Revealed in Dance Class

I remember the spring of '87 as vividly as if it were yesterday. It sounds unreal, but this was the school that featured coed saunas and I recalled seeing a coed nude swim featured on the school weekly calendar. A sophomore at UMass-Amherst with an interest in dance inspired by my high school girlfriend Heather, in January I was looking over courses available at the nearby colleges when this caught my eye:

Hampshire College

Dance: Partnering: Technique and Philosophy Tuesday and Friday 3:30 – 5:30

Multidisciplinary investigation of dance forms and ideas. Participants will unite their bodily forms to create a dynamic interplay of mass, movement and personality. Success will be driven by familiarity with conventional technique drawn from ballet and modern styles, along with a mind [particularly male minds] open to new approaches to dance preparation and performance. Class performance at end of semester mandatory for credit.

Curious, I signed up, hoping my limited experience – a year each in high school and college ballet classes - would see me through. I had always fantasized about both partnering with attractive females and performing in front of a crowd with limited body cover. I also hoped my 5'9", 145 lb. frame, honed to an athletic fat-free state by high school and club soccer and lacrosse, would justify the attentions of any crowd before which I might perform.

The first class was an eye – opener. It met in a small studio of about 600 sq feet, with a mirror and barre along one wall. Seven men and six women showed up, and listened to a brief introduction by Marisa, a leggy hazel-eyed brunette with several years' experience in leading ballet companies who had opted for teaching upon hitting 30. She was accompanied by Marcus, a Dane her age who would assist. She was dressed in standard but quite revealing dancewear, but Marcus had opted for a white unitard and what apparently was nothing more than a pair of nude bikini briefs underneath, forgoing the customary dance belt. For the first time in my life I felt my eyes drawn to another man's crotch, as the outline of his cock was clearly visible through this unusual attire.

After an initial stretching session that incorporated yoga, Marisa and Marcus demonstrated some of the specific techniques we'd be exploring that semester. They were amazing together, living up to the somewhat lurid course description. I couldn't help but notice that during a snippet of one pas de deux, Marcus' dick seemed to lengthen and push straight up toward his navel and then maintain that somewhat enlarged state. My own thoughts and heartbeat quickened at this flamboyant display of dance expertise and exhibitionism. My classmates appeared equally focused. After this the instructors provided a description of the underlying philosophy of the course.

Marisa put it like this: "While technique is important, in order to partner successfully dancers must also merge with their partners in an emotional and psychic sense. You each must show total vulnerability in order for your displays of strength to be meaningful, otherwise we in the audience sense merely defensiveness. We will be employing various preparation techniques to inspire this openness and acceptance of your partners. As you have probably noticed, the studio is kept warm and we are wearing less than ordinary classes would consider customary. This is to stimulate the openness I am speaking of. In fact we will encourage you to develop on your own a style that gives your classmates the trust they require to display their own openness to new dance ideas and to you as partners. As you feel your own defenses melt away, so will you see your classmates becoming more vulnerable and open to you as a dancer and partner." Whatever that meant.

After some more remarks on dance philosophy, Marcus told us of the general pattern for classes: 30 minutes of stretching, yoga and multidisciplinary studies, an hour of training in specific techniques and preparation for the final dance performance, followed by 30 minutes of warmdown and further discussion. While I was surprised at the amount of time spent doing things other than dance, the class was very intriguing and I decided to stick it out. This decision was easy to make, given how the class and its participants spoke directly to my joint obsessions with partnering and exhibitionistic performance. The women stood out immediately as interesting people I would definitely like to know better. There was Ami, a Hong Kong resident studying at Smith, a 5'1" Chinese-Thai with a perfect smile whose tight black leotard revealed a slender, flawless figure. Eliza, a tall, angular brunette from the suburbs of NYC wearing loose fitting clothes, seemed to have both an outgoing nature and a beautiful pair of breasts atop her slender dancer's body. Nicole, a 5'5" dirty blonde from Mount Holyoke with Scandinavian cheekbones and a fine figure, seemed especially attuned to the musings of the instructors.

