Piano Lessons

I started studying with Miss Anderson at fourteen. I had played for as long as I can remember, and was ready to go on to more difficult pieces – thence the private lessons. Miss Anderson was around thirty and usually dressed in proper skirt and blouse, with her auburn hair tied into a bun. Still, she was the object of my fantasies, being a woman who took me seriously, as opposed to the girls of my own age, who were either plain and giggly or pretty and condescending. She was petite, about my height at that time, and the decent clothes did not hide her womanly shape. I kept my dreams a secret for four years. After returning that autumn from three months’ break, I found myself a couple of inches taller, with voice and stubbles to match. She looked at me – looked up at me – and said, –It seems you’ve turned into a man, Chris. Let’s drop this Miss stuff, why don’t you just call me Denise? I had been practicing all summer. Miss – Denise – complimented me on my playing, and it looked as though her eyes were complimenting my looks. She searched her sheets for some new pieces and we set off to work. She sat beside me on the stool, skirt to mid–thigh, touching my hands to correct my finger settings. I felt her leg against mine and sensed the scent of woman. When the lesson was over she offered me a cup of tea. We shared her sofa, and I fantasized about putting my arm on the backrest letting it casually slide down to touch her neck. –This tea goes right through me, she said as she rose to go to the bathroom. She didn’t close the door. I heard the rustle of clothes, and then the sound of the stream. When she returned it was my turn. I sat on the bowl to be where her thighs and bottom had touched it. When I left she squeezed my hand briefly.
The next time she also made us tea when we were through. Again sitting on the sofa, talking of music and school and holidays. After some time she was sitting with her knees pressed together. She put a hand on my thigh. –We girls have to go all the time, she said. –Isn’t that right? –I don’t know a lot of girls, I said truthfully. She patted my thigh. –Just you wait. She rose and left. Again I heard her through the open door, becoming strangely aroused by the sound. I had to rearrange myself so as not be too obvious. Denise returned, smoothing her skirt and smiling at me. A few loose strands of hair touched her cheek.
This became the usual routine after lessons. She would make tea or offer soft drinks, hinting about my (nonexistent) love affairs, then make a show of needing the bathroom. She was always dressed in proper skirts and a blouse or a turtleneck, but somehow the primness seemed put–on. As if there were someone inside just waiting to get out.
Late October. It was raining, we had just completed a difficult piece by Chopin, and she turned to me with her hand on my leg, quite high up. –This achievement calls for celebration, she said. –How about something stronger? Do you like sherry? –I don’t know, I said. I never bragged to Denise. –Then it’s time for a taste. I’ll get a glass of water for you, too. She fetched the drinks, and we sat on the sofa. I liked the sherry, and she recommended that I drink the water as well, so it wouldn’t hit me too fast. She was quick to offer me a refill, giving me a pleasurable buzz. She looked even more lovely and relaxed. Eventually she showed the familiar signs of having to go to the bathroom, she rocked a little and rubbed her legs together. The skirt rode up, giving me the tiniest glimpse of white. The wine and the sight made me dizzy, and I also needed to pee after all that water. I went to the bathroom and relieved myself noisily, thinking about her listening. When I was washing my hands she was standing in the doorway, legs crossed. –I can’t wait, she said, stepping up to the toilet. In one fluid motion she reached under her skirt, pulled her panties down, and sat. Sighing with relief, lips slightly parted, she emptied her bladder while I was watching. –Do you like seeing me like this? She wanted to know. I nodded, realizing my erection must be obvious. –There are so many ways to pleasure. Weeing is one of them, right? When you really have to go, and then… Okay. Excuse me while I wipe. I staggered back to the sofa. On returning she stood before me, reaching out to touch my arm. –Maybe – no. I’ll see you next week.
