My response was unexpected. Sitting in the front row of an performance of experimental music. I was totally captivated by the drummer, 1/3 of the trio. The piano and saxophone were muted by my desire for the percussionist. His face tightened with intensity, he played with so much tension. His focus appeared to be painfully sharp. Out of nowhere, I wanted nothing more than to make him cum.
Ironically, when he wasn't playing I did not find him attractive. But the moment he picked up his sticks or mallets, returning the beautiful agony to his face, my blood began to circulate towards my crotch again. Witnessing his body struggle to harness his gift of chaotic rhythm, as if he was pinned beneath the weight of a passion almost too heavy... I had a visceral response to drop to my knees and offer this man some release.
Getting deeper into their set, my mind started to imagine his naked thigh muscles tightening. His fist pumping. His head jerking backwards. His mouth twisting into polygonal shapes. Spurts of semen shooting off like liquid fireworks. Hearing his cymbals clash, I swear I could taste the thick consistency sitting in my mouth.
I have been thinking about this experience ever since.
My theory is that my subconscious mind responded reflexively. His tension. His intensity. His rhythm. His body rocking accordingly. My desire to satisfy was triggered by his performance. I began to remember several renditions of the same song played on my body. Beats pounded in my bedroom. Snares replaced by skin and bones.
After his performance, I got a chance to shake his hand. If he only knew where he took me. My body responded to him in a series of head nods, dance moves and erections. His songs awakened the rhythms lying dormant between my jaws...between my legs...on my lap. He made me revisit the best sex I've ever had.
Does he knows the power he wields as a percussionist?