N Fourbois | Pas de Deux

Pas de Deux

by N Fourbois

It was late Sunday morning and Graham was sitting in his single study bedroom reading the business section of the newspaper which he had just purloined temporarily from the common room in his university hall of residence. He felt the vibrations from his mobile which he kept in the right hand pocket of his black sweatpants, not only for convenience's sake one might add. He recognised the caller ID immediately. "Hi, Mark."
"Hey, Gray baby, I finally did it last night and you're the only one I'm telling."
"Did what?" asked his brother obtusely. Although there was barely more than a year between them that was Graham's way of maintaining his seniority.
"Had a shag, dummy."
"Anyone I know?"
"My dance partner in our end of module show."
"What was it like?" Graham didn't have a girlfriend. To be precise he didn't have many friends. He was in the second year of a maths, computer science and business management course at a university up North; he had business associates, male of course. Graham was a 'new man' and for him business and women were a disastrous mix. He had one ambition in life. He wanted to be rich.
"All right, I suppose," answered Mark. It didn't worry Graham that his younger brother had lost his cherry before he had. After all, girlfriends were expensive appendages.
"All right?" repeated Graham surprised.
"Yeah, all right, although to be honest I think I'd rather have had a wank." Mark was as open as the day was long and could be quite disarming at times.
"Did you use a jonny?"
"Of course. What do you think Dad gave them to us for before we left for uni?"
"Party balloons," retorted Graham in the verbal battle for his seniority.
"And I'm going to keep it in my black box as a souvenir."
"Yeuk. You're gross, Mark. She stole your cherry..." The brothers told each other everything; Graham would have known if Mark had already lost his virginity. "...did you steal hers?"
"Think so. I felt something give and she went 'ouch'. Don't know how I'm going to explain away the blood on the sheets." This was typical Mark.
"You'll have to take them to the laundrette yourself."
"You're right, bro."
"Mark, are you going to tell the 'rents?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll give them a ring on Mum's mobile just after this. 'Hey, Mum, I had sex for the first time last night.' 'Oh, really, dear, was she a nice girl?' She'd go ballistic. But you can tell Dad if you want, casually some time, say in a week or so. Got to go. I've got to go to the laundrette. I love you, bro."
"Love you too."

Graham placed his phone back in the pocket of his sweats next to his groin. He was expecting his parents to call soon. His mobile was programmed not to take outgoing calls unless they were a legitimate business expense. He tried to read the newspaper, but was distracted by what his brother had just told him. Despite any strategies he did love his little brother and he felt quite proud of him now that he was a man. Graham had not yet trodden the dangerous path of sex, at least not with another person. Of course he and Mark had experimented together at home when the 'rents were out, and sometimes when they weren't if father was sleeping off a glass of wine or two and mother was watching one of her many TV programmes, but that didn't count. For brothers the two boys couldn't have been more different. Graham had inherited his father's looks and his mother's nature; Mark his mother's looks and father's nature. Graham had also inherited his father's bone malady and as a child had undergone corrective surgery, but despite his physical weakness mother's nature combined with testosterone and a good brain made him a formidable character, albeit utterly egocentric. Throughout childhood he had always been described as an old man before his time. When he left for university it was a wrench for both boys and their father.

A year later Mark followed on to university, but on the outskirts of London, to take a degree course in drama, singing and dance. He was a natural and had always taken leading rôles in school productions. The boys had even chosen different schools. He had honed his body since adolescence, electing a strict diet and rarely drinking anything but water; and so his little adventure of the previous night could never be described as alcohol fuelled. He was proud of his physique and never reticent in displaying it, although I had never been fortunate enough to see him in his leotard or tights.

I must confess I adored Mark. I don't think there were many people who didn't. He was that sort of kid. Graham was much harder going although we were able to meet on the intellectual plane, but he could be sooo boring, particularly when he was expounding his latest money-spinning project, whether that be chess, poker, his film company or inventing television games. University provided him with facilities for all that. Underneath all this he was a good kid and despite the pursuit of the mighty pound he remained an ethical creature. Sadly his prime motivation was 'what's in it for me?'. He could never do anything for its own sake or out of idealism, while Mark would give his last penny away whether the person offered it needed it or not.

However, I am leading you up the garden path, dear Reader, for this is going to be a tale about Mark. The close relationship of the brothers, however, was such an important part of their make up, despite being separated by over a hundred miles. Even with the contrast in their characters it is difficult to separate them and it serves to make them each stand out.

