Waiting to Inhale

The smoking fetish sex is much more towards the end. Hopefully you make it that far!

*****

I drove up to the house in the Hollywood Hills. It was huge. One of the biggest houses I had ever seen in real life, outside of movies. I didn't think people actually lived in houses like this one. It was a sprawling, huge, modern mansion. I was certainly in the presence of money, and imagined the house had every convenience. I even wondered if some famous celebrity would come to the door when I knocked. I hadn't recognized the name when I was given the name and address, but who knew? I certainly didn't know all the big names in Hollywood.

I always hated playing gigs at people's houses, or anywhere I wasn't familiar with. For a piano player and teacher, I wasn't much of a performer. but since it was summer, I had to take the job or starve to death. Especially since I had broken up with my boyfriend recently and didn't have anyone to help with the bills.

Judging from the looks of the house, I guessed I would be playing on a nice, studio grade keyboard, and not a real piano. I shrugged and decided that was certainly preferable to playing one of the ancient instruments most affluent homes had as a status symbol in their living room. They almost always sucked, and nineteen times out of 20 were badly out of tune.

I parked my 15 year old Toyota corolla (that seemed very out of place) and tried to put on a positive attitude. The place was massive. A modern version of a Frank Lloyd Wright house with clean angles and reflecting surfaces. I wasn't sure I liked it. Modern houses to me suggested hidden cameras and secret surveillance. I was sure I was being watched, and I didn't like it.

I knocked on the door, and moments later a woman answered.

She was older than I imagined on the phone. Certainly older than I was. I was 29, and she was at least 45, but still very attractive. She had long hair that was blondish gray, and an amazing figure. She was wearing clothes that made me think she had just gotten back from the gym, though from the looks of the place, her gym was likely a few rooms over with a spectacular view. I was sure she had not only a gym, but a swimming pool and tennis court out back.

"Um, hi. "I'm here to try the piano for the party next week." I said, wondering if we had spoken on the phone.

"Oh hi there!" she said, and stuck out her hand for me to shake "I'm Quinn. I'm so glad you could come do this. It's going to be a great event, and, well, I'm glad you could do it" she said, smiling and repeating herself. She blushed a little, and I wondered if it was because of me, or if she had just stepped off the treadmill.

"It's a corporate event, right?" I asked.

"Uh huh. It's to make up for the fact that I didn't have a Christmas party back in December." she said, clearly trying to act casual. "I have to do something for my employees to keep them happy." she said and laughed, though it wasn't particularly funny.

"Oh, ok.' I said, thinking maybe I should bite the bullet and get a real job myself. Something steady from 8-5. Piano teaching and performing was a good gig, and I could make a fair amount of money in not a lot of hours doing it, but it wasn't very stable. Like last week, I had gathered up all the change in my house just to buy a pack of cigarettes and a few groceries..

In fact, things had gotten so bad, I applied to be a barista at a local coffee shop, but then I got the call for this gig. I figured suffering for an evening playing easy music would be easier than learning how to make coffee for minimum wage. Besides, I just had to make it until school started again and parents started calling to enroll their kids in private lessons.

As I followed the slender blonde woman to an adjacent room I really saw how beautiful the place was. There were original paintings on the walls, couches that looked super comfortable, and rugs that were likely priceless antiques, but what really struck me was that I thought I smelled smoke. It was very faint, and it seemed as though someone had tried to mask it with perfume, but it was there. Or, maybe I was crazy. It could be incense, I told myself. Nobody smokes anymore, and if they do they certainly didn't do it in their house that was in the ballpark of 15 million dollars.

I knew I myself was super careful with my own habit. I was trying to quit, but when I did, I always smoked outside, and tried to gargle with Listerine after. I knew I probably should just start vaping since it didn't smell as bad, but it somehow wasn't as satisfying. If I was going to smoke, I was going to enjoy it to the fullest.

I quickly forgot about the smell of cigarettes though, and had to pick my jaw up off the floor when I saw the piano. It was massive Far bigger than any instrument I'd seen in any home anywhere. It was a 9 foot grand. The kind of piano we had in the concert hall of the conservatory I went to for my undergrad. Almost 10 years ago, this very piano was worth a million dollars by itself. It was probably worth even more now.

