Last Dance

"Do you want me to come to your apartment now and look at the routine setups--and maybe show you I quickly can learn to dance them?"

"That would be wonderful," he said. He looked down into my eyes and I looked up into his. His hands went to my butt cheeks, and he pulled up and he leaned down. I went up on my toes. Our mouths met and we kissed, him taking hungry, tongue-in possession of my mouth, there in the frame of the window overlooking the Hudson River. I let my arms dangle at my sided, signaling surrender to whatever he wanted. I'd learned how to speed this along. I didn't have time to dawdle.

* * * *

He lived in a roomy artist's loft apartment at the top of an old building near the theater district. The living space soared two stories, with a line of large, industrial windows overlooking the city. The living and dining area spanned the window wall. Behind them was an open mezzanine level with his work area at one end and a king-sized bed at the other, with a bath between them. Under them was a much smaller bedroom and bath at one end, a kitchen in the middle, and a bookshelf-lined study at the other.

It was a masculine space, a bachelor's pad. But it was also the space of a confident, wealthy man. I felt comfortable and safe here.

He pulled me to him inside the door and we kissed again. He was much taller than I was and pulled me up into his body in an embrace. As we kissed, his hand roamed. It slid into the slit of my shirt, where I had the top three buttons unbuttoned, and he found and played with my nipples. He pulled the shirt off my back and let it fall to the floor. He was going to fuck me, and in this space I was comfortable with that.

"Nice," he murmured, but then he broke away, and said, "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a few moments." He went upstairs to the bathroom up there.

While he was gone, I roamed the large living space he had. The furniture was sumptuous, with a deep-cushioned sofa in front of a glass-topped coffee table, facing a tall fireplace between the windows overlooking the city. There was a wide swath of bare-wood floor. Papers were laid out on a dining table and I saw that they were from his current production. I found the schematics for the dance numbers and scrutinized them. Difficult, but nothing I hadn't trained to do.

When he came downstairs, he was wearing a silk robe, with matching sleep shorts under it. I could tell he was in full erection. He was a good eight thick inches in erection. He must have taken pills while he was in the bathroom. My thought was that he'd be hard for the whole night and that I was going to get a night of it. I had a vision of him on his back, his erection standing proud and straight up from his body and me riding it for hours while leaning back and grasping his knees. That was fine with me.

I had already seen that there were small spray bottles of lube and packets of condoms--Trojan Magnums--on both the coffee table at the sofa and here on the dining table.

He came over to me at the table and stood close behind me. His hands went to my hips, which he stroked with this thumbs, and he nuzzled his face into the hollow of my neck.

"I had my eyes on you from the moment I saw you this evening," he murmured. "I hope you are going to give you yourself to me."

I moaned and leaned back into him, letting him know he could have what he wanted and when he wanted it. "I came here hoping you would want me. Take what you want," I whispered. I reached back with a hand, grasped his erection, and slow stroked him.

He wanted it--all of it--the first time, almost immediately.

He did look down at the papers I was holding in my hands. "You've found the dance number plans. You think you can--?"

"Yes. Easy," I answered.

"How easy can you be beyond that?" he asked. It was the only hint of asking if he could fuck me.

"As easy as you want, whenever you want it."

He already was unbuckling my belt, zipping my fly down, pulling my jeans and boots off my legs.

"I think your boots back on, please," he said.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Such narrow hips," he murmured as I bent over to pull my boots back on. His hands were gripping my waist, his thumbs reaching to try to meet over my spine. His two fetishes. I could hear his heavy breathing. As I pulled my boots on--the only things I was wearing now, his hands moved. They went to my buttocks, separating the orbs. The thumbs pressed into my hole, stretching my opening apart.

I moaned for him. The bulb of his erection was rubbing against my buttocks, seeking and finding my spread hole.

"Shit. Fuck," I whispered as I felt him in place, the bulb pressing in between the stretching thumbs. Lodged in position, he moved his hands, gliding them up my body, one hand palming my belly and the other going up to cup my chin, pulling the back of my head into his chest.

"Fuck!" I cried out as he penetrated and moved slowly, but relentlessly up into me. Nearly ten inches spreading the channel, moving toward my core.

"Yes! Yes, screw me!" I declared.

He did.

* * * *

The pills did their job. He was ten-inches erect through the night, no matter how many times he fucked me. After that first time, he stripped down to the cowboy boots he was wearing. He didn't let me take my boots off.

I was naked under him, belly down on the papers on his dining table, and he was on his knees behind me, grasping my waist, thumbs stretching to meet over my back, his face buried in my crack. I writhed and groaned under him, my arms stretched out, my hands grasping opposite edges of the table, holding myself as steady as possible as he feasted on my hole and my cock and my balls.

And then he was standing, hovering over me, putting his erection in position a second time and whispering, "Such narrow hips."

I panted and groaned and scrabbled at the edges of the table and cried out, "Oh, shit. Oh, fuck! How hell the long is it?" as he penetrated and ran it up inside me.

"Quite long enough," he answered.

I recalled that Lyle said the man had a legendary cock. That turned out to be in length. It was nearly a foot long. He got it all inside me, with considerable effort each time, to where he was tickling my ass with his curlies, and then he fucked me in long, slow, slides. Somehow he'd gotten himself crowned. He felt different from other men. I only later found out it was because he had a godawful big bead pierced in the head of his godawful long shaft.

