Every Song has to End Sometime

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I’m a songwriter. A really good one. That’s not wishful thinking or having delusions of grandeur, it’s the simple truth. Problem is, I’m not a very lucky one. There are other songwriters around that aren’t nearly as good, but they’re a whole lot luckier than me. Me? I waited in the departure hall, along with the luckless and talentless, hoping someone might let me in.

My wife is unluckier still. She was the woman who had married the unlucky songwriter. She heard my voice when she was young and innocent, and decided that she would join me for the ride. Sadly for her, the ride was mostly downhill, save for the odd little thrill along the way.

So, two kids later, and having held down a host of jobs that allowed me to write and perform, my wife was well and truly over it. Normal people had amazing holidays. Others were mortgage free. Friends were doing so much better.

I’m not trying to paint her in a bad light – she’s a superstar. She has stood by me through all of this, and to the best of my knowledge, she has never wandered, even when she probably wanted to. In return, I had never so much as touched another woman, despite countless opportunities when I had played at gigs where I happened to play just the right song to just the right woman with just the right amount of alcohol in her system. I pride myself on my loyalty to my wife, and whilst a woman deserves nothing less than such faithfulness, I knew that in the world of music, I was in the moralistic minority.

A couple of years ago, I had an epiphany. I had played at an event and as per usual, the response was very good (as I said, I’m good, just unlucky!) with people making a point of asking me why I had not prospered in the world of music. I decided that it was time to take the bull by the horns and make a proper go of music. I was going to make them beg me to grace their grand stages and I would lavish my wife with holidays, mortgage payments and success. It should be noted that I wanted to do this not because it’s what she wanted, but because it’s what she deserves. Like I said, she is an incredible woman.

Anyway, I had it all worked out, I knew where I could get financial backing, I knew how I could sell the music I was making, and I knew the audience that would like it. I talked my wife through it and she wore this expression that worried me. it was if she had borrowed a mask from someone and was trying it out for the first time. It was totally foreign to me, and behind this mask, she said nothing. Like any sales pitch, when the client’s not buying, it’s not a pretty scene.

My pitch fell flat. It was met with complete silence. And that mask! I finally ran out of words, and there was a moment that was so awkward I knew not what to do. So I did nothing, until she spoke, from behind this new facade.

“I’m over it. We’ve waited too long for this to work, and I can’t see this one working. In fact, I can’t see it ever working for you. If you do this, I think it would be putting our marriage at risk.” And with that she stood up and walked from the room, leaving me utterly stunned.

Now, those of you blessed with unshakable conviction in yourself will no doubt have faced this situation in a different way, but to me, my wife and family is my foundation, so faced with an ultimatum such as the one delivered so calmly by my wife, I chose to do what was necessary to save the marriage, and I set about finding a job that would help bolster it immediately.

Now, being a good writer means that I can string the odd word together, so I found work as a marketing advisor and promotional writer for a small design firm, and everything settled down nicely. The guitar went to the garage, the work clothes went to the dry cleaners, and the clock started ticking.

I was on the train six months into the job, when the words of my wife played back through my mind. It struck me as surreal that the very thing I feel I’m best at, no, the very thing I KNOW I’m best at – should put my marriage and all it stands for – at risk. I was smiling wryly to myself as I fell asleep, rocked gently by the train as it wound its way along the coastline and in to the city.

That night, there was a work function, the kind I usually sit out, but I had been advised strongly by my boss that this client was one which demanded all hands on deck. The client in question was an ad agency that we got work from, and apparently this necessitated the entire staff to turn up to this event, drink champagne and lick as much arse as we possibly could.

Checking my watch, I saw it was 8:40, which meant it was nearly the acceptable time for making my excuses and heading home. I was on my third champagne, and I was practising my departure lines in my head when a youngish blond woman touched my arm, getting my attention instantly.

“You’re Dan, right?” (There, now I’ve introduced myself – better late than never.)

“Er, yes. And you are?” I left it hanging waiting for the pretty stranger to do the honours. And she was pretty. Sparkly blue eyes, medium height, and a smile that seemed ever so slightly dangerous.

“Mel.” She Bahçeşehir escort said simply. And appeared happy to leave it at that, which I felt made things slightly awkward.