"This is it?" I asked, in disbelief. I probably sounded stupid, but was rendered speechless. Who has a 9 foot grand Steinway in their living room?

She shrugged. "It was a gift." She said, not understanding my awe. She probably had no idea how much a piano like that cost. Or maybe she did, and a million dollars to her was like pocket change.

"Do you play?" I asked, thinking she must. Otherwise she wouldn't have such a gorgeous instrument.

She laughed and touched me on the shoulder. "Not really. I took some lessons as a kid, and my son liked to play around on it. He's flown the nest though. He got married last year." she said, looking wistful. "I almost gave it to him when he moved into his new house, but he doesn't have the room." she said. "So, I thought, why not hire someone to put it to good use."

"Hum." I said, sat down, adjusted the bench and opened the lid tentatively, afraid to scratch such an incredible piece of craftsmanship. When I got settled I said, "Ok, well, I guess I'll play a little bit and you can tell me if the volume is good,"

I played a few chords. The piano was a tiny bit dusty and I felt the grime on my fingers, but it was in tune, so I didn't mention it. I wondered if she routinely got someone out to tune the piano, or if she had it done just for me, but didn't ask.

I played a few warm up exercises to get used to the instrument, which was amazing, and then launched into some improv and a few standards that I knew

While I was playing, I wondered why she would ask me to perform. This was Hollywood. There were super talented people everywhere. Why wouldn't she ask someone who played these events all the time? I had a few degrees, but at the end of the day was just a kids piano teacher who played gigs on occasion. I am competent, but by no means the best or most well known performer in the city. In fact, I actively avoid playing gigs most of the time, fearing I wasn't good enough.

After about 10 minutes of playing, I stopped and looked at her for comments. "Is that what you were looking for? The kind of music you wanted me to play?" I asked.

She put her hand on my shoulder and said "Oh, my God. That was amazing. You're so gifted" and looked at me with an admiration that took me off guard.

"Well thanks," I said, surprised by the flattery, "How did you get my number anyway?"

She laughed. "You played for the autumn leaves festival last year. I heard you and thought, if ever I need a piano player, I'll hire her!"

"Oh!" I said and laughed out loud. The autumn leaves festival had been an advertising opportunity for an area music school where I taught a few days a week called Music Warehouse (when I wasn't teaching out of my apartment). Some of our more advanced students and all of the teachers were "voluntold" to play one evening at an outdoor mall, so I got up and played a few pieces. I hadn't thought anybody paid attention to my rendition of whatever Chopin waltz I had selected to play. It seemed like the only people in attendance were a few parents, and they were only there for their kids.

"It was a fun gig" I told her, which was what I would say to anybody who didn't really know music. In reality, I thought the sound had been awful. I had missed a few notes due to not being able to hear myself play the keyboard while the amps were facing the audience. If she thought it was great, though, who was I to argue.

"I called the school, and they gave me your number." she continued. There was still a pinkness to her cheeks. "Then I looked you up online. You went to Eastman, then Julliard, and then taught for a year in Europe, right?"

"Well, it sounds more impressive than it is." I told her truthfully. Yeah, I had gone to big name schools, but I only went to Europe because of my ex. He got a job in Germany, and I did the same thing there as I do here. I had grown up speaking German because of my father, so it was no big deal, really. Still, it was my turn to blush. I had to admit, I was enjoying being fawned over. Most of the time I felt like a disgrace. I wasn't married, and was barely scraping by as a piano teacher for kids. I hadn't even paid off my student loans.

"No, you are VERY talented. I admire you so much." she said, looking at me like a groupie, and I noticed how green her eyes were. Almost an emerald shade.

"Well, I've played piano for a long time." I said, unable to wrap my head around what she thought was so great about me.

She looked at me wistfully, stalled for a moment then asked, "Can you come to the house and teach me?" How much would that cost?" she asked, still sounding awed. Her eyes bore through me and practically glowed.

