My love, My Fiddler

My lover is a fiddle player and sometimes when we make love, my mind wanders back centuries... I picture us in the 1500s. I am the daughter of a rich merchant and she is a musician in a band. I watch her play before the crowds and am amazed with her fingers, the way she plays, her fierce nature which somehow ricochets through the room. There is nothing more exciting than seeing a woman in her absolute power. I am engulfed in her; drowning, there's nothing more I desire than to be the instrument between her hands... After the music is over, I ask my father if she be the one who teaches me music, a noble calling. We begin lessons. No one in the house can tell which is the instrument who moans, resonating from beneath the cracks of my door, and down the hallways...