The Dancer

Spring, the last ballet of the season before the summer. It was still bright when I entered the theater. I mounted the steps to the balcony and took my place. The first work: less than memorable. The second: more than tired and lacking depth. The third: hardly better than the first two, but then, then out from the wings alighted a form, a shape, a figure, a grace that cast into darkness all around it. No, not a principal but still clearly distinct, clearly defined, absolutely other. The costuming for the work left him bare chested. His hips and thighs and legs sheathed in ever so fine beige gossamer. Every sinew, every muscle, every curve and shadow and mound simultaneously hid and dazzled in the amber glow of the stage light. His supple skin folded over the swelling muscles and sinews: now glistening like a white pink marble, now hidden in curving shadow. Every gesture, every move. The rise of a leg long and tensed, the thrust of an arm molded and supple, the turn of his head. The warmth of his flesh radiated to the highest balcony and reflected in the crystal chandelier. Rising on his toes his body mounted past the strength of his loins to the taper of his waist, upward to the tally of his chest and shoulders, tapering to the delicate column of his neck, flowering in the open petals of his jaw and bones and elegance of his head, crowned in the delicate sweeping gold of his angelic locks.

From my seat I felt the heat of his body, the scent of his glistening sweat, the pungent air that rose from his flesh. My cock was hard. It rose up against me. It struggled up from behind my belt for its freedom. But for intense concentration and resistance, it would have spat its cum at that very moment. To avoid complicity I carefully rose, bent at the waist, and excused myself past those seated by me. The drive was too intense. In a scurry I made it to the men's room, to the urinal, ripped down my zipper, flinging out my randy hardened self and exploded against the porcelain white. What kept me from unconsciousness I do not know. At length I composed myself. Alone in the men's room I washed my wilted dick and dried it with gentle taps. The thought of him reeled in my head.

Other men were coming in. The ballet was over. I made my way down the steps and into the street. My movements were slow, deliberate. Where was I? A man of my age? My youth was yesterday. My body older now. My hair gray. My waist no longer that of a young man. Why had I let this happen? Why had I never found someone of my own? Why had I hidden myself, hidden who I am, hidden my desire? Now, it was too late.

Here I was at the street corner. The light was red. I waited to cross. I waited. Then, something touched behind me. I turned around. My eye caught a sign: 'stage door : artists only'. I turned back. The light was green. I started to cross then halted. Again I looked behind me. There, beneath the sign, there, in the half light of the street lamp, he stood among his friends. They chattered. They nodded. They laughed.

A soft sprint jacket coddled his neck. Simple jeans clung tightly around his legs. Street light lit the delicate sculpture of his face. Cold and heat shivered and steamed within me.

I stood unmoving. A car horn sounded. My foot was in the street. I pulled it back and stood transfixed. Then, one by one, his companions moved away to their own directions.

Then, after a moment, he stood alone.

Is this the time:? Is this the moment? Do I? At my age? His age? Fool!

Looking at his feet, he stepped down from the stage door. Gazing at his face, I moved toward him. He looked up. My eyes caught his.

'your were wonderful tonight' I said clearly. 'Just wonderful'.

'Thank you' he muttered.

'Are you new with the company?'

'Yes. Just this month.'

'just this month!?' I repeated as a question. 'But you....'

His eyes held still. They fixed themselves to mine.

'Do you really think... ?' he asked. 'Do you.....?'

'Yes, I certainly do...' I replied.

There was a pause. Long? Short? A pause.

'I'd like to talk to you about..... ' he stammered.

'me too.' I said.

'I'd like to hear... What you thought. I'm new. No one has ever...'

Finally he muttered, 'Wanna come to my place?'

'Sure' , I stammered.

'I live right over on 10th'

'Sure'.

He turned. I paced slightly behind him.

'Do you subscribe' he half whispered.

'Do I...?

'Subscribe? ... Do you have season tickets?'

'Oh, yes. Yes.' I managed. 'But I've never seen you before.'

'Just began. My first performance...'

I was still a step behind him. Every part of me trembled. We knew. We both knew. But we couldn't speak it.

'Here we are. Second floor.'

I followed behind him. He took out his key. Opened the door. Let me enter before him.

His hand gestured me forward, into a loft open space. Open floor. A dance bar against the wall. On the wall a large mirror.

On the floor several sitting cushions.

His hand reached to mine. Soft yet firm.

'Sit' he whispered. 'Wait.'