“Right.” I said. “And you work for the agency?” I ventured.

“Yep. Writer.” She replied, making the stilted conversation no less awkward.

“So how do you know my name?” I asked, genuinely interested in how she would know who I am considering I would not even feature on the agency’s radar, let alone be someone worth knowing.

“I’m pretty sure you wrote a song for my sister’s wedding. Her name’s Emily, and she got married a couple of years ago…”

“Emily Chapple” I interrupted her. “Married a guy called Steve?”

“Dan, you’re good.” My memory impressed her.

“Not at all, I just do so few weddings, that I remember them all pretty well.”

“So why are you doing this, when you’re clearly a better singer?”

Ah, the age old question. The chestnut. The million dollar question. I responded in my time honoured fashion.

“Music’s a great thing to do, and I’d like to earn from it, but when you look at it, years ago the musicians would play for food and shelter, or for sheer enjoyment after a hard day of graft. It’s only in the last 70 years that money became a factor.”

She thought this one over, and that naughty mouth twisted to show she wasn’t buying it.

“Bullshit.” She drained her glass. “Anyway, Dan – this is a dreadful little gathering which is fast approaching flatline. I took it upon myself to tell my boss that you just happen to be an outstanding musician, and you will see that the champagne glasses are all resting on a very nice looking grand piano.”

I looked blankly at her, fear starting to worm its way inside me. I’m confident in my abilities, but there is a time and a place, and that night I was wearing another hat, and as far as I was concerned, I had left the music hat at home.

“Dan. Hate to do this to you, but…you’re up.”

“Mel, listen – this is really awkward, because, well, the people at work don’t even know I play music, so –

“If you don’t play, Dan, your little design firm may not have a contract any more!”

She was teasing, and I knew it, and I would have called her bluff it wasn’t for the sound of a fork tapping on a champagne glass and silence filling the room. It was the head of the agency, Dave someone. He looked very happy with himself and his lot, and I was hoping to God he was doing a “thanks for coming, time to go” speech.

“Friends, colleagues, clients, partners. Great to have you here. I could talk for hours about myself, the agency, the way we like to do things etc etc, but for fuck’s sake, you know these things already, so I won’t bother.” (Oh how they roared)

“It has been brought to my attention that in our midst is something of a performer, Dan from Accent Design. Word is that he’s not bad at all.”

Hell. Pure hell. You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

“Dan – he turned, looking for someone to answer to the name, and Mel pointed me out. “Will you play something for us all. Something to get us in the party mood.”

I thought I knew hell before, but this was a different level of bad.

There was an awkward silence, and then an even more uncomfortable smattering of applause. On autopilot, I approached the piano, sat down and prayed to God that the thing was in tune. No one can save a song, even the best, if the piano’s out of tune.

It was fine. I trusted my instincts and gave them a song I knew they’d all know, but not immediately get. Guns and Roses’ Sweet Child o’ Mine is hardly a piano song, but I’d discovered years ago that if you do a song the right way, it will always win. And it did.

Everyone was playing air guitar to the solo, and singing lustily to Axl’s searing “Where do you go” so that when I finished there was a moment’s silence before rapturous applause.

From that point on, the champagnes were provided in a steady stream, and I went through my entire repertoire – treating the gathered guests to the best I had to offer. What started out as a docile gathering was now fast becoming a night of true legend, all because of Dan from Accent Design.

Finally, I stepped away from the piano, bathed in sweat, intoxicated, and with no chance of catching the last train home. I was faced with a hefty cab fare, or a night in a hotel. Or, as it turns out, a night in Mel’s bed.

There were hearty slaps on the back, promises of future bookings for weddings and birthdays, drunken declarations of adoration, and then I was outside with Mel, realising how bad my situation was.

“I’m fucked.” I said. “Can’t get home.”

She looked at me and said nothing, but instead walked into the road and hailed a passing cab. Without uttering a word I got in the car. As we drove through the late night city streets I studied her face, which I noted was even prettier when looked at through the eyes of the inebriated. She noticed me watching her, and that naughty mouth I mentioned earlier gave a twitch. She reached up under Bahçeşehir Escort Bayan her skirt and very cleverly removed her knickers, which she placed in my lap.

I looked inquiringly at her.

