The Beautiful Mistae

This is part seven of a serial narrative. For maximum enjoyment, please begin with part one.

***************

I miss u already!

The message is from Chloe. We agreed to use an encrypted messenger app to communicate.

My plane has just landed. I'm headed to a conference of fellow classical musicians. I'll be giving some lectures on how to monetize online performances.

While the sentiment of her message is sweet, I'm somewhat annoyed by it. I message her back.

We agreed this was for *necessary* communications only!

I yawn as I walk down the jetway. It's been a long flight.

I hope the bed is fucking comfortable.

The conference is taking place on a college campus. Empty dorm rooms are cheaper accommodations than the hotels. My old friend, Colton, was the brains behind the whole thing.

My phone buzzes as I head for the rental car desk.

Sorry! My bad!

😊

I drive to the campus. It's a rainy day. Sadly, it's forecast to rain for the full three days of the conference. It's strange to be on a college campus. I didn't go to college. It's a rare thing among concert pianists. Private lessons and an obsessive need to practice got me to where I am.

Colton meets me at the dormatory. He's an odd little man without much hair who talks too much, but I'm very fond of him. He's never looked down on me for not having a degree. As he shows me my room (it's... adequate) my phone buzzes again.

I just thought I should let u know that Im def leaving for schl on the 25th.

As Colton tells me we've got to hurry to the pre-conference dinner he's hosting for all the lecturers, I write:

You already told me that.

We walk a few blocks to the restaurant.

Well then it was like a strong maybe but now its def

The restaurant hostess greets us.

Are we going to meet up between when u get back and I leave?

😉

The hostess guides us to the back of the restaurant where we have a private dining room reserved.

Ya know?! To

👉👌

"Oh, hi!"

I step into the dining room and see Abbey Grace smiling at me.

I put my phone away.

I've known Abbey Grace for nine, ten years now. Everyone always refers to her by her full name. I don't know why. But it suits her.

She was in her twenties when we met, but now must be in her mid thirties. She looks incredible. She's tall. With her heels on, she's as tall as me. She's always been slender (she has a petite build) but something is different about her now. Her blue dress is sleeveless and her bare arms are surprisingly muscular. Her serene, oval face has thinned out giving emphasis to her high, delicate cheekbones. I've long marveled at her royal blue eyes and her golden blonde hair which she always keeps in a long, elaborate braid. There is an elegance in her bearing and movements that only comes from years of studied poise. But there is nothing cold or unapproachable about Abbey Grace. Her resting face is most often an amused expression. She loves to laugh.

"Abbey Grace!" Colton exclaims. "God, you look gorgeous!"

He dives in for a hug. She's almost a head taller than he is.

Take it down a notch, Colt,

I think to myself. But Abbey Grace simply beams in response.

"Thank you, Colton! You look well! And you!" -she turns to me, throwing her arms wide- "It's been far too long!"

We embrace, her arms around my upper body, mine around her thin waist. I take a moment to enjoy the feeling of her breasts against me. They're of a moderate size, C-cups I would assume, well proportioned to her frame. I delight in the observation that our hug is more intimate and longer lasting than the one she gave Colton.

Other conference speakers trickle in and we all find places at the lengthy dining table. Abbey Grace insists I sit beside her and we spend most of the evening chatting with each other. She's a mezzo, with a powerful, sultry voice. I have accompanied her many times in concert. We've always been very flirtatious with one another, both secure that it was meaningless. I'm married to Jen and she has been in a relationship with another singer, Cristiano, for as long as I've known her.

We've been talking for half an hour before she asks, "And how's Jen?"

"She's great. Still running the same non-profit. It's been, what, ten years? We've been adjusting to the kid being out of the house."

"That's right! Little Lena is in college now! Oh my god!"

"Felix."

"What?"

"She-

they

came home from a trip with Jen a few weeks ago. On the trip they declared 'they' is now their preferred pronoun and that we should call them Felix."

"That seems to be the way with this generation. I wonder if any of them still consider themselves women?"

"I know at least a couple who do," I answer, amusing myself. "And how's Cristiano?"

"Who fucking cares?" she replies before taking a large gulp of wine.

