Charlotte's Niece

by Pamela

pamelapamela@hotmail.com

 

Chapter 17

Sometime later, in the early dawn, I awoke again. Ethel was a large gray shape lying to the right of me. All was silent except for her long steady breathing. I was lying on my back. I had worn a short, blue, baby doll nightie to bed, and it was pushed up around my chest, and Ethel's right hand was lying palm down on my stomach just below my navel. I had worn the matching panties to bed with me the night before, and I could feel them against the ankle of my left leg. Sometime in the night they had been partially taken off. The region around my penis felt warm and excited, an after glow from the intense pleasure in the middle of the night.

I never would have thought Ethel and Charlotte capable of raping me. It seemed impossible; they would have to know that they would get caught. It had to have been them last night, though, since no one else could have broken into the apartment. But if Ethel had helped Charlotte rape me, then why would she be sleeping next to me? But it would be the ultimate disguise, wouldn't it?

What should I do now? How would I ever feel safe again in the apartment? What should I do about Ethel's hand? It was just inches from my penis. The pleasure I had felt last night was much beyond anything I had ever felt before. No one had ever touched my penis before. It had been a strange rape. Whomever had done it was making sure I felt pleasure. They were making sure I would come. Who had that been? Probably Ethel. It had to have been Charlotte rubbing her panties and then vagina into my face. I felt a slight soreness on my lips. How weird to have such intimate knowledge of Charlotte. I thought of Charlotte's breasts and then of Ethel's. If I could have, I would have reached up and held the breasts of whomever was on top of me last night.

My penis rose a bit at these thoughts. The feeling of pleasure around my loins grew. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Ethel just moved her hand down a bit and it landed on my penis. The thought of her holding it was delicious and I felt my penis grow larger. It would serve her right. Since she raped me last night how could she possibly complain? Two can play the same game. I should hold her down, if I could, and put my penis in her face. If I did that to Charlotte she'd just bite it off. She'd kill me if I even touched her. But she had become nice to me, or at least I thought so until last night.

Yesterday, Ethel had offered me her boob. I remembered suckling on it. God, I wished that that had gone on for hours. I could do that the whole day. Maybe that gave Ethel the idea it was OK to rape me. I slid my body up ever so slowly and Ethel's hand slid down a bit more toward my penis. I froze and waited. All was quiet. Maybe she'd offer me her breasts again today. But she was a rapist. It was evil what she had done last night! She and Charlotte had no right to take advantage of me, even if they looked out for my pleasure. I inched up again and Ethel's hand pushed against the base of my penis. The pleasure was burning around my crotch, and my penis jumped a tiny bit and then relaxed.

She'll wake up and find out what it feels like to have somebody taking advantage of her. What a moron I am. I'm all mad about being raped but I can't get over the pleasure. God my thighs and balls are tingly with pleasure. I should have definitely called the police last night. Well, I did faint, and when I woke up later, there was Ethel. And the last time I told a cop I was being raped he told me to get home or he'll arrest me. Maybe I'll call the police in the morning. I'll say Ethel and Charlotte raped me, but what is the evidence? I laughed inwardly. In male rape, there is no point in collecting the semen!! Would the police dust my penis for fingerprints? I gave off a goofy smile to the dark room. But did I know for a fact that it was Ethel and Charlotte? I thought again about what had happened. There had been a kind of womanly odor on the panties. I bet that I could identify it again. I needed to sniff Charlotte and Ethel's panties. Once again I chuckled to myself. I'm at the police station and there is a line-up of women wearing panties, and I smell them one by one, until I say, "officer these are the panties! I'll never forget that smell!" And it turns out that it is Charlotte wearing the panties! It would make all the newspapers. I reached down and moved my penis up and to the side of Ethel's sleeping hand, so now the underside was exposed. If I could just get it under her hand. Ethel stirred a second and I stopped moving and breathing. I must be out of my mind. It might not have been her and Charlotte last night. Maybe someone had broken in. Someone who had the key. How do I know who Charlotte had given a key to? But why would they rape me like that? Since when do women rape boys? My penis had shrunken back down, and I very slowly arched my back, pushing down my hips into the mattress and then under Ethel's hand. She stirred again and I stopped moving. I counted to ten and then relaxed, bringing my bottom back up and my upraised penis nestled perfectly into Ethel's sleeping hand.

