He was a musician of the best nature, with guitar string fingertips and soft flute lips that could tighten in a trumpet's purse. Every movement was perfect, every breath filled with purpose. Whether close or open, his eyes seeped ambition and his body burned with chaotic passion. I was his instrument and he played me so well. His fingers fashioned a tune of ecstasy while his lips felt the reed shudders of my skin. He stole my breath and made it his own, using my lips to create his climactic song. A symphony of electricity and orgasmic bliss, he played me so well his fingers never did miss. Half-circles and hooks with my parted lips as his speaker, I never knew another musician so ruthlessly eager. To finish his song, to hit every note, elongating the melody of every sound from the depths of my throat. He was ambitious, pushing my limits, tearing my reservations and destroying my thresholds, all I could do was phase in and out, my ears ringing from the ballad I was made to produce. .Hubert Martin
About This Quote
The singer is describing the way he used to be when he was younger. He was a musician who had everything he wanted, but he could not control himself. His fingers became his instrument and he played well with them. The song was the sound of orgasmic bliss and it was one of the most powerful songs.
When his fingers became his instrument, they never missed a note. The song was always well thought out and sung to perfection.
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