WARNING:
This is an adult story, containing sensitive material of a sexual nature, including graphic descriptions of consensual, "vanilla" sex. If you find such material offensive or are underage, do not read further, but please bypass this story for one more suitable for you.
This is a work of fiction: it never happened. The young girl in the story doesn't exist, but the descriptions reflect fantasies concerning people I have known. This story is written for enjoyment and entertainment purposes only, and no commercial profit is expected to be made from it. It may be copied for personal use or for posting on other sites, provided the sites are free sites . . . it may NOT be posted on any site that requires a "membership fee" of any kind. Posting is permitted on sites where 'adult verification services' are used, provided they only cost a few dollars a year for access to many sites, (the way Adultcheck used to be), but posting is prohibited on any "Adultcheck Gold" site, which requires much more money.
Perhaps this story should be classified as a 'novella'. It is not simply a two page 'fuck-'em and forget-'em' story, but makes an attempt to create a mood and to develop some of the characters, and possibly even (gasp) have a bit of a plot.
Birth control is used in this story, because in 'real life' every reasonable adult should know that he or she should behave responsibly when participating in sexual activities and he or she wishes to avoid unwanted conception and the spread of disease.
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Chapter 1. Sari’s problem.
With some satisfaction, the Amonasro-Aida duet came to its incomplete end, and I paused to lean back from the keyboard of my piano and to take a breather before Radames made his entrance. I stood, flexing my fingers and stretching my back, then went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Practicing an operatic score on the piano for six to eight hours a day was tiring, but much of the score to AIDA was gradually 'working it's way into my fingers'.
I looked out of the living room window at the crowds swirling along Eight Street below. Early Saturday evening in Greenwich Village always provided a pleasant spectacle as tourists, natives, artists, and bums all rubbed shoulders on the busy sidewalks below. Summer was rapidly approaching and the warmth of today would quickly become tomorrow's oven. I would have to leave the window open then, and out of respect for my neighbors, I might not be able to spend so many hours practicing with the window open.
The pangs in my stomach reminded me that it was suppertime.
There was a tap at the door. It must be Sari (She pronounced it "Shah' - ree") I reflected. She always waited until I had paused in my playing before she would timidly tap on the door. I checked through the peephole before opening the door and greeting her with a big smile.
"I picked up some Chinese," she explained, holding up a brown paper bag. "Are you hungry?"
"Ummmmmm, I sure am," I responded, inviting her in. Passing by me, I caught the scent of fresh soap, shampoo, and - - - Channel No. 5? Soap and Shampoo I could understand, but somehow she always seemed too innocent for things like Channel perfume. She took the bag directly to the table. To my surprise, she had a bottle of wine also. As I closed and locked the door behind her, she went to the cupboard for plates, spoons and chopsticks. She looked in other cupboards while I began unpacking the containers of Chinese food.
"You have some wine glasses, don't you?"
"Yes, to the left of the sink." I pointed, and a moment later she returned and set the table. Like many dancers, she wore tights and a loose sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail.
While I poured the wine (I noticed it was a better vintage than I usually purchase), she sat and removed the rubber band allowing her hair to fall loosely over her shoulders. We ate quietly. She was in a pensive mood tonight and ate lightly.
I was surprised as Sari swallowed the last of her wine and refilled her glass. It was unusual for her to have more than half a glass of wine and I had never seen her take a second glass before.
"Frau Schmidt talked to me today," she said, taking her glass and moving to the sofa in the living room.
"Umm-mmm," I responded, sitting on the other end of the sofa.
"They're setting up the cast for the NUTCRACKER benefit in August. Frau Schmidt said I am being considered for the BALLERINA DOLL role."
"Is that the one where the girl . . . ." Unable to phrase it properly, I twirled my index finger in the air as if I were using it to stir a cup of coffee. Sari nodded.
"Yep!" she smiled smugly. "I get to do forty-two pirouettes without a break."
I reflected for a moment. "Is - - - - ummmm - - - - Who will be directing the production?"
She looked at me and didn't answer. There was such a sad look in her eyes.
"Is it - - - - HIM - - -?"
Sari nodded and her head drooped.
We were referring to a man who had been a star at the ballet company with every expectation of becoming one of the greatest dancers of all time. But a few years ago, he was in an accident and sustained injuries prevented him from ever dancing again. Now he walked with a cane, and directed ballets for the company. He was a brilliant, if cynical, choreographer. It would be an excellent career move for Sari to dance under his direction. But it was also rumored that he had a taste for young dancers, and liked give chorus girls a special private 'audition' before he promoted them to featured roles.
Seeing her dejection, I became uncomfortable and started squirming in my chair. "Is he - - -", I fumbled. "Does he want - - -"
I shouldn't even be thinking about asking this!
"Are you going to have to audition for him privately?" I finally asked, unable to think of a more delicate way of phrasing my question.
"Frau Schmidt said he would probably want to see me early next week, and I should be prepared."
"Look," I began. "I know there are rumors about him, but you don't KNOW whether or not they are true. Maybe the rumors are all overblown and maybe he's a really decent person who casts his productions based on dancers dancing abilities. Maybe the other rumors simply aren't true."
"Maybe," Sari admitted, "but Frau Schmidt asked me if I was a virgin."
My eyes widened.
"I don't think she likes what he does. But there's nothing she can do about it."
