He lifts his hips, freeing himself from the confines of his jeans, and the length of him springs free, hard and ready. I gulp, taking in the size of him. He isn’t huge like I’ve seen on internet videos. I’ll admit it, I’ve looked. Since I didn’t have a man in my life, it was the only place I could explore to see what I like. He is hard and ready though. I get what I’m supposed to do next and I bend my head over him as he cups the back of my head. He doesn’t force me down on him as I expected from those videos, but lets me explore on my own.
The first touch with the tip of my tongue has his hips jack knife up off the blanket. I don’t know what I was expecting, but seeing the look of pure bliss as I close my lips around the head of him is enough to know that I like this feeling. Like I am in charge. I have the power here even though he is bigger than me. If I were to rate the level of manliness, I guess I could call it, I would definitely say he is more masculine, although I don’t see myself as gay and effeminate. He groans as I explore with my tongue and mouth. I seal my lips around him and mimic the motions of up and down that I had seen on the videos. I discover there are certain things he likes and he encourages me with moans and soft whispers when I do them and there are things that he lets his head fall back and just enjoy the feel of, although it isn’t anything to push him over the edge yet.
One of the things I discover, he enjoys the flick of my tongue over the tip of him, and it causes him to jerk and groan when I do it. My mouth feels full of him as I explore, and I begin to wonder what will happen if I do it to him over and over. I squirm on the blanket, trying to find a comfortable way to lay where my length is pressed to the blanket and hard concrete roof. The pressure is uncomfortable, and I finally settle on leaning up on my knees so that it’s not pressed against anything but my tights, which I suddenly realize are the bane of my existence. Seeing and feeling his reactions of helplessness where I take charge, as he had been the one to take charge all week, have me throbbing in my tights.
His hands clench in the blanket below him as I start to flick my tongue over the tip of him. He raises his hips, almost in motion that begs for more contact, but I hold it back. He catches on quickly to what I am doing, and he only permits me to do this to him a couple of times more, before his ability to maintain self-control is tested.
He sits up and whips me around, so I am now the one lying supine on the blanket. He wastes no time working his way down, nipping my hips through my tights with his teeth. The shock of the feeling sends jolts of pleasure through my body, landing in between my thighs, and I suddenly understand the dance he had been doing with his own hips. The intensity is too much. I look down the length of his torso and see him swaying, hanging low and heavy between his thighs. I desperately want nothing more than to be back in control, pleasing him with my mouth. But I have pushed him past the point of no return. He has taken the lead once again, just like when we are dancing, and I bite the back of my hand to keep from shouting out when I feel his hot breath and warm wet mouth make contact with me, teasing me through the tights.
He’s merciless as he works down the length of me. The friction isn’t enough, and he knows it. He sits back on his heels after a few moments of torment, and croakily says, “Don’t all dancers require a warm up? Now you know how this goes…”
He breaks off his sentence as he watches my trembling fingers reach between us and cup him. He closes his eyes as he shudders, but opens them when he feels my other hand reach down subconsciously as I try to cup and squeeze myself to find relief.
“Not yet,” he commands, grasping my wrist and holding it away.
“Gregor, please!” I gasp, needing some sort of friction. I can feel my hips squirming under him as he denies me what I need, just as I denied him. We are feeding from each other, only this is a dance I don’t recognize and he’s the leader.
He lets go of my wrist and places my palm against the blanket at my side. My fingers curl instinctively finding something to hold on to. I feel his own hands at the waistband of my tights and I lift my hips as he rolls them down.
Shock slams into my system as the heat and relief I feel exit my body, only to be greeted with the cool night air, mixed with the warm puffs of his breath. I clench my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I want to beg him to touch me, or do the things I did to him, but my brain snaps my mouth shut, unsure of how to ask.
He blows on the tip of me and I try to sit up. Oh dear God! It’s too much, but with a firm hand, he pushes me back down. I feel my hands move from the blanket to the back of his curly head, and my fingers snare in his hair.
