The Ballet

Eve didn't often attend the ballet alone, but Daniel had the flu, and Margie was going to dinner with her parents. She couldn't find anyone else to attend, so she drove downtown, parked in the best lighted garage she could find, and sold her extra ticket to a scalper a block away from the theater. Ballets didn't often merit scalpers, but this was a special holiday production. Since the theater was small and the ballet company renowned, tickets went for a premium. Eve made enough money to pay for her own ticket too, so she was seeing the performance for free. The thought made her giggle; she had never scalped a ticket before.

Eve's joy was short lived. Her seat was at the very back of the main floor, underneath the balcony. In fact, there were only two seats shoved into the small alcove. Not that she was far from the stage. She wasn't, but she was essentially walled off on three sides and above. Luckily, she wasn't claustrophobic. Worse, no one would be able to see her dress, a short, red sequin, slinky thing that displayed a generous amount of her shapely thighs and a wealth of cleavage. She had purchased a special bra to lift and separate, and she knew how she looked. Underneath she wore a garter belt, stockings and G-string because panties caused a line, and she had wanted to see how many men would gaze at her and wonder where the panty line was. She wished she could whisper she wearing just a G-string and watch see their faces. Now, her dress would be hidden until intermission at best. Oh well, at least she would see the show. She thought she would see it all alone as the lights dimmed, but just before the curtain opened, a man slid into the seat beside her. In the dark, she couldn't see any details, but she liked his cologne, a crisp smell.

Eve and Daniel had once argued about ballet dancers. Daniel claimed they were all gay sissies. Eve argued that they were well conditioned athletes. How could anyone watch these muscled, powerful men jump and cavort about the stage and think they were not athletes? The women too. Although they were mostly small breasted, they were powerful and graceful and lithe and flexible. Eve wondered if she could perform the bedroom acrobatics the dancers were capable of. Fat chance. But she didn't focus on the females. She forced on the men, their half naked bodies glistening in the spotlights, their cod pieces arching sexily. As they performed a particularly erotic dance, she wondered what it might be like to dance with them, naked and close, their hard bodies on hers. The notion caused a stirring inside her, and she crossed her legs automatically. Her foot bumped the man beside her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

She felt him lean over to her, his lips deliciously close to her ear. His thigh brushed hers, and his cologne whisked inside her nose.

"Quite a dance, isn't it?" His whisper stirred her. Not the words so much but the way he said them, and the closeness of his lips. Ostensibly he was sparing the people sitting directly in front, but she knew why he leaned close. He wanted to look down her dress, gaze at her full breasts and shadowed cleavage. He could never had gaped at her in public, and his boldness inspired her. With tantalizing slowness she leaned to him, her thigh rubbing his, her breasts touching his sleeve, her lips practically brushing his ear.

"Like fucking without touching," she whispered.

His body stiffened noticeably, and she could almost see his penis harden. She leaned back, and this time he kept his thigh against hers. Energy seemed to arc between them, causing a slow heating inside her, as if her body resisted the charge and grew hot, like a toaster filament. She knew it was his move, and she waited.

She didn't wait long. He leaned over, placing a hand on her leg. His lips met her ear, and his tongue traced the outside curve. She felt her nipples rise and begin to harden.

"I like fucking with touching."

His fingers squeezed her thigh, and he didn't remove them as he sat back. Eve's heart roared ahead at breathtaking pace. His fingers burned her tender skin. Her ear tingled where he had touched her. She leaned across, her hand on his firm leg. She inserted her tongue into his ear and slid her hand up his thigh to the crease where leg met hip. The heat from his groin warmed her fingers.

"So do I," she whispered.

Her boldness surprised her. His didn't. His hand crept up her thigh like a spider, feeling over her silk hose, the lace top, the garter strap, and across her warm, soft thigh. She wondered how far she might let the spider creep, but her body answered for her. She opened her legs and let the fingers find the silk front of the G-string. As the spider grooved the silk into her, she slid her hand over his crotch, feeling the hard cock underneath, squeezing it. As her own need built, she unzipped him and slipped inside his silk boxers to touch the pulsating erection. She gripped him and pulled, and his fingers dove beneath her silk to find her heating pussy. As a finger slid up and down on her, she squeezed and pulled the hard cock, feeling the veins throb in her hand. Striving to control her breathing, praying that the music stayed loud, she stroked, and he stroked, and she felt their sexual needs mushroom. His fingers primed her pussy, and her strokes armed his coming explosion. She fanned herself with the program. His fingernail hooked her most sensitive spot, and she quivered uncontrollably. They were both seconds from release.

The curtain came down.

The lights rose.

They both jerked back their hands and righted their clothes. Eve stood as the people in front rose, and she wanted to laugh as the man next to her pulled his jacket across his lap. Without looking at him, she slipped past, knowing he couldn't follow, not for a while. His embarrassment made her almost laugh. It was so ironic and delicious. She entered the lobby knowing her own cheeks glowed, knowing that her nipples poked against the dress. The way men looked at her, she knew she wore that sensuous hot woman look, that glow of an aroused female. She would have laughed, but she didn't want to spoil the effect. As she sipped tea, she felt her body cool, her blood settle. The ballet was so much more fun than normal. She almost wished Daniel was always sick.

When she returned to her seat, his was empty. She was surprised when it remained empty after the lights dimmed and the music began. She was several minutes into the show when he slid into his seat. She made no move, but he did. He leaned across, and she expected a whisper. Instead, he turned her chin and kissed her, his tongue worming into her mouth, his hand racing up her thigh to grab her pussy. His fingers shoved aside her silk and sank into her wet tunnel, rubbing her immediately stoking the fire burning within. She reached across and found his zipper down, his boxers gone, his cock as hard and vibrant as before. She squeezed and pulled, and he bit her lip. She reached down and guided his fingers inside her, making them please the best part of her. He used his free hand to help her stroke his cock, to work it to orgasm.

Their ministrations lasted only minutes. Her orgasm came in a wave that lifted her almost out of her seat, her pussy clamping on his fingers, squeezing and milking and rubbing. His cock shot like some cannon, his load slipping past her fingers to eject in a shower of juice. Neither breathed for some seconds as their bodies joined in a dance older than any ballet.

Then, they settled.

She released his softening erection.

He removed his fingers. In the dark, she saw him lick his fingers, and she felt herself wet again. Her silk string was soaked, and she knew his pants were coated, and neither would dare walk out without buttoning their overcoats. That simple act alone excited her. She had to button her overcoat. What a feeling to relish.

On stage, the dancers leaped and twirled. Eve settled back into the seat, her heat ebbing. When Daniel asked her about the show, she would say it was special. How special, he would never know.