Mark's performing arts course was organised into a series of modules each lasting several weeks. At first the theory would be taught and as the students went along they would be build up the theory into practice and perform on stage before a paying audience in the university theatre. The last work had been Oklahoma. At school Mark had walked into the lead rôles, but now he was a small fish in a big lake and had to compete against the prima donnas whose backgrounds were stage school from the year dot and who already had professional stage and television performances on their CVs. In his first year Mark was wise enough to accept this and looking around understood that with hard work by the time he reached his final year he too could take the starring parts. He already had his Equity card and one obvious advantage over many of his contemporaries – he was keen, prepared to work at it and had a better attitude than those complacent ones who had gained it all before the age of eighteen and expected to stroll into the best parts as if by divine right. And so the first module had climaxed the night before. Mark had danced and sung in the chorus and in due deference to the traditions of the transitory world of the stage where love affairs come and go with a change in wind direction he had begun his first romance and consummated it in his flat. This he shared with three other performing arts students often under the watchful eye of their landlady who lived on the ground floor and added the board to their lodging. The landlady had been looking after performing arts students for years, was used to their comings and goings and did not worry who their guests were. She made sure the flat was kept clean and tidy, her young gentlemen were fed and all this in return for the rent and complimentary tickets whenever they had a performance. When Mark and Amanda returned to the flat after the end of run party his landlady was safely tucked up in bed.

* * *

I had known Graham and Mark since they were six or seven. I'd followed their careers through school and now university. Their father was one of my closest friends; unfortunately he was fiercely antigay and as I'm still in the closet I have been too cowardly to fight my corner for fear of losing him. At one stage I asked their father how Mark was coping with the gays at his dance school.
"You know Mark. He'll tolerate them, be friends with them, take the piss out of them, but if one of them touches him there'll be all hell to pay." I likened my relationship with those two boys to that optical illusion of three flights of stairs which form a triangle and yet your eye continues to mount them. Graham looked up to me because I was university graduate, I looked up to Mark because he was cute in every respect and he looked up to Graham because he was big bro, tenuous grounds for a relationship, but I only describe them, not imply approval.

* * *

Monday morning at uni after the last performance naturally proved an anticlimax. Mark would get used to that as he progressed through his course. He felt Amanda's cold hand on his back under his tee shirt when she arrived. He turned and kissed her smiling cheek, saying
"Are you okay?" She blushed and coyly said yes. The morning would start with debriefing the last module with its performance and finish with briefing for the next one. After the lunch break a 'getting to know you' session would be held followed by a work-out in the gym. Dancers had to keep fit. The debrief went well. Mark was mentioned for the effort he had put into the musical as well as the hard work leading up to it. After a coffee break the students reconvened in the large practice room to be joined this time by members of the musical performing arts group who hadn't included drama in their course. This module was to be dance; not only that the girls were to be divided from the boys. In their wisdom tutors determined who the work partners were to be and Mark was paired with Scott. At that point he did not have the slightest idea who Scott was. At the end of the briefing the students would have a chance to search out their partners and could use lunchtime to get to know them. As their lecturer told them,
"Your choice of partner was made in an entirely random way by drawing names out of a hat. If you are to be professionals, you will have to work with the next person, whether you know him or not, whether you like him or not, whether you have the same ability as each other or not. To be truly professional you will have to pull each other along for the sake of the production and in the hope that you will spotted and get a job in the next production. And while we are talking about the tradition of professionalism, you will not arrive at or depart from your classes in your dance clothes. You will change before and after the 'performance' and wear a covering such as a track suit during the times you are outside the department or in lectures. And for the sake of those around you, you will keep your kit regularly laundered and as you know the department provides well equipped changing rooms with showers and you all have substantial lockers. The good name of the department is in your keeping. If you have no questions, you are free until this afternoon's session begins at two sharp and I suggest an early and a light lunch to prevent any mishaps." A light ripple of laughter went round the room. Then the students got up and started looking for their partners. Mark told Amanda that he would see her in the junior common room when the afternoon session was over.

He ripped a sheet out of his 'Otter Students' A4 Refill Pad' standard issue, wrote 'Scott' on it in black felt tip and held it in the air as if he were a tourist guide at the airport. There was a wave from the other side of the room, but Mark missed it. Not that it mattered for soon a solid body with a head dominated by large blue eyes and topped with a huge thatch of natural light brown curls made its determined way across the lecture theatre.
"Hi, I'm Scott. Are you Mark?" Since he was dressed in students' uniform of loose tee shirt covering the top at least of standard 501s Mark could only gain an impression of this extremely handsome young man from his character filled face. He took hold of Scott's outstretched hand, felt the firm shake and overlooked the stroked palm which formed part of it. It was hard to believe in the random choice of partners, for the tutors' selection had brought together two stunningly attractive and hardworking students into a partnership which would last at least six weeks, and who knows, maybe longer. As a sign of approval Mark took Scott in a hug and could feel the tight physique below that flowing tee shirt. He caught a smack of his natural body odour and unconsciously found it exhilarating. "Lunch?" said Scott. Mark nodded.

