Seduction in 3/4 time

He closed the door and drew the blinds. The reading lamp was illuminated, and he was alone with his ebony Aphrodite, the memory of the music she created in the air.

The light caught her in all the right places, exposing and shadowing and adding tone and mystery to her. Her family name, Steinway, was shining. Her given name, Eleanor, was concealed, traced in faint calligraphic swirls.

He prepared for her. The lid was arched like a curving, inviting eyebrow, exposing the chords and hammers and lovely insides that most would never know. The velvet cover, her last attempt at modesty, was swept away and respectfully folded. Her keys revealed, he reverently stroked the ivory . They were ready.

He teased her, broad chromatics running the length of her and small scales teasing out hidden yet familiar tones. She was open for him now, ready for music. He struck a quick descending natural-sharp-natural, then halted, unsure of what she sought next, of what he desired of her.

Performance anxiety of the worst sort.

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