FF (January 2010) Paisely Smith - Beyond Curious

Annie's dreading the piano lessons that her grandmother's will demanded she take - until she meets her teacher, Emily.

Far from the elderly cat lady Annie had envisioned, Emily is sexy, blonde and completely irresistible.

Emily has never been with a woman, but Annie attracts her in a way that no one else has. Despite Emily's initial misgivings, it doesn't take long for their relationship to move from teacher and student to something much more than either of them expected - something that might lead to the love of a lifetime.

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Sample

Chapter One

Annie looked down at her Teaching Little Fingers to Play piano book. She scowled. It was bad enough she had promised her dying grandmother she would finally learn to play the piano—especially since Gram had left her the shiny black baby grand piano Annie had always admired—and even worse because of the juvenile piano book boasting a ridiculous cartoon owl on the front. But then again, Annie would have promised Gram anything.

The raw pain she had managed to tamp down for the seven months, one week and three days since Gram’s last breath reemerged and twisted her heart into a hard knot. Why she had always put off learning to play was beyond Annie. She should have taken piano as a child—not as a twenty-nine-year-old woman.

After parking her car against the curb, she looked up the hill at the imposing Tudor- style house that sat right smack-dab in between two fraternity houses. A fluffy calico cat perched on the concrete balustrade, ominously staring down at her like some sort of gargoyle.

Dread sank straight to Annie’s work boots. She could already envision the interior of the house. Cats everywhere, slip-covered, threadbare furniture, plastic floor runners and worst of all, the stench of moth balls mingled with one too many litter boxes. She shuddered.

God forbid any of her friends see her traipsing into the Widow Granger’s house for a piano lesson. She’d grown up the consummate tomboy, opting to play sports instead of piano. She’d preferred jeans to skirts and had secretly loved it when store clerks and well-meaning old ladies mistook her for a boy.

It hadn’t been until her junior year in high school that she realized there was a name for what she was. Gay. Discovering that about herself had liberated her in ways she had never imagined.

Coming out to her family had been a different story.

But Gram…

Annie swallowed and blinked away a threatening tear. Gram had accepted her from the beginning and when Annie confessed that she was gay to Gram, Gram had told her, “I’m glad you finally figured that out, sweetie.”

Still…piano lessons? Surely Gram, of all people, would have known better.

Angst struck like a thundering bass chord as Annie stared up at the imposing house.

The Widow Granger.

Annie did not know much about her other than she had once been on the faculty at the university and her husband, prior to his death a few months ago, had been an English professor.

A quick glance at her watch prompted Annie to get out of the car and climb the steep driveway toward the front door. Even in late September, the midday Alabama sun baked her back through her chambray shirt.

But as she neared the house and heard the tinkling of piano music—very beautiful piano music—her trepidation melted away with the humid heat. So much like Gram, she thought. Only better. She had not heard music like this since Gram had still been able to make her arthritic fingers dance across the keyboard.

Consternation giving way to curiosity, Annie climbed the concrete stairs onto the brown brick porch and peered through the window at the narrow back of a blonde woman, playing the piano and swaying in time to the steady rhythm.

Mesmerized by the sound, Annie could only gape as the woman—who she assumed was the Widow Granger—continued.

Annie’s piano repertoire included the bass part of “Heart and Soul” and a by-ear version of “Chopsticks”. But this…

This was real music.

If only she could learn to play like that! Gram would be so proud of her.

Although the pianist’s left hand was obscured by the drapery, Annie could see Mrs. Granger’s right hand lithely gliding up and down the keyboard.

Just as her consciousness submerged completely into the music, the musician abruptly stopped and stood, turning to discover her spying like some sort of peeping tom.

But no quicker than Annie had glimpsed her teacher, she vanished and Annie heard the doorknob turning. The screen door creaked as the widow pushed it open.

Annie gaped.

This was hardly the old cat woman in worn-out house shoes she had imagined.

Mrs. Granger was beautiful. Her blonde hair fell in an ethereal mass of waves just below her shoulders. Minimal makeup highlighted her fresh-faced appearance. Her white blouse and black skirt were stylish, yet professional. Annie had expected an old crone of seventy to greet her wearing a floral print muumuu. This woman had to be in her thirties—if that. The only thing that gave away her age was the wisdom that emanated from her eyes, even through a pair of bright blue reading glasses.

Everything about her seemed feminine and soft and the way her gaze traveled down Annie’s body and back up again made Annie wish she’d worn something besides the baggy men’s jeans and boots she wore to her job at the humane shelter every morning. A smile claimed Mrs. Granger’s pink glossed lips. “You must be Annie.”

