Performance Anxiety
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VentingChapter 5 free porn video
That night, I was lying in bed looking over the sheet music for the second concert. Our first piece was going to be Beethoven's sixth symphony, a lot of music for a chamber orchestra. We were going to have to play our hearts out to do it justice.
A little before ten, I thought I heard Hae-Won moving around in her apartment below me. It was comforting somehow. I let my imagination drift and pictured her bringing her day to an end; getting undressed, slipping into a nightgown or T-shirt, padding barefoot into her bathroom to pee and brush her teeth, then sitting at her dresser to brush her hair. I imagined her crawling into her bed with a book and reading a chapter or two before she switched off the bedside lamp and drifted off to sleep.
I turned off my own lamp and snuggled under the blankets to listen to the quiet, to think about ways I might be able to get her more interested in me. Part of my problem was that, even thought Hae-Won was born and raised in the U.S., she still might have been brought up to adhere to the old Korean traditions, whatever those might be. I had no idea how aggressively I could pursue her or at what point I might go to far and lose any chance of success. It's kind of strange what kinds of problems an idle brain will create out of nothing.
Just as I felt myself drifting into the arms of Morpheus, I thought I heard kind of a drawn-out sigh from the vent, sort of a aaaaaahhhh! I turned on my side and dropped my head down near the grate to eavesdrop, feeling more curiosity than excitement or guilt.
Nothing. Quite. But then, just as I rolled back up onto the bed, there came another sigh followed by some rhythmic grunts like unh, unh, unh. Then, oh yeah, oh yeah, do me!
Jeez, was that coming from our girl down stairs?! My imagination went wild! Either Hae-Won was giving herself a good rub-off or she was getting fucked! That thought kicked off a few moments of insane jealousy but, wait! If she had a guest, I would have heard them talking, wouldn't I? I'd have heard two people grunting! Unless his face was buried between her legs. Or her face! Shit! Maybe she wasn't into men! That was a possibility I hadn't considered before. But still, I never heard anything until just now so I insisted to myself she had to be alone. I couldn't handle the other possibility.
I leaned over the side of the bed and put my ear right against the grate. She began to pant and make little high-pitched kitten sounds. I grabbed my dick and began stroking with the same rhythm as her sounds. Gawd, this was so hot! Now I was lying on my back, bent over backwards with my ear against the vent and stroking furiously. I could tell by the increasing rate of her breathing that she must be getting close. I slowed down to hold off my own climax in an effort to try to peak at the same time she did, pretending we were doing it together. I tried to picture my dick sliding in and out of her pussy while I massaged her tits and kissed her beautiful face. Would she be natural? Would she be shaved or trimmed? I didn't really care; I just wanted to be inside her!
I was able to hold off my climax for several minutes until I heard something that sent me right over the edge with a loud groan that I absolutely did not want to let out. She began rasping, ooh, ooh, ooh yeah, Curtis! Do me, do me hard, Curtis!
That totally dissolved my self control! I grunted, bucked, arched my back and shot an epic load all over my face, my chest and my belly as an involuntary oooooooh, gaaaawd! ripped from my throat. At the same time, a breathy ooh, ooh, ooh, I'm coming, oh yeah, I'm coming! followed by a long, satisfied aaaahhh!
A minute or two of heavy breathing from both of us, then - quite. There could be no doubt she heard me and that she knows I heard her. I mean, she'd have to be stone deaf not to. So what now? Should I say something? Will she say something? What's the protocol for this kind of thing?
After lying there a few minutes, I got up to got to the bathroom and wipe myself off. I crawled back into bed and lay quietly, waiting for something more to come out of the vent but nothing did. It took me a long time to get to sleep.
The next morning, we ran into each other in the hallway at the academy. I felt flushed as I struggled for something cool and sexy to say about our shared experience. But Hae-Won acted like nothing was different between us at all. She walked right up to me and said, "Hi, Curtis. All set for the concert tonight?"
Damn! How could she be so cool? "Uh, yeah, I'm ready. How are you feeling?"
"I feel great!" She glanced at her watch and said, "Oops, gotta run! Seeya later!" She headed down the hallway but stopped and added, "By the way, I called my parents and told them I was bringing a friend to dinner. They're looking forward to meeting you."
