by Jillian Marie

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“So nice of you to join us, Mr. Bronson,” Dr. Wyler greeted me from the podium. “If you would be so kind as to take your place at the piano, we shall begin rehearsing.” Yes, I knew I was a few minutes late, but I really wasn’t expecting anyone to make a big deal of pointing that fact out. I couldn’t have been more mistaken.

As quickly as I could, I made my way to the piano and took my seat. Without saying another word, Dr. Wyler raised his baton and began the first movement of the Beethoven concerto.

I made a few minor flubs, but overall didn’t do too badly. Heck, you can hear worse mistakes on a Horowitz CD, so I figured I could live with the way I was playing. Dr. Wyler didn’t say anything negative about my little mistakes, for which I was grateful, and after a while I settled down and started playing better.

We had worked on it for a little over a half hour before Dr. Wyler turned to me, “Mr. Bronson, how do you think we should approach this section?”

I don’t know if he was expecting me to timidly demur to his interpretation or what, but when I looked right back at him and said, “Well sir, I was thinking something like this,” and then proceeded to play the orchestra’s part in question exactly as I thought it should be performed. I would swear he looked absolutely stunned. I tried very hard not to show it, but his reaction filled me with an almost smug sense of satisfaction for some reason.

From then on Dr. Wyler made a point of seeking out my opinion about how I thought the orchestra should play the different sections of the concerto. Maybe he was just being polite and had no intention of listening to my suggestions, but the simple fact that he bothered to ask made me feel like my interpretation might just have a chance to see the light of day.

While we rehearsed I was able to immerse myself in the music and ignore everything else that was going on in the world. By the time the rehearsal was nearing it’s end I was so engrossed in what I was doing that each note I played sent little tingles up and down my spine. It was a truly powerful experience.

Unfortunately, once rehearsal ended it didn’t take long for the real world to rear its head once again. Even before I had the chance to make for the door, Dr. Wyler called to me, “Kyle, could I speak with you in my office?” Yes it was worded as a question, but there was no doubt in my mind that any response other than yes would not be entertained.

We slowly made our way toward his office, with him walking far too close to me for my personal comfort. That discomfort quickly escalated to full blown panic when his hand found my bra through my shirt and he began rubbing along its outline as we walked.

He guided me into his office, closing the door behind us and promptly pressing against me as he backed me into a wall.

Panicked, I asked, “What do you want?”

“Oh, I just thought we should have a little chat,” he responded, trying to sound as sweet and non-threatening as he could.

He failed miserably.

I tried squirming away from him to no avail as he closed in on me further. As I realized the futility of my actions he added, “You know, there really is no reason for you to be nervous.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, trying to assert some semblance of control over the situation.

He placed his hand on my shoulder, where he again found my bra strap and began tracing its outline toward my chest, “Your bra feels lovely. Perhaps I could have a peek?”

I stared at him with the iciest look I could manage and quietly said, “I don’t think so.”

He touched my cheek with his hand as he said, “Oh come now, Kyle. Or do you prefer Kayla?”

“What do you want from me?”

An evil smile crawled across his face as he said, “I think you have a pretty good idea.”

I suppressed a shudder before saying, “Not interested. Sorry.” I then tried to leave again only to be restrained.

“I thought you were more interested in your career than this,” he said offhandedly.

I stared at him trying to decipher just how serious he was before stating, “My career is everything to me.”

“Then why are you fighting me, Mr. Bronson?”

“What does this have to do with my playing?”

That evil smile grew even more sinister as he looked at me predatorily and said, “You’re good. There’s no question on that point. However, you didn’t really think you were the only student we considered offering this opportunity to?” He paused for a moment to allow that thought to sink in a bit before continuing, “I picked you because, well, girlish boys interest me.”
I thought about his last statement for a moment, feeling more nauseous by the moment. Eventually I could take it no more, as that tidbit sent me over the top and I found myself retching all over his shoes.

As disgusting as that was, it did at least buy me enough distance from Dr. Wyler to allow me an escape route, which I took advantage of as quickly as I could. Before he knew what was happening I had the office door open and was quickly heading down the hallway, making a beeline for home.
 
 
My mind was racing a million miles a minute as I walked home and hadn’t even entertained the thought of slowing down by the time I was opening our apartment door. Upon entering, the first thing I noticed was the sound of voices wafting through from the living room. I quickly identified them as Cindy and Sarah.

