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?
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.
“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.”
Please do NOT write to Ann at her e-mail address: logophilos@gmail.com, which has been provided purely through unfortunate human error, to point out the sickening stunted viciousness that would make a woman whose entire life is penis-porn report someone for a one millimetre penis.
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.
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