The pleasure was immediate and more intense than I had expected. My penis surged upward slightly lifting Ethel's hand, and then subsided slightly. Her palm seemed to be exactly on the best spot and there was a steady feeling of pleasure. I desperately wanted her to push down against my penis and slide her hand along the shaft like she or whoever had done the night before. What if Ethel woke up right now with her hand on my penis? I'd just say "you seem to like raping boys, so I've just given you another chance!"

That sounded foolish. Ethel would probably have to find Charlotte to see what to do. But what could they do? They raped me pure and simple. I raped Ethel back.

We're even. Call it a truce. What kind of stupidity am I thinking? I don't even know if it was them last night. God I wished she'd move her hand a little. I tried to rock my hips up and back a bit, but her hand just moved with my penis. In a way I guess I'm raping Ethel right now. It can't be right. No matter what happened last night. She would tell Charlotte that Greg used her hand to jerk off against last night. God would Charlotte whip me blind. I shivered in fear at the thought. I'm absolutely nuts, I've got to get my penis back the way it had been.

I tried to inch my penis down and away from Ethel's hand when suddenly her breathing stopped. I froze for the longest time. Suddenly she jumped up. "what's this Greg? You put my hand on your penis? What's that? How could you?" She sounded truly hurt. I hadn't heard her sound like that before.

"No, Ethel, your hand was there when I woke up."

"Greg, I've been feeling some kind of shifting next to me for awhile now. Look how much higher up on the bed you are." Ethel was right, I had inched up half a foot. My head was knocking into the headboard. "You couldn't possibly have slept like that! I'm afraid this is serious. Its really quite unacceptable behavior. I am very disappointed in you. God, I hate to think what Charlotte will to do you. I've done my best to protect you and this is my reward?" She sounded like she was about to cry. I was terrified.

"Please don't tell Aunt Charlotte!"

"No, you're not going to do that to me again!" Ethel rebuked.

"But last night, you and Charlotte raped me! What did you expect?"

"I don't know what crazy thing you're talking about Greg. I'm afraid I will have to tell Charlotte about this. It really is disgusting. It's a violation of all the trust you and I have developed over the last week."

"But Aunt Ethel. Last night two ladies held me down and raped me! I swear! I'm not lying. And I thought that it must have been you and Charlotte. Who else could have snuck in the apartment?"

Ethel stared at me with tearing eyes. "You can go tell that to Charlotte!" and she left the room.

I got up from the bed not knowing what to do. I felt a need to hide but there was nowhere to go. I knew I couldn't live through another beating. It was so unfair. They had raped me! I heard voices in the distance. I just had on my baby blue nightie. To hide my penis I pulled up the panties, which had bands of lace matching those of the babydoll. I had to pee badly and ran to the toilet and sat down on it, closing the bathroom door behind me. It felt a little safer to be in the small bathroom. And Charlotte wouldn't hit me while I was peeing.

I heard a rush of footsteps outside the bathroom door and Charlotte calling, "Greg!" She burst into the bathroom dressed in a black negligee coming down to her thighs. As it rustled around her I saw a hint of her pubic hair.

"I'm peeing, Aunt Charlotte!" I said, shaking visibly. She must be purposefully not calling me Vickie, I thought in panic.

Charlotte grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. "Don't beat me Aunt Charlotte!" I cried, as I hurriedly lifted up my blue panties. "Not again, I can't take it. Please don't do it again." I was wailing now. Charlotte led me out of the bathroom. I walked with shuffling feet like a zombie. If she hurt me again I was sure that I would lose my mind. She pushed me down on the bed in front of Ethel, who was still wearing just her bra and panties.

"I'm begging you Aunt Charlotte!"

"Shut up, Greg!" Charlotte said and held up her hand threateningly as if to slap my face. I fell silent and bent over with my head down and covered by my arm.

"How could you?" Ethel said with uncharacteristic melancholy. "After all the trust and love between us? I just don't understand. Have you been faking everything the last days?"

"No, Aunt Ethel,.." I tried to say, but Charlotte interrupted me.

"You're behavior is loathsome. Using Ethel's hand to masturbate? It's beyond disgusting."

