Fuck, but he made it hardnotto love him.
“Is he your favorite composer?” I inquired.
“Again, loaded question. Ah, Franz Liszt is on the top of my favorites. He was Europe’s first rock star. Women would fawn over him and everything. But he was a genius, advancing the development of the piano and making solo recitals mainstream. He has this way of weaving emotion into his music so when you listen to “Un Sospiro”, you feel as if you're going to die from overwhelming emotion, but you don’t because there is a whole story yet to come and you want to be around to experience it. Sometimes loneliness sits between joy, like a quiet girl at a masquerade, wondering where she fits into all this and if anyone even notices her at all.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss, his gaze off in the distance as if he were seeing that lonely girl. “Music tells stories and is an unreliable narrator because it can mean something different from one person to the next.”
“Tell me your story,” I whispered, wanting to keep him talking. He was unaware of the passion that came through when he talked about his music.
“My favorite musician is Wladyslaw Szpilman. He was a gifted pianist, and he managed to survive the holocaust. I can’t imagine going through what he did. His music saved him in a way. It got him through the hardest parts. I really admire him.He helped me get through my teenage years. If I could survive living with my parents for eighteen years and still come out of it as a compassionate, open-minded person, then I can survive anything.”
I wished I had the words to explain how I felt about him, but all I could do was let him speak because no one really listened to what he had to say before.
“Anyway, now that I have access to a piano, I can practice and apply to a concerto. There is a musical program for disadvantaged youth. Who knew conversion therapy qualified me as disadvantaged youth? Anyway, I have to apply soon because I only have a year and they don’t take in anyone over twenty-one. So I have to choose a piece and practice the hell out of it until it's perfect.”
“I didn’t know…that,” I said carefully, not wanting to dig up painful memories.
“Conversion therapy? They called them retreats and it was for all kids. Mostly we prayed, did activities, and such to help us be a better soldier for Christ. But they never forgot to drop hints about the sins we shouldn’t partake in. Honestly, it didn’t take much more than a hint that doing unclean things would lead us to hell. They didn’t need to specify the sin because we all had our own personal demons. For the girls, it was the pressure to remain pure and save themselves for their husband. Mine was being gay. Anyway, confession was the worst. We’d line up, waiting for our turn in the private room with the priest, each wondering what sin the other secretly harbored. I would string words in my mind that I wanted to tell the priest and practice them over and over. Things like: I like the way boys look. Will God forgive me?”
He was quiet for a long moment, just staring at the piano keys. I decided to focus on less stressful things and asked, “What song are you going to choose?”
A little smile pulled at his lips. “I haven’t made my mind up, but my heart is settled on “Marriage d’Amour” or “Un Sospiro”. They’re on my list of favorites and I think you’ll like them.”
“I like everything you’ve played,” I said.
He started playing again and I knew he was going somewhere that most people only fantasized about. All the forgotten theater stuff and dust and terrible light floated away and he was in a grand room, playing for thousands of people listening with tears in their eyes. He belonged there and no matter what happened between us, I wouldn’t hold him back from that. I promised to go one step further and help him get there.
I closed my eyes, listening to the music and seeing a story unfold in my mind. I could feel the music, the emotion it provoked deep in my chest. When he played, it was like peering into the universe and finding the light hidden in the void, as if I’d been given a glimpse of Nirvana. Call it angels or interdimensional beings or an echo of the universe, but Matteo had been touched by something divine.
I came to a conclusion: I knew this wouldn’t last. We were on different paths, but for as long as I could, I’d secretly love him. No matter what happened between us, I promised he’d always remember the times we shared.
The piece ended and he proceeded to stare at the keys. “I’m waffling between the two. I’ll play “Un Sospiro”, and you tell me which rendition you like best.”
I could watch him play all day. There was something very magical in how he expressed his music, as if he couldn’t hold back. Everything about him was fascinating. His long, elegant fingers that were so sweet when they wrapped themselves around my cock, and his plump and sultry lips that kissed me as if he couldn’t get enough. His slim frame that I loved wrappingmy legs around and the adorable curls around his forehead that I wanted to never stop stroking. The entirety of him was a symphony.
I got up and approached. Leaning in, I kissed him chastely, wanting to taste harmony. The song cut off and he pulled me back to his lips, letting loose a little moan as he swiped his tongue against my lips. I opened for him, giving him what he wanted. The kiss was testing at first, slow, and savoring. He fisted his hand in my shirt, pulling me closer and kissing me deeper.
The first stir of arousal was nice, and I took control from him by lifting him off the bench and sitting him on the edge of the piano. He gasped but I didn’t care. I’d made up my mind. One day when he was old and gray, and I’d passed on long before, he’d look back to these moments and remember what we’d shared.
I was going to brand myself into every fucking memory he had so he never forgot me.
I slid my palm under his sweater and up his torso until I found a nipple, hard and ready, waiting for my touch. No one had touched him here before, or anywhere else and though many would in the future, all his firsts belonged to me. I took his lips in a rough, controlling kiss, wanting to stamp this moment into his mind. He clawed at me, tried to take back control, but I wouldn’t let him.
He pulled away and bit the tip of his tongue. “I want you to fuck me. I want to know what it’s like. And I have to put out after you gave me such a perfect gift.”
I arched a playful brow. “So, what you’re telling me is all I have to do to get some ass is shower you with gifts? Well, why didn’t you say so?”
He growled, pushed me against the piano, unsynchronized chords blaring. I laughed into his hurried kiss,and our tongues sparred for control. His fingers grasped at my behind and he tried to lift me onto the piano.
I planted my feet on the floor and used my weight to resist. “You want to know something? I think I have an up-and-coming top on my hands. You might not notice it, but I do. Sometimes you get assertive and you’re enjoying fucking me way too much.”
He frowned at me, the implications crossing his eyes. “I just want to fuck.”
I kissed his forehead tenderly. “Let’s go home. We will be more comfortable there. We can fuck on your piano next time.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I regretted not driving us to the center because waiting for the bus to arrive sucked. We stood against the building, his arms between my jacket and my body as we tried to stay warm. Making out in the middle of the sidewalk was exciting, but the rest of the world had ceased to exist for me. I just wanted to crawl next to his heart and never leave. When the bus did arrive, we took our spot in the back, so we were out of the view of most of the patrons.
I guided his lips back to mine, determined to play him as skillfully as he played his piano.
