The Dancer's Deceit Ch. 01

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Summary: When Jake and Alyssa meet, it's an instant love connection. She's amazing in every respect and everything seems perfectly idyllic. Her friends, who keep finding ways to get her out of her clothes, may start to drive a wedge between them.

Chapter 1 - Thirsty Thursday

In my business psychology class, we learned about something called "Imposter Syndrome." It's defined as "the persistent inability to believe that one's success is deserved or has been legitimately achieved as a result of one's own efforts or skills." It's also a very good explanation of how I feel whenever I think about my girlfriend of eight months, Alyssa. I'm batting well out of my league, and she really seems to love me. It's incredible, and if I stop and think about it, I find myself with the consistent inability to believe that my success with her is deserved.

She's incredibly smart, driven, stand-up comedian level of funny, very down to earth, and humble despite all of her success and accolades. And, she's practical; despite being an amazing dancer, here on a fine arts scholarship, she has a dual major - business and dance, with a minor in education. Her goal is to dance for as long as her body holds out, and then to open a studio and teach.

I'm almost done with my MFA in theater management, have a part time job, and I volunteer in the theater department part time. I was working backstage when I met her. Alyssa, the love of my life. She's a dancer and looks every bit the stereotype. She's five foot five, slender, with long, insanely beautiful legs, sinewy but defined muscles, lightly visible abs, an amazing butt, and a face that is a cross between a model and the girl next door. Her chest is a bit larger than most dancers, but still only a big B cup. She jokingly calls herself a B-/C+ because, depending on the brand and item, she can be either. Still, on her frame, they look great. And they're the perfect shape and density, with cute eraser-head nipples and small pink areola that crinkle and pucker when her nips harden. Although they can erect due to all the usual suspects; temperature, fear or surprise, suspense, they're a highly accurate and early gauge of sexual arousal.

Claiming that chaffing and razor burn don't go well with unitards and sweat, she goes for laser hair removal a few times a year. It's been enough years that almost nothing grows anywhere on her body, save for the small tuft of hair positioned a thumbs width above her faintly pronounced clitoral hood, perched atop her otherwise denuded coin-slot pussy. She rarely has to shave or worry about anything.

Doing what she does, she's very used to wearing tights, leotards, and leg warmers, and that carries over into her personal fashion choices. Dancing is a physically demanding activity, and she sometimes has very small bruises on her legs that she is very sensitive about. She chooses to cover them up or hide them, so her default uniform is thigh highs, a skirt, and some sort of shirt, ranging from a simple T-shirt to a camisole to a blouse and everything in between. She prefers the thigh highs so that she doesn't have to mess with tights or pantyhose under her skirts. She has told me that she has over thirty different pairs: sheer and semi opaque nylon, silk, cotton, wool, in multiple shades of most colors.

Don't get me wrong, though. Her look is high class; the shorter skirts and dresses are a few inches above her knees, but more often longer. No one can really tell she's wearing thigh-highs most of the time. A-lines, wraps yoke, panel, pencil, handkerchief; I don't even know all the different kinds of skirts she owns, but she looks amazing in all of them.

Her dorm is a large single; her roommate dropped out of school halfway into first semester, and she was never assigned a replacement, so she's living the high life for now.

It was a Thursday night; Thirsty Thursday around campus, one of the rowdier nights. I had a huge paper that I had to email to my professor before 1:00 AM, and I needed to finish it. It wasn't that I had unduly procrastinated. It was about 80% complete, but it was one of two papers for the entire semester, a big part of my grade, directly supporting my major, and I needed to do really well. I was prepared to go to the library when Alyssa offered me her dorm room. "I'm going out, so it'll be nice and quiet here. And, I can reward you for studying when I get home!" she teased, licking my upper lip and lightly cupping my hardening manhood.

Pat and Steve were two guys she knew from her business major track who were currently in her accounting class, and she had plans to hang out with them, and with Steve's roommate Zach. She had been paired with Pat on a project spring semester the prior year, and through that work had become friendly with him and, through him, Steve. She liked having what she called "normal" friends, who were people outside of theater, dance, and fine arts circles. Although I would have been more comfortable with two girls being her new besties, I tried to be supportive of her needs.