"Last night..." I again tried to talk.

Coldly, Charlotte said, "Ethel will have to give you a good thrashing, and then we'll have to decide what to do with you. I think we've reached the point where your mom should come back to get you. Ethel, I hope you now see the reason why I've had to be harsh with Greg."

"Sadly, Charlotte, I think you're right. I'm disappointed in Greg. I had no idea. I guess I'm a bad judge of character."

The words were more painful to hear than anything she could have done with a whip. My chest heaved forcefully in sadness, fear and regret. Charlotte ordered me to lie down on the bed. I obeyed, resigned to the inevitable pain. I felt Charlotte lift up my baby doll and then she said, "pull down your panties," and I did so, all the time my face was buried in the blanket. When my panties were down around my knees she said, "put your arms above your head."

I could feel Charlotte and Ethel exchanging positions. "Aunt Ethel, I'm sorry for what I did. But last night..."

"Quiet!" Charlotte said and I fell silent.

I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as possible and scrunched my face waiting to feel the blow. I hadn't yet peed and my bladder was painfully full. I felt Ethel's leg bump against mine. I sensed that a blow was about to come.

Then there was a distinct smacking sound and a pain on my buttocks. Ethel was using her hand to spank me. She spanked me rhythmically saying, "bad, bad, bad, boy!" Then a little pause, and some more hits, "a, very, bad, bad, bad, boy!" I don't know what hurt more: the pain on my bottom or the pain in my bladder. "I have to...." I started to say, but Charlotte again yelled at me to shut up.

"But!" I said as I fought to keep control of my bladder.

There was a longish pause, in which I thought that Ethel was done, but then she came back for more smacks, saying "I....hope....this.....tea....ches.....you.....a.....les......son!"

The last blow caused me to start peeing onto the bedspread, and I jumped up saying, "I peed!," leaving behind a wet area on the bed and I could feel some pee dripping down my legs.

"Jesus Christ, Greg! Can't you control yourself?" Charlotte said "Get to the bathroom!"

"Yes, Aunt Charlotte," I said, "I'm sorry!" I frantically ran to the bathroom to get kleenex. I took some out of a dispenser and ran back to the bed to mop the pee up.

"We'll have to wash the spread! How far down is it?" Charlotte said.

Ethel picked up the edge of the spread, "it's barely damp underneath, just the top sheet."

After I had mopped as much as I could, I said, "can I finish peeing, Aunt Charlotte?"

"Go ahead," Charlotte said and I went back to the bathroom to finish.

As I sat in the bathroom I heard Charlotte saying, "Ethel, I think we've seen enough. You can't beat sense into a baby. It explains everything. We'll have to get Lillian back home and let her deal with him. Until she gets back we'll have to put him in diapers."

"You're right. I don't see any other way. He's such a disappointment. At least if we kept him in diapers we won't have to worry about his lack of control."

"I know you don't believe me," I called out sobbing, "but I was raped last night." I felt an intense ache in my heart. I had visions of roaming the building barefoot dressed in my blue nightie. "Two women held me down - one on my legs, she played with my thing. The other held me down on my arms and put her panties in my face."

Ethel said, `why do you keep up with that nonsense! The door was locked when we came home. No one forced their way in! I think it suits your sex fantasies to make this up. It complements your disgusting behavior this morning!"

"But, but..." I began crying uncontrollably. "it was you and Charlotte! I think you're lying to me!"

"How dare you Greg!" Ethel said. "When I came into the bedroom last night you were sleeping like a baby. I'm sorry Greg but I don't see any way to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Charlotte, I think we have to call Lillian, tell her to come back and get him off our hands. I hope she can find a good counselor for him!" I could tell that Ethel was struggling to say the words. It was not easy for her. I was done peeing and flushed the toilet and came back in the bedroom. Charlotte was sizing up the situation.

She seemed surprisingly calm.

"Yesterday," she said, `I thought I had really found my Vickie, and today I wake up to this. Little ugly Greg shows up and makes Ethel an unwitting party to his sick fantasies.

I looked at her and said, "I still am Vickie, Aunt Charlotte, I'm not Greg. I was Greg when I moved Aunt Ethel's hand, but last night when I was raped I was..."

