Furthermore, the whole outfit is beautifully cool to wear.
I decided that despite the heat I would wear thigh-high stockings, partly because I love the feel of them, and also because they make the whole outfit, with the silvery-bronze peep-toe shoes look complete.
As I was short of time, I put my hair up in a twist, for reasons of formality and also to remain cool by keeping my hair off my neck, then I dashed out of the apartment, with a small silver bag, holding the bare minimum of money, licence and keys, and managed to get a taxi unusually quickly.
I arrived in good time, and began to enjoy the setting: the spectacular chandeliers that lit the entrance and the enormous open space formed by the grand curved wooden staircase sweeping both to left and right to form a huge horseshoe, up to the second tier.
Looking up through the centre of that space one could see the glass geodesic dome that formed the ceiling and rooftop, with sunlight shining through.
The New York women were dressed magnificently, and I kept turning here and there to observe yet more attractive women and more gorgeous outfits. In this way I remained completely entertained until the beginning of the performance.
When the orchestra began to tune up, and I realized the crispness of the sound, I knew it was going to be a wonderful evening.
I was in the second seat from the aisle, right at the front of the grand central tier, with an uninterrupted view of stage and orchestra. Hearing the orchestra, I wanted to sit on the edge of my seat with excitement.
The seat next to me was empty, Caro, and I imagined you were sitting there right next to me. I imagined that you were tuning into my excitement to some extent, touching my knee and gently caressing the back of my neck. I was almost oblivious to such attentions, such was my anticipation of the performance.
When the ballet began and I realized how artistically exquisite and technically brilliant the dancers were, I entered a kind of trance of pure delight - so I wasn't even particularly aware of your hand sliding gently over the slippery fabric of the skirt, rhythmically caressing from knee to upper thigh.
It was only when I felt your fingers softly slipping over the stocking underneath, that I was suddenly caught up in the sensuality of the situation and the fantasy of the ballet, each potentiating the other.
As your fingers reached the lacy top of the stocking and then touched the bare skin above it, I realized that you had pushed my skirt almost right up to the tops of my thighs, and that I was faintly trembling.
I was wearing the silky mauve panties that matched my bra, and now your fingers were gently caressing back and forth over the flesh at the top of my thigh, edging ever closer to the extra sensitive spot closest to my crotch which by then was already saturated.
Even I could detect the scent of my arousal, despite the fact that I was concentrating intensely on the performance.
At this stage I had my bottom angled way forward at the edge of the seat, encouraging your fingers to easier access, whilst my pussy was contracting with anticipation.
Then with your fingers beginning to circle very delicately over the crotch of my wet clinging panties, I cup my right breast in my hand and begin to flick the stiffened nipple with my thumb, shooting tremors directly through my clitoris.
The prima ballerina is dancing a very showy solo, up and down on her pointes and pirouetting around the stage, one perfect turn after another. The audience clap wildly as she completes a series of arabesques, and you choose that moment to lean across and whisper, "I want to lick you!".
My arousal leaps to another level at your words, and then you begin to lick my bare shoulder in time to your finger now stroking my clit. My mind makes the connection between your words and what we have each said we fantasise about, and I am caught in an ecstasy of my own - somehow holding myself back, and not climaxing until the next - luckily - endless round of applause, my left hand clutching your thigh from the force of the orgasm.
As the lights come up, you smooth down my skirt, and then turning to me, you hold my face in your hands and kiss my mouth ever so gently. I catch my smell on your fingers, and shudder through several after-shocks, as you smile into the kiss, and stroke my cheek.
As the lights in the theatre brightened, I knew that we would have to stand to let the people in our row get past. Given your state of arousal I knew that wouldn't be so comfortable, so wasn't surprised that you allowed me to walk ahead of you up the stairs from our seats to the second floor lobby - with each step knowing your eyes would be fixed upon my buttocks, which were being so enticingly displayed under the satiny pink fabric of the skirt.
We walked slowly through the lobby and then the grand hall, and you held my hand as we made our way down the sweeping staircase to the lowest level and there, I was able to show you the deep floor to ceiling insets in the wall where the photos of many famous performers were displayed.
You stood behind me with your hands clasped loosely around my waist, your continuing erection pressing hard against the back of my upper thigh - so I subtly shifted, and then, whilst we looked at the pictures, rubbed my slippery bottom against you.
It was still very hot and the light glary outside, so it was a good choice to be down in the cool of the lowest level. I could put my hand behind me and feel the outline of your erection, slide my hand up and down the length, and tighten and loosen my grip, while you breathed and groaned into my hair. You had a handful of my left buttock - and with that, and the hard strength of you in my hand combining with the distinctively male smell of it, I could feel my own arousal renewing.
I so wanted to turn around and to remove your cock from the confines of your trousers; I wanted so desperately to lap the head like an ice-cream cone, sliding my other hand under your balls to gently cup and weigh them; to lick up and down the shaft following it each time with my hand; and then to slide my lips around it, gradually filling my mouth with as much as I could hold there, then sucking quickly in little bursts as I withdrew, flicking fast and gently with my tongue at the head; and then suddenly engulfing you again in the warm softness of my mouth; this time sucking hard and consistently whilst I withdrew again.
There would be such exquisite pleasure from lavishing so much attention on such a responsive subject! And that plus the fantasy of feeling you eventually gushing your life forces deep into my throat, makes me positively giddily dizzy with lustful desire.
However, there is little else we can do for the time being, so I suggest we buy a cup of tea, and you are astonished. "A cup of tea? Now? Whatever for?"
I smile resolutely, so - "Whatever my heart's own requires" - you murmur.
We drink our tea, which is of course merely a suitable distraction, whilst observing other audience members. I watch a very tall, young and slender woman in a glittering charcoal coloured sheath, fitted like a glove and opened at the front to mid-thigh. Long slender legs emerge from the lily-like skirt, ending in black stiletto shoes.
I indicate her to you. "She looks like one of the characters who people your stories", I suggest. An equally handsome young man accompanies her.
Then I notice a slightly older woman, leaning against the bar, her back facing us. Her hair is brown and swept elegantly into a French roll, and she is wearing a perfectly shaped silk dress of wide coffee and cream vertical stripes. The length of the dress accentuates her most beautiful shapely calves and narrow ankles.
However, it is her partner's long-fingered hand stroking sensuously up and down from the nape of her neck to the small of her back that has me mesmerized. There is something so caring, and so sensual about that caressing, that I feel like a voyeur as I watch, and feel the growing warmth in my groin.
I revert to the present, and note my own hand sliding up and down your arm at the same tempo.
When the theatre bells ring you place your arm around my waist and we stroll slowly back to our seats in the centre tier, where we find that there are now empty seats around us, as people have availed themselves of better vacant seats in the midsection of the tier. We look at each other and exchange a long deep kiss.
"Caro, are you comfortable?" I asked, as we readied ourselves for the next act of Don Quixote. Although you looked puzzled when I suggested it, you - as always - indulged me when I said I wanted us to swap seats, so that I am seated on your left. However, I am concerned that now that you no longer have the aisle seat, your beautifully long legs might feel cramped. "Well, as comfortable as possible under the circumstances" you laugh indulgently.