"The dance people can be wild, but no one wants to really let loose," she'd complained near the beginning of this term. "Nobody wants to eat anything. And they always end up turning it into an opportunity to show off. 'Oh, I choreographed a dance to this a few years ago,' or 'This music is so tired," she said with a heavy layer of sarcasm. "I really like the works of some jackass that no one's ever heard of who works primarily with a theremin and an electric xylophone.' Ugh! I love hanging out with normal people!"

I got all set up at her desk while she showered. She was always a distraction, even though, this night, she wasn't trying to be. Standing naked by her full-length mirror, so that I could see her from all angles at once, she blew her hair dry and applied her makeup. I really tried not to stare, but it was asking the impossible. I often marveled at how comfortable she was with her body. I had never had the confidence to just be casually naked like that.

"Shit!" she said, looking in a drawer. "Shit!" she repeated, now in her closet.

She was completely out of clean thongs. That was another thing about her; she often wore no underwear, especially under longer skirts, which meant that she owned very few. She said it was much more comfortable. Years upon years of yoga pants, leotards, unitards and Spanx had somehow conditioned her to forego underwear almost entirely. In deference to me, she tried to wear panties if she was going out without me, even though I would never insist. One of the reasons she'd given for her past relationships not working out was that the guys were controlling and jealous, and I had vowed to be the opposite.

I had to remind her that I didn't have an issue with what she wore under her clothes. "You hadn't worn underwear under your skirts and dresses on our first four dates, and I had absolutely no idea. I truly have no issue with you going commando tonight." That finally worked. She kissed me goodnight and promised to be home by about 1:00AM. She was wearing black, sheer thigh highs that stopped about three inches below her butt, a charcoal grey, knee length gathered skirt, and a black button up long sleeved blouse with white piping around the collar and sleeves, and white decorative buttons. Underneath, she had on one of her gauzy black bras, this one with turquois accents and straps. Aside from her workout bras, I think all of her lingerie was sexy if not downright risqué.

About half an hour later, I heard her laptop ding. A minute later, it did it again, and then three more times in quick succession. It was plugged in on her bedside table with the lid closed. I didn't want to pry, so I didn't open it or try to look, and texted her instead.

"Your computer is alerting something. Just FYI, it's not bothering me."

It took her a little over a minute to respond. "Sorry! That's my cloud photo storage. I never figured out how to turn notifications off! We're taking a bunch of pictures! I wish you were here! You can try to turn it off if you want. Photo app on my desktop."

I was curious, but I decided that the temptation to pry and peek at the photos would be too strong. I studied another ten minutes or so, working hard to ignore the chimes as they sounded. She must've had her volume near maximum, and it was nothing less than distracting.

Fearing the constant interruptions might Impact my paper, I lifted the lid and the screen blinked to life. Her wallpaper was the two of us, a selfie she'd taken on our third date; I was kissing her cheek. There was the photo app. I double clicked, and it opened right up to the photos page, showing large, quarter page thumbnails of all pictures, most recent on top. Three of the four were her two friends and a third, who I assumed to be Zach, acting goofy, each with a beer in his hand. The fourth was Alyssa in just her skirt and bra. I had to look twice to confirm what I was really seeing, and that it was from the same day. I scrolled down to the beginning of today's pictures.

The first picture was of Steve chugging a beer. The second was of Pat, shirtless, with a beer can held flat in front of him, a pocketknife in his hand, obviously getting ready to shotgun. The third was Alyssa, laughing, taking her shirt off, holding it wide open and showing her bra. The fourth and fifth were of her sitting on a chair, a plastic garbage can in her lap, leaning forward, with beer spilling down her chin into the waste basket. Then the three with the guys acting goofy, and then the one I had seen, the most recent, of her laughing, with just her skirt and bra. I looked at the time stamp. She had tried to drink the beer twelve minutes before the latest photo was taken. Even before I clicked to bring it full screen, I could quite clearly see her areola and nipples through the sheer fabric of the bra. I scanned the rest of the photo, but found nothing further incriminating; her shoes were by the door, her stockings were still in place and unrumpled, and half of pat, cut off on the side of the frame, with his shirt back on.

