If there was an expression such as “you’re a sight for sore eyes”, but applied to the ears, he would be the reason for its creation. It was a joy just being there, eyes closed and listening to the music floating. Six-Fingers Sam, they called him, the reason being literal. Not three in each hand, but twelve in total.
But oh, he learnt how to use them. As a child, while the other kids were playing football, he was learning the music notes on dirty sheets of paper. On its teens, instead of wasting time chasing tails and losing virginities, he has decided to work and buy a piano. The pariah pattern was also the talent rocket. It was a life of mockery, when someone noticed the six fingers: the girls holding his hands screamed and the goalkeeper gloves didn’t fit. But now, as an adult, nothing mattered anymore.
Adjusted bench, feet reaching the pedals and arms stretching upwards complete the initiation rite, every day, every time. The six times two then start walking over the ebony and ivory. At first with soft gentle steps, just a smooth cherish on the surface, causing a vibrant intensity on the inside. Inside the piano strings and inside the women’s bodies. Inside that woman’s body. He’s a player alright, and this doesn’t apply only to the piano. The initial subtle smoothness starts demanding more. Starts demanding vigor. Just like the piano black and white, wherever there is light, there are also shadows, it’s a casual relationship that can’t be avoided. And so, the hands either step graciously and slowly the skin web or jump and press vigorously the flesh mesh, we’re not talking about music anymore. The game is pattes d’araignée, and the trained fingers are not rejected. Quite the opposite, they’re received and pulled and pushed and moaned to. The slow massage goes down from the rib cage to the area that defines the Venus, the palm of the hand pressing hard and the fingers pivoting to the deep forbidden, but desired zone. It was forbidden, but not anymore!
There is a similar expression to the one in the beginning, in fact: the pleasure escaping her lungs is music to his ears, as he keeps using his natural born gift and acquired training to explore her vocal modulations, from Allegro Ma Non Troppo to Molto Vivace. She wants Prestissimo, and they’re already as one, hips against thighs, lips colliding, her music channeling through him, his music channeled inside her. A complete symphony of deliverance.
Back to the piano, Six-Fingers Sam, they called him. The reason being literal. It was a gift that always helped him. But the gloves still don’t fit!