Annie patted the embroidered patch bearing her name on her shirt pocket. “Yep. That’s me. How’d you ever guess?” She suddenly wanted to kick herself. Hard. Jeez, she sounded like a star-struck moron.

“Won’t you come in?” The widow opened the screen door wider and stood back to admit Annie whose elbow brushed her arm as she walked past. Annie muttered an apology but Mrs. Granger only smiled sweetly.

The cool dimness of her living room was like a shrine to both Shakespeare and Bach. Books lined the built in shelving around the fireplace. A charcoal rubbing of the Bard’s epitaph hung over the doorway to her dining room. Music books stretched helter skelter on the closed lid of the black grand piano, on the floor and on a tufted ottoman, all bearing the names of famous composers. Mozart. Beethoven. Chopin. Debussy.

Could Mrs. Granger play all this music?

“I’m Emily,” Mrs. Granger said, offering her hand. Annie took it in hers and was surprised by the strength of the widow’s grip contrasting the softness of her palm and fingers.

“Annie…um…Annie Prescott,” she muttered, reluctantly releasing her teacher’s hand. Annie could not stop staring. And she couldn’t get over how sexy this woman was. Maybe piano lessons with the widow weren’t going to be so bad after all.

“Shall we?” Mrs. Granger asked, slipping the Teaching Little Fingers to Play primer from Annie’s hand and sliding onto the bench. Mrs. Granger patted the spot beside her.

Annie stared.

“Annie?”

She swallowed thickly. “Yes…uh…ma’am,” she stammered as she sat beside her. It was not lost on Annie how different they seemed. Side by side, Mrs. Granger’s delectable femininity was in sharp contrast to Annie’s mannish style. Where Mrs. Granger sat displaying perfect posture, with her delicate ankles crossed and her skirt smoothed over her shapely thighs, Annie sat casually, legs sprawled and back hunched.

Her hands shook as she surveyed the never-ending row of black and white keys. Mrs. Granger placed a hand on Annie’s bare wrist. “There’s nothing to be nervous about,” she said softly.

Oh hell yes, there is. It was no longer the prospect of learning the piano that intimidated Annie but rather, the warmth that radiated from her piano teacher’s touch.

Annie took a deep breath. Warmth—and perfume.

Mrs. Granger smelled like a spring day, light and fresh. Good. So utterly feminine that all Annie could think about was nuzzling her face in the woman’s neck and breathing in her essence.

A warm blush crept into Annie’s cheeks. She had never before experienced such asudden attraction to another woman but there was nothing she could to derail her rampant thoughts.

“I understand you’ve never had a lesson before,” Mrs. Granger said, leaning across her to place the book on the music stand. She smoothed it open to the first page. “No, ma’am.”

A little chuckle emanated from Mrs. Granger’s throat. “You don’t have to call me ma’am. Emily will suffice.”

Annie nodded but somehow, calling her by her first name seemed far too intimate. Sitting with her thigh only inches from Emily’s on this piano bench seemed far too intimate as well.

Evidently, Emily was aware of their proximity too. With a shift of her hips, she put a few inches distance between them, took an ink pen from the grooves in the music stand and used it to point to the page in the book.

By the end of her first lesson, Annie had mastered half the songs in the book. Emily had also taught her a few mnemonics to help her remember the notes. F-A-C-E. Every Good Boy Does Fine. She had even managed to recall which ones were left-hand and which ones were right-hand notes.

Learning the piano had proved easier and more rewarding than Annie had thought.

“Annie, I have to apologize for using this book with you but the foundation techniques are unsurpassed. I suppose it’s why this particular method book has been in use for over fifty years. This was my first book too. You’ll discover I’m quite nostalgic.”

“No, it’s totally cool.” Annie’s initial dismay at using a child’s book had disappeared. Now she was excited about the possibility of being able to put the book on Gram’s piano and being able to read the notes to produce a tune.

Emily slid her glasses off and smiled. Annie noticed her eyes were the color of a summer sky. Pale blue yet tinged with the slightest gray threat of a storm. Did the color match her personality? Stormy and wild, undressed and unleashed. Annie’s insides fluttered. And when Emily’s gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there a moment and then transferred back to the piano keys, Annie realized she must have stared a little too long.

“Is…is that it?” she asked, taking a look at her watch. Her hour-long lesson had flown by.

“For today,” Emily said as she brushed imaginary dust from between the black keys.

