K&T, LLC Ch. 04

As soon as I was through the curtain, Maggie asked me to take off all my clothes. I expected measurements, but this was over the top. I was about to object, when Francine Martel stepped past the curtain. Without a word, Maggie put down the tape and stepped out. Looking at Martel's face, I did not blame her. There was no point in trying for the first punch, so I waited for it.

I did not wait long. "Jo Jo, are you trying to fuck up the wedding or are you just slow?" After being shredded by Sheila, who never raised her voice, I expected better. It is interesting that she remembered me, even though she was close to 10 years older. However, the gauntlet had been thrown. I was no stranger to verbal swordplay. If Francine's approach was more two handed broadsword, I would try for the rapier.

"I am not willing to concede that those are even choices, much less the only two. If you have a point, I'll listen. Speak to this side. It's the deaf one."

Martel started to reply, then snorted a laugh. "Good one. You almost snuck that one past me. No wonder Ricky says you're smart. OK. Are you going to do this, or are you going to quit again?" That was much better. We could converse at this level. Still, I was not yet ready to answer her question.

"I'm impressed that you remember me. Sheila doesn't."

"Schwartz didn't have a crush on your brother, back then. That brings me back to my point. You have a tough fucking road ahead of you if, and I emphasize if, you can do it at all. I have not seen any sign you even understand what you are up against." Finally, something I could be clear about. I could cop to not understanding what the hell was going on. Martel must have seen something in my face, because her expression softened—sort of.

Martel continued, "That's better. I can teach, but not if you already know everything. I won't lie to you. It will be a cast iron bitch, and you need to start five minutes ago—literally before you walked in this door. So, you need to decide right now. If its any comfort, Cums-a-lot will be doing it with you, but she is way ahead in several important areas and does not have your physical issues. It will be a fucking death march, if you do it right, but you'll also learn a fucking lot." With most people, I would be inclined to make a sarcastic remark about sweet talk, but this was Martel's version of calm and reasonable.

"Where do I start?" I asked.

Francine nodded. "Good question. Maybe you do have some brains. Posture. You've been slumping for twenty plus years and we have four days to fix it." Then she started a well used lecture on how vertebrae stack, muscles align, balance improves—with a call to Maggie somewhere in the middle. Then she said something that grabbed my attention. "Bad posture throws your balance off and makes you clumsy."

That made too much sense to ignore. I have always been big for my age and especially for my sex. I have always been clumsy. The two were always linked in my mind. Moreover, it was always Mother's favorite scold. Following Martel's logic, if I was off balance, I had to spend resources to keep from falling over. That meant fewer resources in a crisis situation—such as Aunt Beatrice' Ming vase. I had liked Aunt B, so I still felt bad about her favorite vase.

Movement brought me out of my reverie. Francine Martel was doing ballet en pointe—in street shoes. As my eyes bugged, Martel was saying, "Of course, I will never be like Schwartz. I won't say no one is, but you have to understand, I know the very best. What?"

I looked down at her feet. Martel snorted and said, "Hell, that's nothing. Just fooling around. Watch this." She raised her left foot off the floor and brought it vertical, without using her hands. Then she put her foot on my breast. "I always wanted to fuck in the ballerina position, but I'm too damn short."

Before I could think, I said, "Do a girl with a strap on." I'm a lesbian. That sort of comment is natural—among friends. My face heated like an oven. Martel smiled very wide, then, still with no hands, she bit my nipple. That shifted my heat much lower. Before things could go further, our audience cleared her throat. It seemed that Maggie had returned. Even Martel blushed. Then, without a word in parting, she turned and walked away, still en pointe.

Maggie was smiling a knowing smile. I no longer needed to guess that she was lesbian; she was advertising the fact. Her tongue peeked out of her lips as she motioned for me to strip. Damn. It had been a long time since I was asked to show it all. Even as my face heated, so did other things. Maggie was old enough to be my mother, and then some, but she still had eyes.

I peeled off my T-shirt, then kicked off the boots and dropped the pants. Now that I was down to underthings, I had a twinge of shy. Meanwhile, Maggie had moved behind me. I was about to reach behind for the hooks, when Maggie said, "Allow me." Even before the bra slid off my arms, Maggie had her tape around my torso.

