One Shot Deals: the Dancers
Having reached the age of fifty-five and grown invisible to young women, I find myself reminiscing more and more about my former sex life. It was a good one. The list of women I had intercourse with numbers thirty-six, unless I've forgotten one or two. As I created the list, I realized that more than a third of those were "one-night stands." Seven of those relationships were just bad mistakes, "thinking with the wrong head," and quickly remedied. Seven others, however, were among the most spectacular of my life. This is one of them.
The time is from fall of 1976 to no later than 1979. The exact dates are lost in the haze of memory. But the memories of specific events are still crystal clear. If you indulge me all the background material below, I promise to reward you with very juicy and graphic details of sexual revenge at its best.
For a few years I made my living performing in musicals, both on Broadway and on tour. I am straight, but more than half the men in musical theater are gay. This gave me a distinct advantage with all the heterosexual women in the various casts. Young women in the theater are fixated on their careers rather than "settling down," yet still require sexual release. Also, as performers, they are narcissistic and totally into their usually gorgeous bodies. Because of this, during that phase of my life I was like a bumblebee in a meadow filled with daisies. If you can tolerate with their many-layered neuroses, you're in like Flynn.
I was a "singer who acts." which got me secondary lead roles. Among the chorines, those "dancers who sing," the women are incredibly lithe and supple and can get into more positions than the Kama Sutra. Their energy is also astonishing. Finally, the Broadway dancer is not the stick on toe shoes that ballerinas are. Most are merely a bit thin. I personally cannot stand it when women lie on their backs and their ribs and hip bones jut up like concentration camp victims.
Early on, I hooked up with a dance gypsy whom I'll call Dawn. She was only five foot five, which was the minimum for the profession, but she made up for it with incredible talent in jazz, tap, and ballet. Moreover, she had a killer body. Her tits were the finest I have ever encountered. They were 36 C and absolutely firm. You could bounce a quarter off her ass. Her thighs were like rock covered by velvet. And she had flawless, pale skin with not one mole or beauty mark. Dawn's bodily perfection was remarked on by everyone. Once, when Playboy was having one of its periodic contests to find extraordinary women, she asked me if I would take photos of her. She knew that photography was one of my hobbies. After the session I realized why some men have the photographer's model fetish, where they pretend to be serious lens men but merely go from nude session to nude session, often with no film in the camera, just to get their jollies. There was something extra about viewing Dawn through the lens of the Hasselblad. The fact that we started with her fully clothed and went through a prolonged strip tease, right to her lying on her back on my couch with her hard tits defying gravity, her left leg up over the back of the couch, and her wet, blood-engorged pussy exposed to the lens helped a lot. The session last four hours. It would have been over in two except that I had to fuck her four times in between.
For all her beauty and double-jointedness, Dawn was not a good lover. She was like some cars: beautiful to look at but like lead sleds on the highway. She mostly lay there and thought that was enough. For the first few times, it was. But I'm sure you agree that sex needs invention to stay fresh. She had not an inventive bone in her body. She could dance, but she couldn't choreograph worth shit, figuratively and literally. And then again, her face was only cute. I'm sure if Playboy was looking for shots from the neck down, she would have been a Playmate.
So, when the musical we were in together ended, we parted ways. I initiated the break-up, and other members of the cast knew it. Dawn was desperate to save face.
There was another dancer in the show. Let me call her Julia. She was light while Dawn was dark; she was blond and willowy rather than dark-eyed and brunette. She was also about five-foot-nine. Real Midwest, wholesome-looking femininity. In reality, Julia was a bitch. I do not say that merely because she had no interest in me. Julia was a lesbian. I'm sure she fooled every red-blooded man sitting in the audience. This was a femme, not a dyke. But a mean and assertive femme. I knew that she lusted after Dawn and, therefore, disliked me. Dawn, who had dabbled in bisexuality a few times in her past, knew it, too. Because I had the opportunity to jump into another show, I was allowed to leave the old show four weeks before it was scheduled to close. In that time, Dawn and Julia circulated the story that Dawn had to break up with me because I was gay and generally could not get it up for her. I know this because no fewer than three friends in the same cast contacted me to share this news. One was gay and checking out the news with hope in his heart. The other two called with laughs in their voices and knew what was going on.
Now, it never pays to deny such vicious attacks. If you do, people will think the actor "doth protest too much." I let people think what they wanted to and figured the dancers' maliciousness would backfire more often than it succeeded. My silence actually paid off. The theatrical community in New York is not really that large. One of the leading ladies of my next show, older than I but very classy and very skillful in the sack, took it upon herself (she thought) to turn me around. I allowed her to convert me to heterosexuality and got some very tangible rewards from her tutelage.
Fast forward at least a year. Dawn had failed to find work in New York, probably because of her shortness. She went down to Atlantic City to dance in a show, and the next I heard she was dancing in Miami. Then I heard a murky second-hand report that she pulled some shit that got her a bad reputation. Suddenly, in the professional dance world she was persona non grata. She retreated to the Big Apple with her tail between her legs. Eventually, running out of options, she decided to knock on my door. I am of the opinion that inventiveness in the sack is most often a product of a clever mind. When I got enough brains to stop overlooking women just because they didn't have a Cosmopolitan covergirl face, I discovered this. I'm convinced Dawn was not inventive because she was, frankly, dumb. She was so dumb that she assumed the smear campaign conducted by her and Julia would not get back to me.
