My name is Francis and I teach ballroom dancing. I teach only adults. Although I've taught mostly in Boston, my story location is important. Much of this story is based on my actual experience as an instructor.
A month after I began my ballroom dancing career, Blossom enrolled in dance lessons. Her program was open ended. You might call it a 'life time' program, because her enrollment contract specified TBD as the end date. Not only was she very cheery, she was beautiful. A brunette, 5' 5" tall, Blossom had solid muscular thighs, and a big ass. For years she'd been at the gym doing squats. Blossom took private lessons in the afternoon, which meant we had the ballroom to ourselves. She followed me around the ballroom like a puppy, whether I was setting up music on the CD player or tying my shoes. Blossom was right behind me. She was always hyperventilating for some reason, which I later learned was constant arousal. In plain English, she was horny.
You may ask yourself, why do women take dance lessons. Obviously they don't get much attention from their husbands. I felt my students were getting a good deal; they got therapy and learned to dance for the same price. The therapy was essentially related to sexual dysfunction, so I considered myself more of a sex therapist than a dance instructor.
We had mirrors on three walls in the ballroom. If I lifted Blossom's skirt over her thighs I could see her ass cheeks in the mirror. She did not wear panty hose, and had a plump bottom. As we got to know each other, Blossom allowed me complete freedom, to massage her ass, play with her hair, or rub her lower back to help her relax. It became obvious to me that Blossom was on uppers. She was cheery all the time. Nobody is happy all the time.
Blossom was my student for three years. As I became bolder, I unbuttoned her blouse, toyed with her boobs, stuck my hand into her panties, and ran my fingers through her pubic bush. She never complained and never missed a lesson.
It was obvious she was married because she took lessons only in the afternoons. She mentioned her husband briefly one time, and I was curious about her sex life.
"Blossom, what does your husband do?"
"He has his own business", she replied quietly. "He sells insurance. And he's a sex maniac..."
Her comment took me by surprise. "A sex maniac? You have a lot of sex?"
"We have too much sex. He wants it all the time ..."
"How often do you have sex?"
"Once a month."
"Well, that hardly makes him a sex maniac, Blossom."
No response. She looked down at her dance shoes.
One day, after she'd been taking lessons for a year, she asked me to go to the opera with her. Rigoletto was playing and Blossom had season's tickets. Her niece, Heidi, was visiting from New York and had never been to an opera. Heidi was studying voice and hoped to be able to sing the part of Gilda, Rigoletto's daughter. Heidi was busty, so I assumed she had good lungs. I agreed to go with her and Heidi.
For an evening performance. Blossom wore a loose, knee length wrap skirt, which I thought was odd. I had worn a tux. Other women were wearing long gowns, in typical opera fashion. Her niece, Heidi, was wearing a dark, wool skirt and a loose fitting orlon sweater.
When we were seated in the second balcony, I was sitting between them. Blossom was on my left. The house lights were dimmed, and Blossom immediately pulled her panty hose off. "It's too hot for these," she said. Blossom leaned back and spread her legs. She pulled her skirt half way up her thighs. I got the hint.
She had been talking about the opera from the time I picked her up. Rigoletto is a very sad opera, with Rigoletto's daughter, Gilda, dying in the end. But as soon as we sat down in our seats her mind left the opera.
"Francis, pay attention to me," she said. "The screen has the English translation." There was a huge display screen over the stage. "Heidi will look after herself."