My phone buzzed, making me jump. I felt sure she had somehow caught me looking at the pictures.

"How's the studying going?" she sent.

"Fine. Organizing my research, started writing."

"So glad it's going well! Did you see the pictures?" she added the blushing face and beer glass emojis.

"It opened right to them. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snoop!"

"It's okay! I almost choked on that beer!"

I debated. I didn't want to seem overly possessive or anything, but I felt like the boyfriend could ask a simple question. "I get that you didn't want to spill on your shirt, but why is it still off?"

"Hahahah! I don't know!" Shrugging emoji. "It's just off! We're having fun! No one cares. It's not like they haven't seen a bra before, silly!"

I debated what to say, but I didn't want to take too long to respond. I didn't want her to know I was debating. In the couple of seconds I gave myself I couldn't figure out how to not sound like a jealous, controlling jerk.

"Sounds like you're having a great time! Don't let it get too raunchy!"

She sent me a kissy face emoji and two hearts. "I'm done drinking anyway. All they have is beer, and you know me."

I did know her. She didn't like beer at all, and she hated how fattening it was even more. "Vodka is only 65 calories an ounce!" she had told me half a dozen times. Her drink of choice was shots of vodka and plain old water as a chaser. She felt that it helped keep her in shape, and even if it was only partly true, I couldn't argue with the results. I tapped to like her statement.

"I don't care if you look at the pictures. If you can't be here, you can feel like you are!"

At that moment, I heard the notification again, and a new picture popped up. It was a closeup of her blowing a kiss to the camera. I texted her back a kissy face selfie and earned half a dozen hearts and the hug emoji.

Ten minutes later, another ding. I ignored it, continuing to work, wishing I'd turned down the volume, at least.

After another ten or fifteen minutes, it had disturbed me at least five more times. I had to peek, and I didn't feel as nervous about it because she had given me permission.

Picture 1: A large group selfie with a total of five guys. I didn't recognize the three new ones. Alyssa was still only wearing her bra on top, and her nipples were still just as visible, and were very obviously erect now.

Picture 2: Alyssa standing with two of the new guys on either side of her, a beer in her hand, obviously getting ready to shotgun.

Pictures 3-5: Alyssa failing spectacularly, with three photos right in a row of her holding the beer to her lips, her head tilted back, and beer spilling and spraying all over her, the beer pulled away from her mouth, now pouring down her front, and finally her arms to the side, the beer captured, still spraying, mid-fall. She was visibly wet, and the bra had, if it were possible, turned even more sheer with the moisture.

I very quickly found the settings and turned off notifications, then closed the lid before I got preoccupied revisiting the pictures. She seemed to be keeping me updated via text, and I hoped to finish my paper by midnight. That would be much easier without the distractions. I wasn't thrilled with what I was seeing, or more accurately what they were seeing, but I had no reason not to trust her, and I had vowed not to be jealous or controlling. The situation was unfortunate and made me uncomfortable, but I was trying very hard to be understanding. I tried to force it out of my mind so I could concentrate on my paper.

My phone buzzed with a new text from her about ten or fifteen minutes later. "I suck at shotgunning beer!"

"I saw that!"

"I got more on me than in me! (puking emoji)"

"Haha! You'll never enjoy beer if this is what happens!"

"Justin has vodka. He's going to bring it over for me! He's so nice! Won't even let me pay him for it!"

I had so many things to say. I chose the least jealous and offensive. "Who's Justin?"

"Him and Terry live across the hall from Steve and Zach. They heard us partying and came over!"

"Why didn't you put your shirt back on?" I worried that might sound too judgmental, so I quickly added a winky-face emoji.

"Hahaha! The door was partially open and they just walked in. It's just a bra. My bikini is smaller! Please don't be upset."

I wanted to point out that her bikini wasn't transparent, but I decided to let it go. The damage was already done.