Not feeling like discussing the just transpired course of events at that moment, I silently waved at the girls as I walked directly to the bedroom. I closed the door behind me as quickly as I could in hopes that I might be allowed a little privacy before the inevitable happened and I had to inform them of what had happened. In the meantime I lay down on the bed and silently sobbed as the whole sorry event kept running through my mind over and over.

At some point I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew it was dark out and Cindy was rousing me saying, “Hey sleepy head. Could I interest you in something to eat?”

I rubbed sleep out of my eyes, sat up, and looked at Cindy for a moment. Once I found my voice I asked more of myself than anything else, “What have I done?”

Cindy’s look of confusion did nothing to clarify things in my mind and since she didn’t really seem all that interested in delving into the emotional whirlpool that was swirling around inside my mind, I decided to drop the subject for the moment and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“I made some tuna casserole,” she said as I got up from the bed and followed her into the kitchen for dinner.

“Smells good,” I commented trying to ignore my personal hurricane. We sat down at the table and dug into Cindy’s attempt at culinary arts. We ate in more or less silence and when done I did the washing up while Cindy settled on the couch to get a head start on the required reading for some of her classes for the coming semester.

After restoring the kitchen to it’s clean state I joined her on the sofa, sitting there silently while she read. I had thought she would be able to tell how upset I had been and want to know why, but she either hadn’t noticed or had ignored it while she focused on what was going on in her own world. I eventually got tired of being ignored and went back to bed.
 
 
The next thing I remember is being shaken awake by Cindy a little while later, “Kyle? What’s wrong?”

Still mostly asleep I mumbled, “What?”

“You were having a nightmare or something and screamed out.”

As I woke up I started to remember the complete disinterest I’d been on the receiving end of earlier and in a fairly catty tone snapped, “Sorry. I’ll try not to wake you anymore.”

Obviously miffed at what she perceived as being rebuffed while showing some concern for me, Cindy said, “Well if you’re going to be like that…” and got up out of bed and headed toward the couch, her pillow and our blanket in tow.

As I lay there, now completely and totally awake, I started thinking about things. Had I done anything that could have been misinterpreted as giving Dr. Wyler the wrong signals? I certainly couldn’t think of anything I might’ve done along those lines. Of course, I wasn’t sure why Cindy was upset with me either.

I replayed every meeting I’d had with our esteemed conductor that I could remember several times before finally acknowledging that as far as I knew I hadn’t done anything that could’ve been taken as encouraging, other than wearing a bra of course. This all rattled around inside my brain, keeping me awake for the remainder of the night.

My thoughts weren’t restricted to the whole Dr. Wyler thing. I also found myself indulging in some fairly serious belly button contemplation along the way as well. Why is it that this whole cross-dressing thing is working? Why does it seem like I’m becoming comfortable enough with it that it’s expanded into my non-performing life? Is that a bad thing? And possibly most important, what would happen if I quit?

About the time the sun started to climb above the horizon, I reached a few conclusions. Exhausted though I was, I decided to go ahead and get ready for the day, so I climbed out of bed and into the shower. I started to pick up the razor to shave my body, but then stopped. I decided I wasn’t going to do that. Not only that, I had decided not to wear any women’s clothing at all, even though I had a lesson with Dr. Caroll that afternoon. If nothing else, I was determined to find out just how important the clothes were to my playing, and to me.
 
 
When I started getting dressed, I had to put the panties back in the drawer and dig into the very back to find a pair of boxers as well as a plain old pair of sweat socks to wear instead of my usual pantyhose. It felt really strange wearing something different, but I figured I’d survive.

Once completely dressed, I left the bedroom to find Cindy still asleep on the couch. I sat on the edge of the coffee table and reached out to gently shake her shoulder in an attempt to wake her. It took a couple of tries, but she did eventually begin to rouse from her REM cycle.

As soon as she seemed like she was achieving some level of consciousness I said, “I’m sorry about last night. There’s just a lot of stuff going on that has got me kinda fried.”

She looked up at me and replied, “I’m sorry too. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah, but I’m not entirely sure where to start.”

She sat up and rubbed sleep out of her eyes, “How about starting with some background information?”

“It’s Dr. Wyler,” I sighed. “He’s really freaking me out.”

“Why?”

I leaned in closer, “I told you about the other day, right? Well yesterday was about a million times worse.”

“How so?”

“All through rehearsal he was falling all over himself to be nice to me, which in and of itself was really weird, though not all that unusual given previous experience. I’m sure most of the orchestra noticed. A lot of them kept looking at me kind of strangely all through the practice.”

