Chapter 4: Romantic Composers

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

The first date was dinner and a concert. Funny, they always say concert and dinner. Every year, for the 21 years I have known them, they go out for Italian food that night.

Sean:

I had a date. I had not had a date in a decade. All my events involved business or politics. I could have left everything to George and Helen, and eventually I forced myself to do just that, but this was not the usual state of things. I wanted exacting control of every detail.

Helen's discrete inquiries had turned up something a bit surprising. Cynthia did indeed sign things with her lips, but they were not photographs. She signed beaten flesh with a kiss, and sold pictures if the kiss in situ. It had to be a sweet set-up. The security cameras did all the work. All she needed to do was choose the shot and crop it properly. From what I could see, her eye was flawless.

Everything pointed to a devoted audience, considerable discretion, and the lash being in her hand. I had to admire the business acumen. The national chain fitness center provided excellent cover. Her client book could be completely open, since her clients that employed her as a fitness coach as well as disciplinarian. In the gym, she got to crack a different sort of whip, but the control was the same.

Yet, here we stood. The kiss was on my work. The lash was in my hand. I had made the date to the symphony. It was my car and my driver. Why did I feel so out of control?

Then I thought, how long has it been since she dated?

Sheila:

Friday's were always busy. It gave me something to keep my mind off The Date. It was dawning on me that this was my cherry. I had never had a date before, unless you count group events. In school I had been too busy preparing to be the next Broadway star. Afterward I was working two jobs, and taking clients on the side. Then I owned my own business, and I had no time to sleep, much less date.

So I worked my morning clients on their exercise machines and free weights. I worked out myself over the lunch hour. All afternoon it was Little Miss Perfectionist, and the flogger rose and fell til the arm holding it was close to falling off. I had plenty of red skin to kiss, and I had a secret smile as I applied the lipstick.

Friday is also picture day. I had hours of video sorted and cropped, but the clients still needed to make selections. Over and over I expanded and centered the imprint of my lips on various pieces of blushing pink flesh. The laser printer chugged through stacks of Kodak's best paper. Boxes of acid free liners and rigid folders filtered out the door as the money came in. Who knew my lips would become so famous?

By 6:00 I was exhausted. I locked the door and changed into my workouts. Then I thought of Sean, and peeled off even those. Stepping to the mirror, I slowly pulled the pins and comb out of my hair. Sean had noticed those. I was sure of it. He had also gotten too good a look at the bushes. I would be trimming those shortly. For music, I chose Tchaikovsky's 5^th, the Andante 2^nd movement. You have to love Russians. Even the purely orchestral music has ballet in its heart.

As the first low notes poured out, I presented to the bar. In time with the slow beat I stretched out my leg, then reached forward and grasped the bar firmly with both hands. I waited for the trill of the flute, head pressed to knee. As the music expanded, I opened from the closed posture. Turning to the right I extended up and back, reaching full extension when the tympani first echoed. Closing down again, I shifted legs on the bar while the woodwinds chatted. Opening again, this time to the right, I reached full extension as the drums boomed and the brass thundered. Then closing again. And twice more through the cycle. The second movement is only 6 minutes 28 seconds, but I was drenched when the last oboe finally faded away.

Grabbing a towel, I started toward the showers. My eye fell on the handcuffs I had worn three days earlier. Handcuffs are a very bad thing to have on during orgasm. Jerking is involuntary, and bruising is inevitable. I had some from these cuffs, and Sean had not even pushed matters. Still, it made me think of taking them to bed, or rope. All too easily came a vision of being spread out, hands and feet tied to the corners, blindfolded and waiting for that first touch. I shivered in spite of my workout. Perhaps a cold shower.

An hour later, sitting in comfortable baggy clothes, I watched my tapes for the third time. He had played me. Of this there was no doubt. But I knew this business. Once I had gotten past the shock of the event, I could read my signs, just as he had. I could see the near frantic eagerness, the need to release. I could also see the glint of moisture in my pubic hair. That much I could fix. Grabbing some rubbing oil, I went back to the showers. First, I shaved off all but a thin strip of my curly hair. Then, using the coconut oil, I frigged myself to three explosive orgasms.

