Debut, Clean Sweep, Encore

Mid morning Friday, his cell rang. Chris recognized Melanie's caller ID. She was far and away his closest confidant and best friend - and long-ago former lover. They lived now on opposite sides of town, kept in touch pretty well, mostly by email and about six-monthly dinners. He hadn't talked with her for several weeks, so he answered – a rare thing for him, interrupting his thoughts for a call.

She launched at once. "Chris, I have a problem, a family thing, and was wondering if I could impose on you..."

He reassured her – "Sure, just ask!"

"Well, I'm up here at the mountain cabin, and you know the long step stairs in back, I was half-way up them with a sack of groceries and I got attacked, blindsided, by a goddamned RAVEN! She hit me in the head so hard, from the rear, that I lost my balance and fell down the steps. And broke my damned wrist..."

She hurried on. "I also walloped my head when I hit the ground, and I have a classic medium-strength concussion. One pupil is pretty dilated, it's really hard to focus. So they insist on keeping me here at Podunk hospital at least overnight for observation. More likely they'll keep me two or three days. Which is undoubtedly –damn it all!- for the best – I don't need to drive 210 miles, half of it on crappy roads, while worrying and unsure of my abilities. They'll let me out when they get a good clean x-ray. I won't know it's happening until it happens, and then I'll give you a call before starting home. Chances are, they'll let me go first thing in the morning, and I'll get home in the PM... but of which DAY I can't predict."

"My head will heal just fine – it's pretty nearly solid bone, you know. Meanwhile, here's my REAL problem... Juliet's very first real ballet performance is tomorrow – a matinee. Then evenings on Saturday and Sunday. She's pretty good, you know. She's one of the four cygnets in Swan Lake, at the University's theater. The Dance Department invited her and three others to participate – it's a full-blown professional production. My kid's first performance EVER, and I'm going to miss it! Damn! I'll most likely make it to the performance on Saturday evening – and if not, then Sunday. But those aren't the same at all, emotionally... they would be 'not first time'."

Chris understood, mentally raced through his plans and schedule.

Melanie continued. "Your last email said you were planning on doing woodwork for a couple of weekends. Still planning that?"

He was.

"Could you go to the ballet in my place? The 'in loco parentis' thing? If you haven't anything else planned for tonight? It'd mean you have to pick her up at school at 1230 – that's what we agreed on, I was supposed to be driving home right now! You'll have to explain all this to her, too – she's pretty level-headed, but think about how you'll tell her! You'll have to pick her up, come home to get her stuff, drop her off about 1300 at the theater, then bring her home afterwards. She can take care of herself just fine at home alone overnight, that's never a problem. The performance starts at three, and ends a little past five. And – if it wouldn't be too much on top of everything, could you videotape her scene? Use our good camera - she knows where it is."

Chris was delighted with the prospect. He liked ballet – for the gorgeous, ultra-athletic bodies as much as anything. Juliet was also a good, close friend – their age difference seemed non-existent most of the time. Chris had known Mom since way "pre-Juliet" – in fact, since before the ultimately unfortunate marriage when Mom was just 20. Juliet was an accidental pregnancy, retained out of desire to be a mommy, and a hope that a child might solidify the marriage.

It hadn't worked.

Due to proximity and availability, Chris and Melanie had been lovers for a couple of years beginning right after Juliet's birth, but the affair had stayed secret and hadn't added to the marital woes. The Kid, as her Daddy called her, was ferociously intelligent... she had been skipped a couple of early grades and was now well into the local Junior College. Chris felt it would have done both her and the school system a service to just hop her from sixth grade straight to college. Everyone who knew The Kid said she was a very serious example of "precocious, going on thirty-something".

She was slender, attractive, had just reached five feet and perhaps 92 pounds: like her mother, Juliet's puberty had arrived disturbingly late, but she was developing rapidly now, sporting hips and very early boobs... still AA or AAA. Hence she still qualified for any choreographer obsessed with tiny, boyish-chested dancers – the classical Balanchine shape - "Yes, she's certainly female, but almost a boy in spite of it". But Juliet would almost certainly, and quite soon, sport her Mom's 32-C bosom. And she was hugely sexually attractive to Chris – had been so for many years - something he'd been exquisitely careful not to reveal.

