THIRTY-FIVE
Ryan
My eyes stayed glued on Gustave. Beneath his sparkling tunic, he was wearing tights that showcased every muscle of his powerful legs as well as muscles in his ass that I never knew existed. But what astonished me the most, making my eyes bug out, was the enormous bulge between his legs. Holy shit! I was endowed, but this bastard was packing a football inside his tights. And nuts the size of baseballs. And that was without an erection.
I swear to God I’d never been envious of other men’s packages, but this fucker’s was like none other I’d ever seen. He was hung like a horse. I could feel jealousy rearing its ugly head. I swear there was no fig leaf in the world that could cover it.
Then, dressed in a breathtaking red and gold costume, made of feathery layers of tulle, and a glittering headpiece with assorted plumes, Willow flew onto the stage, joining Gustave. I almost didn’t recognize her. She was wearing a ton of makeup, her lips painted bright red, her long-lashed eyes thick with mascara, the lids coated in gold glitter that caught the bright lights, and her wild red hair pulled into a tight chignon that accentuated her high cheekbones and swan-like neck. She looked in a word: Exquisite. Fucking exquisite. Mesmerized, my eyes stayed on her as she began to dance circles around Gustave with a series of dazzling leaps and spins, fluttering her toned arms in a way that made them seem like the wings of a bird. With her grace, beauty, and agility, she was a sight to behold. The audience again broke into raucous applause and cheers as I battled with my heart to not leap onto the stage and steal her from the bastard.
The connection between Gustave and Willow was intense. Sitting in the front row, I could feel their heat radiating off one and other. Their sparks flying. I don’t know if she saw me because her eyes were focused only on Gustave. Following his every move. In perfect sync. Entwining her body with his. Letting him lift her in the air and hold her as she extended her leg high, so high I didn’t think it was humanly possible. Red-hot jealousy heated my bones. I felt myself turning the color of her feathers.
Before leaping off the stage, Willow plucked a feather from her ensemble and handed it to Gustave. A thank you for sparing her life. I impatiently watched the next part of the ballet where Prince Ivan encountered a bevy of princesses, under the spell of an evil sorcerer, and fell in love with one of them. I only wanted to watch my princess dance. When would she return to the stage? My interest picked up when a horde of dancers dressed up as fantastical fairytale-like monsters flew onto the stage and attacked Prince Ivan. In my heart, I wished they’d really destroyed the bastard, torn him to shreds, but using his magical red feather, he summoned The Firebird. And then, Willow leaped back on stage and used her magical powers to put the monsters and the evil sorcerer to sleep. What followed was an incredible solo from Willow. I was in awe as she danced center stage on her toe shoes to the compelling music. Enraptured. So turned on by her shimmering beauty and grace, my erection strained against my pants. The audience so quiet you could hear a pin drop, I squirmed in my seat to relieve my throbbing cock. Again, I had to fight the urge to jump onto the stage and claim her as mine.
Then, jealousy reclaimed me as Gustave returned to the stage and they did their final pas de deux. The chemistry between them palpable. The fire, all-consuming. There was no doubt in my mind that they were lovers. As the forty-five minute, one-act ballet concluded with the audience rising to their feet with a loud standing ovation, my blood curdled. Every muscle in my body tensing, I forced myself to stand up and clap my hands.
As the standing audience applauded and shouted bravo over and over, the dancers took their bows. Next to last was Gustave for whom the cheers grew louder—I swear I wanted to throw something at him—and finally my Willow, stepping forward with a sweeping curtsey that had the audience going wild. Ushers stepped on the stage to bestow her with extravagant bouquets of red roses. One after another. Fuck. I wish I had one to give her. Gustave took Willow’s hand, and as they bowed together again, my heart sunk to the pit of my stomach. My cock sank, too, and ached as much as my heart.
I had just lost Willow Rosenthal to her first love. The ballet world owned her. She belonged to another. Gustave Fontaine.