To wind down, Marisa had us pair off to give each other massages with the lights in the studio turned down to foster relaxation. I ended up with James, an outgoing Hampster dressed in loose-fitting dancewear and warmups similar to my own who possessed the body of a well trained dancer. I jealously observed those classmates of mine paired with the females as they gently kneaded their partners' backs, calves and thighs. Two of the women were massaging each other. James seemed to know some of the other guys and I warmed to my task, figuring that a massage or two with men was an acceptable price to pay for getting closer to these fantastic women. His own massage technique was quite refined and I relaxed deeply under his capable ministrations.

That Friday I returned wearing a dancer's belt and loose fitting warmups. I was pleased to see that the number of men had shrunk to six including me, and that all three of the prettiest girls had returned. Even more pleasing was the fact that the latter had followed Marisa's recommendation to wear more revealing dancewear. I had not figured that the men would do the same, and was mildly shocked to see the five who remained [other than me] strip off their loose warmups in favor of tight, colorful leotards either with or without tights. Even more surprising it seemed that a couple of them including James had followed Marcus' lead in eschewing a dance belt in favor of extremely thin bikini briefs. The fact that I figured this out right away told me I was concentrating on an anatomy I had previously ignored. Once again I was treated and drawn to the sight of these tight torsos fronted by a pleasing, revealing bulge so unlike that of the padded belt. Later I noted that my own dance belt tightened measurably at the sight of all these capable, attractive dancers moving in unison to the metronome and Marisa's calls.

After yoga and dance technique we once again paired off for warmdown. As there was an odd number of students, I and Ami were instructed to give a massage to Kyle, an experienced ballet dancer outfitted in a dark green leotard, and then to trade off between the three of us. As Ami was ministering to Kyle's upper back and neck, I was relegated to his lower back, thighs and calves. I suppose I gave a good account of myself, as Kyle nodded appreciatively upon his sitting up. Once again I noticed that his cock, easily discernible through the leotard and brief, had definitely lengthened during the massage, and I felt an odd inner pride in helping to produce that result. My own massage from the two of them involved an additional twist. Marcus recommended that I remove my shirt so that the fabric wouldn't bind and make useless the massage I would receive from Ami and Kyle. I couldn't decide whether I'd prefer Ami's delicate hands on my bare back or on my covered thighs. The decision wasn't mine anyway as Kyle skillfully kneaded my shoulder blades and neck, while Ami worked on the back, outside and briefly the inside of my thighs. Interestingly enough, at the end she turned down my warmups to a point just above my glutes, and my penis swelled in response to her fingers probing my lower back.

The classes fell into this routine, yet each week seemed to yield a new twist. At the end of the second week Marcus removed his leotard and provided demonstrations partnered first with Marisa and then with Eliza, the most experienced of the trio of females. As I suspected he wasn't wearing a dance belt but merely some sort of thin bikini brief, which seemed to lack a lining. All the observers could clearly make out the shape of his large penis, pointing upward at about a 45 degree angle to the side, within a couple inches of his waistband. In addition, due to the thinness of the fabric we could discern the flesh color of his appendages, making an even more interesting display. When he next called for a male to volunteer, Kyle moved to partner with the tall Dane. We marveled at his strength and the delicacy of his technique, yet we couldn't help but notice the impressive ridge formed by his enlarged cock in those bright white briefs. Kyle too seemed receptive to the closeness of the partnering, and for the first time I felt I'd like to be in his position, physically encompassed by the imposing yet sensitive instructor. The brightness of Marcus' dancewear drew my eye to it, and I swore I noticed a tiny wet spot where the tip of penis lay, now pointing straight up and touching the waistband.

After class I asked Marcus what style of dancewear he was using, as I didn't want forever to be pegged as the lone prude in the class and wanted to match my attire to that of the other participants. I was surprised to learn from him that these were simply women's panties – he directed my gaze to the waistband where I could make out the brand. He casually noted that he liked the fit and feel, and the greater definition afforded by this particular choice. Marcus added that he'd trade anytime the freedom provided by the panties over the discomfort of the belt with its thong-like back, despite the "panty line" that some considered unsightly. He advised me to ask the other dancers about their preferences as well. Upon my asking both James and Kyle revealed their fondness for the same choice, and with engaging smiles recommended I think about them as well.

