Date: Thu, 15 Jan 2004 18:13:12 +0000 From: Shy Boy Subject: The Piano Teacher This is how it all started ... My piano teacher was fairly old and thin, in a tired out suit and a saggy tie. My parents booked him because the lessons at school were not one-to-one, and I was nowhere near as good a player as my older sister was when she was 13. However, he must have been the only private teacher in town, because of all the days and times my mother suggested, he could only manage 7.30pm on Wedsnesdays, which was exactly the time I finished at scouts. On the first lesson he came to our house just before I rushed back panting, so with no time to change, I just went straight in to our front room to meet him in my scouts uniform. He looked me up and down (more down then up!), and then tapped the piano stool with his baton to beckon me to sit down. After the half hour, and as mother paid his fee, he mentioned that next week, it would be better if I went directly to his house after scouts ... first, because it would be quicker (he lived nearer the scouthut), but most importantly, because his piano was correctly tuned for the lessons in hand. My mother naturally agreed. The next week, I was somewhat nervous in ringing his doorbell, as the whole house looked like him - dingy, old, and a bit decrepid. But obviously I did, and he answered immediately (as if he had been waiting), and quickly shuffled me in and closed the door. The house smelt damp - and everything was old fashioned and rather dismal. He asked me to take off my shoes, then to pull my shorts up "properly". The piano was in a back room overlooking an overgrown garden. It had a long bench seat, and a side table. The table had two batons, a wooden ruler, and a leather strap on. "Sit down, and play the scales I taught you last week" he said fairly bluntly. And as I climbed over the bench to sit down, he added: "Back straight, knees apart ... and pull those shorts up properly!" He picked up the ruler as soon as I played the first wrong note ... After I finished playing the scales, he said, "Hands on head boy, far too many mistakes." Then he slapped the top of my bare legs with the ruler .. one sharp smack, right across both legs. I let out a yelp, and he said, "shshsh .. boy" Then he sat down beside me and started gently rubbing the now red marks better. I made to bring my hands down, but he pushed them back up, and continued the massage, whilst also managing to open my legs wider. It felt strange to be sitting upright, hands on head, legs stretched open, with a piano teacher fondling my legs! It felt out of place, not really there, dream like ... but also fairly comforting. The sting had gone, and a creeping sensation I hadn't experienced before started in my tummy. My breathing changed, and my heart beat felt stronger. I instinctively opened my legs further and leant back a bit. His hand moved in circles, getting higher on each circuit, until he reached the hem of my shorts ... He suddenly stopped fondling my bare legs, and told me I had a choice. During the lessons, either I could be puniished for making mistakes, or rewarded for getting things right. He explained that punishments would be smacks with the ruler, or maybe the leather strap, and rewards would be special favours (his hand slipped back between my thighs). He also said mistakes didn't just mean playing the wrong notes, but could be arriving late, not paying attention, or not following his instructions. I nervously chose rewards. "Good" he said. He then got up from the bench and stood directly behind me, hands on my shoulders, and asked me to play the tune on the music sheet that was in the stand. It was a very simple nursery piece, that I easily got perfectly right. "OK" he said, and started to undo my scout neck scarf. "Now try it without looking at the keys -- like a professional would at a concert" The scarf was wrapped round my head, covering my eyes, and loosely tied at the back. He kindly leant over me to place my fingers on the correct notes. Something warm and hard pushed into my back. He stood back up, and I flunked the tune. "Never mind, try again" His hands back on my shoulders. The next attempt was better, but not good. "Never mind, try again" ... "Maybe you are not relaxed enough" His hands slid along and gently massaged the back of my neck, his fingers dipping down just inside my collar. Surprisingly, my next try was improved .. but still many wrong notes. "Just keep trying" he said calmly. His fingers moved towards the front of my neck, soft but not tickling, and then casually flipped open the top button of my shirt. As I repeated the exercise over several times, it wasn't long until I felt the cooler air against my chest, as the gentle undoing of buttons reached down as far as my belly button, and the top of my shirt was opened wide, exposing lots of soft warm skin for the teacher to "make feel better" as the number of mistakes continued to deminish. snbist@hotmail.com ... more later