"You keep talking about this rape like it really happened. It didn't - face it. Maybe you had some powerful wet dream where you enacted fantasies about being raped - but it did not happen here in this apartment."

"It seemed so real, Aunt Charlotte," I said.

"Don't interrupt me! Greg would interrupt me. Vickie would not. Greg did what he did to Ethel. Vickie would not."

There was a pause in which no one spoke. Finally I said, "I'm scared to leave the apartment. I'm scared about my mom and dad. I'm scared about you hurting me. I want everything to be back to the way it was yesterday."

"I want Greg to die," Charlotte said. `I want Greg dead."

I swallowed hard and looked into Charlotte's face.

"Dead?" I said.

"Dead, Greg. If you will only be Vickie, then I won't call Lillian and I won't throw you out. But you must prove to me that Greg is truly dead. No more Greg ever! Not the slightest whiff of Greg. Just my Vickie. Vickie who is obedient, a perfect angel. My perfect angel niece, who only wants to be loving and pretty and helpful. Who thrives on being as cute as she can be. A girl who will do everything she is asked. Can you promise that?"

"I can be Vickie," I said. "Greg is dead. I swear that I'll only be loving and helpful, and I'll try to be pretty for you."

"Now tell me, Vickie, were you raped last night?"

"Oh no, Aunt Charlotte! It was just a dream. I'm sure."

"And what if you have the same dream again?"

"Aunt Charlotte, I'll be very happy, because in my dream I was able to make you happy!"

"And what about that stupid thing between your legs? Its the thing which gets you into trouble!"

"I don't know, Aunt Charlotte! What should I do about it?"

"Its a stupid, ugly thing."

"But what can I do about it!!" I said hysterically.

"What can you do?" Charlotte asked.

Ethel came to life, "Vickie doesn't have a boys thing. She has a vagina. Its a very beautiful vagina. Like all girls have. Its just as pretty as anybody's!"

At first I didn't catch on, but then I saw what Ethel was getting at.

"Yes, Aunt Charlotte, I have a vagina. That's all I have! I only have a vagina. Its a girls vagina!"

"Really now?" Charlotte said.

I saw Ethel look sharply at Charlotte and I said in my best Vickie voice, "please believe that I do Aunt Charlotte. I'll do everything I can to deserve my vagina. I'll make you so proud of me!" I had no other straws to grasp hold of. I was sure I sounded sincere, since inside I believed it was true. I saw Charlotte's face soften. I knew she wanted me as her Vickie.

"Are you really my Vickie?"

"Yes, Aunt Charlotte."

"You really have a vagina?"

"I've always had one," I said, "since I was a baby!"

"Is it pretty?"

"Yes!"

"How do you know?"

"All vaginas are pretty!"

"Is mine pretty?"

"Yes!" I said, even though I had never seen hers, and I knew that she knew that.

She raised her gown exposing her vagina. I stared at it, surprised by her action. It had beautiful blonde hair curling around two sides of a slit. "You've never seen a vagina, have you?" she asked.

"No, Aunt Charlotte."

"Is mine pretty?"

"Oh, yes, Aunt Charlotte!"

"You never saw your mom's? You never got dressed together?"

"I was too young to remember, Aunt Charlotte."

"Take a look at Ethel's."

Ethel did not move and Charlotte said, "Ethel, take off your panties."

She did as Charlotte said, and she exposed the curly black hair of her vagina.

Now the two women stood next to me. "You need to know vaginas better, and then you'll know your own better."

Charlotte took a step closer to me and put her hands on my shoulders.

"Take a good look," she said, and I rearranged myself so I was looking straight ahead at her vagina. It was just inches from my face. I looked up and was shocked to see how far Charlotte's breasts projected out from her body. Above her pubic hair was her lower abdomen and her hips curving rapidly inward to a small waist.

"It's very pretty, Aunt Charlotte," I said.

"Do you want to touch it?"

"Your vagina, Aunt Charlotte?"

"Yes."

"You can kiss it if you want to," Charlotte said.

"Charlotte!" Ethel said.

"And you can kiss Ethel's. I want you to get to know them and I want you to love them and do whatever they ask of you."

"Charlotte!" Ethel said.

"And that way, Ethel, Vickie is going to feel that she has a vagina too. Now show how much you love our vaginas."