I took a deep breath and continued, “Afterward was even worse. Before I could get out of there, he stopped me and asked that I join him for a chat in his office. He walked me there, standing way closer than could possibly be comfortable, and kept rubbing my bra straps through my shirt all the way there.”

Her mouth fell open for a moment before she said, “Wow, I knew he was a little weird, but this is way beyond what I expected.”

“Weird is right,” I agreed. I then tried to shift topics, since even talking about Dr. Wyler gave me the willies. “I did a lot of thinking last night after you left. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” she replied.

“One of the things I thought about was how this whole lingerie thing has sort of grown lately.”

“It’s not…”Cindy started.

I cut her off before she could go any further, “No, it’s not. I’ve let it sort of take over my whole life. While on one hand I’ve gotten so used to wearing those things they just feel natural, on the other I realize that it’s kinda strange for you.”

“It really is okay, Kyle,” she offered.

“I made a decision last night. I’m not going to wear them when I’m not playing.”

“Are you sure?” Cindy asked. “Do you really think you can do that?”

“Of course I can,” I boldly stated.

Cindy started looking me over. The first thing she noticed was the lack of bra lines. “No bra today? Don’t you have a lesson with Dr. Caroll?”

“Yeah, but it’ll be fine.”

Cindy continued her survey, “No pantyhose…boxers instead of panties…Wow! So how does it feel?”

“Strange, to say the least. I itch everywhere. Especially where the boxers are.”

“Your skin’s used to the softer material. That’s why,” she commented. “Are you going to be all right? I mean, the itchy stuff isn’t going to drive you too nuts, is it?”

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”
 
 
Once breakfast dishes were washed and put away we both grabbed our respective bags and headed for the door to begin our days. The slight itchy sensation that started when I put on the boxers didn’t ease up at all. If anything, it seemed to get worse with each passing minute. By the time I returned home following my morning classes I felt as if I was fighting the worst case of poison ivy in history.

I was barely through the front door before I was stripping my clothes off and running for the bedroom, where I immediately began digging for a pair of panties. Even as I was pulling them up my legs I found myself bombarded with a torrent of conflicting emotions. I mean, hadn’t I just hours before vowed not to wear women’s clothing except when playing?
I had a pair of panties in my hand as a wave of guilt washed over me. I did promise, after all. Having acquired new resolve, I returned the undies to the drawer, closed it, and re-dressed before walking out of the bedroom.

I headed for the kitchen to look for something for lunch and just as I opened the refrigerator Cindy returned home. “Hey sweetie,” she said as she walked in the door.

“Hey yourself,” I responded as I pulled a container of leftover tuna casserole out of the fridge and popped it into the microwave.

Cindy got glasses out of the cabinet and was putting ice in them when she asked, “How’d everything go this morning?”
I knew exactly what she was asking about and responded, “I feel like I took a bath in poison ivy.”

“That bad, huh?” she commented as she filled the glasses with soda. “You know, you could always change back into the panties.”

“No, I’m going to make it today. I will not give up over a little discomfort.”

Once lunch was hot I pulled the bowl out of the microwave and dished it up onto plates, then carried them through to the table so we could eat. Cindy brought the drinks and silverware and we settled in for a quiet meal, with neither of us feeling all that talkative.

As we cleaned up our mess after lunch, Cindy asked, “Any idea what you’re going to do about that ol’ perv?”

“Not really, no. I mean, I could turn him in to the administration, but what good would that do me?” I paused for a moment while I shifted my attention to closing and latching the dishwasher. “I can’t imagine anyone believing me, to tell you the truth. I barely believe it myself, and I was there!”

Cindy remained quiet for a moment before reaching over and taking my hand in hers. She led me out of the kitchen and over to the sofa, where we sat close together. As soon as we were settled in, she reached out and took me in her arms, not saying a word.
 
 
I don’t know exactly how long we were like that, but the next thing I remembered was a knock on the front door, which prompted Cindy to extricate herself from our embrace so she could see who was at the door. A moment later she returned with Sarah in tow.

“Hi Sarah,” I offered half-heartedly before rising from the couch. It wasn’t that I was unhappy to see her. To the contrary, Sarah was quickly moving up the list toward becoming one of my favorite people. Rather, my lack of enthusiasm was no doubt rooted in the fact that I needed to head out for my lesson post haste, and I was feeling a lot more anxiety about it than usual.

