In the gymnasium a practise was in progress. "One, and two, and three and four," Hardwick's voice brayed above the tinny jink, jink, jink of an elderly piano.
Ten students arranged in a double row of five were dancing to the beat as he called it. It was part of Hardwick's routine. Groups of them came to him daily, either for dance, deportment or gymnastics, disciplines both he and the headmistress considered imperative for developing grace and elegance in young people. Hardwick's entire adult life had revolved around the Terpsichorean arts, and he insisted that when pupils came to him they dressed as near as possible to emulate the students of the School of Ballet he had long served. Tight, shape hugging navy blue knickers and sleeveless white singlet's were the order of the day, and invariably each of his lessons began with a session of ecarte and echappe at the barre. That afternoon because of the practise their feet were clad in chorus-line shoes with block heels.
"One and two, and three and four." Obediently they repeated the steps dictated as the counting continued, but then Trudy Jones stumbled and nearly bumped into Bambi, who dug an elbow into his arm.
The man at the piano shouted. "Trudy, if you intend to dance, let me entreat you to keep time with the music and not race half a beat ahead."
Doggedly Trudy went on repeating the sequence of steps as they were called out. Ball change, heel down, toe down, ankle flick, tap, kick; ball change, heel down - right foot, left foot, right foot again. He wanted to be anywhere but in the gymnasium at that moment with his feet and ankles aching, and shoes that seemed as heavy as coal-miners boots.
Hardwick continued playing regardless and added a vocal rendition to the melody. "Come and meet those dancing feet. On the avenue I'm taking you to. Forty-second Street..." The headmistress had tasked him with providing an aerobics display for Open Day, but an old-pro like himself could offer something better than mere aerobics. He couldn't lay on ballet, years of practise were needed to get that right, but he was determined to put on a first-rate dance routine of some kind.
"Heads!" he ranted keenly, "On the fourth step all heads must swing sharp to the right - snap them round - and back again. Get it together for goodness sake. No, no, no, Holly. Do not gallop, you are not a horse. Move like a bird - a feather - lightly."
Trudy groaned inwardly and concentrated on his own practise; ball, change, heel down, toe down. Dancing lessons usually consisted of ballroom or jive and he resented Hardwick's recent fixation with formation tap. He turned his head slightly to look at his companions and at once Hardwick bawled out. "Keep your eyes to the front, and get rid of those Friday faces, all of you. You must never stop smiling. You must always appear to enjoy your dancing or no one else will enjoy it either."
His fingers fluttered along the piano keys and his voice rippled once more. "Little 'nifties' from the Fifties, innocent and sweet. Sexy ladies from the Eighties, who were indiscreet..."
Trudy staggered sideways and barged into Bambi, and the entire front rank nearly went over like a row of dominos.
Hardwick mumbled something under his breath and banged his hands down hard on the piano. "That's enough of that for today. Run to the wall - and back!" he screeched. His voice sent everyone racing to the side of the gymnasium to touch the wall and then hurtle back to their starting place in the centre of the floor. Exercise didn't matter. Anything that broke the tyranny of dance practise was welcome.
"Stand still!" he bellowed. "And now adjust your dress."
Without a word each of his students pushed his singlet up beneath his armpits and rolled his knickers down onto his hips until they resembled skimpy bikini briefs - tight little pants holding precariously onto the contours of small, cute bottoms.
Apart from his work young men of their age were Hardwick's only interest in life, and one of the indulgences he allowed himself was the freedom to observe their bodies. Despite matron regularly dosing them with hormones they were not yet curvaceous in a feminine way, but their slight stature lent them lissom delicacy, while the absence of adipose tissue allowed smooth flesh structured around delicate bones and muscle to present an enticing effect. He often congratulated himself on how fortunate he was to have employment that combined work and personal interests so closely.
"Running on the spot - begin! Up, up, up!" They were the last batch for that day, and at such times when the mood was with him he enjoyed viewing plenty of bare skin as he meandered between their open ranks.