Oh, really?

"Oh? Really?"

"Yes, really. But let's keep the conversation on pleasant subjects, shall we?"

I respect the request and we move to other things. I feel my phone buzz a couple more times, but I don't look. Abbey Grace is captivating. It's not just her impossibly blue eyes or her dazzling white smile that hold me enraptured. She's a brilliant conversationalist- intelligent, whitty, and sensual. To be honest, I'm rather intimidated by her intellect. Eventually the conversation comes round to her new-found fitness.

"Rock climbing," she tells me. "Started during the pandemic. Needed something to do outside that would get all the pent-up energy out, you know?"

"Oh, I do. You know how much I love hiking."

"Oh that's right! That explains why you're one of the few pianists I know who hasn't developed a little gut."

"Oh, the gut comes and goes. You're catching me on a good week."

"I don't believe that!"

"Well, the rock climbing has certainly done wonders for you."

She sits up straight, letting me take her in.

"Oh, you think so?"

"I

know

so. And so do you. You look amazing."

"Thank you." She smiles and leans in close. "I

feel

amazing."

I'm suddenly nervous, like I'm on a first date. When I take too long to respond, she leans back again and says, "we should definitely find some time this week to make some music together. For old time's sake."

"Absolutely," I manage to squeak out. My mouth is so dry.

When I return to my room on campus, my head is spinning from one drink too many and visions of blue eyes and blonde braids.

Holy shit

, I allow myself to think,

could I have a shot with Abbey Grace?

It's hard to tell. She was flirtatious, sure, but that's always been her way. But this time was different, like there was an intention behind it.

Or maybe that's just hopeful thinking on my part? Cristiano is no longer in the picture, so maybe she feels free to finally explore feelings for me? No, she knows I'm still with Jen...

As I sit and think these same thoughts over and over again, I realize I haven't looked at my phone since before dinner. There are three messages from Chloe.

Well...?

What's the matter? Out of ideas?

(gif of a large black woman tapping her foot)

She's just like Le- like

Felix

. Kids today are so impatient.

Sorry, I was having dinner with colleagues.

She messages me back within thirty seconds.

Ooo, fancy!

So when will I c u?

I don't know. Jen won't be driving Lena back to school until a couple days after you've left.

We could go on another little trip!

Too risky. I don't have an excuse. Besides, I'll just have come home from this trip.

No risk no reward!

We've taken plenty of risks already.

What's the matter? Now that you've had Jazlyn, Im not worth the effort?

Don't say shit like that. You know how much I want you.

Besides, I haven't seen or heard from J since then and don't expect to.

But if u did, would u go for it?

No. Not without you by my side.

*You're* my apprentice.

Sorry, I don't mean to act all jealous.

I just... I miss you.

I know.

I miss that big cock of yours.

You do, huh?

How could I not? Just the thought it has me...

Has you what?

The next message I receive is an image of her beautiful pink pussy, glistening wet. Her hand hovers just above it and I can clearly make out a line of fluid dangling from her middle finger down to her labia.

It's got me all wet.

I see that.

You know, this isn't what we agreed to use a messenger for.

What's the matter? You don't want to see this tight young pussy?

No, I do.

Right as I hit send, another photo comes through. It's of her face this time. Her big, pale eyes stare into the camera as she licks her finger.

I taste so fuckin good.

God, don't I know it.

So when r u going 2 eat my pussy again? Huh?

I don't know! I'll find a time. I promise.

The phone starts ringing. The screen says 'video call from Chloe.' I answer.

She's lying naked on her bed.

"Now," I say right away, "this is

definitely

not what we're supposed to be using this app for."

"Well, you do want to hang up or watch me play with myself?"

I give an exaggerated shrug.

"I mean, this you've already called and I've already answered..."

"Get that fucking dick out. I gotta see it."

We spend a half hour mutually masterbating. Before saying goodnight, she makes me swear we'll find a time to be together before she leaves for her sophomore year. I make her swear she won't contact me again until I get back from my trip.

The conference is... fine. I love classical music passionately, but find many of my fellow classical musicians to be boring, old, and/or socially inept. My lectures seem to go over their heads. I find most of the other lectures to be absolute snooze-fests.

