Glissando

By Zoe Drashele

Three years after his divorce and doubting his appeal, Piers Lawrence is beginning to think he might never be with a woman again. A blind date at the symphony, however, could spell a change in fortune. A chance encounter thrusts Piers into a whirlwind sexual romance set against the backdrop of the impassioned symphony orchestra. An erotic journey exploring one woman's intangible relationship between music and sexuality, and one man's resulting education.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zoe Drashele
• Release date: Nov 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463132692

Zoe Drashele

Writer of progressive literary erotica. The first novella in the 'Muses' series 'Glissando' is out now!. #bodypositive #mindpositive

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Copyright Notice

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. This book is a work of fiction, any names, characters, places or incidents are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Prologue

Piers stood at the end of the bed, momentarily caught in a daydream. His mouth was dry, his forehead damp with sweat, and he had a slight cramp in his left foot. He began to wonder if he was cut out for this lifestyle. He'd been so desperate to find something more, a woman who wanted him as much as he did her, someone for whom sex wasn't a chore or a statutory responsibility. But now, as he caught his breath, he definitely wondered, albeit briefly, if he could keep it up. The entire thought process lasted only a matter of seconds and is quickly as it had troubled him it was gone. He stood to attention, caught sight of his next target and smiled wryly, offering a silent note of thanks to whichever god or gods had brought him to this point in time.

2 weeks earlier...

Chapter 1

Isabella Barton sat glumly on the corner of her bed, scratching her head more violently than was strictly necessary and reading a text message for the eleventh time. What she wasn't doing was crying, which seemed odd to her, since she usually cried when she received one of these types of text message. It was from her boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend now she guessed, who was 2nd Trombone in the same orchestra that she played the cello in. It read simply:

I'm sorry Bel, I guess I just don't find you attractive anymore.

At 5ft 5 and – as the doctor had described her at her last check-up – perilously close to obese, Bella had become somewhat used to feeling unattractive in the eyes of others. Lately though she hadn't had as much cause to feel that way, in fact she'd been rather comfortable with her appearance. The text from 2nd Trombone was doing its best to undermine her recent confidence though.

Bella suspected that he had moved up within the orchestra, not by being promoted to lead trombone himself but socially speaking, by moving from dating 9th Cello to 6th Violin perhaps. Bella was sure she'd find out at their practice session later that day as everybody knew everybody's business in that place. An orchestra was a tight-knit community and many of the musicians shared accommodation in large run down houses within walking distance of Symphony Hall. It was impossible to maintain secrecy over intra-orchestra relationships when you bumped into a fellow player in the corridor while making the walk of shame.

Once again Bella's mind turned to her lack of tears. She'd been dumped before, this wasn't even the first time by text, but she couldn't seem to get upset by this latest rejection. Perhaps it was because he was no oil painting himself, or perhaps because she felt his trombone playing was sub-standard and that he didn't live and breathe classical music in the same way she did. Either way she deleted the text message and vowed never to date another musician from the orchestra again.

Dating was hard though for professional musicians, since they spent almost every waking hour either practicing, rehearsing, playing concerts, teaching or in the few hours they didn't have their instrument in hand, filling in funding application forms and tax returns. They made terrible boyfriends and girlfriends, lousy dinner companions and even worse friends. As a result most dated within the orchestra, since at least the hours wouldn't come as a shock to the other person.

Bella wasn't desperate to find another man quickly, but they did have their uses at times and she enjoyed the passion of a new relationship, the excitement mirroring the thrill of a live performance. In fact, to Bella, sex and music were inextricably linked: the varying speeds; hand positions; highs and lows and the all-important crescendo. Her only non-orchestral boyfriend, when Bella was at college, had been driven mad by her insistence on playing classical music every time they were physically intimate.

Bella began to wonder whether she would one day find someone who appreciated her as much as she did them. Someone who found her classically wide hips and rotund posterior as beautiful as renaissance sculptors had and – more importantly – who understood that to Bella music would always come first, but that it wouldn't stop them from creating a wonderful soundtrack of their own.

Still pondering this daydream Bella packed up her cello, slung it over both shoulders and put a long trench coat on over the top to avoid the rain soaking her instrument. She stepped out of her apartment, the last of the three musicians within it to leave, and made the short walk to Symphony Hall for that night's concert.

***

Piers Lawrence – Percival Wright Property, announced Piers into his cheap black plastic desk telephone. Uhuh... Uhuh... Yes, that's no problem sir, I'll meet you at the site mid-morning.

Piers was working late at his offices on the South Bank, not through choice, he had been set up on a