"Have fun! Make good choices!" I wasn't sure about the last line, but I had to let her know I was concerned, and it felt like it did that while remaining light and breezy. Being too laissez-faire might make it seem like I don't care at all. She sent back five kissy emoji's and five hearts.

I sat down and tried to work, but I couldn't stop myself from wondering what was happening. I gave in to my curiosity and peeked, and the top picture, the newest one, was fairly close-up, framed to her smiling, laughing face. I was very comforted to see that she had her shirt back on, with the buttons all fastened. Without looking further, I closed the lid and breathed a sigh of relief.

I spent the next solid hour and a half focused on my paper, and I was very close to finishing. It was just after 11:00, and I realized I hadn't heard from her in a while. I stood to stretch, and I decided to peek at the pictures again, to see if anything else was happening.

The app was still open, the last picture I'd seen still set to full size. I realized just how nervous I was when, scanning the first few new pictures after that, I felt delight to see her shirt still on. They were obviously taken by someone else and from different angles, but they were all largely the same. Pictures of her cute smile, or her adorable pout. I felt lighter, as though a stress I didn't even know I'd been feeling had been released. I heard myself exhale, and only then realized I'd been literally holding my breath.

I smiled at myself, and walked over to her mini fridge to grab a water. I reminded myself that she'd never given me reason to mistrust her, and I'd been being silly. Sure, her bra was see through, but the guys had all seen bras before, and I'd bet really good money that they'd all seen boobs before. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't such a big deal. The explanation was innocent enough, even if the execution wasn't exactly what I'd have wanted. I felt much better about things, but I wasn't ready to sit down again.

I scrolled through the next few thumbnails, which were mostly taken from behind or slightly to the side of her. They all seemed to be playing a drinking game. The next picture was taken from a different angle, and I could clearly see that she wasn't wearing her bra anymore. The shirt was suddenly unbuttoned almost to her navel, and she was leaning forward to roll the dice, so that the camera could clearly see her bare boob and nipple. I felt my eyes pop wide, and my stomach lurched with unease.

The next six pictures were similar, with all but one having a clear shot of at least one bare breast, even the ones where she wasn't leaning forward. In one, it looked like she was intentionally flashing. Each picture was primarily of her, but the different guys were all there, too. The only thing that was more present than her breasts was her laughing smile. There was no question that they were all having a great time. I was at least thankful that none of the guys were in any state of undress, and they weren't playing stripping games.

I realized that I'd missed a few pictures when I'd last logged on, so I scrolled back, and I turned on the metadata so that the timestamps would show for each picture. There was one more of her standing, just after the failed shotgun incident, in her wet, too-sheer bra, with her arms to the sides and a disgusted, but smiling, expression on her face. She was leaning forward, holding the bottom of the bra away from her body, with beer literally pouring into the trashcan at her feet. Then two more pictures in which she was completely topless, wringing her bra out, with Steve and two of the new guys clearly in frame. Everyone, including Alyssa, looked to be laughing hysterically. These had all been taken after I'd turned off notifications, but before she'd texted me last. The skin on her chest and stomach looked as wet as if she'd just showered, and I wondered if any beer had made it into her mouth at all.

I quickly closed the lid and paced the room back and forth, trying to decide if I should text her. I tried to sit and focus on my paper, but over the next ten minutes I only got one or two sentences written. Against my better judgement, I went back and looked at some more pictures. These were from a farther angle, and I could see that she wasn't wearing her skirt, either. In the first, after clicking to enlarge it, I could see one nipple, but I could also see that the shirt was only buttoned in the center with the two buttons just above and just at her navel. The shirt was slightly open below, and she was sitting on one foot. Her legs were together, or mostly so, but I guessed that the guy across from her would be able to see something. I wasn't sure how much, but zooming in, I saw a little area of darkness that could either be a bit of her bush or a shadow.

Just then, my phone buzzed with another text. "How's it going, babe? I was just able to wrestle my phone away! The guys have been hogging it to take pics! Hahaha"

I struggled with how to respond for a moment. "Paper's going okay. I'm finding it hard to concentrate, wondering what kind of fun you're getting up to. Where are the rest of your clothes?"