Reluctantly, Annie collected her book and stood. Part of her did not want to leave. There was something about this woman. Perhaps it was her excitement at learning something new and useful. Perhaps it was Emily’s talent—or the quiet fury Annie sensed underneath her teacher’s poised exterior. Everything about this woman made Annie want to know her better and at that moment, Annie would have said—done—anything to remain in her presence for just a little while longer. “What was that you were playing when I arrived?”

Emily’s gaze shifted to the left as she thought then her lush lips parted. Annie caught the hint of the tip of her pink tongue pressed to her teeth. “Oh! Chopin. It was one of the Nocturnes.”

“Would you—would you play it for me again?” Annie wanted to punch herself for asking such a stupid question.

”Of course.” Emily shifted to the center of the bench, placed her nimble fingers on the keys and began to play.

This was far different from eavesdropping on the porch.

Inside the house, the music reverberated from the piano and thrummed in Annie’s chest. She had never dreamed an instrument could sound so full and rich and yet so whisper-soft. The piece was haunting, almost Spanish sounding, with lilting trills and runs, but it wasn’t the music that mesmerized her. It was the alluring woman producing the music.

Unlike the brash, sometimes militant, college girls Annie had dated in the past, Emily possessed an intrinsic sense of confidence. Any man— or woman—would have found her attractive and Annie couldn’t help but think she was downright sexy. This was no giggling schoolgirl whose chief aim in life was scoring a doobie and a six-pack on the weekend while planning a civil rights march on the town square. This was a woman—a talented, well-spoken woman who exuded her own brand of sexuality that Annie found impossible to resist.

Emily’s left hand crossed over her right and Annie caught a glimpse of pink lace peeping from under the opening of her blouse. What would it be like to peel the lace away and latch on to that taut nipple? Annie’s channel tightened as the fantasies played out in her head. She had not expected to find her teacher so damn attractive.

As Emily continued to play, Annie imagined sliding back onto that bench with her, sweeping those loose curls away from Emily’s neck and tongue-tracing the shell of her ear. Annie wondered if she reached beneath her skirt, if she would find Emily was wearing no panties—or better still, something lacey and feminine. What would Emily do if Annie wriggled her fingers between Emily’s legs and pushed a finger into her pussy? Would she spread for her? Would she beg her to lick her right here in front of the window for everyone to see?

The last strains of the music died away and Emily lifted her fingers from the keys. “You look flushed, Annie. Are you all right?”

Her voice startled Annie out her reverie. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Her gaze flicked to the piano and then guiltily back to Emily. “That was beautiful! Thank you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “It has always been one of my favorites.” She rose and

Annie followed her to the door.

“I think I’m going to enjoy this,” Annie blurted.

“Good,” Emily said. “Adults tend to learn fast. You’ll be playing like an old pro by the end of the summer.”

“Really?” Annie asked but it was the prospect of getting to know Emily that was most alluring.

Emily opened the door. “I’ll see you next week. Call me if you have any questions.” Annie nodded and reluctantly left.

Emily closed the door behind her new student but then moved to where she could watch Annie walk down the drive. More than once, Emily had caught Annie looking with obvious interest in her eyes.

Emily gnawed her bottom lip. She’d never been looked at like that by a woman before. The thought that Annie might find her attractive excited Emily in a surprising way. It made her wonder what it would be like to kiss another woman—to make love to a woman.

Now that Allen had been dead for six months and she was a widow, Emily had been forced to think about a lot of things. When Allen had been riddled with cancer, Emily had not had time to do anything but take care of him and the responsibilities of managing the book he’d published only months before getting the news he had an incurable brain tumor.

Even before the cancer, life with Allen had been anything but dull. Emily had respected his intellect. She’d loved learning from him but the ugly truth was that she married him because he made her feel needed.

Without him, she had been left with little choice but to discover who she was. And in the six short months since she’d buried Allen, she had learned quite a few things about herself.

She watched Annie open her car door and then slide into the driver’s seat. Emily inhaled. What would it feel like to have Annie’s hands on her skin? What would it be like to be undressed by a woman, to feel a woman’s kisses raining across her collarbone, her abdomen…lower?

Her pulse accelerated. Heat spiraled around her spine and rushed downward to where her channel tightened and she gasped. A warm blush infused her cheeks. As Annie pulled away from the curb and drove off, Emily blinked and forced her thoughts back to reality. One fact, however, remained. Emily knew she now had the desire to satisfy her curiosity with a woman and thus far that was, astonishingly, the most pleasant fact she’d uncovered about herself.