Chris and Melanie went through the needed instructions. Just before hanging up, and after copious thanks from Melanie, he had a thought and said "Do you suppose I should take her out to dinner afterwards, to celebrate? What would you have done?"

Mom replied that that was a nice idea, but un-necessary. "Unless of course he WANTED to start dating women her age! In which case, go right ahead, but just remember that The Kid has expensive tastes."

He parked beside the school's six-foot stone mascot at exactly 1230. Seconds later Juliet emerged complete with backpack, her long legs dangling from short-shorts, standard early-summer wear nowadays. She scanned the area, spotted him at once, trotted over. She was fast. "Hi! How come you're here? Where's Mom – what happened?"

He motioned her into the car, explained the situation.

She looked crestfallen, borrowed his cell, got Mom online, and the women had it all sorted out by the time they arrived at Juliet's. She invited him in, trotted upstairs in a rush, returned with the camera and her performance-baggage.

Enroute to the car, he broached his idea of a post-performance dinner. "To celebrate." She eyed him oddly (there were disconcerting moments like this when everyone wondered what sort of mental computations she was up to behind those pretty eyes), then grinned and said "So, Chris – will this be a real DATE-date, or did Mom put you up to it?"

Chris assured her that it would be just that – and it was entirely his own idea, too.

She looked pleased but skeptical. "Why would you want to go on a DATE with me?"

He replied perfectly honestly, "I know you well, have known you since before you were born. I like you a great deal, you're intelligent and educated and have lots of ideas of your own, and you're pretty and fun and you're a very good conversationalist. Is that enough reasons? You fishing for compliments? We're going to the Angus. If you accept."

She grinned, trying not to appear entirely too eager – she'd been so much smarter than every young male she'd dealt with, that she hadn't begun dating – she was still surrounded by "Boys! Ick!".

Juliet was, secretly, ecstatic - here came her first-ever date, and at her favorite restaurant! Much more importantly, it was with HIM - she'd had a belly-twisting crush on this man since before she could remember, and had always been oh so careful not to let him know. So, this was a great way to start "dating" – nicely scary – he was over three times her age. But she knew and liked and trusted him.

She giggled briefly and said "Then I accept! But it's going to cost you – the only thing I eat at Angus is the prime rib! But you already knew that."

He knew, because he'd been there with her and Mom several times.

She hopped out of the car at the stage entrance, rummaged in her pack, handed him an envelope. "Here's Mom's ticket and a parking pass for the cast and crew area. Thanks so much for coming! And for all the help!" Then she was gone, mixing instantly with a crowd of fellow dancers and crew.

Chris watched her go, mentally debated exactly what tack he should take. This time alone and personal with Juliet was developing into a near-fantasy scenario, and he realized he'd better keep a clear head about it all. Friendships like his and Melanie's were awfully valuable, and what an easy way this presented to screw things up royally.

Finally, he decided to play it as the date he had asserted it to be. The Kid was able to handle it, of that he was certain. But no pushing on his part.

However, flowers for a performer wouldn't be pushing, would it?

At the local flower store he got eighteen long-stemmed semi-miniature white roses plus a single red, all packaged in stay-fresh wet-wraps. Then home to shower, shave, and get pretty for the lady. It was her special occasion, so he should honor it. Tie, white shirt, good sport coat and slacks – he could, when needed, make himself into a truly attractive package. Running eight miles a day helped!

He checked with the Angus – no reservations needed or taken. "Just show up hungry."

At 1445, with camera in hand, he found his seat.

The performance was genuinely GOOD – and the four cygnets performed note-perfectly, demonstrating why they'd been invited. He got it all on tape – the camera had fine low-light and zoom capabilities. Juliet made a stunning, sexy, and very small ballerina. The compliments he was preparing mentally were thoroughly genuine.

At the final curtain, he left the theater – there would obviously be several curtain calls. It only took a moment at the car to exchange camera for roses. Backstage, he spotted the four cygnets in a cluster, tucked into a private niche amongst the props, accepting congratulations, looking self-conscious but embarrassedly pleased. When the maelstrom of well-wishers had passed and left the swans in an isolated pocket of stillness, he tucked the roses behind his back and approached from behind Juliet.