When the touch of his tongue runs up the underside of the tip of me, it’s so sensitive that I jerk under him, trying to squirm out of his reach. He parts his mouth over the top of me, trapping me under him, and my eyes pop open as the sensation of being engulfed in his mouth overwhelms me.
He’s clearly done this before. He does things to me I can’t describe. He uses his tongue in ways that I have no names for. I cry out, unable to stop myself as I wither under him, but he keeps me anchored to the blanket with his strong hands and arms.
I feel myself nearing the edge. But this time it is different from when I am alone. It’s long, drawn out, and more intense. Alone sessions usually consist of me rubbing myself to orgasm for the sake of relieving pressure. This is something else.
It’s like he’s drawing it out of me and it isn’t just centered at the length of me. I feel like every part of me is on fire. Every nerve ending is reacting. My skin is hot and flushed and my fingers and toes clench as my muscles freeze and release. He uses his mouth to draw it out and I hear the broken cries and pleas as I shout his name. He focuses his attention of the sensitive underside of me and that’s when he pushes me over the edge. I cling to him as he works me over and I feel like he has split my body into a million pieces. I shiver under him in the aftermath as he flexes and shifts, trying to adjust himself so he is more comfortable.
I gaze up at him through a hazy, cloudy vision. There are spots in front of my eyes that I continue to try to blink away. After a few moments, my breathing calms and I manage to croak out, “If you want…we could…you haven’t.” He kisses my babbling away, guessing at what I am offering him.
“Yes, God yes I want that. But it won’t be tonight,” he tells me. Consciousness fully returns, and I sit up on one elbow.
“Why not? Is it something I did?” I ask tentatively.
“No,” he explains as he rubs the back of my neck. Orgasms have made my neck tense before, but never to this extent. He must sense this, or experienced it himself, because he has been rubbing the tension away ever since he lay back down beside me. “That is going to be fun, and pleasurable, we’re both going to pass out from it after because I intend to make it everything you fantasize about, but it is going to leave you a little sore the next day,” he confesses. It doesn’t worry me. I don’t think he is going to intentionally hurt me. It’s just the reality of the act. I get why he is holding off though. “We both need to dance tomorrow and to the absolute best of our abilities.”
I can’t leave him in this state though. Pleasing me had pushed him to the edge of his breaking point, just as it had done to me.
I shimmy back down the blanket and his thighs tremble as I place my palms on either one and push them back so that I can get at him.
“Please, don’t tease.” His voice is low and guttural. His eyes are wide and wild, and I nod my head before I lower my mouth back on him, giving him exactly the kind of attention he needs. It doesn’t take him long. Soon I have my first experience moving a man to orgasm and I revel in the feel of him rocking back and forth underneath me. I react on instinct, which seems to be the right thing to do, as he had done for me, and then I crawl back up the length of him and collapse in his arms as we both doze off for a time, wrapped up in each other.
When the cold gets to be too much, we begrudgingly pull ourselves up and make our way back downstairs to the dorms to sleep for the remainder of the night. He doesn’t eve
n bother returning to his dorm, he crawls into bed beside me, pulling me to him and falling fast asleep within the span of minutes. I drift off just as content, lying next to him and wake to the sound of the alarm, announcing the day of tryouts.
Chapter Nine
After a hurried shower and breakfast, we make our way to the auditorium, where Madame Roussou and Mr. Schlewp sit behind a desk with papers in front of them. There is another impartial judge from the music department, as he will be conducting the band from the pit for the music pieces.
We catch up with Katarina and the rest of the drama club who are re-reading lines, and stretching to the best of their ability for the dance routines they had picked out. I join her and a small group of her friends, as Gregor makes his way around the group saying good morning to everyone. I notice how they all look between us and smile, and I wonder if it’s that obvious, what we had done on the rooftop the night before. The memory fills me with euphoria, just the boost I need to set myself into the mindset to perform as best as I can.