"Knees up higher, Holly. Keep your arms by your side, Zoë!" Adjusting their clothes he explained to his students, gave their hot bodies much needed ventilation, but none of them fell for that line. They knew he was a perv' and liked to ogle them, and yet in the vanity that resulted from constant sissification some of them quite enjoyed his lascivious inspection and delighted in teasing him by pushing out their chests and wickedly showing off their tiny pale nipples whenever he passed near.
"Up, up, up - annnnd stop! Trudy stay here, the rest of the class is dismissed."
With a veritable whoosh and scampering of feet the bulk of his pupils dashed off like so many clod-hopping woodland-nymphs. Usually Hardwick would have followed them to the showers to watch as the water washed over their slender forms and around their cocks, but that day he turned to the pensive young man left behind.
Trudy slouched with his weight on one foot, the pose accentuating the swell of the opposing hip. The dark fringe of his hair was long, but it didn't hide the despondent expression in his downcast eyes as he stared blankly at the tutors gym-shoes.
What a stunner! thought Hardwick. Slim with nice legs and a narrow waist, and with his pants still slung low and his vest draped across the top of his chest, he was quite as attractive as any novice at the School of Ballet. Rather willowy, but a handsome fellow all the same. Nice dense hair, black, cut neat and brushed smart. He had a nice face too, with twinkling eyes and a sensuous mouth. His cheeks were flushed, the rosy tinge not solely a product of vigorous exercise. Wow! He was a beauty! As good as a girl. Better than a girl! Just licking his face would make some men jack-off in their trousers.
His shoe tapped ominously against the floor and he put on a suitably severe expression. "I've not been impressed with you today, Trudy. You were lackadaisical in our figure training session and most unsatisfactory in the dance. I'm quite in a mood to send you off to a prefect for a strapping."
"Oh!" the boy murmured guardedly. He'd not been aware of doing anything other than he'd been told, and his enthusiasm had been equal to that of everyone else.
Surreptitiously the man took every opportunity to steal a glance at the tantalising shape in the front of Trudy's skimpy pants. Perhaps the lad was too innocent to know his penis could attract such attention, but knowing Trudy as well as he did, he doubted it. "Do you want to be punished?"
"No sir."
"Well, it would be wrong to let you off scot-free. What other solution is there?"
Trudy then understood. He was no stranger to the wily antics of the gym-teacher. He knew that Hardwick was playing out a charade, and a lack of approbation was one of the ploys he used when he felt in the mood to amuse himself and incite a student into a commitment. He wondered why the cranky old twit couldn't just say he was feeling horny. After all, a young man such as himself may look angelic, but it wasn't as if he was virginal and unused to being stuffed with randy cock. Aware that he had been chosen as Hardwick's 'sissy of the day' and knowing his body mesmerised the man, he put on an act of his own, one of thoughtfulness, and his hands turned out as if in supplication. "I could stay here for a while with you, sir."
Mr Hardwick smiled at once. "Ah, yes. Well, if you're in a mind to oblige we can make do with that."
He slipped an arm about the sissy-boys waist and allowed his hand to drop onto the rounds of his small bottom to savour the warmth that permeated the flannel knickers, then in a casual fashion he guided him into the gym-store, then through an adjoining door into his room in the gatehouse where he lived. "You were rather clumsy with the dancing today, Trudy." he remarked.
"I'm feeling a bit stiff, Mr Hardwick."
The man nodded wisely. "I see. Well you're in the right place for a remedy. I'm rather good at dealing with stiffness."
Hardwick's accommodation was spartan bachelor pad, consisting of just a small table a couple of chairs and a bed, but unlike most bachelor pads it was conspicuously tidy. Trudy picked up a magazine that lay on the bed. It was entitled 'Hung 'n' Hard', and the front cover depicted a naked young man in an obvious state of sexual arousal. It was an item of stimulation Hardwick had conveniently 'forgotten' to tidy away.
The man drew up behind him and viewed the magazine over his shoulder. "I see you've found my catalogue of male art poses. Some of the young fellows in it are really good looking, aren't they?" He beamed as he assisted Trudy turning the pages. "Most of them seem to be excited about something, don't they? Look at that one! A battering-ram - he could knock down a door with what he's got, couldn't he?"