It would not be correct to say that Maggie was completely professional, but it would not miss by much. She started at my hips and took measurements every 2"-3" all the way up. When she reached my tits, Maggie asked me to take the weight off them, but not to pull them out. Then, she measured over the top, situating the tape directly over the nipples. There might have been an extra adjustment or two, but Maggie did not linger.

Once the latitudes were covered, Maggie started getting vertical measurements. Hip to armpit I could understand, but why naval to sternum? Then Maggie pointed to a chair and asked me to bend over and place my hands on the seat. With my tits hanging, Maggie measured the circumference in three different places, plus top to bottom and the full U. Finally, Maggie pulled out a large caliper and measured front to back and side to side. By the time she finished, I was sweating.

Maggie smiled at me and said, "Don't worry Ducks. You aren't the first and shan't be the last. You're tall, I give ye, but everything else is normal. Julian'll have nae troubles. That little slip of a thing has had to be full custom, not that she truly needs it. Dancer is she? She moves very well, though not like Miss Sheila. Tain't never seen her like, nor likely to." With an accent like that, it was a wonder she did not go by Peg.

I said, "Miss Sheila is marrying my brother. That slip of a thing is world famous, named Francine Martel. Sheila may have mentioned her. She, Martel I mean, told me I had a lot of work before the wedding Saturday. Was that the real deal?"

"Oh, aye. If ye wish to stand up with the likes o' those two, ye best wear the piece morn to e'en, or e'en at night. If ye wish, I'll include a posture trainer. Scolds mask would be better, but ye could nae speak." Maggie snickered. "Bound up like wee Miss ye'll be." That had to be a reference to CC. Martel had said I could learn from the submissive, but this was not how I took her meaning.

I had to ask. "Maggie, is there a reason that they don't call you Peg?" She smiled and said, "Many have wondered, though few ask. Me name hight Magdela, not Margaret. Ye send in the Lady Dancer. She'll take but a moment." In appreciation I said, "I am Siobhan." Maggie was one person that would get the pronunciation correct.

When I stepped out of the booth, I saw what Maggie had meant. Martel had CC doing something that looked like yoga. It also looked painful. I looked at Martel and flipped my head. She broke off, in mid lecture. Instead she told CC, "Show Jo Jo second position. It's good for beginners." I might have taken offense, but I suspected it was not meant as an insult.

Whatever the intent, CC moved with alacrity. Before Martel had crossed the room, CC had settled into a common submissive posture. Given our earlier conversation, I noticed that CC's back was flagpole straight. Perhaps that was the point. CC managed to make it look comfortable, but I knew my knees would hate it. My big mouth had done for me again.

I lowered myself to the rug and realized that my boots were still in the booth with Maggie and Martel. That was OK. To do this, I would have needed to take them off. After much work, I was seated on my heels. I put my hands behind my back and grabbed one elbow, which caused my spine to pop in four places. After two tries, I managed the other elbow. Then I squirmed, trying to get halfway comfortable. When I had a moment to look around, I noticed CC had gone somewhere. Her body was there, but she was not in it. Crap.

I had no time to even think about doing something, because Martel came back out. Maggie had not been kidding. As she followed Martel out, Maggie said, "Ah. That be right good, Miss Siobhan. Ye'll get your back straight in no time. Now, if ye'll call the little Miss back. I be ready for her."

It took a moment to get CC's attention, but she popped up with no trouble. I could already tell that I would not be so lucky. When Martel turned back to me, I thought I caught a trace of a smile, but then she was all business. To give Martel her due, she appeared to know her shit. She coached me through some small positional adjustments, which allowed me to settle a bit more comfortably. The key appeared to be stacking the spinal vertebrae properly. Once that was done, my big issue was my knees.

Martel was completely professional, even clinical, the whole time. With each adjustment, she told me what she was doing, why and what sensations to expect. I learned more anatomy than I had picked up in my required biology class. Then she told me what to expect from the corset. That was TMI (too much information).

In passing, Martel mentioned that Sheila had spent a day corseted, at least eight hours of it tightly laced. I did not have to ask when that had been. From my brief conversations with her, I already knew that the scene with Jason had left a deep impression on Sheila. She would view the tight lacing as self discipline, possibly an act of contrition. Sheila was not Catholic, but the concept of penance can be found in every culture. This little taste had me thinking about what Sheila, and the others, considered normal, or even routine.

