Looking for Mozart

"It was part of the problem," he said, adding, "but not the reason I left."

He removed his shirt, and then unexpectedly, she knelt to untie his shoes and slipped them off his feet. He then stood and unbuttoned his pants, while she unzipped them and pulled them down to his ankles.

He easily slipped out of them. It was almost animal-like when she jerked his under-pants to his feet. He hoped she would be pleased with his size--he had always been larger than most men, something that had once been embarrassing to him as a boy.

She looked at him expressionlessly. "Do you mind?" she asked, holding the wire up in her hands.

He didn’t say anything. He simply allowed her to tie his hands and feet to the bedpost. He’d never engaged in such an affair and felt no fear from a feather of a woman

like she. While he lay on the bed completely naked and strapped now to the bedpost, she walked slowly to her bag and reaching into it, lifted a CD from it.

"Do you like Mozart?" she asked, staring down into his eyes.

"Yeah," he whispered, knowing everything about Mozart, revealing nothing of it.

"My mother loved Mozart," she whispered. "She used to play it for me all the time. I hope you like this particular piece. It was my mother’s favorite . . . now mine."

She placed the CD into the boom box and pressed play. Suddenly the motel room was filtered with its sound. She appeared to be transfixed on the music and he was beginning to feel somewhat awkward in his position. Somewhat neglected.

"Nice," he said, trying to remind her that he was there.

"Nice!" she exclaimed, to the extent of sounding irritated.

Then her face softened.

"It’s Requiem. It was Mozart’s last work--he died writing it, you know."

She closed her eyes and appeared to be lost in the music. The allegro tempo picked up speed. Villereal had heard this music before, Mozart. She opened her eyes and smiled down at him. Then, she moved the boom box to the front of the bed.

The music reached the peak of its crescendo, and she began to lift up her skirt. Villereal could feel his hard throb just watching her, knowing that she was watching his hard. He had never made love to Mozart but ironically, now, felt it very appropriate with her.

With her dress lifted to her waist, she mounted him slowly, working him inside her, before he had a fair chance to enjoy the luxury of her body. He wanted to take the moment slower, further. But, he wasn’t about to object to the moment--something he knew every man at the club had fantasized.

The music, her, the excitement--he felt a full climax coming before he wished it to happen. She looked deep into his eyes and he knew, she knew. He could feel his face change to the moment, then quite suddenly, she exposed a hypodermic needle. She quickly jammed the needle forcefully into his chest, pushing the liquid from it directly into his heart.

Moments later, all that remained was the sounds of Mozart’s Requiem, her sobs, and his last breathe.