Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 1 By Robert S. Costic
Robert Costic has written a collection of fairy tales, "Flamethrower Fairy Tales," and a novella, "Kepler's Revenge," and has also translated the 19th century German writer Theodor Storm's fairy tales and ghost stories. All are available as ebooks everywhere.
One of my dreams came true when I learned that Ivan Mirkoff would be playing Shostakovich's Cello Concerto No. 1 with our orchestra. I had adored him since I had been a student back at the conservatory. I had listened to all of his sound recordings and followed his goings-on on the Internet. He was beautiful and talented, and it didn't hurt my crush that he was openly gay.
I waited for months for him to arrive, and when he finally did for rehearsals he seemed at first to be just as I had imagined him. He greeted us with his charismatic, warm smile, and for a brief second before he turned to the conductor my eyes locked with his. The rehearsal itself was nothing unusual; he of course displayed the virtuosity I had come to expect of his cello playing.
But what startled me was when word was passed around the gay musicians that Ivan was going to host a gangbang in his dressing room before the first performance.
I'm a bit of a prude. I've only had sex with guys whom I had been dating. Casual sex had never been something I desired, and in the rare instances in which I had found myself fooling around with a stranger I always regretted it later. So when I heard about Ivan I was repulsed. At the same time, though, I had been attracted to him for so long that I felt like I would regret not going to see him before the show.
A couple of hours before the other musicians were going to arrive to the concert hall I came to Ivan's dressing room. The door had been left slightly ajar, and when I opened it I could see the principal bassoonist fucking Ivan in the ass while Ivan was blowing one of the violinists. I closed the door behind me and just watched.
"Do you want to go next?" the bassoonist suddenly asked me as his hips slapped rhythmically against Ivan's buttocks. "I'm going to cum soon."
I think I just stuttered, but soon the bassoonist suddenly convulsed. He grabbed one of Ivan's shoulders and held himself firmly against him. He moaned and shook, and when he finally regained control of himself he pulled out. A little cum still trickled out of his bare, lubricated dick, so he switched places with the violinist and had Ivan suck the rest of him off while the violinist started to fuck him.
When the bassoonist finally had his fill and his dick had gone fully limp he put his clothes on, which is when I saw Ivan start to check his text messages on his smartphone. He then asked me, "So you're one of the cellists?"
"Yes," I said. "I've always loved your work. You're an incredible musician."
"Thanks. Are you going to fuck me?"
"I... Not today," I said.
"Want to make out?" he asked.
"I guess." In fact, I had dreamed about making out with him since forever, so although this wasn't exactly the circumstance in which I had imagined doing so there was no way I was going to turn him down. I went over and we kissed. Although the violinist was pounding away at his ass Ivan somehow managed to maintain a wonderful sensitivity with me. Our lips locked; we slipped each other a little bit of tongue, but not too much; he let me nibble gently on his low lip; and our noses slid against each other. For a moment I forgot about the violinist and just enjoyed the moment. I even rustled my hand through his hair.
But then another musician came in and my focus was interrupted. This time it was a trombonist. He threw his clothes off and began making out with the violinist, and then began to fuck the violinist while the violinist fucked Ivan. That didn't let the violinist last much longer. Overwhelmed by the sensations he experienced both in front and behind him, he spurted out several great thrusts into Ivan and then forcibly pushed the trombonist out. "Shit!" he said.
The trombonist then went into Ivan, who looked at me with dilated eyes and said, "Kiss me again." So I did, but this is how it went for the next hour. In total about eight guys took turns fucking him. At one point there were three other guys in the room, and while one fucked Ivan the other two waited for their turns by playing with each other. And I had been exposed to my first gangbang.
When the other guys had finally left, and it was apparent that I needed to leave, too, to get ready for the concert, Ivan told me, "Come back here after you're done."
I was amazed that he would do all this before the concert. I imagined that I would've been a worn-out mess had I been subject to such physical travails and in hardly any state to be playing one of the most difficult concertos composed. But after we played our first piece Ivan came out with his cello. He looked as dapper as ever in his slim tuxedo, but I noticed a crazed look in face and could see sweat already coming down his forehead. And although I couldn't see it I could just imagine all that cum swimming in his ass. I was prepared for the worst.
Ivan's playing did not turn out badly as I feared, but it was unsettling in other ways. He played faster and more aggressively than we had prepared during rehearsals. The conductor noticed this and had us hurry along to keep up with him, but more so than usual I felt like Ivan was taking us on a rollercoaster of a performance unlike what we should have experienced. The audience seemed to enjoy it, however, and were just uproarious when the last note was flung out. I suppose they were just amazed that we made it.
After Ivan left we still had another piece to play, but after it was over and the audience had left I made my way back to Ivan's dressing room. He had already changed into more casual clothes, looking like just another thirty-something you wouldn't really recognize on the street except that he looked so beautiful. "Would you be up for showing me around town?" he asked.
"Of course!" I said. "Just let me change out of these clothes."
Over the course of the evening I took him to all of my favorite bars and dance clubs. He never tired, and when we danced he pressed himself against me and sought one kiss after another. "I love you," he said.
"No you don't," I said, knowing that was the truth, although it hurt me to say it.
"I want to make love to you," he said. "You are so sexy."
"That's nice of you to say that."
"I'm hungry. Do you want to get a bite to eat? What's a good place that's open?"
So I took him to a diner and we ate. When we finished he asked me what was next. I didn't know. I was tired. So I offered to take him home; but mind you, I didn't have it in mind to have sex with him. I just wanted to go sleep. He readily agreed. When we retired to the bed he took off all his clothes and again pressed himself up to me. I had an erection that I tried to keep concealed beneath my boxers, but he sensed it and grabbed it while kissing me. I relented and let him do what he wanted. He took it out from my underwear and began to work his mouth on it. I tried not to be turned on by his maneuvers but he was too masterful. The way he let the head of my cock run along his tongue and the back of his throat provided too much stimulation and I came after just a minute, shooting when he had me all the way inside of him. It was only then that he left me alone, so I rolled over and fell asleep.
When I woke up later I had found that Ivan had carefully taken apart my flat screen television and neatly laid all the parts on the floor.
"What are you doing!" I said.
"I just wanted to see what was inside it."
"My god! How much time have you spent doing this!"
"After you went to sleep. I needed something to do."
"Something to do! Didn't you go to sleep?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm tweaking."
I moaned.
"Are you horny? Like to fuck?"
"No! You need to get out of this house!"
I made him get dressed -- because he was still naked this whole time -- and drove him to his hotel downtown.
"Are you going to be all right?" I asked. "Are you going to be able to perform tonight?"
"Yes, yes. I'll be able to do all three. I'll go to sleep afterwards." Before I threw him out of the car he asked me, "Could I kiss you one more time?"
"Yes," I said.
So he leaned over and kissed me, and it was so warm I melted.
"I love you," he said.
"How many people do you love?" I asked him.
"Lots, but I love you," he said. "After this is over I don't know if I'll see you again, but I'll remember you."
"Sure you will," I said.
And he left.
Later that night he performed again. He came onto the stage looking even crazier than on the previous evening, which just made my stomach turn. He gave a quick glance to us, locking eyes with me briefly once again, turned, bowed to the audience, and sat down with his cello. And then he began to play.