Over their organic yoghourt and Evian sparkling mineral water they started getting to know one another. Scott had come to dance late after being inspired by Billy Elliot. He had become interested in ballet, but realised that he had started far too late in life to become a professional at it, but that didn't prevent his interest. He just hoped that to start with he might get into a West End chorus or maybe television and be 'discovered' from there. When they were finished he and Mark went off to the changing room to get ready for the afternoon's gym session. The kit was very much prescribed; it was all part of the art's discipline which as students in this faculty and young Equity card holders they were expected to adhere to and for the gym it was leotard and shorts. In the changing room they stripped off. That had never been a problem for Mark. From a little boy upwards he had never been reticent in showing off his bits and pieces. He slipped into his white leotard and pulled on his roomy white shorts. They had to be roomy so as not to restrict leg movement. Scott wore a black lycra leotard which clamped skin tight onto his body and then he pulled on a pair of matching black lycra shorts which came down to just above the knee. Mark was impressed with what he saw and the lycras emphasised the muscle development of Scott's buttocks. They pulled thick cotton tee shirts over their tops until they were warmed up and locked the rest of their kit away in their lockers. Mark was going to enjoy working with this fit young man. The session lasted two hours, a solid two hours work out. After the warm up they spent time stretching their legs and here the partner work came into play as one exercised and the other held him steady. There was an introduction to weights and the session ended with gymnastics relevant to lifting one's partner in dance routines. Afterwards the boys showered and changed with the rest of their class and said goodbye before Mark went off to look for Am anda in the JCR. Then they disappeared off to the shopping mall together.

And so the week progressed. Mark and Scott found each other to be their dream dance partner. They encouraged each other to greater endeavours and shared a sense of humour. Mark was looking forward to the weekend for his grandmother had given him for his birthday two tickets for a ballet at Covent Garden on Saturday night. He was lucky in that respect. His widowed grandmother had been left very comfortably off. Her son and daughter-in-law wanted for nothing and so granny directed her wealth towards her daughter, son-in-law and more importantly her grandchildren. She had promised to buy Mark whatever kit he needed for his course and naturally a lot of the specialist equipment such as ballet shoes and tap shoes didn't come cheap. She helped in other ways that Mark knew little about.

The week progressed until Friday when Mark looked around for Amanda before they went off to their segregated classes. As he couldn't find her he was about to ring her on his mobile when he noticed he had a text message. It was from Amanda. She had the flu and had been taken home by her mother for some TLC. Mark was disappointed, not only because she was ill, but now he had no one to go to the ballet with... until he thought... 'I wonder if Scott would like to go.' He found Scott in the changing room and after a hug he started to explain the situation to him. It happened to be a ballet session that morning and Scott was already in his white leotard and ballet tights. He cut a dashing figure as his silhouette hid nothing.
"You can take that handkerchief out of your tights for a start, Scott." Mark grinned as he said it.
"That's no hanky, dearie," he said in the campest of voices. "Try and wipe your nose with it if you don't believe me," and he struck a pose and pouted. Everyone around, including Mark, fell about with mirth and one of the little group of dancers who were out and bold about it added
"You never ask me, Scott love."
"Gordon, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, you're far too butch for me. And anyway I don't like the flavour of that body talc you use."
"Mmm, charming." The laughter subsided and the troupe carried on changing.
"Because Amanda's been taken home with the flu, I've got a spare ticket for Covent Garden tomorrow night. It's in the dress circle and I don't want to waste it."
"You'd be able to sell that easily to someone in the queue outside, and make a profit."
"I don't want to make a profit. I'd like to invite you to come with me."
"Do you mean that?"
"Of course, we're partners, aren't we?"
"I'd love to, but can you give me a week or so to pay for it?"
Mark grabbed hold of Scott's shoulders, turned him so that they were eyeballing one another and said "I told you. I don't want any money. They were a birthday present and I'd like to share it with you." The message had finally got through and Scott was delighted to accept. "As it's Covent Garden we ought to dress up a bit."
"What? Dinner jacket?"
"Well, not that far, but certainly not polo shirt and sweats." Before they went home that night Mark told Scott he would pick him up at his hall of residence as it was only five minutes from the station.
"Mark, could we go up a little earlier? Do you mind? There's a specialist dance shop there just round the corner and it'd be a chance to buy some new kit I need. Otherwise I'd have to make a special journey."
"That's a great idea. I need some stuff too." They hugged before they went off on their separate ways.