The other girls' eyes alerted her. She turned, her jaw dropped. "Chris! I've never, EVER seen you in a coat and tie! You look BEAUTIFUL!"

He actually blushed, but returned the compliment, making sure it went explicitly to all four swans. He commented on and praised the performance, then whipped out the flowers. Juliet gasped, blushed, and whispered "For ME!? Chris... I've never gotten flowers before! Especially not ROSES!"

Before handing them to her, he took three whites and gave one each to the other girls.

He put the bouquet into Juliet's hand, leaned down and gave her a quick, "friends" dry-kiss. With their heads together that way, she muttered "Why the single RED one?"

He whispered back "That's YOU in the crowd, so far as I'm concerned!"

She flushed deeply, prettily, eyed him as he straightened up again. She smelled the flowers, seemed to be contemplating for a moment, then turned to her friends and said "Cygnets, this is Chris. He's my DATE tonight. We've been friends a long time, but tonight he's my date. For real!"

The youngest girl giggled, then said shyly to Juliet, "But... last week at rehearsals, you told us all you DON'T date!"

Juliet retorted quickly "Wrong! You didn't hear me right. What I actually SAID, Miss Alzheimer's, and I meant it, is that I'm not interested in BOYS. I won't date BOYS. Never have, and never will!" She took Chris's arm, possessively and asked Southern-Belle sweetly "Does this look like a BOY to any of you?" Then to the youngest, "Here. Hold these for me for a minute, please?" Puzzled, the cygnet accepted the bouquet.

Juliet faced Chris squarely, reached up to put her arms around his neck. She was still sweaty, with fabric sticking wetly to her in various places. Chris's cock sprang instantly to a potentially embarrassing full stand. From very close, with eyes wide and tightly focused on his, she whispered "My first date, flowers and performance all at once. Would you really KISS me, too... right NOW? Please!?"

No problemo! He leaned towards her – her lips parted, she was definitely ready. He paused and asked, nearly silently, "Not just showing off for the other girls, are you? Better not be!"

She shook her head. No, this was for HERSELF, not the audience.

Unexpectedly, she met him with mouth open, breathless, soft, urgent, no hesitation, no tentativeness. In half a second they had airlock, in another half he had parsed her invitation and invaded her with his tongue and she was following him as if in a formal dance.

A second later, a tidal-wave of pure lust and need washed over her and she shivered hard against him, feeling in his response that he understood far better than she what she was going through. Oblivious to the three girls ogling them, Chris slid his hands down to cup Juliet's buttocks, squatted a few inches, then stood, lifting her cleanly off the floor and rolling her pubis against the lump of his erection. It was perfectly clear to HIM that he was cradling in his arms the young persona, and equally clear that he was kissing the thirty-something within.

A most interesting and confusing dichotomy.

At five seconds, pure magic happened. Chris sucked a breath in through her nose, and it triggered something deep inside her. She sagged against him in the most profound surrender – surrender, need, and urgent invitation. Both of them felt as if they were genuinely melting into each other, body and soul. An almost transcendental experience – something he had encountered only twice before.

Thirty seconds passed, then a full minute. Finally, slowly, they relaxed enough so that she could slide down his cock-bump to stand unsteadily on her own feet again. The air between them rose past their faces, superheated, saturated with their own mingled subtle odors. Juliet looked vacant, dazed, slightly confused... and very pleased and satisfied.

The three witnesses looked at one another, then at the couple, and the one holding the bouquet said "WOW! That is some kissing!"

The tallest shook her head: "I bet we don't get our share of THAT the way we got these nice roses! Darn it!"

That brought Juliet around a little: she took Chris's arm, reached for the bouquet, smiled gently at the three and said "That kissing is all a complete secret, please. And NO, you do NOT get a share! I'm very selfish about some things. Not roses, just some things." Then, up at Chris, "I'm pretty sweaty and it's getting chilly here. I think we should go now, so I can clean up and we can go to dinner."

They made their exit. It wasn't until they were almost at the car that Juliet's knees and ankles seemed to be working properly again.

They were completely silent on the short drive home, both preoccupied, Juliet still almost in a daze. The echoes of the kiss still roiled both their bellies as they entered the house. Chris was mentally turning over the unease with which he'd been wrestling, with increasing vigor, all day... the question of what to do about their blatant mutual sexual interest was now front and center. The kiss had done that, in spades.

