Wait a minute. I had cut my teeth on this piano, in this life. I'd seen evidence of it in Mom's photos. Unfortunately, I had no memory of it. But ... I had access to this piano now, didn't I?In the previous life, I'd started piano lessons at six. By the time I was eight, I was winning talent shows and recitals. It just seemed to come naturally to me; my piano instructor had told my parents, "He's a rare talent." Later, my emerging love of rock and roll encouraged me to transfer my talents to the electronic keyboard. However, immediately preceding that, there was a two-year period where I wouldn't go near a piano. I'd quit piano lessons during tenth grade, despite Mom and Dad's pleadings to the contrary. I considered myself too cool to play the piano; it wasn't manly enough. My parents had bombarded me with phrases like "What a waste of talent" and "You'll regret this when you're older", but I wouldn't budge from my stance. And I knew that at present, I was right in the middle of that. The next day, you wake up in a very good mood. You sing in the shower (something you don't do) and make yourself a small breakfast (another first). All this done, you get dressed and head to the living room. Before you can sit on the couch to watch some TV, the doorbell rings. You open the door. Your jaw drops a mile. Standing in front of you is the gorgeous blonde you talked to last night. She's even better in person than the picture. Her blouse seem to hold oh so lovingly to her curvey breasts. Her hair drapes her shoulders in a golden waterfall. You don't dare look at her skirt, for fear of embarrassing yourself even further."Virwildman?" her melodious voice inquires."Y-yeah. Pearlygirly, right," you stammer, trying to retain some dignity. She giggles a little and holds out her hand. "Call me Anne."You take her hand, taking time to relish her silky smooth skin. "Well, Anne, come on in," you say, bowing. She giggles again and enters. You suddenly become semi-delirious as her perfume.
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