Practice Makes Perfect Ch. 01

"I've always had this fantasy," she said in his ear that night, leading up to something. It had already been an unforgettable night. A good night, a great night, the best night of his life, bar none.

"Me, too," he said back. "This is pretty much it."

Cecily laughed, and the laugh turned his stomach upside down. "Wow, really?"

He pulled his face back from where it lay against her chest. "Are you kidding me? Hello. Look at where I am right now. Lying naked on the floor of the practice room with the girl I have been staring at for thirteen months?" He grinned, looked down at her beautiful body, lying beside his on the rough carpet. "This is pretty much it for me."

* * * * *

He had wanted her, wanted to be hers, within about 10 seconds of meeting her. It wasn't just that she had a pretty face, although she did. It wasn't just that her grin was wicked, although it was--deliciously wicked. It wasn't just her piercing eyes, the color of the sea--green, blue, gray--or her long legs, or her trim, lovely body. It was all of that, and her hands--piano player hands, long-fingered and strong and sure--and her voice--rich, beautiful, pitch-perfect--and her brown-black hair, shiny and heavy and usually a mess. And other things, maybe particularly the joy she seemed to take in being alive, in being around people, in talking and listening and making music. Also she had freckles, a pale dusting of freckles across the band of her nose and (as he saw when she wore low-cut shirts) on her chest. The freckles made her so much more delicious...

Cecily was new at the college; he had been there for too long. He was a graduate student, slaving away at his doctorate, tired of almost everything except the music, and luckily there was almost enough of that to go around, what with rehearsals and performances and composition symposiums and teaching undergrads. He met her in the college's chamber choir, a group of 26 young men and women who rehearsed three times a week. For nine months they saw each other three times a week plus some--passing in the halls, at performances, after performances at the restaurant where the chamber choir singers usually went to booze until 2 a.m. at least. He watched her blaze a path through the males in the choir, leaving one broken heart and making three good friends. He and she had some good conversations, up late after a concert, or sitting on the bus on a quickie choir tour. They were friends.

But she scared him a little, she was so open about her sexuality, and so unwilling to be fettered. Not that he wanted to fetter her--she could have sex with the entire wind ensemble, for all he cared--but he did want her, at least for a little while. As a friend and maybe more... Definitely more, he knew as he watched her walk away. It didn't help that she was so damn sensual--she loved to touch and be touched, and after a while he found himself avoiding her on those choir tours, because it was tradition to exchange massages--strictly platonic, usually--and hers were a bit too much for him. The feel of her hands on his shoulders, no matter how well-meaning and innocent, made him want to lay her down and kiss her wildly and make passionate love on the floor of the bus.

He was sure she could not be interested in him as more than a friend. He was older than her by a few years, and too quiet, and boring and neurotic besides.

When the director of the piano program asked him to give her extra lessons, he was caught between delight--two hours alone with her every week!--and horror--two hours alone with her every week! But it was no big deal, really, and so she started coming to the lessons to learn about repertoire and to polish her own piano playing, which wasn't bad but needed some smoothing out.

* * * * *

For her part, she thought James was yummy as soon as she saw him. Intense, and shy, and talented--oh could he play the piano, and he was a good singer, too, with a lovely soothing baritone. Nice thick brown hair, and those blue eyes under heavy brows--that was what gave his expression its particular intensity. She liked him well enough, too. But there were so many men... She liked them all, but none of them matched her well enough. David was too dependent, and she still felt bad about how bad he felt, but she had been nothing but honest with him. She was looking for someone to be a partner, but she was not interested in sexual exclusivity. Emotional, sure; sexual, no thanks. So she had a good time with Mario and T'kwan too, and it was fun, but neither of them wanted more than a fun time, so that was all it was. Of all her friends, she liked talking to James best, but he was so shy, dammit... And she wondered, sometimes, if he was avoiding her. Maybe she weirded him out.

When James was assigned as her piano coach she was happy about it. God knew, and everyone else with one working ear, that he was the best pianist in the university, up to and including most of the professors. She had a lot to learn, and she was looking forward to it.

* * * * *

The lessons went well. James was a natural teacher, and his awkwardness fell away when he had something to communicate. He brought her briskly along, and was funny and smart and talented along the way... and the sneaky thought that he might be The One surfaced in her mind a couple of times. Or at least the Next One.

But she couldn't get past that gentle, seemingly oblivious exterior. She started wearing her sexiest clothes to practice. She touched him as much as she could manage without being too obnoxious. She listened hard and learned quickly and well and dammit, he still acted the same. Friendly and brilliant and unreachable. Like a teacher. She came to a conclusion: Ask him straight out--are you interested in me? Better to know if the answer was no. The trouble was that for the first time in her life, she wasn't sure she could blow it off if the answer was no.

* * * * *

Their lesson had been rescheduled to 7 p.m., and the practice floor was almost completely empty. She wore a pretty skirt, but nothing too showy, and went to her lesson in the practice room with determination.

The rooms were nothing special--sound-proofed, of course, and each with special acoustic ceiling tiles and rough new carpet, the flat, hard kind, and glaring fluorescent lights. Each contained a baby grand piano, and each held a mirror against one wall. James had one for his own use as a teaching assistant, and he had papered over the narrow window with music sheets to give it some privacy. Otherwise it was bare, cramped, and boring.