“Payment for tonight”. She said. “You did great work.”

“Do I get to see more?” I asked? My mouth dry.

She just grinned. Naughtily.

We arrived at where she lived, and I followed her into an apartment building, up three flights of stairs into a very stylish place that screamed “design”.

Mel came to me holding a bottle of wine and two glasses, and I noticed that she had shed her clothing in favour of a big baggy T shirt. The way her boobs swayed beneath it suggested she was braless, and as I had her knickers in my pocket, I made the assumption that the T shirt was all she was wearing.

“I don’t need another drink. And I need to go home. I’m married to my wife. Who is amazing.”

“Bet she is.” Replied Mel, pouring two drinks and handing me one.

We sat down on the couch. Leather. Soft. Designy. She sat with her legs crossed, and I was very aware that any movement from her would force the t shirt to ride up her thighs.

“You know what’s under this T shirt, don’t you Dan?” She was mocking me.

“I have a fair idea, yes.” I said noncommittally.

“Let me help you, because I get the feeling you really, really want to know, but are too scared to find out. My boobs are throbbing with want right now. Honestly, my nipples are aching to be sucked. Does that help?”

I could only stare, my discomfort palpable, my arousal approaching peak levels.

“My cunt is beyond wet. Look”. She reached beneath the shirt, making sure not to show too much, and brought out two fingers glistening with her wetness. “Told you.” She giggled before sucking her fingers clean.

She leaned forward and kissed me, and it shocked me how good she was at it. I won’t even bother trying to say I resisted, because I did no such thing. I kissed her hard, the taste of her juice passing from her tongue to mine. It was a bruising, pulsating encounter, and it spoke volumes of what was to come.

Instinctively I raised my hands and brushed her nipples through the t shirt, causing her to shudder.

“I really wasn’t kidding. My tits are my nerve centres. I can come from touching them.”

The kiss began again, this time I reached up under her shirt, feeling her naked back, delighting in the newness of this body. I moved down her back and cupped at what I could access of her arse. More shudders.

Coming back up, I used the backs of my hands on the skin of her stomach and sides, and I felt goosebumps break out. Finally my fingers brushed her nipples, and true to her word, she came in a violent shudder.

She then pushed me down on the couch and hurriedly straddled my face, grinding her wet pussy against my face. I noticed she wasn’t clean shaven, but nor was she excessively hairy, and I also noticed that she was incredibly aroused. Her lips were swollen with lust, and I felt like every touch took her to a new level of sensation. I was vaguely aware of a lot of noise, of a soft, yet resonant wail, and it spurred me on when I realised that it was Mel making that noise.

She came again, and rolled off me, collapsed in a heap, catching her breath. For my part, I lay there, feeling used, yet profoundly useful, and contemplated my next move. From the doorway to the lounge came a soft clapping. Looking up, I saw a woman, around the same age as Mel, leaning against the doorway, applauding us.

“Melanie, you’ve outdone yourself. And who do we have here?”

“Oh fuck off Jane.” Mel said breathily from her position on the couch. Then, without looking up, she introduced us. “Jane, Dan, Dan, Jane.”

Jane swaggered into the room and took a seat opposite us. She was dressed in a loose robe, and it was clear that we had woken her.

“Don’t let me stop you both. Dan, you’re obviously good at what you do, it has been ages since Mel woke me with her wails of bliss.” She was mocking us, but was making no move to go to bed.

“Dan was just about to finish what he started, actually, weren’t you, Dan?” Mel asked as she sat up and undid my trousers, taking my uncomfortably hard member in her hand. Without a word, she slipped off the T shirt to release a pair of breasts which hung perfectly on her frame. I could have stared at her for hours but she had other ideas. She climbed on me, holding me at the entrance of her slick channel.

Her eyes were on mine as she lingered, flexing her muscles so that her vagina ever so slightly gripped my cock, but without going any further. It was exquisite. She lowered herself down excruciatingly slowly, and her eyes closed in the process. As I revelled in the sensation, I remembered that we weren’t alone. I must have communicated my unease, because without opening her eyes, Mel reassured me.

“Don’t mind Jane. She likes to watch.”

I looked around past mel, and sure enough, Mel was watching intently, rubbing her boobs through her robe. She didn’t look away, Escort Bahçeşehir so I let her be.