I said, "pretty vaginas I love you!"

"Vickie, go ahead and kiss them. Show how much you love us and how happy you are to have your own vagina."

Looking up at Charlotte, I saw her smile and motion toward her vagina and I moved my head the remaining inches and gave a gentle kiss on the warm tickly pubic hair. "How sweet, my angel," Charlotte said, "you can kiss my vagina every morning when you wake up, so everyday you'll remember that you have one too!"

"Thank you Aunt Charlotte," I said.

"Now give Ethel's a kiss!"

Ethel seemed a bit nonplussed about it, but she came and stood close to me, next to Charlotte, and she put her hand on the back of my head and ran her fingers through my hair. I put my face toward her vagina and gave it a kiss. Hers was as hot as Charlotte's.

"Oh, Vickie, you are an angel," Ethel said. She seemed weepy to me.

I never saw Charlotte as filled with happiness as she seemed now. She smiled at me and she smiled at Ethel.

I sat back up on the bed and Charlotte took my hand and had me stand up. "You are the prettiest niece an Aunt ever had, and no one has ever made me so happy." She embraced me. She wrapped her arms around me and my face nestled against her naked breasts and she squeezed me. I could only imagine the picture we made: me in my pretty blue babydoll and she naked.

"I've got to get to work," Charlotte said. "I've laid out a pretty dress for you to wear today and one of your new bras. Ethel is going to enquire as to placing you in the ballet and sewing classes, and I'm going to give a call today to see about getting you a job. There are plenty of other chores to do around here and Ethel will make up a list before she leaves."

"When is she leaving?" I said.

"Late this afternoon, so you'll have the chance to show me how nicely you can take care of the apartment and how nice a dinner you can prepare."

Being reminded of Ethel's departure made me a little nervous.

"Oh, and you'll find a pink leotard, tights and ballet slippers in the dresser. That should be what you need for ballet class."

"Thank you, Aunt Charlotte," I said.

 

Just before Charlotte left the apartment, while I was eating breakfast, the phone rang and Charlotte answered it.

"Who?.....Greg?.....There is no Greg living here.....I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number."

I heard Charlotte hang up the phone and walk over to me. She said, "funny, it was a math professor from NYU. He said he wanted to speak to a Greg. I said there's no Greg living here."

Charlotte stared at me and I gazed back at her. My eyes felt glassy, but no tears fell. I felt happy about that.

 

Shortly past 10 in the morning, I went with Ethel to the ballet school to see if there was a suitable class for me. It was a small studio with a tiny front office, really just a desk, with a door opening on one side leading to a bright room lined with mirrors. Behind the desk was a middle aged woman smoking a cigarette and wearing a black leotard. Her face was creased by a few wrinkles and her hair had streaks of grey and was tied in a bun behind her head. Some piano music was coming out of the studio and a lone woman dancer occasionally came into view through the doorway as she danced.

Ethel introduced us to the woman, Mrs. Williamson who ran the school.

"I'm looking for a beginning class for my niece Vickie. She has no ballet training at all, and she's a little afraid of starting. But I think it'll be good for her."

Mrs. Williamson looked me over. My dress was pale blue, sleeveless and of a soft silky material, and with the padded bra I felt that I looked pretty good. "She's a nice height, we don't see so many tall ones. And a nice trim body. You look to be very graceful my dear."

I blushed at the complement. "Graceful she is," Ethel interjected, "and we hope that dancing will instill even more grace in her."

Mrs. Williamson got up from the desk and stood in front of me. "Put your ankles together, and spread your feet out to the sides."

I tried to do as she said. "Here let me help you." She bent down and put my

feet further out to the sides and then pushed in slightly on my stomach and

put a finger under my chin to lift my head. "That's first position. In

ballet we always think up, up," she said. "Imagine you are being held up by

a string coming out of the top of your head. There, thats much better! Good, now hold

out your arms." She showed me a position to hold my arms in, like I was holding a large barrel against my chest. "Very good. Think up. Remember!" I stood holding the position as Mrs. Williamson inspected. "Don't sag." I stood up taller. "Very good." Turning to Ethel she said, "Vickie has an easy grace about her. Good instincts. And nice delicate shoulders. I think she'll develop rapidly in ballet class. In fact, she can come back this evening for a beginners class. It has only been meeting since the beginning of the month. I am sure that Vickie will get the hang of it and be caught up in no time."