Back at his digs Mark spent the evening catching up with his work so that he could relax over the weekend. He had no gym session booked that Saturday morning and so he went off to the university swimming baths to do lengths in order to build up his fitness and stamina. He met some of his fellow performing arts students there with the same idea and he chatted to them before showering off the chlorine and getting changed. He tried to relax in the afternoon before getting ready to go out, but it wasn't really in the nature of the beast. Finally he changed and went to catch the bus into the university. He called in at the hall of residence where Scott lived and after a couple of minutes he bounded out of the lift dressed stunningly in a dark blue double breasted suit, pale pink shirt and silk rainbow tie with a red rose as a button hole. Mark was smitten with the sheer beauty of the boy and taken aback when Scott produced another red rose from behind his back and proceeded to pin it in the button hole of Mark's single breasted light grey suit, and it matched his tie perfectly. Who said that students were scruffy? They walked to the railway station to catch the train into town, a perfect pair of handsome young men who received the glad eye from many of the local girls they passed on the way. They reached London in plenty of time and found the shop Scott wanted to visit. It was a theatrical costumier's and Mark was spellbound by what he saw in the narrow shop window which belied the size of what was inside. He followed Scott up the stairs to the next floor and was greeted by a besuited assistant with
"Good afternoon, Master Scott. My, we're becoming quite a young man. Perhaps we should say Mr Scott."
Scott grinned and returned the greeting, saying "This my partner Mark."
"Ooh, Master Scott, we had no idea congratulations were in order. And to you Master Mark."
"No, no, Mr Atkins, you misunderstand. He's my dance partner on my course at uni."
"Ooh, I do beg your pardon, but I must say, you make a lovely couple." Scott laughed and so did Mark when he realised what was going on. While Master Scott was receiving the attentions of Mr Atkins, Mark looked round the shop and was impressed at the kit that was on sale. In the end he made a couple of purchases of his own. The boys still had an hour or so to fill in before the performance and after looking at the street entertainers around Covent Garden they went into a cafeteria for a drink and a sticky bun.

Finally they arrived at the theatre and having deposited their purchases in the cloakroom went into the auditorium, taking their seats at the front of the dress circle. What Mark's grandmother must have paid for those tickets is unimaginable and not to be questioned. The two boys sat back ready to enjoy Swan Lake and until the curtain went up took in the sumptuous surroundings. To say that they enjoyed the ballet would be an understatement. It had two effects on them, a negative one in the realisation that they would never be able to reach that standard and a positive one in deepening their enthusiasm and making them want to work harder at what they were doing at uni. At half past ten they were washed out of the theatre by the emerging crowd and had to make it pretty sharply to the station for the train back. When they finally got back to their suburb Mark realised that he had missed the last bus and didn't relish walking back to his digs alone along the chav-lined streets late on a Saturday night
"I'll have to get a taxi," he said to Scott.
"Rubbish. You can crash out in my room for the night. I'll lend you a spare tracksuit so that you don't crease that splendid suit of yours. It'll go some way towards repaying you for such a fantastic night out." Scott's room key also opened the front door of his hall and so he let Mark and himself in. Whatever the time of night there would be someone around and on Saturday night the bar remained open later. The two boys went up to Scott's room. Mark was impressed with the size. It had a bed which doubled as a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a washing area and a study area.
"I'm going for a shower, Mark. Are you coming?" London was always hot and sticky, no matter what the season was, and the pollution in the air seemed to cling to you. The boys took their suits and shirts off and hung them neatly in the wardrobe. Scott handed Mark a bath towel which he wrapped round his waist and they walked down the corridor to the communal bathroom. Scott followed Mark into the shower and bolted the door behind them. They enjoyed simply standing under the stream of hot water and took turns to wash each other's back with body gel. At one stage Mark got quite turned on by it which made the two boys roar with laughter. What surprised him though was that once it was wet Scott's hair became straight and appeared much longer, almost down to his shoulders. Shower turned off they dried themselves and returned wrapped only in a bath towel each to Scott's room.
"You've got to help me, Mark. If I let my hair dry naturally I'll never get a comb through it. I've got a hair dryer. Will you dry and comb it for me, please?" Scott took his hairdryer out of the cupboard, plugged it in and handed it to Mark with a comb. Drying and combing Scott's hair made Mark go all tingly; it was not helped by the pheromones he exuded and for the second time in fifteen minutes Mark grew hard and his dick stuck out from the slit in the towel. "Am I turning you on?" asked Scott with a laugh. Mark laughed without answering the question. He had already asked that in his own mind and was confused with the reply. With Scott's hair restored to it natural curls Mark changed into his briefs and the borrowed tracksuit and they settled down to chatting until Scott fell asleep on his bed in a pair of boxers, and Mark in the armchair.

The next morning when he awoke Mark felt like death warmed up. It was about eight and he decided to make his way home. Scott put his suit into a suit bag for him, making sure he did not crush the red rose. The boys gave each other a hug and parted. As it was light, Mark was prepared to walk back to his digs. He might have run if he had the right kit on. However, a bus came along and he hopped onto it. As he sat there staring out of the window he felt rather self-conscious dressed in Scott's tracksuit and his own black leather shoes and grey socks. He also felt particularly horny and at first put the erection he was nursing in Scott's sweats down to the vibrations of the bus. His mind was wandering through the events of the previous day. To begin with it was the red rose. Mark knew the traditional message a red rose conveyed to a girlfriend or fiancée and wondered whether he should just dismiss the message from Scott as unintended or coincidence. If it was intended, Mark felt rather flattered. Then there was the way Scott had been greeted by Mr Atkins at the costumier's and how he'd jumped to conclusions at the word 'partner'. During the performance he had spent so much time looking at the male dancers to the point of often missing the effect of the whole, and his looking was not confined to the choreography. He realised that at times he and Scott were almost snuggled up together in their seats. On their return to Scott's room he unhesitatingly offered to put him up for the night and he'd unhesitatingly accepted. They'd showered together, and whilst they'd showered together in the communal showers at uni among others, that was no big deal. However, this was in private, bolted in a cubicle together. Again, although initiated by Scott, Mark hadn't balked at the idea either. He'd loved drying and running his fingers through Scott's hair, and now he was wearing Scott's clothes. To sum up he could not get over how incredibly stun ning Scott had looked in his double-breasted suit. Mark returned to the real world of Sunday morning when the driver shouted down the bus
"This is as far as we go, mate. It's the terminus." Mark blushed as he realised that he'd missed his stop and asked if he could stay on and get off on the journey back.

