This story is for adults only. It contains descriptions of graphic sex. I found the photo online; if anyone objects to me using it, let me know and I’ll take it down. No copyright infringement is intended.
Balancing Act, Copyright by Theo Fenraven, July 2012
I watched the girl in front of me do a perfect plié, her knees bent out at exactly the right angle, hips flexed, one arm on the barre, the other gracefully turned up and over her very erect head and neck, and I groaned.
Kevin, the instructor, happened to be passing at that exact moment, heard me, and stopped. “Is there a problem, Sam?”
I gestured toward the girl. “Elaine does it so well. I don’t have the hips for it.”
“While it’s true a man’s pelvic area is not as suitable for such moves as a woman’s, in time, with practice, you can achieve amazing results.” His eyebrows went up and I understood this to mean I should do the fucking plié.
I started to bend my knees and the instructor stepped behind me and placed his hands on my hips, pressing in against them. “Turn the knees out….more…still more…”
I sank into what I thought was a shitty plié, feeling ligaments stretch in ways they never had before and knowing I would ache tomorrow from the unaccustomed movement. The instructor’s hand pressed harder, his fingers splaying and sliding in toward center, almost touching my cock where it was confined within the dance belt. A surge of pleasure poured through me and I started to get hard.
I drew in a sharp breath, wondered if Kevin was doing this with purpose, and then his hands were gone and I exhaled slowly.
“Stay after class,” he said casually before moving on. “I’ll work with you a little on this.”
I watched him walk down the line, adjusting a hand here, moving an arm there, and felt a frisson of excitement. Should I read anything into his words or accept them as spoken? I wasn’t yet experienced with come-ons, if that’s what this was. Oh fuck, he was probably just being nice. He’d asked someone else to stay last week, Amy, who was almost as bad as me.
I was 18 and taking my first ballet class, something suggested by my drama teacher as a way to get in touch with my body, learn what it could and could not do. So far, I was learning that ballet hurt.
As I strained to complete the moves he was calling out, sweating over each position, knowing I wasn’t quite getting there, I watched him as he walked around, noticing his strong shoulders, trim waist, and shapely thighs. Everyone in class had a good body but I couldn’t take my eyes off his as he put us through our paces. I’d been attracted to him during the first class, three weeks ago, but until today, I didn’t think he’d even noticed me.
By the time he finally let us all relax and sent us off with a cheery, “See you next time,” I was exhausted, every muscle aching from exertion. While everyone else chattered as they packed up and left, I leaned on the barre, eyes half-closed, wondering how I could possibly learn anything more this evening. I smelled the sweat on me and my nose wrinkled. No chance of hot sex with Kevin, even if he was interested.
Voices faded, a door closed, and there was silence. I felt Kevin approach and knew he was standing beside me on the right.
“Time for more torture?” I asked, only half-joking.
He placed a hand at the small of my back. “Straighten up, Sam. Let’s see if we can’t do a little better with some individual attention.”
Sighing heavily, I straightened and looked at us in the mirrored wall behind the barre. He was a couple inches taller than me but our body types were similar. Well, except I was one dark and hairy motherfucker and he was almost pretty, his dark blond streaked with gold. His brown eyes met my amber ones in the mirror, and then he smiled and his hand exerted more pressure against my back.
I wasn’t sure what to say, how to move forward, so I waited for whatever came next.
To be continued.