Shibari Nightmare

I tune pianos. That’s what I do for a living. I know how it sounds: boring. And I agree. Spending three or four hours fine-tuning over a hundred metal strings is not my idea of a party. However, I have an excellent ear. No kidding. I can tell an A from a G. Moreover, I can say whether an instrument is tuned to 440 A or to 446 A. You might not understand that, but I bet you understand how much I enjoy getting paid for doing something that is actually quite easy for me. Anyway, I want to tell you about the Shibari nightmare I had one day. It all happened because I was foolish enough to varnish a piano in a room without adequate ventilation.

I usually don’t varnish pianos; I just tune them. But Mrs. Saccani has a very convincing pair of breasts. So, when she asked me to do this special favor, just for her —and she asked me while wearing a lovely silk pajama—, I couldn’t say no. So here I was, varnishing a 100-year-old piano, in the small room where they kept this wonderful antique instrument. That was a crime, if you ask me!

 I guess the silk pajama was so convincing because, as a compensation for my dull way of living, I practice Shibari. And I love the contrast between the softness of the silk and the roughness of the ropes. So, as I was patiently varnishing the old instrument, I got an erection thinking about how delicious it would be to grab Mrs. Saccani in her silk pajama and tie her tightly. The idea of a harness around her impressive breasts made me delirious!

Or it was because of the varnish. By the time I realized something was going wrong, I had a hallucination in which my arms had turned into some sort of rope tentacles, and I was tying Mrs. Saccani three feet above the floor.

I did open the windows and drink some water, but not before finishing that delicious rope fantasy, which I like to call “my Shibari nightmare.” 

This is my Shibari story.