The Player in the Shadows

Ever the gentleman, Laura’s husband pulled back the chair on which she was about to sit, helped her with her coat, and let her get comfortable before he did so himself.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile and coquettish look.

He winked at her.

She had once heard someone say that the secret to a long marriage was saying please and thank you. This was a habit that neither one of them had forgotten after all these years.

Herman looked dashing in his smart outfit, which he wore on special occasions, and though perhaps a bit outdated as far as fashion went, he wore it like it was brand new.

A jazz band began to play on the stage.

“We arrived just in time,” Herman said and looked around at the atmosphere of the club.

It looked like one of those old style cabarets one sees in black and white movies. Several tall plastic palm trees had been placed on the periphery of the stage along with kitschy lights that glowed purple, violet, and blue.

“Our children have interesting tastes,” he said.

“It’s definitely… unique,” Laura said, looking for the right word.

It was their twenty-eighth anniversary, and as a gift from their three adult children, the couple had received a night out in this jazz club. Truth be told, this was not the sort of place Laura and her husband would patronize of their own accord. Perhaps when they were young and more adventurous, but now, after twenty-eight years of marriage, they had gotten used to the quiet places.

Lights glowed softly, candles flickered, and the smooth jazz played through the evening. After a few martinis, her husband had a ruddy-cheeked smile on his face.

Laura herself was enjoying the ambiance of the place with its fake palm trees and kitschy decor that reminded her of Las Vegas or Florida. She wasn't a big jazz fan, but this music was truly enjoyable- even her shoulders began to sway a little. Casually, her eyes fell on one of the band members, a man who stood on the back, within the shadows of the trees, swaying to the sound of his trumpet. He seemed to stand apart, rocking back and forth as if lost in a world of his own making. He seemed to care nothing about anything but his trumpet. Somehow, in spite of his improvisations, his music was concordant and resonant with the rest of the band. It was a virtuoso performance that held her spellbound. Yet he did not attempt to seek the spotlight but stayed there in the shadows happily blowing his horn.

The music played on, the drinks flowed freely, and her head got lighter. Conversations between her and Herman were so much easy when neither was worrying about this or that business. Now that their children were all grown up and independent, the couple had entered a more laid back stage of their lives. They could enjoy the moment and push aside the cares of the world, at least for one evening.

Laura laughed and downed a few more drinks. All the while, there was the sound of the trumpet wafting through the air. From time to time, she cast glances at the man playing in the shadows.

When the band stopped playing, Laura was feeling very tipsy, so she excused herself to go the ladies room and freshen up.

The world spun around her in a whirl of sensations: the lights of the club, the smell of cooked food, exotic herbs, and the sound of laughter. She let her instinct guide her until she found herself looking down a dimly lit hallway. The air was filled with the scent of incense. She heard a sound coming from the other end, so she moved quietly towards it, steadying herself on the wall with one hand.

At the end of the hallway, a purple light spilled onto the floor from a door that was slightly ajar. She heard the sound of a trumpet as she approached the door, and when she peered through the opening, her eyes widened.

Sitting on the floor, in the middle of a glowing circle, was a naked woman- if woman indeed she was. Her ears were long like those of an elf, and her nude body was covered in strange tattoos.

Standing above the woman was a man blowing a trumpet. Though Laura could not see him clearly in the dim light, she recognized him. Unlike the music he had been playing earlier, the sound of his trumpet was now sinuous with suggestive overtones. Slow and smooth. He knelt before the woman and put the end of the trumpet close to her toes, and there he blew. Her toes twitched and a smile spread across her face, but she didn’t open her eyes. She remained centered in her meditation. The player then moved the trumpet along her folded legs, up her thighs and the side of her stomach until the instrument hovered over her heart, remaining there as it swayed back and forth between her breasts that were visibly perked up. He explored her with the trumpet- her cheeks, her eyes, her lips- every part of her. She barely moved, though her eyelids twitched now and then.

Laura closed her eyes and listened to the slow insinuating melody emanating from the trumpet. She became aware of her own body, the way her dress clung loosely about her legs and rustled on her skin. She felt the frilly edges of her stockings on her legs, the way her panties pressed against her waistline, the small of her back, around each soft mound of her rear, and the contours of her intimate flesh. She delighted in the way her breasts were cradled in the cups of her bra as the music roused them.

The man blew and blew his sensuous tune while the elf woman sat still in her meditative pose. He blew close to her long ears, which reacted by swaying slowly like butterfly wings.

The woman breathed deeply then even, as if it took a great effort to remain calm.

He moved the trumpet down her throat, then swirled downward over her stomach until it stopped between her legs. He leaned closer, covering her mons pubis with the trumpet’s bell then moving around clockwise while making a continuous pulsating sound.

The elf woman sighed and taking a deep breath, she looked up- her eyes were rolled back so that only the whites were visible- and murmured some archaic phrase.

The player blew with quick discordant sounds all over her body.

The elf woman raised her arms as if to cast a spell, and to Laura’s astonishment, a flame lit up before her on the floor. Her tattoos glowed with a supernatural light that grew brighter until her body shook in spasms, trembling under the frantic and melodious blows of the trumpet that accompanied her moans.

Laura felt her own body tingle and waves of electric sensations spread goosebumps all over her skin. She had never felt anything like it, as if she had been radiated with a field of erotic energy. Nearly on the verge of climax, she caught herself then shook her head. Her faced reddened. Realizing that she had fallen under a spell that had not been intended for her, she rushed down the hallway and returned to her table.

“Is everything alright, dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said her husband.

“I’m alright,” she said. “Those martinis pack a punch.”

“They’re wonderful, aren’t they?” he said laughing and raising his own glass. “So refreshing! Let’s have a few more.”

Her husband was clearly having fun. There was no point in telling him what she had seen. She was not sure herself exactly what she had seen.

Soon, the band returned to play, but Laura noticed that the mysterious man was not on the stage. She could hardly think straight and kept stealing glances at the band in hopes of seeing him again. But the trumpet player didn't return, and although the band played without him for the rest of the evening, she felt the absence of his instrument.

When it was time to go, Herman stood up, somewhat wobbly, pulled back her chair, and helped her with her coat. He put his arm around her, the way he used to do when they had first met.

As they left, Laura turned to look back at the stage with the fake palm trees, but the player in the shadows was nowhere to be seen.

Images generated by @litguru using Stable Diffusion software

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