I hadn't expected the request. I just thought I was coming to her house to try the piano, so I didn't know what to say. In fact, had she texted me her request and hadn't been fawning all over me, I would have said no. Of course I needed the money, but it took 45 minutes to drive to her place in my car, which was somewhat unreliable. Besides, most adult students in my experience are generally flaky. They cancel, change times, and life somehow always gets in the way of playing piano. It's not like with kids who most of the time sign up for lessons and attend every class.

"Um, sure." I told her, always the people pleaser. "I could do it for 100.for an hour." I told her, which was at least 40 percent over my regular rate. It might be a little risky, but if my car held out, the extra money would tide me over until school started and I got my usual influx of students.

"Oh, that's perfect." she told me. I realized then I could have told her 500 an hour and she probably wouldn't have cared. Clearly money wasn't a factor in her decision making like it was for most people. After all, she had a Steinway 9 foot grand in her living room.

"Ok, I guess we can start after the gig next week?" I suggested. "Maybe we can do Tuesdays at 1:00?" I said thinking it would give me time to travel back to my apartment and be ready to teach a family of students who came at 3:00.

"That's perfect." she said and smiled.

.........................................

All the way back to my apartment, I couldn't stop thinking about Quinn. How much she had touched me and how much appreciation she had shown for me and my talents. Maybe part of it was that I hadn't been admired by anyone in a long time. My ex certainly didn't think I was anything special, and my parents loved me but thought I was a fool for chasing my dreams instead of doing something practical. They felt like music was a waste, and honestly, I was starting to agree with them. Two degrees in performance, and I didn't even perform much. I was also lucky if I made 50K a year.

I sort of felt like a failure most of the time, and Quinn had really buoyed my confidence. I was afraid to disappoint her, but she had already heard me play and thought I was fantastic. I hadn't gotten that kind of validation in a long time.

She was so beautiful too she had to have been some kind of celebrity, maybe back in the 90's. Somehow the fact that she was so beautiful and wealthy made me think more of her opinion. I guessed someone who took such pride in her appearance and had obviously accumulated such wealth clearly knew something, so her fawning over me meant a lot.

I tried to Google her, but nothing came up. I wondered if she had been some kind of model who married a rich man or maybe she made all the money on her own. Who knew? I didn't see any family type pictures around the living room, awards or anything like that. Truth be told, her place looked like more of a museum. A place where potential elite home buyers might walk through to get the best view of the place they could live, so there wasn't much insight into who she was, except for the waft of cigarette smoke I thought I smelled. Did I smell it?

Still, I thought about her breasts, and how perfect they were. Maybe they were surgically enhanced, I didn't know. I also thought about the way her lips had moved when she spoke to me, but by far the most intoxicating thing about her was the way her eyes drunk me in. They were green. Shockingly green, and she was so emotional with them.

I couldn't help myself, went into my small bedroom and got out my vibrator. I imagined her eyes on mine, and what it would feel like to have her kiss me. I imagined she tasted sweet like cherry, and I imagined how her touch would send electric shocks through my body and build up to a burning blaze inside of me.

As the vibrator buzzed, I moved my hips and thought about how Quinn's lips might feel going down on me, and what it might feel like touching her and kissing her in her most intimate places. What it would feel like to experience a 69 position with her. I wanted to feel her head between my legs. Feel her long hair on my thighs and her hands on me. I bet she would give great head, and know how to eat other women out.

I wondered if she'd had lots of female lovers. She had mentioned her son, but I wondered if maybe she saw women on the side. Maybe she had identified as lesbian all her life and her son was adopted? Or, it was possible she was divorced and curious. Maybe I would never know. Whatever her deal was, I imagined her licking me, and sucking me in all kinds of ways.

I came hard thinking about feeling her soft mouth on my pussy, and felt guilty afterward. Not because of the masturbating, or thinking about a woman while doing it, but because I had gotten off thinking about a client. All I needed was to develop feelings and make things awkward.

I went outside for an after orgasm cigarette, sat down on the porch area and lit up. I allowed the smoke to enter my lungs, and then felt an amazing calm wash over me as I thought about things with a clear head.

I told myself Quinn was just interested in my piano playing. I was the hired help, and that was all it was. She was certainly not interested in a relationship beyond what I could do for her as a musician. I had just projected my own curiosity about women onto her. She had been nice to me, and since I had never taken the opportunity to explore women in college, I had been thinking about it a lot since I was single.