I thought about little else that weekend. I noted my own obsessions were gravitating away from just the women in the class toward my own unfulfilled penchant for exhibition, and the strange twist in that fetish formed by my interest in this new form of dancewear. Finally I could stand it no longer. On Monday evening I went to a department store nearby my dorm, and started looking. I could keep neither my heart rate nor my hardon under control after looking and running my hands over so many fine, soft panties and other lingerie. Finally I settled on four pairs of size 5 high waist sheer bikini-style panties in satin, two nude, one white and one pale pink. I also couldn't resist picking up a fine sheer mesh form-fitting camisole that would reach to just below my navel. I didn't know what the last was for, but for some reason I felt I needed it. I was practically shaking in my shoes as I checked the items out, but the pretty coed at the register just flashed me a sweet, knowing smile and rang up the sale.

The next day I wore a standard black leotard over the nude briefs – I had also shaved my legs that morning. That I, an exchange student previously unfamiliar with Hampshire, wasn't wearing boring loose clothes anymore seemed to draw the favorable attention of both the male and female dancers, as they seemed just a tad warmer toward me than before. I truly felt one with the class as we ran through our steps and then a pleasant warmdown, featuring this time an exchange of back massages with Ami. It was particularly arousing when she ran her hands down the backs of my smooth thighs. I also noted that Eliza wore a very revealing form of dancewear, essentially consisting of a low rise bikini brief and a top that resembled a supportive but glamorous sports bra. Her nipples were clearly visible through this sheer light blue garment, which drew the appreciative stares of pretty much everyone in the class.

That Thursday night my girlfriend visited from the small New York college where she was pursuing a dance major. I was very happy to see her and decided I had no choice but to tell her of my emerging obsessions. I put on the nude panties along with jeans and outerwear, then walked down to the bus station to retrieve her. On seeing me, she gave me a passionate hug while running her hands over my buns. This was followed by a quizzical look featuring raised eyebrows and a twinkling of her blue eyes.

"What are you wearing, Dave?", she asked, "your jeans seem to be over some really smooth underwear."

"Let's go back and find out," I replied as my dick swelled at her touch and inquisitiveness.

When we returned I could tell we were going to discuss this before anything else, so I didn't waste time. I opened up to her about the class and its underlying philosophy, and more specifically the recommendations of the instructors regarding attire. It was a small but pleasant surprise to hear her approval in these matters, which therefore promised a rewarding weekend. While declaring thus she was also stripping me, and nodded appreciatively when she got down to my panty - encased hardon.

"This is something not to waste," she purred as she tore off her own outerwear and hugged me in her red bra and matching bikini. As we ground together I marveled at the special feeling the panties imparted, particularly when my girlfriend ran her hands over and inside them and ground her pelvis against mine. We tumbled onto the bed, ready to make up for time lost since Christmas. I was wondering what to do about the wonderful panties wrapped around my pelvis when Heather simply reached inside a leghole, brought out my fully erect fat cock and brushed it up and down her own satin covered slit. This proved too much for me and I pulled her thong aside and thrust my cock into her. We stared at each other in awareness of the new strangeness this situation presented, and through our looks assured each other it was completely comfortable for both of us. Now I was beginning to understand what Marisa had been telling us of vulnerability and openness. As we breathlessly pounded away, she kept her hands on and under MY panties, running a hand down the line of my ass for good measure. I had truly never felt anything like it. Then as we began to crescendo, she reached down and grabbed the panties and gently pulled up. Then she rhythmically pulled on them in time with my thrusts, which forced the fabric between my cheeks for yet another new sensation. Soon I succumbed to a huge orgasm that had me practically crying out in pleasure.