Sunday breakfast back at the digs took the form of a buffet or brunch as a formal, cooked meal wasn't served until the evening. Mark was more than ready to eat when he arrived back. Then he went off to shave, shower and change. Afterwards he just lay on his bed dozing to catch up with his sleep and in one of his waking moments to sort out that stiffie he'd enjoyed, but which had frustrated him so on the bus, again stimulated by the same thoughts. He finally woke up at about two. He tried to ring Amanda, but his call was answered by her mother who said she was asleep and still feeling rough and that it would be at least another week before she returned to uni. The red rose that Mark had lovingly put into water would be faded by then. He needed to get out, so he put on shorts, a singlet and trainers and went for a run around the local park.

Out in the fresh air Mark began to feel normal at last as the blood brought oxygen to the remotest parts of his brain and body. The shorts he was wearing were several years, if not decades, out of fashion, hailing from the days before the integral support. The green nylon short shorts only touched at the waistband, their legs were so wide. He had to wear a dance belt under them to prevent fall out; even a conventional jockstrap would have been inelegant. He loved the feel of the cooling breeze over his almost bare buttocks and if he had bent over to tie up his shoe lace he could have been arrested for mooning. He found the uphill path he used and practised sprints up it while using the return descent to recover. He was used to pacing himself, but during one of the recovery periods he found himself wishing that Scott could have been there to make it competitive and then as he repeated the exercise he realised that he just wished Scott could have been there. What was happening to him? As a boy he'd always liked to have his brother Graham around; that was only natural, he'd grown up with him and they were such great buddies. Of the two Mark had been the extrovert who went out and did things while Graham had been the introvert and expected people and things to come to him. But life had moved on and Graham left home for university while Mark had to complete the upper sixth at school. Yes, he'd missed Graham, yes, he'd become the centre of his mother's attention because she missed her elder son so, and that was a source of friction, for Mark was the more independent and less compliant of the two, but that had been over a year ago and he'd grown used to it. Even at such an early stage in his career at uni Mark had gained many friends, he had met Amanda, but now just a single week ago he had met Scott and he held a different perspective on life. He'd discovered that he could exist quite comfortably with Amanda. Fine, he was concerned over her attack of flu. Initially he had been disappointed at not being able to take her to Covent Garden, but inexplicably Scott had more than compensated for that, and strangest of all, despite what had happened over the last week, and over the last twenty-four hours in particular, Mark recognised nothing sexual in their relationship. Why should he? After all was said and done he wasn't gay, was he? Nor was Scott. Mark stopped after his final sprint up the little hill and looked around. Despite the grey skies covering the sun, he could see that it was getting dark. It was time to jog back home. Back at the digs he soaked in a hot bath for an hour before dinner and afterwards spent the evening watching television with his flat mates.

Monday morning and another hard week ahead for Mark and Scott. In addition to the intense schedule of dance instruction, they had to put together the proposals for their contribution to the dance performance at the end of the module, as well as attend meetings to decide on the overall group programme. The following Monday four weeks of rehearsals would begin in earnest. In addition to this Mark had to fit in his singing lessons for they couldn't be neglected in favour of another discipline. The drama could wait until the next module. In a spare hour after lunch Mark and Scott found themselves a quiet corner in the JCR for their preliminary discussions. They could not resist talking about Swan Lake and it had inspired them to make their five minute act a ballet routine. They could not resist talking about how much they enjoyed each other's company and how they admired the way the other dressed, either. From that the conversation developed to the suggestion from Scott that since they were now partners they should for all their practical classes dress in exactly the same kit. The idea appealed to Mark, but he thought they wouldn't be able to do it as they wouldn't have the right stuff.
"Of course we can," countered Scott. "It's logical. When we got our kit list we were told to get two of this item, five of that. You had the same list, didn't you? Now we're roughly the same size - height and weight - we can lend each other kit and on Saturday when we were up in town I bought two bijou body stockings. I'd love to see you in one of those. We've got a mime class tomorrow. I'll bring them in and before we go tonight, we'll work out what kit we need for the week." Mark didn't say much, but certainly nodded his agreement and his eyes were sparkling. Inside his sweats he was nursing another boner.