"I'm sorry, I should have made it clear, but she can't come in the evenings," Ethel said, "it has to be during the day."

"The beginning class is in the evenings, at 8PM," Mrs. Williamson said. "Its mainly adults, but a few kids in there are Vickie's age. We don't get many kids just starting out her age, or I'd have a daytime class for her."

"Oh, that's really too bad." Ethel said with great disappointment.

"Well we could put her in the three o'clock beginners class. Its mainly for younger girls just starting out. Probably most of them are eight years old but there are a few older girls in there."

"What do you think Vickie?" Ethel said.

"I don't know. Eight years olds? I'm kinda old for that, aren't I?"

Turning to Mrs. Williamson, Ethel said, "she won't be the only older girl, will she?"

"No, as I say some go there when they can't be in the evening class. I can understand her shyness, but the reason why we all are here is to dance. Its the love of dance and it doesn't really matter all that much who we study with, so long as the level is appropriate. I bet you'll learn quickly and then we can move you out of that class to one for older girls in a few weeks."

"That sounds pretty good, doesn't it?" Ethel said.

"Yea, I guess so," I said.

So it was arranged. I didn't know if I should really believe what Mrs. Williamson said about me, but it was nice to hear it anyway. With mixed fear and excitement, I went back to the apartment to wait until the afternoon class.

 

Back in the apartment I tried on the tights and leotard. It was clear that no matter how I tried to tuck my little member out of the way, it was still visible. I called Ethel in to my bedroom to look at the problem. "How can I possibly dance with the girls?" I said. "Its so obvious!"

"Don't get so upset," Ethel laughed. "Lets think about it!"

"I don't have any ideas," I said.

"Well, we could try and hide it. You know, wear a leotard which hid it."

"How can that be?" I said.

"A leotard with a skirt that came down a little bit. Another possibility is to wear a tutu."

"Vickie has a tutu!" I said. "That's a great idea!"

"Where is it?" Ethel said.

"I saw it in the closet!"

I went to the far end of the closet where there was a tutu hanging on a hanger. It was made of pink satin, silky to the touch, and had a short stiff, pink skirt underneath which were several layers of ruffly pink petticoats. "Wow," Ethel said, "that will hide everything! But I don't think you should wear it too often. We'll have to get you a regular leotard with a skirt."

"You don't think it would be too ridiculous to wear today, do you?" I said.

"It might be a bit much to show up at your first ballet class with a prima ballerina outfit. But it seems like its that or else feel worried about your little bulge problem. If you want my vote, I think you're better off with the tutu. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Aunt Ethel, I was thinking the same thing!"

"Good, then that's all settled!"

"That's a relief," I said.

"You're going to have so much fun, I'm jealous!" Ethel said.

 

At quarter to two, I left the apartment for the studio holding a canvas bag into which I had stuffed the tutu and the ballet slippers. I wore the tights. Just before I left the apartment Ethel handed me a check which I was to give to Mrs. Williamson.

The lobby of the studio was crowded with girls when I arrived. I had expected to see some girls my age or close to it, but the only other girl who wasn't about eight years old was a thin, reedy girl who was probably about 13. There was also three boys standing together in a corner. They must have been about eight or nine also. Glancing around the room at the girls, they were wearing leotards of every imaginable color, and a few of them even had skirts. None of them were wearing tutus.

Mrs. Williamson saw me and told me to go to the girls dressing room to change.

"Where's that?" I said.

"Its that door behind the desk," she said, pointing to a doorway which I had thought before must be a closet. "You better hurry. The previous class is just ending."

"All I could find to wear is a tutu. I hope that's OK, Mrs. Williamson. My aunt will buy me a leotard for my next class!"

"I'm sure it will be fine. But hurry on then, you'll be late!"

I remembered the check in my hand, "and here's my check!"