I stretch as I read lines and I jump up and down, keeping myself warmed up, as one-by-one the students and their partners are called to the stage. Katarina leaves us about an hour later, and I pause long enough to watch her audition, which isn’t too bad. She had elected to audition by herself rather than with a partner, as she had explained at breakfast. She didn’t want to drag anyone down if she was already mud in the eyes of Madame. I tried to assure her that that wasn’t the case, and she just shrugged and laughed it off.
As the time grew nearer and nearer for Gregor and I to perform, the lead in my stomach turned to flighty butterflies, and I had a hard time keeping that morning’s breakfast down. We made our way behind stage to wait for our names to be called, and with only one audition in front of us, my nerves began to get the better of me. I didn’t know how Gregor could stand there, calm and collected, but the third time I paced by him, he grabbed my arm and spun me into him.
No one could see us in the shadow of the curtains. Or at least, that is what I was telling myself and trying to convince myself to believe. Gregor pulled me into a gentle kiss which instantly calmed me somehow. His puffy lips grazing over mine were a soothing balm to my nerves. It’s as if he was saying, “I’ve got you” with a kiss.
“Calm down,” he whispered in my ear. “Remember the dance and let yourself feel it, OK?” he asked. I nodded as our names were called and he released me.
As we moved on stage, he pointed between us and I nodded again as I focused on him and him alone. The music started, a piece we had chosen together, and as I moved toward him, the rest of the world fell away. We moved together as a cohesive unit, allowing the music and the dance to wash over us as we told a story of the war of wills and the battle of outside discrimination. There wasn’t one misstep or wrong turn, and as we finished the dance, the entire auditorium was silent for a few moments, before everyone burst into cheers and clapping.
Even Madame Roussou gave me a nod of approval as she made some markings on her clipboard.
After a bow, Gregor gave my hand a squeeze and left the stage for me to perform the classical piece. I performed it again, flawlessly, as I was drunk on the euphoria of the last performance. When I was done, I moved stage left and he performed his piece, only stumbling in a few places, but for a drama student, he did remarkably well with the choreography. We then did the reading together, and I only had to whisper, “Line” once to pick up a line I had forgotten.
As we exited the stage, I launched myself at him and we hugged each other in triumph for such an amazing audition, and then in turn gave hugs to Katarina and his friends who were waiting for us backstage. I couldn’t have felt better about an audition than I had in my entire dancing career, and it was made all the sweeter by Gregor’s presence.
The next week was a nightmare waiting for the results to post, and my euphoria came crashing down around me when I read the casting post a week later. I had been cast as the understudy to Eric. I stood, staring at the notice board, realizing that even with the hard work and the excellent audition, there were some things in this world that were just handed to others because of their looks or the way their body was built.
I pushed through the crowd and ran up the stairs, all the way to the roof access before I realized, I didn’t have a key. I kept fighting back the burn in my eyes as I tried to turn around and flee the landing, to go back to my room where I could have a moment of privacy. But when I turned back around, strong arms encircled me, and for the first time since I had admitted to myself, or anyone else that I was gay and I wanted to be a dancer, I cried about the pain, hurt, and humiliation of discrimination that I had received because of it.
I vaguely remember Gregor unlocking the door and pulling us onto the rooftop, where we sank to the ground and he held me and rocked me. He didn’t comment on my tears. He let me suffer in peace and misery as I wept. He would never tell anyone about them either, for which I was grateful. He understood and even if he isn’t the kind of guy to cry, he let me know it was ok.
When my eyes dried up and my hiccups stopped, I sat back and patted at the wet spot on his t-shirt, feeling the flood of embarrassment run through me and hit my cheeks.
“Sorry,” I whispered through a raw choked voice.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he told me firmly, cupping my chin and forcing me to look at him. “It’s bullshit that men think they can’t cry,” he tells me. “It’s also bullshit that Eric got that part, and we both know it.”
I nod, not really wanting to think about the musical anymore. It isn’t like my dancing career is over. I have two more years to go, and I’ll still be a member of the core dancers. I suddenly feel ashamed that I hadn’t looked to see if Gregor had been cast.