Mark and Scott worked their way through a physically demanding week. They made an impression on their tutors, not as the most talented dancers in the group, but as the most committed and hardworking. It was all too common for the course to accept prima donnas who by dint of the their grooming since the age of five or their CV of appearing in stage shows or television commercials expected to walk into the starring rôles and leading parts without having to make the slightest effort. It was noticeable the respect our two boys gained. Even on Saturday morning their ballet tutor booked them in for a session of help on their act. After that they made up their mind that they had thoroughly deserved a weekend free of all college work. They decided that they would go out for a pizza supper followed by a trip to the cinema. Mark had asked his landlady if she would mind if Scott stayed over for the night as he needed to get away from work for the weekend. They went and saw the early showing of The History Boys to get back to the flat at a reasonable hour. They settled down in the cinema seats and made themselves comfortable. When Scott snuggled up to Mark he didn't mind in the least and even held his hand when he put his arm round his shoulder. It happened so naturally that he just accepted it. He just had to put up with the stiffie in his 501s that were so tight it had nowhere to go. After the film was over they walked back to the hall of residence to pick up Scott's overnight bag. Mark looked round his room. On the pin board were pictures of dancers including Wayne Sleep, but most prominent was the poster of Rudolf Nureyev in full flight. Overnight bag picked up, the two boys left for the bus stop. As they walked from their destination to Mark's digs their hands brushed, causing giggles, when Scott finally took hold of Mark's hand and they walked along in the dark like that until they reached the flat. As it was Saturday night his other flatmates were out doing whatever students do o n a Saturday night. Mark and Scott watched television for a little while, but they were really whacked after their demanding week and so decided to go to bed. Scott rolled his sleeping bag out on the floor, but as he was lying there Mark took pity on him and invited him to come and lie on his bed.

The only light in the room was the desk lamp turned to face a corner of the room. As Scott peeled off his sleeping bag and climbed onto the bed bedside Mark all feeling of sleep left both boys and they were wide awake. Scott slipped under the duvet, put his arm round Mark's shoulder and they snuggled together. Mark had been hard even before he issued the invitation, but now there was an out and out battle between his dick and the stretch cotton of his briefs until he adjusted himself and allowed his dick to point north. At first they just lay there relaxed and in unutterable contentment. Scott turned to Mark and said
"Have you ever been kissed by a boy."
"No, isn't it a bit yeuk..." As soon as he'd said that Mark bit his tongue (metaphorically) and wished he hadn't.
"Don't knock it until you try it," retorted Scott. "Would you like to try?"
"It would have to be a pretty stunning, gorgeously beautiful and sexy boy before I said yes."
"Can you name one?"
"I shall have to think about that. Mmm, I've only ever met one that fills that job description."
"And where was that?"
"Oh, at uni. Didn't I ever tell you?"
"No. Is it anyone I know?"
"I don't think so."
"In that case I won't ask his name."
"Oh, his name is Scott."
"In that case I don't know him." It was Scott's turn to become the wind-up merchant.
"Would you like to know how I feel about him?" Even Scott couldn't drag the teasing out any longer and he half turned and covered Mark's mouth with his lips. Mark melded his body into Scott's. This was better than anything he had had with Amanda or the girls at school. As their tongues met it felt explosive. Mark loved running his fingers through Scott's hair, unravelling the curls and letting them spring back into place. He could feel he was moist. Unwilling to break the kiss he took Scott's free hand and place it between his legs. He was in heaven. Eventually he groaned "Make me come, Scott."
"I'll do better than that." He hooked his thumb under the waistband of Mark's briefs and pulled them over his butt. Mark wriggled to get rid of them altogether. Scott drew back the duvet and buried his face in Mark's groin, his nose in Mark's neatly trimmed bush. All that came from Mark were little whimpers until he finally screamed out as he unloaded in Scott's mouth.

Sleep came quickly to both boys after that. When they did wake their bodies were entwined. Mark took control and kissed Scott in the way he had learnt from him the previous evening and it led on to a similar result. Mark felt comfortable in a way he'd never felt comfortable before in his life, fulfilled, wanting for nothing but to be snuggled up in a warm bed with this incredible young hunk beside him. Scott was stroking him which was stimulating without being arousing. Finally at about ten o'clock it was time to get up. They showered and dressed. Scott had brought his hair dryer along and Mark went through the routine of teasing out his curls for him. They finally went down to brunch.
"You were making a lot of noise last night, Mark, screaming," said one of his flatmates.
"Sorry, did I wake you? It was just a bad dream."
"A very sweet dream, if you ask me," added one of the others who had been ogling Scott ever since he'd entered the dining room.