She took it from me and I ran into the dressing room. It was a very small room, with just a few cubby holes to place things. These were entirely filled with shoes, jeans and other clothing. Girls clothes were lying all over the floor except for the center of the room. I didn't know where I'd be able to put my things. I put down my bag and reached behind my back to unzip the dress. I pulled it up over my head and folded it as best as I could. I thought of stuffing it into my bag, but I didn't want to ruin the dress. So I looked for a spot in the corner and moved away the other clothes there and made space for my dress. I took off my shoes and put them under the dress. Standing in my tights and bra, I took out the tutu and stepped into it and then pulled it up until the little skirt was around my waist. I then put my arms through the arm holes and arranged it over my bra. The top was sleeveless, like a tank top and hid my bra straps. I was just putting on my pink ballet slippers when several older girls came in. They were talking about some dance moves and after taking a quick glance at them I could see circles of moisture ringing their leotards under their arms and on their backs. They must be from the class which had just ended.

"Oh how pretty!" one of the girls said.

"If it isn't the fairy princess!" another one said.

"Right out of swan lake. How adorable! Mrs. Williamson is going to love that!" a third girl said and they laughed.

I gingerly walked past them, holding down my little stiff skirt so it wouldn't bump into them. I concentrated on looking at the ground in front of me and half mumbled a "thank you" as I passed them. Outside, in the foyer was a lone man. He must have also been in the last class, and I wondered where men changed. He was handsome and blonde and wore black tights and a black sleeveless top. He seemed self-possessed, graceful and confident. He looked up and glanced at me, and I saw his face change into a smile. "A new ballerina?" he said in what sounded like a Russian accent.

"I'm just starting, and I'm late!" I said.

"Hurry along. Miss Williamson will kill you. But I love your outfit. You are dressed like a star!"

I gingerly opened the studio door and went in. I heard piano music coming from a small record player in one corner. Whatever Mrs. Williamson had been doing, she stopped when I entered. Her face also broke into a smile, and she said, "take a place at the barre, Odette."

The reference to the princess swan of Swan Lake was not lost on me. Around the room the girls were arrayed standing next to the barre lining the room in front of the mirrors. On a short barre on one wall, the three boys were together. Everyone was staring at me, and some of the girls tittered with comments about my tutu.

I didn't know where I should go. I was afraid of squeezing the other girls, and I stood in the center of the room with my arms resting on the skirt turning this way and that trying to figure out where I should go. Finally, I said very quietly to Mrs. Williamson, in practically a whisper, "Where should I go?"

Mrs. Williamson said, "Sandy and Jessica, move up and back a little and give a space to Odette."

Two girls in the center of the long barre moved to create an opening and taking tiny little steps across the floor I slunk into the space between them. Sandy was in front of me. She was a young, red headed girl, wearing a green leotard and her hair was up in a bun. Jessica was behind me. She was perhaps nine, though she was tall for her age and had long black hair.

"OK, as we were before our interruption, which will not be happening again?" Mrs. Williamson directed the question at me and I shook my head to indicate "no."

Mrs. Williamson, picked up the arm of the record player and put it back to the beginning of the record and the music started again. "Plie, first," Mrs. Williamson commanded, and I watched Sandy in front of me bend her knees out to the side as if she was making a little curtsey. Her right hand was holding the barre.

"If you do not know what to do, watch me," Mrs. Williamson said, obviously for my benefit.

I turned my head towards her and watched. She said, "plie from first position," and she bent down and up and I imitated her movement. "Ten more," Mrs. Williamson said, "now, one, two,.." she counted slowly. While she did this she came over to me, and bent down to place my feet in the correct first position and then put her hand on my shoulder to direct my plie.

"Very good, Odette, seven...." she said.

When we were done, she said, "Demi plie, in 2^nd." I watched as Mrs. Williamson changed her feet to second position. Then she began counting, "one, two,..."

I followed along. Mrs. Williamson walked around the room, correcting posture here and there. When she came by me, she took my left hand and extended it outwards, and said to the class, "remember to extend your free arm, and relax your fingers, keep it graceful. We never neglect our hands in ballet."

"Good, now plie in fourth position." She continued on through a sequence of exercises: sous-sous, demi-detourne, grand port de bras and backbend. Then tendu - plie, jete, releve and degage - cloche, battement sutenu, releve, tendu fouette, detourne. Throughout, she masterfully corrected positions and offered encouragement.

"Think up," she said at one point. "You have a wire coming out of the top of

your heads. It holds you up. It gives you balance."

