoever over the triangle?"

"Yes."

"Neither I, he, nor me is taking new students. Get lost."

Adrienne surprised him by ducking under his arm and all but diving inside.

She faced hard wood stairs that led up to a loft. The banister circled and became a railing. To her left was a cathedral ceilinged living room. Under the overhang of the loft, was the dining room table and beyond that the kitchen.

Books of music lay scattered about everywhere. Scores lay open on the couch and on the floor. There was a bookcase of CDs and an expensive looking sound system in a glass case. Large speakers hung on one wall. An upright piano, with music stacked on its top and dribbling over its keys, stood against the far wall. Music covered the dining room table.

In the middle of the living room, on the rug, in the only clear spot, stood a young woman, the pupil.

She stood in the classic Suzuki stance. Her left foot slightly before her right, as if she was going to start walking. Her left foot pointed forward, toward the door and Adrienne. Her right foot pointed to the side. Her knees were slightly bent. Between her legs stood a tripod on which was affixed a phallus which pushed up between her pussy lips and vanished inside her. She was quite naked.

On seeing the intruder, the pupil gasped, brought her violin down to shield her sex and covered her full breasts with her other hand. Her bow waved to one side, like she was pointing at something of interest when of course she was the only thing of interest in the room.

A silver chain with clamps on either end hung from breasts. Halfway along the its length the chain ran through a ring on the cuff on her right wrist. When she bowed, her breasts would be swing in sympathy with the music.

"Jesus," Adrienne said.

She thought she recognized the woman. She'd seen her in the third row of the first violins the week before, at the Winchester Symphony's Saturday night performance. The one she'd gone to with me.

The man, Rafael, pushed past her, a glass of water sat on the piano top. He took it, sipped, and looked at Adrienne with a tired expression.

Adrienne took a step back. Her face was as red as the student's. She had never been so shocked in her life.

"Keep going," he told her.

He took another sip of his water. The pupil started to shift, to pull herself off the dildo, but the man said "Rebecca, the lesson isn't over," then to Adrienne, he said without much force, "Get lost, I'm not taking new students."

"I phoned you know," Adrienne managed, "Like 10 times, but you never called back. I got your address. I thought you'd not be able to ignore me. Shit."

He took another drink.

She turned and hurried out the door and across the lawn to where her car was parked. Her eyes were wide with shock and embarrassment. The sun shone bright and hot on her bare arms. It glittered on the car's windows.

After a moment she heard the sound of playing from the townhouse behind her. It was the student Rebecca. There was an undefinable lack. Adrienne stared at her car for another minute.

She rang his doorbell again.

"Still not at home," he said when he opened it.

She stepped forward and he let her pass.

"You think that shit helps her play better, like with feeling?" Adrienne demanded.

"No," he replied, "The shit is solely for me. Sometimes her playing is good, sometimes it's only OK, but the shit is always good." He reached over and gave the chain and by extension Rebecca's nipples a sharp tug. The pupil squeaked. "She plays, I play."

Rebecca, the pupil, said, "I'm out of here."

Rafael picked up a lash from piano bench and struck the girl hard across her bare bottom. She made a hiccuping gasp, jerked on the phallus and then worked herself up and down a couple times before she managed to stop and blush and hide her face in her hands.

"You want me to teach you, even if I do this to you?" He struck his student again, causing Rebecca to whimper and bob about in a pitiable fashion.

"Has his teaching helped you?" Adrienne asked Rebecca.

The girl said, "Fuck yes, you think I'd put up with this crap if it didn't? I moved up to first violin this year. My own students are doing better too. Rafael's amazing."

"You don't copy all his techniques though?" Adrienne asked.

Rebecca laughed which caused her to shift on the phallus and gasp.

"Will you take me on?" she asked Rafael.

"Don't believe her," Rafael said, "My teaching is useless. It's my stimulating company she craves." He tugged harder on the chain.

"I want you to teach me," Adrienne said.

Rafael sighed. "Jesus you're persistent. Find someone else."

"No." she said, "Your playing was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"That's an exaggeration. I'm not Isaac Stern."

"I've only heard him on CD. Walking out of there Saturday, I was so mad at myself for having given it up. I felt I'd given up on something precious. Will you teach me?"

"How long has it been since you played much?"

"I've been practicing again this week," she held up the fingers of her left hand. They were visibly chafed. "Before that it was like maybe 5 years? When I went to college, I just said screw it. It was like too much work and I wanted to have a good time and I wanted to learn something that would employ me."

"And did you?"

"Have a good time? Mostly. Learn something employable? Maybe. I'm a marketing assistant. In honest language I'm a receptionist. I use my computer skills a bit when I'm not answering the phone and checking on the office supplies. Will you teach me?"

"Play something."

Adrienne bent and opened her violin case and picked up the instrument. She put it under her chin. She realized that she'd automatically taken the same stance as the other girl, absent the invading member of course. She glanced at the girl, met her eyes and blushed.

She ran the bow over the strings, fussed with the tuning a bit, then turned the stand so it faced her and started the opening movement of the fantasy, a Siciliana.

After a moment, Rafael stopped her by laying a hand on her shoulder which caused her to jump and him to grin.

He took up his own violin and without taking his eyes off her played the same passage. It felt like the difference between heaven and earth.

"Will you teach me?" she asked. For the first time, she said it without much hope. There was nothing that could bridge the gulf between how she'd played the music and the life he'd breathed into it.

He sighed, "Come here next Saturday at 9:30. It's a $100 an hour."

"He gives me $25 off," spoke up Rebecca, "Oh shit that hurt!" she gasped when the whip bit her ass.

"$75 then," said Adrienne.

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"Undress," he told her.

He sat on the piano bench, cup of coffee in his hand. A glass of water sat on bench beside him. He picked that up and drank.

All week she had thought about this moment. She'd thought, "No way am I going back there!" That morning when she woke she'd thought again, "No way". In the shower she'd thought, "I'll call and say I'm not coming." Then as she'd dried herself, "I just won't go." That thought'd still comforted her when she sat with her coffee.

As she went out the door, at 8:50, twenty minutes earlier than the length of the drive'd required, her roommate Jill'd said, "You're out of here early! Where're you off to?"

"Violin lesson," she'd answered.

Jill wasn't much interested. She asked, "You're going out with Derek tonight? You want me to sleep over at Joel's? Have the apartment to yourselves?"

Adrienne had been seeing Derek for a couple months. Jill had introduced them.

Before this week, she'd spent a lot of time wondering if she'd invite him up at the end of their next date. Each next date she hadn't. A few Saturdays ago they'd had dinner at her folks. During the long car ride back she'd thought of little else. The car sound system played a CD of violin classics he'd put in to please her, normally he listened to the Dixie Chicks.

Derek'd parked in front of her apartment building. As they'd kissed in his car, the invitation fizzed on the tip of her tongue. She figured he could feel it there when their tongues met.

She'd gotten out of the car and said goodnight with it still on the tip.