After breakfast Scott and Mark decided to walk into the centre just so that they could spend some time together and get some fresh air as well. Only after leaving Scott at his hall of residence did Mark remember that Amanda was due back that day and he walked along to her hall in the hope of seeing her. One of her friends told him that she was not due back until the evening when her parents would bring her. Mark did a little window shopping in the stores and caught the bus back to his flat. He wrote out a timetable of all the things he had to do over the coming week. He wanted to keep up to date because his brother was going to come and visit him and he wanted to make sure they could spend most of the time together. Mark felt claustrophobic and in need of a cool breeze on his buttocks. He changed into his running kit and jogged off to the local park. In everything he did he was quite single-minded and so he concentrated on his running and nothing else. He increased by two the number of sprints he did on the uphill stretch when he felt rain in the wind and decided to jog back to the flat before he got a proper soaking. After dinner he settled down to learn some lines for a comedy tap routine he had later in the week, watched the communal television and went to bed. In the morning he wanted to get in early so that he could visit the barber before lectures and practices began. He could not stand having long hair, however much he admired it on Scott. That night he slept a deep and dreamless sleep, not yearning to have Scott at his side, or even Amanda. In the morning he was up sharp and out of the house by eight. He was lucky enough to be first at the barber's and into college for nine. He searched out Amanda, took her in a hug and gave her a peck on the cheek. They had time enough to chat for a few minutes and to arrange to meet at lunch in the refectory. That was it for that week. They met for lunch and Scott was always there with them and Mark could see nothing wrong with that. Late afternoon and early eveni ng the boys had rehearsals for the end of module show and Amanda also had things to do to catch up with what she'd missed while she was off with flu. However, on Saturday night they would go out together and she could meet Graham. Also, because two's company and three's a crowd Scott was going to come along. He was keen to meet Mark's brother anyway.

Late Saturday afternoon Graham and Mark took the bus into the centre, picked up Scott from his hall of residence and then they went on to the women's hall for Amanda. The remake production of Casino Royale with the new James Bond had just been released for general circulation and so they had to queue for their tickets. Once inside they talked through the adverts and the trailers, then settled down once the main feature came on. The film took their full attention and on the way out they had a lively discussion about the merits of Daniel Craig as the new James Bond. Graham thought that the definitive actor was Sean Connery and none of the others after him were particularly convincing. Giving the female point of view Amanda preferred Roger Moore while Scott recalled his appearance on a TV chat show where he got rather uppity when a knitting pattern was produce showing him modelling a yellow cardigan. While this mass debate was going on, they had reached the pizza parlour and were waiting to be shown to their seats. Once seated they ordered the largest pizza on the menu and four plates. However attentive their London girl of a waitress was, she could not refrain from saying "There you go" every time she placed something on the table. The poor girl didn't realise that she was being sent up when they said it back to her in their best Cockney accents.

Pizzas consumed, our four decided they wanted to finish off with ice cream. As they sat back at their table feeling replete Mark announced to the assembled company that he was off to take a leak. When he arrived back he noticed the two empty seats.
"Where are Graham and Amanda?"
"Oh," said Scott. "Amanda said she had a headache and Graham offered to take her back to her hall."
"Nothing I said, I hope" said Mark in his irrepressible manner.
"Nothing you said," replied Scott in a hushed tone. "I somehow think she doesn't approve of me. That's only an impression I get, one I've been getting all week."
"Oh." Mark thought for a bit. "Oh... you don't think she thinks we're... that you and me are having..." Scott stretched out his arm across the table and placed his hand tenderly on Mark's wrist.
"Mark, I think she does. She didn't actually say anything this evening. There have been other distractions, but wasn't it Princess Di who said 'Well, there were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded.' That's my thinking, not anything Amanda actually said, but I think she felt it." Mark was momentarily downcast for he never intentionally set out to hurt anyone. Scott grasped his hand and said "Don't let it get to you. Come back with me. I'll make it up to you. We ought to go for a beer first, but I know you'd only drink mineral water." Mark laughed as he knew he was being teased.
"Graham knows his way back to the flat."
"By the way, he left this tenner. You can give him the change back at the flat."
"Change? He'll be lucky. We're in the home counties now. London prices." As quickly as his mood had gone down it had gone back up again. They paid up and uttered a final 'There you go' as they gave the waitress a tip.

The town was lively as it would be on a Saturday night with a combination of the student brain and the local brawn. Largely it was peaceful though and the only risk of its boiling over into factional rivalry was when the pubs were turning out or when a more desperate student tried chatting up an surburban grimmy. It never seemed to happen the other way round. When they arrived back at Scott's room they sat chatting for an hour or so, enough for the pizza to have subsided and for Mark to have missed the last bus. Scott would touch Mark or hold his hand as they talked, all very gradually, but all very arousingly. Mark was back on an even keel and felt just so right in Scott's company. Finally Scott said
"Do you mind if I shower first?" Taking a shower together had not even entered Mark's head. He could spend time looking at Scott's posters and his ballet books. When he returned he handed Mark a clean towel. He didn't need to hoover his hair as he'd worn a shower cap. Mark stripped and went off for his shower. On his return his eyes opened wide. He could not believe what he was seeing. Instead of getting ready for bed Scott had tried on a new pair of ballet tights, sheer, translucent and red – more vermilion than red – and you could see flesh through their tightness. They stretched into every nook and cranny of Scott's body and emphasised the muscular nature of his butt cheeks by following the contours of his crevice. Mark looked up from Scott's bulging package, saw the last inch of his treasure trail as it gave way to his belly button, a neat innie, topped by a sixpack and pecs to die for. His nipples were flushed with blood and enlarged. Mark had seen Scott naked many a time, lusted over his naked body, received carnal fulfilment from it, so why was it ten times more exciting in this skin-tight garment?
"Let's try our ballet routine," said Scott in a low voice exuding emotion. They hadn't discussed music for it yet, but since they'd tried to base it on Torville and Dean's Olympic gold ice-skating routine it was natural to try it to Ravel's Bolero. Scott got the CD player going, turned down so as not to attract the attention of his neighbours. Because of the confined space the course routine was quickly forgotten and turned into slow disco dancing, hard package pressed against hard package. It was soon time to go further.

