Got an email from Logan. No words, just a picture of him playing the piano. Probably from the first concert. It feels strange to look at it in all its black and white silence.

Maybe black and white is appropriate given the black and white keys on the piano. I know Logan’s shirt is white, but I also know his trouser and his tie are hard core Navy. And his hair is somewhere between reddish brown and honey blond. And his cock is soft prick pink, but the cap becomes eggplant purple when he gets aroused, when he’s just about to come. Knowing the program as I do, I still couldn’t get from the position of his hands which piece of music this is. My guess would be the opening Bach. I wonder if Logan even knows. What I’m asking myself now is whether I’d rather have had a recording of the music instead of the still picture. What I know is I’d rather be there in person, listening to him perform, watching him perform, applauding as he takes his bows, hugging him afterwards, kissing him afterwards. I think he said there was going to be a first night reception. I wish my hands were on his shoulders, on the muscles of his back, easing the post-concert tensions from his body. Oh, I miss him so!

I should have gone along. I know we discussed it. We’d lose money. I’d probably get fired for taking too much time off. I should have gone along. I just had a wild thought. I could meet him at one of the cities down the road. Even if it’s just for a couple of days. If I do it, should I make it a surprise? Something to think about.

Anyway time to go home. Maybe go for a quick run. A shower. Some dinner. I have a taste for eggplant.