About that time Martel dropped to sit cross legged in front of me. She searched me closely for something. Whatever it was, she found it. With a bit of surprise in her voice, she said, "You get it. I didn't think you would—especially after seeing you—but you do." Get what? "We should get to know each other. I'm Francine." It appeared the hazing was over. Now, for the hard part.

"I'm Siobhan."

Chapter 9 -- 'Tis Fitting...

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

It may be hard to believe now, but Aunt Jo was once into the punk/grunge/goth look. She still has a mismatched set of Army boots, which she claims to have worn through six years of grad school. Aunt Jo also claims Aunt Frannie tried to get her to leave them behind and go shopping barefoot. Knowing them both, I believe it.

There is also something about Aunt Francine telling a story...

Francine:

I had not been thrilled when Sheila told me that Sean's kid sister would be in the wedding party. I remembered a ten year old brat that did not want to learn dance and made sure everyone knew it. Such girls came and went. I would never have paid any attention had Ricky Richards not been picking her up after practice.

Truth be told, Jo Jo Richards had more reason to object than most brats. At ten, she was already five feet tall, which made her taller than me. Some of the growth must have been recent, because she was very uncoordinated. While not heavy, she was also not thin or athletic. For all its beauty, dance is intensely physical. For Siobhan Richards, dance was not a suitable choice. Fourteen years later I wondered about suitability all over again.

Jo Jo had not stopped growing til she reached at least 5'11". While she was not as catastrophically clumsy as I remembered her, there was no grace or balance to her movements. While potentially attractive, she made no effort to use her assets. Worse, Jo Jo saw herself as big, strong and ugly—and dressed accordingly.

Body image was central to the problem. There were raw materials, but no vision and hardly any time to build one. If Jo Jo was not sold on making the effort, there was no chance to make anything work. So, I waited til Sheila was busy and confronted Jo Jo with my worries. Her reaction was gratifyingly appropriate. Admitting ignorance is rarely easy, especially for college types. Jo Jo also showed some spark, which she would need.

I started her on posture. It was easily the worst of her issues and several others were built on it, such as balance. She needed all the help she could get, which meant wearing heels. I had jokingly told Jo Jo that I would train her with CC, however it was not a bad comparison. When we met, CC also had dreadful posture. One week had seen significant improvement. However, CC was the most biddable person I had ever met. Jo Jo was well toward the opposite extreme. It was a case of the psychoanalyst changing the light bulb.

As the saying goes, make it march. After our little tete a tete, I returned to CC. She was attempting some stretches, without much luck. The ones she was doing required an open floor. I showed her how to lock up a section, so that she could flex at the edges. It is much like yoga, without the fancy names. I wished we were doing the Kama Sutra. My little tiff with Jo Jo had gotten me started.

After a few minutes of doing pretzels, Jo Jo came back out and signaled for me. I told CC to show Jo Jo Second Position. That would have been good for a laugh, if it were not also the perfect starting place. I went off with Maggie the Brogue while Jo Jo struggled to sit on the floor. CC was already in Second Position and starting to zone out. There is something other-worldly about that submissive.

Maggie had me doff the top. Per the usual, I had nothing under it. Maggie took a couple of measurements and promised me the corset equivalent of a padded bra. One of these day I will have to get pregnant, just so I can have tits for a while. Funny, the thought of breast feeding was getting me hot. Hormones were in the air.

Back in the parlor, we had to I call CC back to this world. Only a submissive would associate a display position with deep meditation. Her form was impeccable. I would have to tell Schwartz. Jo Jo was another matter, but at least she was making the attempt. I had half figured that she would refuse and the other half that she would give up, so this surprised me.

The next step is always reaching for the feel. Either she picked it up, or we could quit here. Some people never do catch the sensation when everything is stacked properly. Miss Meditation was a natural. Jo Jo was more normal, but at least she was coachable. Once she had something close to the correct position, I copped a squat so we could talk.