What could I say but, "Yeah, great! I'm looking forward to meeting them too."
A friend? That didn't sound promising. But I heard her call out my name!
All day long, I was wondering how she could just pretend that nothing had happened between us the night before. Finally, I decided that if she could be so cool with it, I could too. If my intuition was right, it was something I shouldn't bring up in casual conversation, a shared experience that just didn't need to be mentioned. I'd just let it rest and hope for a repeat performance. Or an invitation.
That evening, as I left the apartment house with my cello to head to the theater, I saw an oriental couple arriving in a taxi. They appeared to be middle-age, well-dressed and dignified, pretty much how I would expect Hae-Won's folks to look. I almost veered in their direction to introduce myself but checked my actions thinking it might be best if Hae-Won made the introductions. I just said 'Hi!' as we passed on the sidewalk.
At the theater, I was already in my chair running scales on my cello to limber up my fingers when Hae-Won took her seat beside me. She was stunning in a long-sleeve black velvet gown with a deep-cut neck line showing just a hint of cleavage. It was split about half way up the front to accommodate the position her legs had to be in to play her cello. Her glossy, ebony hair was done up in a bun and held in place with an ornate silver comb. She wore just a hint of lip gloss setting off the dazzling smile she flashed at me. Elegant is the only word I can think of to describe her.
"Hi, Curtis. That tux really looks nice on you."
"Thanks to you. You look absolutely gorgeous!"
"Thank you! Are you ready?"
"I'm ready if your are. Let's do it!" I hoped she caught the double entendre.
About that time, the concert master made his entrance, bowed and cued the oboist to give us the concert pitch. As soon as we were tuned, Maestro Falcone made her way to the podium and motioned for the orchestra to stand. She turned to face an enthusiastically applauding audience and bowed. When she turned back to us and raised her baton, we were under way. In my opinion, we turned out a stellar performance and the audience showed their appreciation with a standing ovation at the end of the evening.
Since we were going right to the restaurant, Hae-Won and I decided to leave our instruments locked up in the theater for the night. When we stepped outside the theater door, her parents were waiting for us. It was the couple I'd seen getting out of the taxi.
I swear Mr. Park was looking me up and down with cold suspicion as we were introduced but his expression instantly shifted to a gracious smile when I took his hand holding my right forearm with my left hand, bowed just as Hae-Won had showed me and said 'Mannasuh bangapseumnida.' I turned to Mrs. Park and nodded respectfully, offering the same greeting. From that point on, the evening and the dinner was one of the most pleasant I can remember.
It was near midnight when I dropped the Parks off at their hotel and drove back to the apartment house with Hae-Won. They were planning to get together for breakfast and spend the morning visiting before they flew back home.
I walked her up the stairs to her apartment hoping against hope she'd invite me in and we could finally acknowledge what happened between us the night before. No such luck. She laid her hand on my arm and said, "You really impressed my parents, Curtis. I know because Papa passed up his usual third degree interrogation and Mom was clearly charmed by your good manners. The greeting in Korean was icing on the cake."
"They're really very nice people, Hae-Won. Thank you for inviting me to share your evening. I hope I'll have a chance to meet them again some day."
She turned, slid her key into the lock and said over her shoulder, "Oh, I'm sure you will. Good night, Curtis."
I wasn't ready for such an abrupt ending to the evening. "Oh, uh, good night, Hae-Won. You want to ride over with me tomorrow for the matinee performance?"
I was sure I saw a little wickedness in her grin as she answered, "Sure. Just give me a holler through the vent when you're ready."
I headed upstairs to my apartment thinking, OK, she's teasing me! She as much as admitted to the vent event. Here I am worrying about how to ask her out without being too pushy and she's just stringing me along. I'm beginning to think this innocent child isn't nearly as innocent as she'd have people believe.
We had three more performances of the Bach/Mozart concert; a matinee and evening performance on Saturday and another matinee on Sunday. In two weeks we'd be doing the Beethoven along with two Rossini overtures; the 'William Tell' and 'La Cenerentola' (Cinderella). The first chair always does the cello solo at the beginning of the 'William Tell' so I was going to get a chance to see and hear Hae-Won in the spotlight.