The next week she wore her hair in a ponytail. I didn’t realize it was that long. She had also put on a shorter skirt, and lace showed where a button on her blouse was undone. But the lesson went as usual, she was an excellent teacher and expected results. Towards the end, however, she edged closer and her thighs touched mine all the way. Putting the sheet music away she turned to me. –You will stay for tea, Chris? –Of course, Denise. –And maybe a Coke or something? –Sounds good. We drank. Talking, she touched my arm nearly all the time. –Oh well, she said eventually, –time for the bathroom again. She paused. –You know, I wet myself at a concert once. –Really? –When I was about your age. All those people made me so nervous. I sat on the stool, in a long blue dress, and suddenly I felt the warm wetness between my legs. I managed to stop it, and played the concert. I had to retire backwards to hide it. –I bet you looked cute, I said. She smiled. –If I don’t go immediately, you’ll get the chance to see if it’s cute. In a way she seemed to be waiting for something, but I was too excited to think. She rose and left, butt swaying.
One week later. She wore jeans. She was really beautiful. Even going through Rachmaninoff I could hardly keep my eyes off her thighs and belly clothed in tight blue denim. She gripped my hands. –Chris. I’m so much older than you, but all I can think of is looking good for you. Do you think I’m crazy? –You are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met, Denise. Would you please, please untie your hair? She removed her elastic band and let it fall. I kissed her cheek. She smiled at me and rearranged the sheets. –Fifteen more minutes. From bar sixty, please.
As the final chord dissolved into nothing she put her hand on me. Right there, on my khaki pants. Looked me in the eyes, hand softly moving, lips parted. –Perfect, she whispered. –What? –The music. You. Everything. I was hard under her touch. She turned to me with her knees inches apart, back arched, and chest heaving. –If I’m stepping over the line, please say so. I shook my head. –Like some wine? I nodded. –Cat got your tongue? –Well – someone’s got my… She laughed. –Come on. Sofa time. She poured white wine and toyed with my hair as we drank. I kept my hand on her denim thigh, moving it a little upwards, stroking. Slowly she pushed my hand up until it stopped. I felt the warmth from her crotch. –I have to pee, she said. –Do you? –Oh yes. –Let’s wait a while, she said, holding my neck. –May I kiss you? I bent forward, meeting her lips and then her tongue. Her hand found me again. We came up for air, and she lifted her glass. –To pleasure, she said. I was beginning to feel some pressure, and so was she, judging from the way she kept her legs pressed together. We kissed again, and she put my hand on her breast. –I’m almost wetting my panties with lust, she whispered in my ear. –Want to feel me? Before I could answer she unbuttoned her jeans and slid my hand down, outside her panties. –Ooh, she sighed as I felt her unusual warmth. –I guess I can’t hold myself much longer, she whispered. –Want to come to the bathroom? Inside she stood, swaying slowly, with legs crossed. I looked at the place where her thighs met, hoping for a glimpse of the wetness I had felt. Her top three buttons were undone, showing white panties. She pulled me closer and kissed me, putting a hand on my bulge. –Do you need to pee? –I’m bursting! –Me too. Just let go a little. I relaxed for a second and the warm stream ran down my leg. She moaned and squeezed me, then pushed me away to look at me. She was rubbing her feet together, almost dancing. Quickly she pushed my hand down her panties, letting me feel a short, sharp jet over my fingers. I pressed against the wet curls, and my finger slid into her. With that touch she leaked again, holding me for support. I stroked her, making her pee in small bursts. Now it was my turn to look, and I stared at the incredibly sexy stain on her crotch. She squeezed me again, and I came in my pants. –It’s OK, Chris, she said. –We have time. She embraced me, and I held her bottom, feeling wetness where the stain had spread. I grew hard again. –Sit on that stool, she said. She straddled my lap, giving me a full view of her soaked crotch. –Pee your pants, Chris. I let go, sighing with relief as the warmth spread. Before I was finished Denise let her pee flow, creating shining streams from her spread legs. The pools under us merged. Slowly we undressed each other, touching wet clothing, stroking moist skin. She led me to her bedroom. I looked at her rounded body, enjoying the smell of fresh pee and woman. Denise lay down on the bed. –Come on, Chris. –Play me.
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