He fucked me and fucked me and fucked me, leaving me panting and shimmering afterward, belly down on his dining table, while he went to the window, smoked one of his European cigarettes, and then went and poured a couple of glasses of wine at his kitchen bar looking out into the vast living-dining area.

"I can do the dances easily," I said, calling over to him from the table. I wanted more than a night of sex from the man. This was my chance to make a mark for myself on stage. "But they look a little tame. I thought you said the play was incorporating fancy acrobatics."

"It is. It's meant to be. But I've heard criticism of that from others. Tell me what you mean."

I picked up one of the dance routine plans and carried it over to where he'd poured the wine. I was naked other than the boots, and I moved sultry, knowing I looked good. I wanted more than a couple of fucks out of this man. I wanted a job--a position; a career. "This dance is too static," I said. "You need something spectacular to end it."

"Spectacular? Like what."

"This dancer down here in the back corner of the stage." It was a more prominent dance position than the back line where Pautier was looking to fill a spot. "At the end of the number, this dancer should do back flips from here to here, diagonally to the front far corner of the stage, where he should end up doing a slow-sink, full split-leg position right here. Then he should jump up, put his arm around the waist of your Laurie figure, and swirl her off stage. Curtain and applause."

He looked stunned. "A dancer can do that?"

"He sure as hell can do that," I said. "I can do that. I'll show you. There isn't room for more than a few flips in here, but I can show you. Move that ottoman there."

And then I showed him. Doing two flips in the nude from one end of his living area to the other, ending with legs extended, on my heels, and slowly, ever so slowly, descending into the full splits. I'd managed it even in boots.

"Oh, my god," he exclaimed. "That was incredible."

"You want to see and experience incredible?" I said, slowly moving into a new, sexy position, sitting on my butt, fully facing him; spreading and bending my shapely legs; digging the toes of my boots into the floor and raising my hips; reclining back, both fists pressed into the floor behind me. I gave him a lustful look. "Come here and fuck me, Daddy."

He did, kneeling between my thighs, running an arm under my waist, both of us grasping his long, long, long cock. I thrust my hips forward and up, taking him inside me, and we moved together in the fuck.

"Oh, shit, does it never bottom?" I cried out as he entered, entered, entered me before he began the dance of the slow withdrawal and long, long slide.

"FUCK. The bead. It's killing me!"

Killing me good.

* * * *

Today

"You said you'd made a mistake when you answered that question six years ago on Valentine's Day," Theo Aristades said, watching Kirk preparing to leave at the hotel room door. "I thought you'd been in the business longer than that."

"I was in the business longer--I moved in with and danced in Claude's production for two years before that. But that was the day--Valentine's Day six years ago--that my work in the business changed forever."

"Because of how you answered this question when Claude Plautier asked it?"

"No, not completely, but maybe it had a connection."

"He asked you to leave New York and go away with him, just like I have done--what you've agreed to do. To go to Athens with me, where I will set up a dance studio for you?"

"I didn't tell him yes. I turned him down."

"I don't understand. You said you didn't want to make the same mistake you did before. Are you telling me you are only saying yes to me because you said no to him? You went with him, though. You worked in London for nearly four years before coming back to New York."

"When Claude asked me that day if I'd give up New York and go to London with him, where he was relocating, I said no and flounced out of the hotel room. He knew how much I liked working in New York. I'd seen him with a new dancer, one younger than I was. I was sure that Claude wanted me to say no. He didn't know that I had fallen for him and would have followed him to the end of the earth if he genuinely wanted me to. I didn't think he really wanted me to. So, I said no and stormed out of the hotel."

"And so, what was the regret? You didn't really leave him. The two of you became a team in London. You were the choreographer for his plays."

"That's because I couldn't be a dancer anymore," Kirk said. "I left so angry and grief-stricken that when I got down to the street, I wasn't watching, and I walked off the curb into the path of a taxi cab. That last performance of Brigadoon at the Valentine's Day matinee was my last dance."

"And thus a change of career," Aristades said.

"Yes."

"And you'd left Plautier."

"Yes, but he hadn't left me. He stayed with me in New York through several surgeries to save my leg. And they he took me to London and gave me a new career as his choreographer. I'd been completely wrong about him leaving me. It took us a long time to recover from my no to his question, though, and we didn't have a long time. Just two more years."

"He died in London."

"Yes. Of lung cancer. Those damn European cigarettes. He was already too far along when we met. My last dance. His last cigarette."

Kirk gave Aristades a piercing look. "I've said yes to going to Greece with you. New York isn't as important to me as relationships are. But I also said there was one proviso. That proviso is that you give up smoking. I don't want to go through the particular nightmare again."

The two held there for a few moments, their eyes locked. Aristades rolled over to a sitting position beside the bed. Then he stood, picked the pack of cigarettes up from the nightstand, walked over to a trashcan, and dropped the pack in.

He turned and smiled. "Well, I forgot to get you a Valentine's Day present," he said. "Will this do?"

"Let's hope it's a Valentine's Day present for us both," Kirk said.