She had peach coloured underwear on. Suspenders and all. She was a caricature and he knew it, but it didn’t matter. He liked her legs. She was very tall with long straight legs. It was how he liked his dancers. She was flat-chested, flat-bellied. Once, he’d given her a leotard to wear and had her in that with the gusset pulled aside. It had been powerful and good, but he’d felt sickened afterwards and never done it again. That night she’d been all the girls he’d ever seen and wanted but daren’t touch. And somehow it had contaminated his work so he hadn’t done it again.
08.27.2010
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Jonathan watched, spellbound. The music was thumping out, a jerky raunchy rhythm. Frank had his hands behind his head, watching himself in the mirror. He was grinding his hips, snake-like, like Elvis Presley and Gipsy Rose Lee in one. It was the most obscene thing Jonathan had ever seen.
08.12.2010
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He was fast, determined. He’d never taught anyone who understood so well before. He had to face facts: it wasn’t just that Delaney was exceptional, they had an exceptional rapport – almost mind-reading. Once or twice he’d caught Delaney watching him in the mirror – his face, not his body – and it was like he was reading his movements in his eyes. Word perfect with his body. It was uncanny.
07.17.2010
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Delaney turned his back on him and walked away. He found the buffet table and got himself another drink. There were some odd little sandwiches there. He tried one; it tasted of oily fish. He peered inside – looked like salmon. He closed it again and ate it, helped himself to another. The wine was nice. A couple of the women were watching him curiously, wondering who he was, trying to fit him with Jonathan.
07.09.2010
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He felt aware of Frank Delaney’s intentness beside him. Did the boy do everything like this? Either total indifference or total absorption. Christ, he’d be wearing to live with. He felt sorry for the legendary Nan. It explained how fast he picked things up though. He’d never seen concentration like it. Maybe he was nothing but a mimic. Well, the hell with that. Most dancers these days weren’t even that, God help them. To quote his aunt, they couldn’t emote their way out a paper bag.
07.01.2010
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The boy never faltered. He didn’t always get it right, but he got it better. He had the awkward leg movements better. His body angled better but, more importantly, the damn thing looked better on him. Like it had been written for him. Which of course it had, hadn’t it? It had been written for a body just like his. And here it was. The body.
06.25.2010
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There was something almost prehensile about his toes. They were long and almost even, very little curve to them at all. They seemed to grip the floorboards as he moved. It looked almost studied. Jonathan stopped what he was doing abruptly and asked, “Can you stand on pointe?
06.18.2010
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Occasionally he indulged a little in letting himself imagine Jonathan appreciating them, naked and up on his knees on the bed while he did it. But then it was only one more of a collection of masturbatory fantasies about Jonathan. A little weakness, a sickness, a foolishness, incurable and sometimes, he thought, what added piquancy to it.
06.11.2010
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“The last movement in the ballet, he lay down on a scarf and jerked his hips, simulating orgasm. There was a big hue and cry about the depravity of it all. It was toned down for later performances, they say. It’s a lost ballet, he didn’t write it down. They stage it occasionally, but it’s not the original. Well, we think we’ve managed to crack his notation and we’re staging our own,” he smiled, “orgasm intact.”
06.04.2010
Twice he found himself with a hard-on. Once when one of the girls walked in a ‘crab’ between a man’s legs, dark crotch out and open to the audience, and again when the same girl slid down another bloke’s body, legs wrapped around. Looked like ruddy sex positions and no mistake. The whole bloody thing did. He was surprised they didn’t ban it.