I noticed again the twinkle in her eye the next morning and asked what was up. She replied that she'd love to come to the class and participate, an idea I had not thought of. I said we'd have to check but I saw no reason not to try. As we started to dress for the day she brought from her bag a package. It contained a new translucent blue leotard she had brought to fit her own 5' 7", 120-lb frame. She gave me a devilish look as she pinned it my shoulders, saying, "It'll be tight, but I think it will do." She held up the white panties with an expectant look, and I slid my legs through and drew them over my swelling cock. Fitting the leotard was not a problem due to its elasticity, although the stretching made it all the more revealing. With that we separated for the day until class.

When Heather presented herself to Marisa and discussed her dance background and intent, the instructor quickly assured her it was OK to join for the day.

During that class Marisa herself partnered with Heather, demonstrating some of the professional chops that had sustained a long career. Marisa was wearing a lacy white half top and a pair of low rise pink bikini briefs, which made an eye-catching contrast to Heather's French cut green leotard. As I cast my gaze across the room, I noticed pretty much everyone spellbound by the sights, and the men, even those I thought gay, had uniformly large lumps in their dancewear.

After Heather's departure the class settled back into its own unique rhythm.

Marisa told us the next week that she'd like us to increase our involvement in the partnering aspect of our dance now that we had demonstrated initial command of technique. This involved even greater willingness to shed the defenses we wear physically and emotionally. To demonstrate Marcus once again stripped to a nude bikini brief with an ornate one-inch lace waistband and danced with Marisa, now attired in just light green low rise panties and a matching top best described as a bra. Once again the class was daunted and amazed by their mastery of technique and the emotional honesty of their pas de deux, which climaxed with Marcus bringing Marisa down on his supine figure while holding her by the torso. With exquisite delicacy they closed with a gentle kiss as their bodies slowly writhed against one another. The size of the tent in his panties was truly remarkable, and we noted how Marisa's body had moved it back and forth during the interpretation.

As a result the men in the class began to adopt Marcus' standard of dress as their own, often spending most of the class in nothing more than a pair of unlined women's panties that revealed their hard cocks and swelling balls. I admired them for the simultaneous fearlessness and vulnerability manifested by these displays. I also couldn't help noticing the wet spots that formed on their dancewear where the tips of their penises strained visibly against the thin fabric. James in particular also began to vary the style of panties he wore, showing up one time in satin panties that had lace panels, and another time in a French cut red piece that highlighted the long legs that featured prominently in his dancer's physique. I found myself, oddly enough, as curious to massage, and be massaged by, these beautiful male figures as I was conventionally driven to get my hands on Ami, Eliza and Nicole.

With that I knew it was time for me to step it up. For the next Tuesday I finally brought myself to wear, along with the pink panties, the tight camisole I had bought the previous month instead of a leotard. Now I would be in the same revealed state before attractive men and women that I had seen Marcus and the others in. I was almost panting in anticipation at the prospect of showing myself to the class in this state. Upon arrival I slowly removed my outerwear, and could feel the soft lace hem of the cami tickling my torso and the cooler air caressing the band of skin exposed between it and the waistband of my panties. As a result I started to get hard. My ears were hissing with internal tension as I slowly turned around to face the class. I noted the looks of approval from my classmates and indeed of hunger on a few, not all female.

That class went very well and we practiced many specific partnering moves in the ballet and modern idioms. As men outnumbered women, for those pas de deux requiring one of each we would simply have a man take the woman's role. This required an ease between the male partners, if straight as I still considered myself to be, that was fostered in the knowledge that the partner was just as vulnerable. This in turn enabled us to dance with our bodies and our spirit, leaving our minds not to interfere but only to make inferences later.

Kyle and I had a magnificent practice session in which he, garbed only in a white lacy panty that left nothing of his lithe physique and imposing package to the imagination, danced and held me closely to the strains of Stravinsky's Firebird. Toward the end I could feel his hard cock grazing and then pressing insistently against my back and then my chest as I grasped him around the ribcage in my role as the dying Firebird. Sliding down, my face drew level with his lace panties and his cock brushed across my face. I gently moved my face across his hardon as it drew by, giving a frisson of pleasure to my partner, and I ended up on the floor, my hand cradled between his legs while his own embraced my head. The class softly applauded the performance, as much for the integrity of the performance as for our technique [to be honest, I wasn't even close to James or Kyle].