It was after10:00 PM when I got home to my computer:

I was up late.

Sean:

It was ironic that Cynthia coached discipline, because my discipline was strained to the breaking point. Saturday is usually my day to catch up at the office, since the phone does not ring. I forced myself to do it again. It worked, badly. Four hours made a visible dent in the stack of paper in my box, and produced a smaller pile in Helen's box.

In a mood of penance, I visited the vault. Everything was exactly as it needed to be, except the part about telling people it was here. Gah. I checked the log at the door. As I expected, several items were checked out this morning, so I was not the only one trying to work through frustration. Maybe we would get lucky. Maybe someone would read my mind and tell me what I wanted. Maybe I could hire Cynthia to do it.

After that my day went much better. In retrospect, it is amusing how life changing decisions can go unnoticed.

One of the advantages to living near good colleges is that they have good performance venues, into which you get good visiting orchestras. I had never heard the one playing tonight, but it had good reviews. Considering my escort, I could not have chosen a better program. It was a sampler of Russian composers. I did not know Cynthia well, but I knew she had dance in her blood. Shostakovitch, Glinka, Mussorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakov all cut their teeth on dance music, particularly Shostakovitch. Headlining was a Prokofiev piano concerto There was a last minute change from the stately first movement of the 2^nd concerto, to the bouncy and rushing 3^rd. I might have to scrape her out of her chair.

George, as usual, had the car in pristine condition. I was using the Mercedes, since we had a long drive. The Deusenberg was impressive and the BMW was flashy, but the Mercedes was both reliable and comfortable. I wanted no chance of mechanical failure and I would have to drive the 503 myself. Wait a month, when we could put the top down. I chuckled as I got into the car. German cars, Russian composers, the promise of Italian food, and sure enough, George had stocked French wine. The evening was a tour of Europe.

We pulled in front of her apartment exactly on time. Sure enough I saw her wave as she emerged from the building. Punctuality was going be a thing. I wondered who would slip first. As I already expected, Cynthia was a vision

Her full length outfit was cream and forest green. Her hair was down, but held back by a simple butterfly clip. Her makeup was minimal, with just a hint of color on her lips and black at the eyelashes. I was pleased to see she had chosen a practical cotton frock over a high necked blouse. This was not a ride for crushable fabrics. Her jewelry was also simple. Emerald ear studs and a green backed cameo broach at the throat. With tiny pearl buttons, done all the way up, the blouse, indeed the ensemble, was almost Victorian. I wondered if she had gone the extra mile and worn a foundation again. Glancing down, her legs were clad in stockings. Her shoes were decidedly modern, though they complimented the long outfit. I was glad I had chosen the navy suit. Our colors blended well, without being imitative.

George efficiently showed her into the seat next to me. Her posture might have been from a dictionary illustration of demure: eyes forward; hands clasped on her clutch purse, in her lap; legs crossed at the ankle. The opening gambit would be mine.

"Good evening. I trust you are well. Is there anything we should do before driving to Trenton?"

"Thank you, but no. Also, thank you for asking me. It has been some time since I have had a purely social outing." Did her lips twitch when she said "some time"? If her start up businesses were anything like mine, social outings simply did not happen at all. I relaxed a little, showing myself that I was tighter than I had noticed. This could work.

It was time for some hostly duties. "Of course. Please get comfortable, we have a long drive ahead. I took the liberty of bringing a light nosh. Since it will be about three hours til we can dine, perhaps some cheese and fruit. There is also water, fruit juice and wine for later. I do not open alcohol when the car is moving. What would you like?"

I was half afraid that she had already eaten, but either she had not, or was polite enough to ignore it. It was one more subtle thing to like about her. I hated women that make a great deal of their diets. I asked her to open the crackers while I cut the pears. We fell to discussing my very pedestrian choices, versus the more expensive alternatives. This led to a discussion of food generally, and Villa Bartoli in particular. Almost too soon, George finished jockeying through near impassible Rutgers campus parking, and we had arrived. I assisted her from the car, and offered my arm as we strolled up to the concert hall. I may have been out of practice, but I thought the date did not suck too badly, so far.