Sure, I had kissed a girl once, and touched her breasts over her clothing, but that had been it. Also, that had been a long time ago. At the time, it felt more awkward than anything, and my reasons for doing it were to show off for some boys at a party. I hadn't been attracted to the girl. It was more of a spur of the moment thing, though as time went on, I found myself more and more curious, and wished I had gone further exploring.

While teaching lessons, though, I had to keep things in the friend zone. I didn't need awkwardness when it came to relationships with my clients. I couldn't go around anticipating Quinn's lesson like it was a date.

I'd certainly done that before and it didn't end well. I had a huge crush on my own piano teacher in college, and I didn't need a repeat of that whole situation. I remembered agonizing over lessons, and analyzing everything my teacher said and did afterwards trying to make everything he said have deeper meaning. All it did was embarrass me, I didn't need a repeat of my college experience again, and I could see myself going down that road, so I needed to stop

I took the last drag of my cigarette and put it out. I then threw out the butt in my outside garbage can to remove the evidence.

..........................................................................................................................

That weekend, I dressed in all black, slicked my brown hair back in a bun, and made it to Quinn's house at 6:30 before any of the guests arrived.

When she opened the door, she looked at me, smiled, and I thought she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Far more beautiful than I remembered her when she wore gym clothes and sneakers. Now she was wearing a red, flowing dress, and her hair was no longer even a hint of gray in her hair. Instead it was blond and lay in soft ringlets that framed her face. She was also wearing perfume that was intoxicating. I wanted to ask her what it was, but since I told myself I was the hired help, I simply smiled and walked in, and tried to forget that I had masturbated with her in the forefront of my mind for several days

"I'm so glad you made it." she said as if I hadn't been paid to be there. Her eyes shimmered, and she looked at me with so much admiration it made me uncomfortable. Maybe she had been drinking, or maybe she looked at everybody that way. I certainly didn't want to flatter myself thinking she had a crush on me. She liked my playing. She didn't like me, per se.

I made my way to the Steinway and sat down.

I had adjusted everything a few days prior so I played a few warm ups to get my fingers moving, sat around looking at my phone for a while, and then after the first guests arrived, started playing. I tried hard to focus on the music I was making, but not more than 20 minutes in, I realized Quinn was staring at me, with a cigarette in her hand. So she was a smoker, and bold about it. We locked eyes for a split second, but she quickly looked down and away from me. I actually fumbled the melody I was playing, but somehow played it off and managed to make my mistake sound like it was all part of the plan.

That wasn't the only time I caught her looking at me either, though it was the only time I caught her smoking, though lots of people were. I even saw a few people with cigars and vape pens milling around. Maybe she smoked a little socially? I thought. A lot of people did. I wouldn't put too much stock into it.

All that evening, she didn't seem to be able to keep her eyes off me, and because of it, I was starting to watch her intently as well. Between pieces, I would try to find her red dress in the crowd. Sometimes she would be throwing her head back laughing at something somebody said, sometimes I'd catch her sipping her drink, and then at least one other time, she was looking directly at me, pointing. Likely telling somebody how she had found me and would be taking lessons.

I didn't really get it. My playing was the result of practice, good instruction, and sticking with it for a long period of time. I was hardly a magician. I was and am convinced anybody can play the piano if they really want to, especially if given the opportunities I had been given (i.e. coming from a fairly wealthy family that allowed me to do what I wanted, even if they had their misgivings).

She had only hired me to play from 7-10 o'clock, so I played a nice, flowing soft song that ended in a flourish, looked at my phone that said it was 9:59 exactly and gathered all my music, at this point really wanting a cigarette because literally everyone around me was smoking it seemed, Even so I wasn't going to do it in public. I saw Quinn in the crowd, and thought she looked a little tipsy, so I thought it best to talk to her about paying me later. I really did need the money (desperately, actually) but didn't want to be awkward about it. I would send her an invoice and hope she paid me soon, or worst case scenario, talk to her about it on Tuesday when I came back for her lesson. My car had gas in it, and I still had food at home. Mostly lentils and canned food, but I would get by.