From that point, Mel took control. She rode me masterfully and sensed every time I was approaching orgasm, at which point she would alter her technique to prolong my performance.

She climbed off me, then knelt away from me, offering up her beautiful rear, whilst smiling naughtily over her shoulder. I entered her and fucked her for all I was worth. She was working her clit over as I buried myself to the hilt, and I locked my eyes on her room mate who was by now rubbing her middle finger up and down a very attractive, and very wet pussy.

Mel could feel my orgasm approaching, and disengaged quickly, taking me in her mouth and masturbating me furiously. The orgasm was beyond powerful. It came from my very centre and required every muscle in my body to deliver its load – into the waiting mouth of Mel. Who never missed a beat.

Spent, utterly sated, I watched as she swallowed, a look of satisfaction on her face. She then walked over to Jane before bending down and kissing her deeply, trading tongues. Standing again, she turned to look at me, noticing my surprise.

“We’re not lesbians or anything, but we both enjoy the same tastes.”

With that she disappeared into the bathroom, and Jane got up with a sly smile and wave, and left for her own bedroom.


I woke to find that Mel had already gone, leaving me a note with the alarm code on and her phone number.


Your music from last night will live on in legend. Everyone has been on social media talking about, sharing photos and videos of you, and basically talking you up. You’re good at your job, Dan, but it’s far from what you do best.

Go back to Mrs Dan, and find some way to make beautiful music together.

Love & lust,


I was touched by her note, astounded at her insight, and discomfited by her instructions to go and sort things with my wife. I thought about the happenings of the evening before and my stomach churned with guilt, whilst another part of me began rising at the memory.

It was at this point that I made the very important decision to make no immediate decisions. Something big had occurred, something that required thought and a little time. I even managed to park my guilt, because what had happened was bigger than a moment of weakness, it was a next step in a relationship that had come to be like the lyrics in one of my favourite Finn Brothers songs:

“And we stare at each other, like the banks of a river.” Was it a step away from the relationship, or was it a step towards finding out our truth?

I knew that turning on my phone ran the risk of ruining my newfound resolve, but I also knew I had to at least let work know that I would not be in today, and text my wife to let her know that I was safe. As soon as I had pressed send, I switched the phone off and heaved a heavy sigh. This in-between-world I found myself in felt like a bubble of safety in somewhat turbulent waters.

I found the bathroom and had a long, hot, indulgent shower. I just stood under the cascading water, enjoying the sensation and trying not to think about what lay ahead for me. My thoughts returned to Mel, to her sexual confidence and then to Jane, the opportunist. It was an arousing thought. After the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and pondered the unattractive prospect of putting on last night’s clothes, but having no choice, I quickly set about making myself as presentable as possible.

I left a note for Mel, thanking her for an amazing night, and made my way to the front door to begin my tortuous journey home.

Except it was locked.

I looked in the usual places for the key, but there was none to be found. I started checking other rooms, feeling like I was snooping in my hunt for a key that would free me from this immediate problem and deliver me into the wrath of a destructive marital storm. The door from the room opposite Mel’s was left slightly ajar and I peeked through the gap. What I saw made me catch my breath.

The sun creeping through the window was enough to show me that the room was Jane’s and that she had not actually gone to work as I thought. No, she was lying on top of her bed, her left leg straight, her right knee drawn up to reveal her bottom, but the space between her legs was in shadow. While I very, very badly wanted to see more, what I needed most was a key to the front door.

I made my way softly into the room, battling the desire to live out a favourite fantasy of arousing a woman while she slept. I started softly calling Jane’s name, and after the third time, she started to make mumbling noises which sounded like they originated from somewhere deep in her sleep. As her body fought with the unshakable bonds of slumber, she began to turn herself over, before losing the battle and retreating into deep sleep.

Now I was treated to the sight of a full, soft right breast trying to escape the confines of her sleep wear, and I just stood there not knowing what to do. More urgent whispers of her name were met with silence. I stood next to her bed and reached out to softly shake her shoulder in the hope that she would wake gently and not scream at this near stranger standing over her sleeping form. I repeated the shoulder shake and the sleepy mumbling returned. Finally she said something I could make out.

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