I sat a waited a moment. He walked into a side room.

Moments later he emerged. Barefoot. He was in a bathrobe.

He moved toward a sound system. Touched a button. Music. Was it Chopin?

He turned. He looked at me. The robe dropped.

Beneath he wore a transparent shift clipped at the shoulders. It fell across his chest and veiled a manhood concealed in a white cloth.

'For you.' He said.

Then, as if heaven had opened, his divine form raised and lowered, turned and balanced, bent and swayed before me. That fragrant marble flesh semi hidden semi revealed by the transparent fabric. Slowly the quickly, quickly then slowly. Every curve every angle suggested such sweet delight. His eyes always upward always distant.

Then, he reached to his shoulders. Touched the clips. The shift tumbled to the floor.

The rounded tension of his chest, the delicate rose of his small and pointed nipples called out for my hands, my fingers, my mouth.

He raised his leg. Every sinew of hip and thigh and calf resounded. The delicacy of his heel and instep and toes sang with grace. His leg rose upward against his face. Directly upward close against him. The loin cloth fell.

There, like a shimmering jewel, his delicate pink cock fell from his loins, soft and round and crowned with the thickness of its circumcised head. And beneath it the double pillow of the most fragile and trembling ball sack. What, might I image, was the intrigue of the dark and tender asshole they concealed.

Then suddenly, his leg still raised, his hand clutching at his thigh to maintain the balance, he turned. He turned and bent. Like twin rising suns the shimmering pink and white muscles of his ass cheeks glowed before me and only slightly, only slight could I perceive the depth and warmth of the cavern they held between them.

More suddenly that can be said he turned again and rushed toward me.

So quickly, my already so hardened, so pre-cum moistened dick shriveled in fear.

There he was before me. Like a bolt of fleshly lightening. His soft and delicate cock before my face.

Then, before I could comprehend, he thrust himself against me. Without thinking my mouth opened and suddenly between my lips, against my tongue was the delicacy of the tender and soft pink cock. Like one possessed I suck it deep into my throat. My tongue twisted and turned around it. More. More. I wanted more. Deeper. Fuller. I wanted him in me. He thrust and pushed and twisted. My hands rose up and seized his ass. Full and round and hot within my palms. My fingers pushing and searching until they found their quest. My forefinger entered him. Pierced him. Thrust deeply into him.

In my mouth was now a solid rod. Hot and dense and thick an pulsing. I tasted its liquid, its salt.

Just as suddenly he pulled away. He withdrew.

By some balletic magic he fell to the floor. By some trickery of stage craft he ripped off my shirt, my pants and left me naked and hard and trembling above him.

He pulled me down on top of him. My hardened dick winced as it pressed against his stomach. He clasped the great length of his legs around me and pulled my against him. He legs squeezed, his feet clamped, his hips pounded up against me. Thrusting, pounding, squeezing. His hardened rod grazed against my asshole. Rubbed between my thighs. My cock was in pain in this position.

'Push! Push' he cried. :'Come against me. Come against me. I want your come all over me. My cock softened slightly but in this state it now felt the warmth of his stomach. My ass felt the tease of his cock. My balls felt the whisp of his crotch hair.

I now felt the rhythm. I moved with him. The shaft of my dick sliding from the curls of his pubes to the love trail of his navel. Back and forth, up and down. My dick head was on fire. The energy shivered within me. My face fell to his, my mouth to his, lips opened, teeth parted, tongues engaged. I was dancing with him, I was full, I was ready, the cum was boiling at the tip of my cockhead. Then, without warning, I felt the heat of his spear, the power of his shaft, the immensity of his manhood as he thrust his cock into my hole. He jabbed and jabbed again. Harder. Harder. Deeper. Deeper. He was in me. In me. My cock screamed with heat and tension. I pounded upon his chest. He thrust and jolted deeper inside me. His cock reached the depth of my throat. My dick merged with his heaving stomach. He screamed. ' Now! Now! I want your come. I want you. I'm going to fuck you dead!.' The cum gushed. It gushed and flowed. My cock swam in it. My cock pushed against it. Against his stomach. Against his cock hair. My lips against his mouth. His thighs pressed against me. His dick found its place. 'Yes!' he screamed. 'Fuck!, Fuck! I'm in you. I'm in you. Grab it tight. Grab it tight with your ass. Grab it off. Fuck! Fuck!'

Our mouths touched ever so lightly.

'Easy' I whispered.

'Yes, easy' he said.