The Exquisite Recital Performer

  From age 8 to about 14, I took piano lessons. The teacher was a mature, no-nonsense woman who had an enormous concert grand in her living room. Every so often she scheduled recitals right there in her home, which was filled with antique furniture. For recitals she added folding chairs so everybody would have a seat. Most of the kids who were going to play sat on an antique couch near the piano. The teacher sat in a fancy, straight-backed old dining chair where she could keep an eye on her pupils. She had drilled into us that we must not fidget or draw attention to ourselves while someone else played.

 I remember one of those recitals well. There was a boy sitting next to me as we waited our turns to play. That kid was dressed to the hilt: black sweater, white shirt, tie, polished shoes. He looked like a miniature undertaker!

 As the recital progressed and we waited, I noticed that he was giving a great deal of attention to his lap. He was trying very hard to sit still, but at the same time he was cautiously mashing and squeezing his crotch. From time to time he would hold the printed program over his fly while he grabbed his boner and moved his dick to a better position. Between squeezes he sat with the program hiding what must have been a very stiff prick in his pants. Of course his activity was contagious for me and soon there was a boner in my slacks also.


  The boner mashing boy played his piece just before me. He went straight to the piano and slid in on the bench without letting the audience see his bulging front. Then he played. I instantly hated him because he played a difficult and flashy piece. When he finished he was supposed to stand next to the piano and take a slight bow to acknowledge the audience's applause. What he actually did was slip behind the teacher's chair and nod toward the audience with a big smile while patting the teacher on the shoulder. He made a show of kissing her on the cheek. What a ham. And she loved it! He was a consummate actor. It looked like he just adored that old biddy, when his real motivation was to keep his bulge hidden behind her chair.

  Next it was my turn. I played a simple piece. Thank the Lord, my boner disappeared while I concentrated on playing.

  I never saw that kid again, but I still remember him mashing a boner while sitting on an antique couch, and then slipping behind the teacher to put on a dramatic display of appreciation while a serious adolescent erection raged in the pants of his spiffy black outfit.

Martin