But I'm still having a wonderful time, because Abbey Grace and I spend almost every part of the conference together. We lunch together, sit at lectures together, and keep each other company at the evening concerts and dinners.

I'm not wrong that her freedom from Cristiano has caused her to level up her flirtations. She hugs me tenderly everytime we meet -even if it's only been an hour since we last saw each other- and again when we depart. She makes numerous passing comments about how handsome she finsd me. The first day of the conference she wore a sweater while we mingled with the crowd but as soon as we sat down for lunch, just the two of us, she pulled it off to reveal a silken halter top with a plunging neckline that, combined with a pushup bra, showed off her cleavage magnificently. I don't think I'd ever seen her in such a revealing top before. As soon as we got up to go to the next event, she put the sweater back on.

Did she get cold again? Or was that a show just for me?

On the last day, we find a small practice room, big enough to fit a grand piano in it, but not much else. She sings while I play. Though while performing in front of an audience she stands still and refined, she has always had a different attitude in rehearsal. She loves to 'feel' the music as she sings. She sways from side to side. Sometimes she holds her arms out like a ballerina, displaying their stupendous musculature, sometimes she holds them over her head as she closes her eyes. She lightly touches her face, her neck, her sternum. I've seen her do these things many times in rehearsals past and have always found it incredibly sensual. This time, however, she goes further. She rubs her obliques and grabs her hips as she sings to the high ceiling, elongating her elegant neck. My playing isn't up to my normal standard as I have trouble focusing.

At last, she sits close to me on the piano bench and asks, "do you remember 'Là ci darem la mano?' "

"Of course. I accompanied you when you sang it with Miles Geha."

"Let's do that one."

"It's a duet."

"You're not a baritone?"

"Not a great one."

"Come on," -she puts an arm around my waist- "give it a try. For me."

"Alright. Here goes nothing."

I begin to play.

I do have a good natural singing voice with a decent range and a warm tone. But I've never had more than a handful of lessons, nowhere near the training of her normal duet partners.

"Là ci darem la mano" is from Mozart's

Don Giovanni

. The beautiful Zerlina has just become engaged to Masetto, but Giovanni begins to tempt her to come away with him to his castle. As I begin to sing, I contemplate the meaning of the words.

"Là ci darem la mano/ Là mi dirai di sì/ Vedi, non è lontano/ Partiam, ben mio, da qui."

There we will touch hands/ There you will say yes to me/ You see it is not far/ Let us go, my dear, from here.

She begins to sing, her arm still wrapped around my waist.

"Vorrei e non vorrei/ Mi trema un poco il cor/ Felice, è ver, sarei/ Ma può burlarmi ancor!"

I want to and I don't/ My heart is trembling a little/ Yes, it would make me happy/ but he could trick me again!

I turn my head, look into her sapphire eyes and sing, "Vieni, mio bel diletto!"

Come, my beautiful beloved!

She places her other hand on my abdomen.

"Mi fa pietà Masetto!"

I feel sorry for Masetto!

I am finding more and more confidence in my voice. I belt out, "Io cangierò tua sorte!"

I will change your fate!

Her chest heaves as she sings, "Presto... non son più forte."

Quickly... I cannot resist much longer.

Her passion grows as she repeats, "Non son più forte! Non son più forte!"

I cannot resist much longer! I cannot resist much longer!

"Andiam!" I sing. "Andiam!"

Let us go! Let us go!

She also sings, "Andiam!"

Then, our faces an inch away from one another, we join together in singing, "Andiam, andiam, mio bene/ a ristorar le pene/ d'un innocente amor."

Let's go, let's go, my love/ To redeem the sufferings/ Of an innocent love.

When the song ends, we do not move, but sit in silence, our mouths almost touching.

After what seems an eternity, she says, "I don't really want to go to the farewell party tonight. I'm done with crowds."

"Yeah... me too."

"Dinner? Just me and you?"

"Sounds perfect."

"I've got to go to this last lecture. You coming?"

"You know, I think I'm done with lectures too. I'll see after."