While I would like to have spent some time discussing the program, we had arrived just before the lights went down. Sheila glanced at the program, but seemed to have little interest. Given our conversation earlier, my money was that she had researched it already.

I tried one little test, "Do you prefer Prokofiev's 2^nd or his 3^rd?"

She shushed me, but replied, "I was glad they changed it. Now quiet. Here's the Concertmaster."

Sheila:

A date. What to do before a date? I looked up the program, noting that there was a late change. I changed outfits three times. Well, changed the outerwear. Changing Julian's creations requires more time than a mere 40 minutes. I settled on the green jumper and the Audrey Hepburn top. Fussing with the pearl buttons gave me something to do. I debated a quick sandwich, since it was a late dinner, but decided to hold off. Sean might have snacks. I would in his place.

I rechecked the look. Lip gloss, check. Eye liner, check. Blush, no thank you; I have done enough of the real thing. Ear studs, check. It had been a while since I had worn the Judge's gift. He had chosen them to go with this 120 year old cameo. Thinking about Henry settled me. This was exactly the kind of thing he might have taken me to, and expected nothing but a peck on the cheek afterward. Tonight, I might not be satisfied with a chaste kiss, but Mr. Richards would have to cooperate.

I went down to the door precisely at 5:30. A big diesel Mercedes was pulling into the guest spot. I walked up to the car and a huge black man got out of the driver's seat and opened the rear door. I thanked him as he handed me into the glove leather seat. Naturally, Sean was seated beside me, but I could play coy. This was his party; he could break the ice.

He did, playing it safe, "Good evening. I trust you are well. Is there anything we should do before driving to Trenton?"

"Thank you, but no. Also, thank you for asking me. It has been some time since I have had a purely social outing." Some time, hah. Never before, but I could not tell him that.

He changed the subject, "Of course. Please get comfortable, we have a long drive ahead. I took the liberty of bringing a light nosh. Since it will be about three hours til we can dine, perhaps some cheese and fruit. There is also water, fruit juice and wine for later. I do not open alcohol when the car is moving. What would you like?"

Some people would say "light nosh" and mean 3000 calories, or a package of peanut butter crackers. He had a very sensible box of Triscuits, some Laughing Cow and a couple of pears, plus assorted bottled drinks. He handed me the box to open, while he deftly quartered and cored the pears. I asked if he preferred processed cheese over Brie or Gouda. Naturally, he was familiar and we fell into a discussion. I liked that a man, with a chauffeur driven Mercedes, would choose to eat food sold at Walmart, even though he knew the alternatives.

Our conversation drifted easily until we arrived. He, not his driver George, handed me out of car and offered his arm. We arrived just in time to get our seats before the lights went down. He offered me a program, but I only glanced at it. The orchestra was tuning.

Sean leaned over. "Do you prefer Prokofiev's 2^nd or his 3^rd?"

The program had listed the first movement of the 2^nd concerto, rather than the short 3^rd. "I was glad they changed it. Now quiet. Here's the Concertmaster." Did he just test me?

It did not matter. The orchestra plunged right into Shostakovitch's Gadfly Suite, and we were drenched in the larger than life imagery that is Russian music. I was gripping my clutch like a lifeline, as the music swept me along. An untold time later, the swirling storm sequence from Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade ended. The house lights came up as music faded out, metaphorically signaled a new day. I looked down. The death grip, which I had thought was on my purse, was on Sean's arm.

I looked over to him, as I released his arm. Before I could say anything, he hit me with my own words, "Quiet. They are just bringing in the piano. Here she is." Sure enough, the elfin little Israeli flounced out and bowed to the crowd. That was good. Prokofiev's 3^rd is all about bouncy and flouncy. After the pathos of Scheherazade, a little fun was in order. Sophia Weingarten made it dance. It was perfect.