I had to admit, "You get it. I didn't think you would—especially after seeing you—but you do. We should get to know each other. I'm Francine." Something intense went on in her face, but she simply said, "I'm Siobhan." Why did I feel we had just done a pinky swear?

Moving on, "I was not shitting you. This is going to be Hell Week. Your posture is awful, intentionally so I think. You have no balance, no sense of center, no symmetry. That is a lot to learn, especially since you need to forget what you have been practicing for a couple of decades.

"I would say that you walk like you were in Army boots, but that's literally true. You know the worst part? I don't think you're really lesbian. You play it well, but you also notice guys. That makes me think that you got slapped down pretty hard in the high school dating scene. Since Ricky was popular, that must have been a real bitch. Speaking of real bitches, I remember your mother. I would say you couldn't be more different if you tried, but you obviously did try—hard.

"But, you're a grown woman now. It's time to put growing-up shit behind. Pick a star and steer by it. Let me tell you a story. It's about a hot shit disco queen at seventeen." I told her the truth and damn near the whole truth. For someone that can talk like she can, Jo Jo, Siobhan was being very quiet.

"The story is not very surprising. I have seen and heard hundreds of variations on the basic theme. I had was almost seventeen, entering my second year of high school, dancing every weekend at the local clubs. I had spent a summer with a touring troupe, doing a musical comedy, earning great reviews. Then, Sheila Schwartz entered my life.

"Sheila was only twelve and she had very little formal dance instruction. Oskar Gruber was a skinflint who almost never gave away anything. To Sheila, he gave a full ride. Naturally, I was pissed. Who was this too tall neophyte grabbing all of my well deserved attention? It would be below my status to complain, but making life miserable for the newbie was perfectly acceptable. Even then, I had a reputation as someone not to cross. For two weeks, Sheila Schwartz could not tie her shoes without me commenting rudely.

"Then I saw it. The position is not important. The thing to understand is that it is hard as hell to hold steady. I had never managed it without twitching. Until that day, I was queen of the floor, because no one else had managed it at all. I came into the studio and there was Sheila, holding it steady as a rock. I distinctly remember thinking that it was impossible. I saw it and I knew it was impossible. I owe much of a rather successful career to that moment.

"Oskar Gruber taught many things. Most things he taught well enough that he regularly sent dancers on to college programs and occasionally the big time. He never taught critical self-observation. Sheila taught me that. First, I watched her doing what everyone was trying to do. Once I had noticed, it was clear how far she surpassed everyone else. Then, I watched me. Dance studios have mirrored walls for exactly that reason. It was a humbling experience.

"There is no easy way to describe what Sheila Schwartz brought to the dance floor. She was good, but not great, athletically. I was inches shorter, but could jump half again as far. I was probably better at sense of balance, though that may have been the years of experience. I knew the positions and how to move between them. With anything that could be taught, I had an edge. It was like owning the first inch of a yard stick.

"One thing that set Sheila apart was an unerring sense of place, size, proportion, angle, whatever. She always knew exactly where something went, at tempo and without looking. To say it, that does not seem like much. In practice it manifested in a fluid grace that I have only seen equaled, never exceeded. I came to think of it as processing speed. Sheila saw life in wide band, while the rest of us used dial up. Her ability to do the impossible reaches and maintain the unendurable holds tied in somewhere, though some of that was just physical strength.

"Whatever the source, I suddenly had a standard that I could not reach. I tried. Mary, Joseph and Jesus know I tried. Even Oskar Gruber recognized the effort. I spent an entire spring semester trying to copy Sheila's walk. I eventually came to understand it well enough to do a reasonable imitation—provided you had never seen the genuine article. God only knows how many millions of dollars it has made me through the years. From my first New York Times review, 'From the moment Miss Martel appears on stage, she commands attention. Simply watching her walk is an experience for a dance connoisseur.'

"For three years I focused on Sheila Schwartz and struggled to catch up, with the certain knowledge that I never would. Midway through the second year, auditions were held for small parts in a Lincoln Center production of The Nutcracker. Of those chosen, I was the oldest and Sheila was, by far, the tallest. The producer wanted dancing dolls that were tiny and petite. Sheila was neither, but there was no question if they would take her. The question was whether they could afford to use her as Clara. Her performance as the Sugar Plum Fairy stole the show. Every single review focused on it.