She wanted to say something immediately, but couldn't, so they went through their lesson as usual, playing and talking and pulling out new music to look at. Near the end he sat down and she sight-read some aria he had found, a habit they had gotten into and both enjoyed. This evening it was "Il Bacio," a sprightly, showy little piece, probably meant for a thinner voice than hers, but she had fun.

"That was great, you should take that to your voice teacher and work it up," James said, smiling as he closed the lid of the piano.

"You say that every week," she said, and grinned. This must be the perfect moment. Right? He was relaxed, cheerful--he liked her voice--this must be it.

"So, James, can I ask you something?"

Her voice had changed, and he looked up at her, immediately alert. "Of course you can."

She stood looking at him, her face a little warm, fighting an impulse to fidget. "Well, I was wondering if you might ever consider... um, going out with me." There was a silence as he looked up at her. "It's okay if you don't want to, I know we're good friends and I wouldn't want to screw that up, if you think it would, but I just... wanted to ask." He was still not saying anything. His eyes were wide open, looking up at her from the piano bench, and she wanted, really badly, to kiss him, right then; his lips were slightly parted and she wanted to taste them... She felt her face grow hotter. "Um... could you... say something?" A tiny, nervous giggle made its way out, and she wanted to shoot herself.

He stood up. He was much taller than her--another thing she found attractive about him. "Really, Cecily?" He didn't sound repulsed. He sounded... wondering.

"Yes, really." She looked away, couldn't take the intensity of his eyes suddenly, and did what she usually did when she was edgy, which was to blurt out the most bizarre thought in her head. "I was just now thinking how nice it would be to kiss you." She closed her eyes in complete, abject embarrassment.

His voice was stronger... and lower. "Really, Cecily?" He stepped near her, and lifted her chin with one finger, and bent to kiss her.

It was a long kiss. His lips met hers and then her arms rose to encircle his neck; her lips were warm, and then after a moment or two her tongue stole into his mouth and oh my god his knees got weak. He was kissing her, right here, finally. Her mouth tasted like peppermint, and her hair smelled like flowers--he broke away to bury his nose in her hair and she began kissing his neck, running her hands over his chest as she tasted that lovely hollow just below his earlobe, running her tongue along the line of his jaw...

"Whoa," he managed to say. "We haven't even had our first date yet." He was smiling but he moved back a little from her.

She stepped forward, sure of herself once more, pushing him gently back until he sat abruptly on the piano bench. "To hell with that," she said, and pulled her shirt over her head. "I've known you for over a year. I don't need you to buy me dinner to get me in the sack."

"Oh my god," he said, and then she unfastened her bra and he didn't say anything else.

Her breasts were lovely, heavy and full. Her nipples were strawberry pink, and yes, the freckles did dust them delicately. He kissed her freckles, kissed her neck, and at last leaned forward to kiss her nipples. They hardened and she put her hands on his head pressed forward, an unmistakable invitation. He licked them, sucked gently and then more roughly until he heard her gasp; he released them but kept his mouth over one nipple while he gently pinched the other. She was breathing hard, and he kissed her breasts all over again, the slope of them, the nipples, the silky little crevasse below them. His arms were around her body and now he grasped her buttocks, feeling them through the thin material of the skirt. She must be wearing a thong, he thought, then she took one of his hands and placed it firmly on her thigh. Another invitation, and he slid his hand up under her skirt.

Ah. No underwear at all. He could feel his cock straining at his jeans at his fingers brushed the moist lips of her pussy, and he gave a little moan.

"Feel it," she said, leaning over to whisper it in his ear. "Do it." He slid one finger into her pussy and she moaned, too. It was so hot! And wet... He wanted to see it.

"Take off your skirt," he said, looking up at her red face as he pushed another finger up into her pussy.

She gasped and then giggled. "You first," she challenged him. "Make me want to take it off." She leaned slowly down and ran one fingernail across the bulge in his crotch. "Take these off first."

He was more than willing. He stood up and unzipped his pants; in record time they were kicked into a corner below the piano. He was about to drop his briefs too, when she went to the floor in front of him. "Let me," she said. His cock was rock hard, thick and long, and she couldn't get all of it into her mouth. But she licked and sucked and rolled her tongue around his head, and then she licked the shaft, from balls to head, until he was glistening from her tongue.

"Stop," he said suddenly, and she did--she didn't want him to cum yet. And he had other plans, too, she could tell. He lifted her from the floor and sat her on the lid of the keyboard, with her feet on the piano bench and him between her legs. Then he sank down to kiss her pussy. She wasn't completely shaven, which he liked--the feel of her thick, soft hair between his teeth made him wild. He found her clit and sucked on it long and hard, his tongue flicking up and down her lips; then he went lower and dug his tongue into her pussy, driving it in while he rubbed his nose against her clit. She came silently, arching her back out and tightening her thighs around his face as he continued to eat her out. When her thighs loosened, he stood up and, standing there between her legs, entered her. His cock was big, and it filled her perfectly--she felt stretched and split and full full full. He leaned over her and she leaned back onto the piano, watching his face as he thrust into her again and again. He opened his eyes to hold her gaze, looking into her eyes as he thrust his cock deep into her pussy over and over. He tried to go slow, but she was gasping again, her mouth open and her lips red and wet, and he knew she was cumming and so he let himself cum, too, pounding into her with abandon until he had jetted his cum deep, deep into her pussy, the slippery white cream spilling out around his cock as he thrust again and yet again, moaning.