Proof of Performance

I was at wits end. My coach, Ashley, was too, pacing the hardwood floor around us, deep in thought.

The dance competition was only two months away and my new partner, Brendan, nice guy though he was, treated me like I was made of glass. In the middle of a lift, his grip, not placed at my centre of balance, had caused me to lean over too far. I'd fallen. Nothing broke or sprained, but he'd shattered my trust in him, this fall just one more in a series, all for the same reason.

I sat on that dusty floor, wondered if he could ever be that reliable partner I craved. I knew, I could see it on his face, he was sorry. But his performance was driving a wedge between us.

"I know you two can do this," said Ashley. "But, somehow, you need to prove to me, and yourselves, that you can."

She walked away. She was getting me a drink—water. I needed something stronger. Brendan just stood, hovering over me, silent.

She returned, handed me a glass. "Take a few minutes," she said.

She turned to him and he braced, anticipating an assault. I'd heard the words she'd often used, but never to a partner of mine. She would berate and scold. Rarely did that do any good.

Instead, she said, "Go have a seat somewhere. Outside."

"I'm fine," he said. "Really."

"No, you're not. Go. I'll talk to you in a minute."

He was hurting inside. He'd failed me and disappointed himself. He left us, not challenging her, defeated. Somehow, that bothered me too.

I extended my arm expecting Ashley to help me up. Instead, she sat facing me.

"I know what's wrong," she said. "I saw it in his eyes when he lifted you, just now."

I looked at her, puzzled. The gym door closed.

"He's afraid of you," she said.

Afraid? I let myself fall back on the hardwood not caring that my leggings and top would get dirty and stared at the ironwork ceiling. I was tired and sore and frustrated. My partner wasn't dependable and my coach had lost her mind. "You're going to give me a quick course in your convoluted logic, right?" I said. "Heavens knows, I need it."

She nodded, serious. She'd lost that playfulness she always had when I was being dense. Instead, she glanced away, distracted, and I knew she was building up to tell me that, after the competition, I should find a new partner.

Too bad, I liked him, as a person. More now, suddenly. I felt sad for him. And me.

"Cara," she said, still dead serious, scaring me now because she never stayed serious for more than a second, "Give me a chance to fix this."

"Just so you can prove it to yourself?" I was losing my patience with her. I shook my head quickly. "Sorry, you know what it's been like."

"Which is why it must stop."

By dumping Brendan? My frustration turned to panic. Good male partners were impossible to find. Caring partners even harder.

"Go ahead," I said. "Let's hear it."

"It's not what I'll say, it's what he'll do."

Do? So we weren't being separated. "You've seen how well that works," I said.

She shook her head. "It's not about dancing. This is different. And you're not to say a word about it. Not one."

"What am I supposed to do, stare it out of him? He's shy. All I'll do is embarrass him." Poor guy.

"It's more an attitude change."

"His, right?"

"Yes, his. But yours first."

"I see."

"Promise me you'll take this professionally, coach to student, and not personally."

I didn't like the sounds of that. What was I doing wrong?

Then she explained her logic to me. All of it, in detail, while I bit my tongue. She was, I decided, mad, but in a devious and—I hated to admit—practical way. Some parts even made her blush, like she was personally involved somehow. But, she was our coach.

I stayed on the floor a long time after she'd left me to go talk to Brendan. What she'd said made sense, logically. Too much sense. And, looking back at our dancing, I knew she was right.

We, Brendan and I, should have worked this out months ago, not have to be told because it was now obvious to anyone watching that we'd messed up. And it was my duty to initiate the change. I had failed him more than he had failed me. His actions were symptoms; mine, the root cause.

I would do it. I had too. If I wanted to continue dancing, I'd no other choice. Without Brendan, I'd miss this year's competition for sure. And likely the next. Retirement was too kind a word for being forced to abandon something you loved.

He, however, could find another partner the second word got out he was available. I didn't know if I could bear seeing that unfold while I stood aside. In a weird way, this was getting personal for me too. I had much to atone for.

The gym door opened, I heard it. Brendan would come inside and we would have our, not just his, attitude adjustment.

He came and stood above me. I could see in his face that she'd been completely right. Something inside me gave way. He was too nice a guy, too considerate for this sport. Yet he persisted for the same reasons I did. I felt for him and our plight.

I would fix it, for us.

"What did Ashley tell you?" I said.

He shrugged. "That I should touch you and you'd let me."

"Where?"

He glanced away, reddened. "Everywhere."

"Something you've wanted to do since we met." This was not a question.

He nodded.

That desire had been his undoing. If he hadn't cared for me, romantically, he wouldn't have been so reluctant to hold me where he should have while dancing. He was afraid to offend me, to be taken to task for it, admonished and denigrated. Humiliated. Now that I knew he liked me, it all made sense.