I welcomed Dawn with open arms and a big kiss. Within fifteen minutes, we were fucking like March hares. However, considering her loose reputation, you'd better believe I wore a rubber. She professed to miss the hell out of me, said she knew I was living alone, and wondered if she could cohabit. Ah, friends, it was like the fly asking the spider if she could land in the center of his web.
"That sounds like an interesting idea," I said. Her eyes lit up. Then I put on a theatrical scowl. "But I'm still smarting from those nasty rumors you and Julia spread about my sexuality. I was really wounded."
Dawn stupidly protested her innocence, but I worked her over like a 12th Precinct detective, letting her know exactly who they had told and when. When she was about to flee my apartment in abject embarrassment, I said, "Now, there is a way to get back into my good graces, Gorgeous. I know that you're crashing with Julia of all people right now. I also know that she was the one who put you up to the rumors."
The little conniving minx grabbed for the opening.
I am not only straight but also not into excessive kinkiness or adult toys. Nevertheless, for my revenge I visited one of the many well-stocked Adult emporia that filled 42nd Street before the city got a public conscience. I went right up to the manager and described what I wanted to accomplish, since telling it like it is is the only way to get respect in the City That Never Sleeps. He was frighteningly knowledgeable and even suggested some fillips I hadn't considered.
When I arrived at Julia's door on the appointed afternoon I found, as planned with Dawn, the lock tongue taped back. The door opened with no problem. I peeled off the tape and closed it behind me. The time was exactly 2 p.m. If Dawn had followed my orders to the tee, I would find her in the apartment's little bedroom on top of Julia, who would be lying face down.
I heard Julia's moans before I entered the room and figured all was going according to plan. I was better than I expected. Both women were stark naked. Julia lay face down with her head toward the top of the bed and half buried in her pillow. Dawn sat astride her upper back with her thighs on either flank and her shins over Julia's arms. She faced the foot of the bed. Her face was bent low. Julia had her legs splayed out wide, offering the bottom of her glistening cunt and her asshole to her guest. Even though I tiptoed in, Dawn looked up the instant I arrived. She looked like she had been licking a glazed doughnut. She smiled wickedly.
I had already torn a small length of duct tape off before entering the apartment. I came up on Julia's blind side and, before she could react, clapped the tape securely over her mouth.
It's amazing how much strength a person has when surprised. Even through the tape she made a decent amount of noise. I ordered Dawn to hang on while Julia bucked like a bronco. Meanwhile, I pushed her face into the pillow. I knew that soon enough she would run out of air. She got more frantic for a while, but eventually she realized our combined weights were too much for her. I'm sure she was wondering who the hell had entered the apartment and why Dawn was doing nothing to help her.
The moment Julia relaxed, I opened my gym bag and took out two lengths of Austrian bell cord, which is strong but not rough. I already had slip knots in one end of each. I put them around her wrists and tied her well-extended arms to the legs of her bed. She had a double mattress, and Dawn may have brought the twin one pushed against it, so that maybe sixty percent of the entire room was mattress. I had to reach down between the beds to secure the second rope.
Julia was still huffing and puffing, trying to regain her breath through her nostrils only. Dawn kept telling her to relax, that this was not something terrible, and that she really deserved it. The double-timing bitch. I let her babble on, digging her grave with her "bosom buddy."
The guy at the Adult store had clued me in to a telescoping rod that operated much like a camera tripod leg. It adjusted from eighteen inches to about three feet. Once you had extended it, you twisted clockwise, and it locked at that length. It was truly a magic wand, because it had padded straps on either extreme, big enough to secure ankles in. I extended the rod fully, locked it, and secured Julia's outspread legs. As you can imagine, her bucking redoubled in force. But now she was truly The Prisoner of Second Avenue.
I commanded Dawn to go lie on the other bed. Then I put my face near Julia's and said, "Hi! Remember me? The flaming fairy? Here I am in the flesh to prove to you that you were mistaken. Are you comfortable?"
Her eyebrows furrowed, and she uttered some expletive that I chose to take as "Fuck you!"
"You want to fuck me, Julia?" I replied. "Very well, I accept your offer. But first, you look too comfortable."
I had more goodies in the gym bag. I used two more lengths of rope cord to knot around Julia's knees and then to tie off in the same place as her hand bonds. She was damned strong and resisted like an Olympic wrestler. Finally, I had to enlist the totally naked Dawn to help me by shoving Julia's knees up under her while I tugged each cord, so that eventually she looked like one of the wives in The King and I offering obeisance to her king. She could not get her head more than a few inches off her pillow, and her taut and flawless ass stuck up well off the bed. Her legs, spread by the magic rod, were well opened, so that her cunt and asshole were exquisitely exposed.
"And I've even brought gifts. Two toys for your plumbing, Miss," I told her, reaching into my bag of tricks.
Dawn giggled. The bitch.
One item was a large vibrator. It went into her pre-lubed cunt with no trouble. I suspected she had at least that big a weapon hidden somewhere in her apartment.
"Use it on her while you lick her pussy," I directed Dawn.
Julia spat more invectives at the tape, but I just chuckled.
"How cruel," I said. "Out of the goodness of your heart, you take in this ungrateful waif, and she fucks you."
"I don't really like licking her," Dawn confessed. "She has a little smell."
I put my nose close to Julia's pretty cunt. It did possess the hint of Camembert.
"Just lap her clit," I directed.