“Did you get it? I’m sorry, I didn’t…” I trail off. He gives me a squeeze of reassurance.
“It’s ok. I did get the role of Tom Collins. It looks like no one got the role they expected, but everyone who was auditioning for a lead, got a lead…except…” He hugs me tighter, not wanting to have caused me any more pain.
“Except me,” I mumble into his chest. “I suppose this means you are going to be insanely busy now. And I won’t see you as much up here,” I comment, miserably.
“Yeah, maybe. You still need to understudy for the part of Angel for Eric though,” he mentions. My stomach feels sick as I remember the satisfied look on Eric’s face as I pushed my way through the crowd. He had gotten a lead again, and I didn’t. He had also gotten the lead of the love interest to Gregor’s character, and I didn’t. He knew that working so closely with Gregor was going to eat away at me. As if sensing my apprehension to this, Gregor continues. “It changes nothing for us,” he tells me.
I sit back and gaze up at him as he stares down at me. “I mean it, Colin. It changes nothing about the way I feel about you, so don’t you for one second think that you don’t mean the world to me,” he finishes. “Understand?” he asks.
I nod my head and settle back down in his lap. All too soon, his phone beeps, indicating that we need to get to class and begin rehearsals. I stand up, brushing the gravel from my tights, and rubbing anxiously at my eyes which feel swollen and puffy. Gregor grips my wrists and moves my hands away.
“It’s going to be alright,” he says. “You’re going to walk with me downstairs to rehearsal, look them all in the face with your head up, with me right by your side, holding your hand.” I nod and link my fingers with his. It’s a sight the rest of the students have become accustomed to over the last two weeks, and I know somehow, I am going to make it through this with him.
When we get to the studio, a congregation of students has amassed in the hallway as we wait for Madame to let us in. When she unlocks the door to the studio, I march straight past her and don’t say a word, not looking her in the face as she tries to catch my eye. We both know my audition was flawless, and her ideals for classism had skewed her judging scores. Eric’s choreographed piece had just been another ren
dition of a classical piece, and hadn’t provided any new introspect to the dancing at all.
The first class is almost unbearable as I feel people stare at Gregor and I and whisper. I suppose it comes with the hazard of dating, but I can’t help but silently loathe them and their gossiping as I somehow, miraculously make it through the first session. What comes as the hardest part is when I am sitting in my dorm that evening, and Katarina comes in with tissues, ice cream, and movies when it is time for Gregor to get up and have his first solo session with Eric. It’s unbearable watching him go, even though I know as an understudy I will have to join him tomorrow to begin watching Eric as he works through the moves.
Madame had indicated she wanted the leads to have one-on-one time with her the first night, so she could get a feeling for the dynamic of the group. Several drama students, Gregor, Eric, and Angela were amongst those students. Katarina had been cast only as an understudy as well.
The first couple of weeks feel like pure torture as I watch Eric get closer and closer to Gregor. Sometimes their heads are bent low as they work through lines together, or they are within inches of each other’s faces. The love scene is set to be rehearsed next week, and it makes me sick to my stomach to think about the two of them interacting that way. Gregor spends most nights with me, crawling into bed late at night after a particularly grueling session. Madame often keeps him and the other leads late to have chats with them as she likes to call it. Mostly they are talks which nitpick their performances and she tells them ways they can improve. I toss and turn most nights, unable to sleep.
The week of the love scene comes into swing and that afternoon, when the drama students join us, I stare blankly at the barre where I am stretching as I listen to Eric offer Gregor advice on how they can make it have a full erotic effect for the audience.
Katarina catches my eye in the mirror and offers me a sympathetic look, and I realize the only solution I have to this problem was the right one all along. Gregor, without meaning to, has become a distraction and a detriment to my dancing. I work through the conversation in my head about the break up I am planning that evening in our usual five minutes of free time get away on the roof. That is until I hear a sharp scream of pain, and I look over and see Eric, writhing on the floor in agony, clutching his ankle.
Dear Valentine Page 7