"See you."

She kisses my cheek and leaves. I feel like a school boy who's just learned his crush likes him too.

That night we find ourselves in a little sushi place, in a dimly lit booth. Rain rops trail donw the window beside us. She's wearing that revealing halter top again, this time with a short skirt. Her long legs are as well defined as her arms.

We talk about the conference, about music, about the movies we've seen lately. After a few cups of sake I ask, "So, at the risk of making the conversation unpleasant, what happened with you and Cristiano?"

"Portuguese bastard! What happened is that I trusted him far longer than I should have."

"An easy mistake to make."

"Seven years I was with him. You know he cheated on me six months in?

Six months.

He told me he didn't realize how serious our relationship had become for me and now that he knew, I'd have his fidelity. I forgave him!"

"Why?"

"Because I was young and he was

hot

, and when he told me I was special I believed him! I was twenty-five when I met him, he was almost forty. He had this- this-

worldliness

about him. To a naive girl like me he seemed to be the most intelligent, soulful person I'd ever known. He cheated on me again and again over the years. I never had proof, but I

knew

it. We both spent so much time apart, it was easy for him."

"And you never...?"

"No. I should have. Or I should have just dumped him ages ago. When the pandemic happened and everything was locked down, I was here, he was in Portugal. We wouldn't see each other in person for ten months. When restrictions were lifted, I begged him to fly back right away, but he kept coming up with excuses not to. Eventually I flew over there to surprise him."

"And found him with someone else?"

"Found him

living

with someone else."

"Christ, I'm sorry."

"And not just any someone else. Thirty-eight-year-old him had no problem dating twenty-five-year-old me, so no surprise forty-six-year-old him had no problem dating a

nineteen

-year-old!"

I'm struck by pangs of guilt.

"She's a singer too!" Abbey Grace continues. "Or, at least, that's what she tells herself. With a voice that reedy and thin she'll find no one in this business to give her the time of day once her perky little tits start to droop."

"So you just jumped on the next plane home?"

"Pretty much. He tried to convince me we could be polyamorous, have an 'open' relationship. Fucking nonsense."

"It's not entirely nonsense."

She cocks an eyebrow.

"Oh? Do you and Jen have some sort of arrangement?"

This is it. This is the decision. I could take a big damn risk right at this moment. It would be so stupid of me. It would be wrong. Fuck it! No risk, no reward.

"Over the years, since we both travel a lot for work, we've come to... an agreement."

"You're kidding? You and Jen are poly?"

"Not- Not exactly. We don't allow ourselves to have other

relationships

with people. We're still each other's one-and-only in that regard. But, you know, if one of us is going to be away for a couple weeks, meeting new people... we realized we could either deny temptations and resent the other one for it, give in and feel guilty after, or just be open and accepting about it. Our approach is, 'hey, as long as it's just a fling, go for it!'"

She stares at me with those deep blue eyes. It's a trust test, I can feel it. I look back at her as calmly and sincerely as I can.

"Interesting," she says quietly. "I have one more question."

"What's that?"

"If this is true, why haven't we been fucking every night of this boring-ass conference?"

Twenty minutes later, we're in my dorm room, our tongues exploring each other's mouths. She keeps touching my pectorals and arms. I keep one hand on her face, the other on her small, rock-solid ass.

I've never made out with someone my own height, which Abbey Grace is in heels. Jen hardly wears heels and when she does, she's still two inches shorter than me. Chloe is even shorter than Jen. The even height is certainly a different experience. It feels much more like

she's

kissing

me

than

I'm

kissing

her

.

She reaches down and feels my bulging erection through my pants.

"Oh, wow!" she whispers with delight. "I had no idea..."

She kneels down and undoes my belt.

What has my life become?

A year ago, I was sure that Jen was the only person who was ever going to suck my cock again, and I was honestly content with that. In the last month, I've had my cock sucked by two other women and am about to have it sucked by a third. And it's Abbey fucking Grace!

When the waistband of my underwear comes down, revealing my erect cock, Abbey Grace stares with her mouth hanging open.

"Wow," she says again, "just wow."

She brings to her lips and hesitates just a moment before-