Inside, she offered him a beer or wine from the fridge. "I'm going to shower right away. Gotta get rid of this makeup and sweat and hair-gunk. Icky! I'll only be a few minutes. I'll be right back down, and I AM STARVED! It's gonna cost you big-time!" She disappeared up the stairs, and shortly he could hear the shower running in her private bathroom. Then the shower stopped and moments later the hair drier came on, loud and clear.

Through her ablutions, Chris sat – beerless - on the couch, musing on what to do, between them, for the rest of the evening? Choices seemed to bifurcate. Level One – stop or continue? Open up opportunities, or foreclose them? He could, of course, do the socially-responsible thing and call a halt to the evolution of the day. But that might not be particularly easy: it wasn't as if all he had to do was stop reacting! Rather, it would require some pretty definitive application of brakes.

Letting things continue was Level Two, which itself bifurcated. He could hold himself absolutely in check and play tag-along, just following her lead – which, he suspected, would get them into some mutually enjoyable activities eventually (and not a particularly delayed 'eventually' at that!). Alternatively, he could go at her full-tilt, actively using all of his not inconsiderable abilities to seduce and persuade her into something which, he was certain, she actually WANTED. Namely a serious sexual interlude. Query on that – was she still virgin? Likely so, if that had been her first kiss and this her first date. More complications! But the "active seduction" approach was surely a guilt-trip producer, and might be resented later, after due thought and experience on her part.

He was still pondering when the hair drier went off abruptly, with a rather peculiar sound. A few seconds of silence, then Juliet's voice floated down the stairwell: "Chris, could you come up here for a second? I need your help with something."

"Coming right up!" he called. He knew where she was, he'd actually helped build the house. He'd expected to find a broken hair-drier and a half-dry head of hair.

He was seriously, SERIOUSLY, wrong.

At stair-top he turned immediate right into her bedroom, and came to a halt as if hit by a sci-fi paralysis ray, rendering him wide-eyed and speechless.

She lay on her back in the middle of her queen bed, her body covered only by the thinnest, most flexible and clinging red satin sheet. Her golden hair, obviously dry, floated like a sunburst around her face, draping over the matching satin pillowcase and lower sheet. She had the covering sheet drawn up by the hem, held coyly against the underside of her chin with both hands. Only face and hair actually showed – but the satin clung to every plane and curve of her body like the final coat of paint on a lipstick-red Corvette. Her nipples, even the differences in texture between nipple and areola, were as obvious as if she were entirely naked. The long dimple of her midline was spectacularly on display, the well of her navel, the slight puffiness where a mere dusting of pubic hair modified the drape over the rise on which it grew.

She smiled at him, pleased at his out-of-character discombobulation. It was nice she could do that to a man! ("And on my very first try, ever!" she said to herself.)

"Would you terribly mind if we have a late dinner?"

He couldn't answer immediately. After waiting a few seconds and seeing that his engine was still totally stalled, Juliet threw back her satin covering and lay there raised up on one elbow, completely exposed head to toe, legs slightly parted, nipples outrageously hardened. Her whole upper body was flushed bright pink – embarrassment, sexual, both. Her nipples stared squarely at him.

Nervously she patted the bed beside her, not knowing quite what to expect, obviously hoping. "Why don't you get naked, like me, and get into the bed with me? I really think it's the best place for you to give me the help I need. And I really truly do need your help!"

He finally stepped forward: cobra and mongoose, him the cobra. He turned loose a look that made her goosebumps rise – it was pure sensual, solid lust, and it both pleased and very nearly frightened her.

He sighed.

She waited, patting the bed slowly and steadily.

Finally, he told her "I'd love to. I'm considering it pretty damned seriously. But, Lady, this is a genuinely important thing, so let me get out on the table a couple of thoughts I was having downstairs. Okay? We don't want to be in so much of a hurry that we wind up hating ourselves afterwards..."

She nodded, pouting, and replied "OKAY ...I guess... But don't take TOO long analyzing things!"

"Juliet, you are enormously attractive sexually and in lots of other ways. I'd love to make love with you."