I was starting to perspire a little, and I felt like my muscles were being engaged like they had never been before. I watched Sandy doing the moves and the other girls in front of me. When we switched arms on the barre, I was able to see the three boys on the far side of the room. Two of them looked awkward, like they had not been listening to anything that Mrs. Williamson had been saying, but one of them truly had a stylish way of moving and he looked to be serious.

I particularly liked the graceful movements of Jessica in front of me. She was clearly one of the most accomplished of the girls. I did my best to emulate little details I could make out from her hand and leg positions. When we had finished the barre exercises, Mrs. Williamson stood at the center of the long side of the room, with a large mirror behind her and called us to take positions around the room facing frontwards towards her. I found myself surrounded by several girls who were admiring my tutu.

"Its so pretty," one little girl said, who was wearing a light blue leotard and white tights.

"Thank you," I said.

"Space yourself out!" Mrs. Williamson said, "give Odette some room," and my fan club moved a bit away from me.

"Now we do some arm positions. First, second, third right and left, third right and left en avant, third right and left en bas, fourth right and left, fifth en haut, fifth en bas, fifth right and left." As she called out each of these she demonstrated what they looked like. "Now follow me, first, second,..." she repeated them and had everyone imitate her. She called out the names of various girls to point out how to improve their posture. I saw her look at me while doing third position and she smiled. "Very good, Odette, everyone look at her. Come up here and show the class," Mrs. Williamson said.

Embarrassed, I hesitated and she said, "ballerinas are never shy. Come forward." I walked up to her and stood next to her. "Put your arms in third as you just did." I obeyed her, keeping my back upright and my head raised and brought my arms to the position and held my breath. "You can breathe, Odette," Mrs. Williamson said. "Very good, very good. Girls look at her extension, the line up from her waist through her arms. See how fluid her arms are, just one sweet line. Not angular. You all have arms as pretty as Odette's you should look as pretty."

One of the boys let out a snort and Mrs. Williamson turned to the boys, and said, "you can do it also, my manly young men. Scott, come up here and we can show what the man's part would look like."

Scott was the serious boy I had observed before. He came up to the front and stood next to me. He had short butch cut brown hair and a round face. I was about half a foot taller than him. Mrs. Williamson guided me into a position she called a third arabesque, allonge. Then she directed Scott to stand next to me, and then to put his hands on my waist. I felt him push up against my skirt, and it slid up toward his chest. His hands held me firmly, like he was ready to lead me across the room. Mrs. Williamson discussed our hand and leg positions and had us tilt our heads. When she had the positions perfect she stepped back and told the class to remember the image, for it was one that we should all strive to achieve.

After that Scott walked back to the guys and I went back to my previous spot. "Today we'll learn pas de bourree, en tournant en dehors et en dedans." She demonstrated the steps and then had us follow along imitating her. It felt good to finally be moving, after all the barre and fixed exercises. It was hard to keep up with Mrs. Williamson. I rarely had my legs and arms moving the same as her. My skirt bounced around my waist and more than once I just stopped what I was doing and tried to concentrate on Mrs. Williamson's movements. It was fun, but it was very hard work. We went through a number of other routines and then she had us do some jumps: grand changement, and grand eschappe and the most fun were some turns: the tour de Basque - releve and pique. I felt like a flower during the turns as the tutu swirled up and around me. I was exhausted and thought it was definitely time to leave, when Mrs. Williamson said, "we'll end by practicing our skipping. She changed the record which had been playing on the turntable to one with polka music, and I watched as the girls began traveling around the room skipping. "You too, Odette," Mrs. Williamson said, and I ran to get into the throng of girls traveling counter clockwise around the room. As I came around toward the back of the room for the first time, I noticed that some older girls had quietly entered the room and had begun to use the barre to do warm up stretches. I was thinking that they must be from the next class. I flew past them skipping alongside Sandy. It was as if we were in a race and we looked at each other and laughed. I had a sudden feeling of misgiving as I rounded the turn and was heading back across the front of the room. I could see in the mirror in front of me that one of the girls who had come in, who was stooped down adjusting her tights, was familiar. When I came around again and was heading toward her, I looked directly at her. She looked up suddenly and into my eyes. It was Linda.

  

  

  

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