Reciprocating, however, might be a different story. I wasn't sure I liked him, that way. I just liked him, as a person.

"Go ahead," I said, steeling myself for what was to come. "Touch all you want."

He knelt beside me, looked over me. This would only take a few minutes. I closed my eyes, turned all my emotions off. This was just dance practice, another routine to remember and make look easy but wasn't. I'd survive.

A cold shiver crawled up my backbone, right to my neck. Dammit! There was no way my reluctance wouldn't escape his notice. He'd be keenly aware of my feelings, know I'd gone icy on him just to get through it. Sure, he'd not worry about inadvertently touching me, but the spark that passed between us, the magic that would make our dancing rise above the competition's would never see the light of day.

I opened my eyes. "Brendan," I said.

"Yes."

He was nervous, apprehensive, anxious. I had to take the lead in this pas de deux. I had to be present, not just a living doll to grope.

"Listen, I'm not going to kill you. Or stop you. I want you to do this. I don't want you to be on guard all the time, worried. Right now, here, I'm not your dance partner. I'm not being coached and neither are you. Got it?"

He nodded.

"We're all alone somewhere." I tucked my hands behind my head. "I'm your girlfriend. And as your special girl, I need to be touched to make me even more special." His hands didn't budge. I took one and placed it on my breast and held it there. "I know, I'm female. I have nice spots, curves, that need attention. Nothing's off limits. I'm yours, everywhere." I was about to say please. Really. Where was this coming from? Had I denied my own feelings for him? Had I been cold and heartless all along thus making him more apprehensive? And had my body made a decision on its own to allow him free rein? At least he knew his own mind. Shame on me for ignoring mine. I separated my legs. "Especially down there."

He fondled my breast through my stretch top and bra, but tentatively, still unsure of my motives, my acceptance. But I had accepted him. My taut nipples proof. I was getting turned on, asking to be touched so much more powerful than acceding to someone else's wishes. I craved more.

"I have two of those," I said. "And a girlfriend is not truly satisfied until both have been teased to aching." I stretch my arms high above my head and closed my eyes. "Don't disappoint me, Brendan. Don't leave any part of me untouched." I opened my eyes, glared. "Make yourself hard."

He looked at me, rock still, hesitant.

I took his hand and jammed it between my legs. "Turn me on," I said. He pressed in and I gasped. He froze. I cupped his fingers down my mound. "Stay," I said. I took his index finger and circled the tip over my clit, showing him where and how. This was far better than touching myself. "Don't stop until I come." I stretched out again, legs wide apart, hands well away from his. His caress electrified me. I would come. "Don't stop," I said, panting. "Brendan, never stop."

He was getting it now, not afraid, driving up my need, making me perform. If Ashley thought a bit of touching would make him comfortable with my body, making me come would assure it.

Ashley re-entered, the gym door closing softly. Brendan looked up.

"Don't even think of stopping," I said. I slipped my hand between his legs, felt the hard rope of his cock. "You don't seem to mind she's here," I said.

His free hand found a nipple, pinched it, rolled it between strong fingers, sent a bolt of electricity into my clit. "I don't mind Ashley," he said. "After all, she started this. And she needs proof we're doing it."

Oddly, the fact she was there didn't bother me either. Her entrance had fuelled my need. I tensed, legs trembling, muscles rock hard, mouth open for air, panting. I wanted Ashley to see me break, see Brendan overcome his fear, see us connect intimately and completely, proof we'd not only followed her instruction but that we could be the successful dance team she dreamed of.

"Faster," I pleaded.

"No," he said. "I like seeing you like this. I like showing you off."

A powerful surge tingled through my sex. I was going to explode in Ashley's presence. Under Brendan's fingers. Now.

I came, writhing and moaning, my spasms rolling up my body one after the other, proving that I was not made out of glass. But handled the right way, I would break, deliciously. But with an audience?

I smiled up at him, pulled his face to mine and kissed him until I had to break the kiss to breathe. "You like doing that to me, with her here?" I said. His grin was the only answer I needed. "I suppose you'll want more."

He didn't answer, just looked into my eyes, mouthed, "Yes."

"Then I'm all yours," I said. "For real. Girlfriend. Lover." Exhibitionist?

He smiled and nodded.

I sat up, still shaky. I took both his hands in mine. "Later, after practice..." I glanced to his still prominent bulge, "...if you can move properly with that thing between your legs, I'll see what I can do for you." My heart, just settling, began to race again. I wanted to see him come. I glanced to Ashley. I wanted to make him spurt with her standing next to us.

"Well," said Ashley, walking towards us, "I guess that's over with."

"Uh-uh," I said. "It's just beginning."