We showed up for rehearsal at nine AM expecting a long day. We worked for four hours straight on the Beethoven because there's so much to it. After a half hour lunch break, we were taking our seats to start working on the Rossini when Hae-Won walked up to the Maestro and whispered something in her ear. Falcone drew back and looked at Hae-Won with surprise on her face and asked aloud, "Are you sure?"
Hae-Won nodded and returned to her seat. She looked at me, grinned and said, "You're doing the solo."
"What! No way! That's your's, Hae-Won. First chair always does the solos."
She shook her head, "Not this time. Look, Curtis, I'll have plenty of opportunities to shine. Your cello has such a beautiful voice, it just seems perfect for the Rossini. Our objective is to please the audience, isn't it?"
"Sure but I've heard you play, Hae-Won. You're great! The audience will love it."
The Maestro stepped up and made it official. "Curtis, I know you're ready for a solo spot but I'll only ask you to do if you want to. You're quite correct that by rights, it's Hae-Won's if she wants it but she insists. Will you do it?"
I looked back and forth between the two of them feeling like I was about to commit an act of thievery. Hae-Won wasn't about to budge so I shrugged and said, "OK, sure, I'll do my best to make you both proud."
The Maestro took the podium and cued me to begin. I don't know if you're familiar with the William Tell Overture other than it's where the theme music for the old radio program, 'The Lone Ranger' came from but the three minute solo at the very beginning sets the stage for the whole overture. The solo has to be soft, sweet and gentle and practically lull the audience to sleep before the next section comes in with a bang and jolts them awake again. Rossini loved doing stuff like that.
After the first run-through, the Maestro asked Hae-Won and I to change seats and then had me turn slightly toward the audience so the sound of my cello would carry better. After the next try, somebody stood up in the back row and said, "Much better, Curtis. That was beautiful." It was stone-faced Mr. Conrad from the board. Apparently he often attended rehearsals to critique the performances. Only later did I learn that he was a highly respected musicologist at the university and also taught classes at the academy where Hae-Won and I worked. I wondered idly what it would be like to have him as a professor; probably intimidating as hell.
Much to my disappointment, there were no more vent incidents and Hae-Won continued to act as if nothing weird ever happened. The girl was cool as a cucumber, I'll have to give her that. In fact, everything was so 'normal' between us I was beginning to wonder if I'd imagined the whole thing. Until...
That Friday night I was again sitting up in bed surfing the net for some high-quality porn (surprisingly hard to find) and looking forward to a long, drawn-out wank when there was a tapping coming up through the vent followed by, "Are you there, Curtis?"
I quickly closed my MacBook like I'd been caught in flagrante delicto, rolled over onto my belly and dropped my head down next to the vent. "Yeah, I'm here. What is it, Hae-Won?"
"Are you in bed yet?"
"Well, yeah but I'm no where near asleep. If there's something you need, don't feel shy about asking." I could only hope!
"Um, well I'm having a little bit of a problem with something I thought you could help me with. Is there any chance you could come down?"
I assumed she had a drippy faucet or a leaky pipe or something. "Sure I can. I have a small took kit. Shall I bring it?" And why didn't she just call the super?
"Oh no, it's not that kind of problem. I'll explain when you get here."
"OK. I'll be down in a couple of minutes."
I hopped out of bed, pulled on a T-shirt, some jeans and and sneakers and headed for the door. But I stopped short, smelled the underarm of my T-shirt and decided a clean one and a little touchup with a damp washcloth and some deodorant might be a good idea. I'd already brushed my teeth so I was good there.
When I knocked, she answered immediately like she'd been waiting right by the door. I stepped in, kicked off my sneakers and turned to see that she was dressed in something spectacular. I guess it was some kind of a formal Korean costume; the while blouse was very full and long sleeved with a high sash around the waist. Her skirt seemed to be made of yards and yards of bright blue silk and it was long enough to cover her feet. Her hair was done up in a bun like it was at the concert but instead of the silver comb, there were two ornate pins the size of knitting needles holding it in place.
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