For Thomas Barnstone, there is something about a Cellist that really turns him on, a female Cellist obviously, in a low cut evening dress of emerald green velvet, with the great polished instrument between her long black clad legs.
He particularly likes the way the musicians long brunette hair dances across
her naked shoulders and brushes her alabaster skin in frantic rhythm to her
playing as she delivers her perfectly practised rendition to a largely
disinterested audience while sitting in the lavish surroundings of a grand Hotel
lobby.
So Cellists really turn Thomas on, especially when it was the pale willowy
figure of a girl called Deidre, purposefully thrashing out a piece by Elgar or
perhaps playing some uplifting Vivaldi, maybe even some mesmeric Schubert or
God forbid some music to slash your wrists by courtesy of Mahler or Wagner, in
truth the music itself really was unimportant, and strictly speaking it’s isn’t
even Cellists that turn him on but there was something about Deidre that definitely
does when she plays the Cello.
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