Hysterical Piano Concert

I’ve spent three years jerking off to the idea. Just some naked guy on stage hammering keys, audience breathing down my neck. Naked. Sweating. People closing in every note until I can’t tell where my body ends and their stares begin. Stoya got her famous moment reading words on camera; it’s my turn with eighty-eight keys and zero shame. Picture this: spotlights, bare skin, the crowd creeps forward between each phrase. By the end they’re practically on top of me. Hands brushing metal, breath on my shoulders. My fingers falter, then find the last cluster of chords. Music spikes, my own orgasm crashes down in the same breath the song hits its final note. Applause ringing while I’m still twitching. Stoya has Hysterical Literature; I want my own little masterpiece—Hysterical Piano.