“Sorry I can’t stay. It’s almost lesson time.” I headed out the door on my way to Dr. Caroll’s office. There was little doubt in my mind that by the time I returned home Sarah would know as much about the Dr. Wyler situation as Cindy does. Maybe more.

Just as I arrived at her door, the good doctor was coming out with her previous student. “Kyle, come right in,” she said as I stepped across the threshold and took my place at her piano.

When she closed the office door I couldn’t help myself as I shuddered involuntarily. Dr. Caroll obviously noticed my discomfort, as she asked, “Is something wrong?”

I looked up at her, trying to decide if I should tell her what was bothering me. What started as a simple pause in conversation quickly grew into an uncomfortable silence that I seemed unable to fill. Eventually Dr. Caroll tired of waiting for a response from me and said, “Why don’t we start with a little bit of a review?”

She set the Chopin etude book in front of me and randomly opened it, saying, “Why don’t we start here?”

Here it turned out was the third opus 10 etude. I played without even glancing at the book once. That being said I must admit that it was far from my most moving performance. Robotic might actually be the best way to describe it in fact.
Dr. Caroll looked at me silently for a moment after I’d completed the etude, pursing her lips like she was trying to decide how to proceed. When she did speak she said, “That answers that question.”

I stared at her blankly until she elaborated. “Something is definitely bothering you. What is it?”

Straight to the point. I had to admit to myself that I admired that about Dr. Caroll. “I’m not sure if it’s something I should talk with you about.”

“What?”

“It’s Dr. Wyler.”

“He’s been absolutely gushing about the job you’ve been doing with the Beethoven. What’s the matter?”

I started to tell her exactly what the problem was, but found I couldn’t. Instead, I said, “I’m just worried that I won’t be able to do a good enough job on all these performances.”

She looked at me for a moment, giving me a look that made it clear she knew that was not the real problem. “You have nothing to worry about, Kyle. You’re doing an outstanding job so far. I am a little concerned about today’s rendition though. It seemed very out of character.”

I decided the best course of action at that point was to not mention anything about what the real problem was, so I simply said, “I’m just not really with it today, I’m afraid. You know, having trouble concentrating and all that?”

“Yes, we all have days like that, I’m afraid. It’s good for you to try to work through it though. After all, when you’re being paid to perform, there isn’t really room for an off day.”

The discussion concluded, Dr. Caroll asked me to play through a few bits of the Beethoven concerto to get an idea of what I was wanting performance-wise. I played through several different sections of the concerto and while it was by no means up to my usual standards, I did at least manage to keep it together well enough that she didn’t feel like she had to decimate everything about the performance.

As we wrapped up my lesson, Dr. Caroll reminded me once again, “If you need to talk about anything, you know you can always come to me.”

“I know, but really there’s nothing to talk about,” I bluffed.

I could tell by the look she gave me that she didn’t believe a word I’d just said, but nonetheless she said, “All right then. Take care, and I’ll see you at the recital tomorrow.” That said, I was ushered out the door back into the corridor where I rushed down the hall toward the exit.

The whole way home my mind jumped from one thing to another, unable to focus on anything. At one point I did decide that if there had ever been any question concerning the real effect of the women’s under things on my playing, even the most cynical mind imaginable had to admit that there really was a difference. And there was no question which way sounded better.

I walked into the living room to be greeted by both Cindy and Sarah, who quickly offered, “Kyle, you know you don’t have to put up with this crap, don’t you?”

At least I knew Cindy had told her. That saved me having to go through the whole sorry episode, so at some level it had to be good, right? “And what do you propose I do?” I asked her rather pointedly.

“Report him, of course,” she threw back at me.

“One problem there. He’s a world famous renowned orchestra conductor. I’m a pervert teenager who wears womens’ underwear. When it comes down to it, who do you think the dean would be more likely to believe, hmmm?”

“But…” Cindy started.

“But nothing, Cin. The only way they believe me over him would be if I had incontrovertible proof, which I don’t have and don’t have any idea how to acquire.”

Sarah looked thoughtful for a moment before re-entering the conversation. “Maybe not, guys. What if we could get proof of his misbehavior? Something the dean’s office couldn’t ignore?”

As I thought about what Sarah had just said, I experienced one of those moments you see in cartoons where the light bulb suddenly comes on over the guy’s head. What I imagined was an evil grin spread across my face as I said, “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before?”

Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...

Frederic Chopin Concert Etudes, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-3-grant.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-4-sinadi...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-5-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-6-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-9-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-11-levin...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-12-kingm...

Notes:

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To Be Continued...