I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to tell me what that level might be. Company member perhaps. Principal even, if I were reaching. I was young but maybe not the youngest.
“We’re doing a production ofLa Bayadèrethis winter. Do you know it?” he asked.
“Of course I know it. The Golden Idol is one of my top-ten variations.”
Sergei nodded, delight shining in his eyes. Maybe he thought he was baiting a trap, but I already knew how this would play out. The build-up was pretty unnecessary.
“There are several more-than-adequate roles for male danseurs. Maybe,” and his knee brushed up against mine again, “there is something in it for you.”
I paused. Sergei wanted me, that much was obvious, but it was unclear how he expected me to act. Did he want me to be coy and flirtatious, shy and innocent, brazen and direct? Mostly, I resigned to grit my teeth and bear it.
“Gosh, I sure hope so,” I said, playing the village idiot. “I’d do anything for a good role.”
“Anything?” Sergei asked and I cringed inwardly.
“I mean…” God knows what the man had in mind.
“I think you should come back to my place,” Sergei said.
So much for delayed gratification. I finished my drink, wishing it had been a little stronger, and set the empty glass back on the table. I rubbed my hands together and tried to psyche myself up.
“All right. Let’s do it.”
Sergei’s “anything”involved two more drinks and a cumbersome strip tease where I ended up seated in a leather chair in my underwear while he ejaculated on my chest. He wasn’t even considerate enough to get me a tissue, so I had to clean off in his bathroom while staring at myself in the vanity mirror under the worst fluorescent lighting ever. My moment of truth.
Cum bucket.
I found my clothes and dressed while Sergei poured himself another drink. I soon learned the rumor of him being an alcoholic was absolutely true.
“Don’t you wish to stay?” he asked with that slightly slurred speech that gave away both his level of intoxication and the recentness of his orgasm.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Perhaps we can do this again sometime.” Sergei’s eyes travelled up and down my body, head to foot, appraising me. I shuddered involuntarily and remembered during my audition when he’d called me “expensive.” Not that expensive, apparently.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “See you next week.”
I let myself out without a backward glance. I’d never embarked on this kind of tit-for-tat, so I wasn’t exactly sure how many times I’d have to let him jizz on me in exchange for a part. Hopefully not too many.
When I got home that night, Bruno was waiting up for me with a stormy look on his face. “So, did you suck his dick?” he asked as a greeting.
It set me off for a lot of reasons, probably the worst was because the whole night was bringing up my bullshit with Roger. But I was an adult now, not a helpless kid. I was choosing this, and that pissed me off even more.
“No, but I did let him fuck me,” I told Bruno. “No sense in holding out the goods, right?” I was being a dick and I knew it. Bruno’s expression told me I’d gone too far. For the first time since we’d met, he was shocked into silence. “I’m sorry, Bruno, but this isn’t going to work.”
Not knowing what else to say, I took a long, hot shower, multitasking crying while jacking off, then went to bed.
The next morning, I packed my shit and moved out.
You were never the spiteful one, Henri. That was always me.
34
Henri
To say I was disappointed in you would be an understatement.
You were hurting, I understood that. You were sad and vulnerable. Perhaps you were even acting out to punish me… but to embark on an affair with your sadistic ballet instructor, the one person whom we both so sincerely despised?
