The Third Date 01: Clueless of Cotham - Sex Stories

The Third Date 01: Clueless of Cotham

... step - like Kate skipping around a fellow server, and suddenly I realised where this refrain belonged. I played it six or seven times more to be sure, and to make sure I had it, then with a flourish I stopped.

There was always manuscript paper down here, so I grabbed some, made the annotations, then sang them back to myself to check, before running as lightly as I could upstairs.

I knew Nadine would be up for a bit working her social media streams and, hopefully, engaging with new fans from the gig she'd just played. She also had a gig in Cardiff on Saturday, and another in Cheltenham on Sunday, and needed to drum up some interest.

There was light coming underneath her door, so I scratched gently and cracked the door open.

"Nade? Can I come in?" I stage whispered. I didn't want to disturb Jenny, who was opposite.

"Priya? What's up?"

"Have you recorded that new song yet? Morning?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Give me the file. I've just written a cello part for it. I think you'll like it."

"For real? Great."

Back in the booth, I settled myself, adjusted the microphones around me and queued up Nadine's song on the 8 track. Then I hit record.

I let it play through the first verse, just her singing and finger picking her guitar. She was pitching low, her gorgeous smoky voice soothing and soulful. The lyrics were ostensibly about sunrise, but really it was about carrying on after loss. She was playing on "morning/mourning". On the chorus, addressed to the ...

... dearly departed, I began to add some bow, just harmonising with her voice at this point, a slight delay adding syncopation. But when the second verse started I brought in the refrain. The pattern matched her phrasing almost exactly. A chorus again, and on the third verse I upped the intensity, which unfortunately rekindled my libido. The key change was coming, and it brought goosebumps and a flush on my chest, the pitch of the cello and her voice snapping together in perfect thirds. I couldn't help but smile as I played. I knew what I'd done, and I'm sure Nadine would too when she heard it. Hers was a great song, but the cello part had just made it an earworm. People would be humming this for days. The song moved into the final chorus, and instead of just harmonising as I had in the previous choruses, I kept the refrain going, a melodic counterpoint, almost a descant as she increased her volume, strumming hard, keening out the pain the song's persona felt. Pleasure washed through me, and I bit down on my lip to maintain my focus. The two melody lines contrasted and complimented each other, teasing me, which I felt fitted with the opposing images of the song, death and the new day. As the guitar faded, I kept the refrain going, cooing wordlessly along with it to release some of my pent up tension, my eyes firmly closed. Slowly, I reduced the tempo, extended the notes, matching my voice to the strings, before bringing the piece to an end, managing to keep a lid on my rising ...