It was ten o'clock the following morning before Mark left the hall and caught the bus back to the flat. He wasn't going to miss his stop this time. Walking from the bus stop to the road where he lived he was full of mixed feelings, mixed emotions. He had crossed the Rubicon, he had affirmed his relationship with Scott at the cost of the one with Amanda. He was suffering pangs of conscience for it was not within his nature to cause deliberate hurt. On the other hand he had in life always been open and true and this revelation of his true orientation made dividing his loyalties an impossibility. Before leaving he and Scott had spent their waking hours in deep discussion. Neither had tried to persuade the other to accept his point of view; they had been sounding boards for one another, but the complete absence of coercion brought conclusions which might appear obvious to a disinterested third party.

When he reached his digs Mark went straight up to his room. Graham wasn't there, but obviously around and so he went down to the dining room where brunch was in full session.
"Hi, Gray."
"Hi, Mark." The other flatmates were there. Mark said hi to them as well. He was relieved. He didn't really know what to say to Graham, but with the others there he couldn't have said anything anyway. He felt that Graham was reticent to speak as well.
"Did you enjoy last night?"
"Yeah. Great film." The stilted conversation faltered.
"Thanks for taking Amanda back."
"That's all right, bro. Don't mention it. Did you get that money for the pizza?"
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks." On Sundays if they wanted a cooked breakfast they had to make it themselves and Mark busied himself with the little grills and the microwave to make bacon butties with baked beans for himself and Graham. They finished off with buttered toast and marmalade. Obviously neither had lost his appetite. Meanwhile Graham was burying himself in the financial pages of the Sunday Telegraph. Finally they'd finished and they disappeared up to Mark's room.

Graham sat in the armchair, the newspaper on his lap; Mark sat on his bed. The silence was unnatural.
"Er... Graham." The elder brother looked up. "I lost my cherry last night," said the younger.
"Haven't we had this conversation before?" Graham said remorselessly. "You can only lose it once."
"Uh uh. This was my bottom cherry."
"What?" Graham had suddenly lost interested in the business section. "You don't mean..."
"You won't tell Mum and Dad, will you? I can ignore Mum's nagging, but I couldn't hurt Dad. You know what he thinks about... you know... gays. He thinks they should all have their balls cut off and be sent to the Isle of Wight."
"It'll cost you. Did you use a condom?"
"No."
"That was stupid," said the elder brother judgementally.
"But Scott did," Mark added with a grin, feeling easier now that he'd made his confession.
"What was it like?" The full import hadn't sunk in with Graham yet.
"You know they talk about seeing stars when sex is good, well, I saw stars."
"Did it hurt? You seem to be walking all right."
"For a few seconds to begin with and then wow!"
"Do you think you'll do it again?"
Mark thought. "Mmm, but only with Scott." Graham went back to his newspaper, but he wasn't reading it. All sorts of things were churning through his mind. "How was Amanda's headache?"
"It seemed to clear up quite quickly. She said she just needed some fresh air."
"I'll phone her later, but at the moment I don't really know what to say."
"I wouldn't worry. She was okay." Graham appeared anxious to get back to his paper. There was a silence. Finally Graham put the paper down. "Mark." There was a ring of urgency in his voice. "I finally did it last night and you're the only one I'm telling."
"Did what?" asked his brother obtusely. The fraternal closeness clicked in and Mark and Graham instantly recalled the telephone conversation they'd had a few weeks ago.
"Had a shag, dummy."
"Anyone I know?"
"Your ex-dance partner."
"Amanda? What was it like?"
"You know what you said about seeing stars?" Mark nodded.
"I saw stars."
"Did you use a rubber?"
"Of course. What do you think Dad gave them to us for before we left for uni? Party balloons?" retorted Graham in the verbal battle for his seniority. Mark pondered for a second.
"I needn't ask if you stole her cherry." That remark could have been reproachful, but it was just Mark's innate sense of fun that had taken over in an emotional moment. Indeed his emotions were in freefall. Graham was of a much harder disposition. Mark jumped off his bed, went over to Graham and took him in a hug, then burst into tears. When his tears were exhausted he said "You know, Gray, I love Scott and I think he loves me."

They stood in a hug for some minutes. Relationships had suddenly altered. Mark's with Scott had become public, albeit in a limited way; Graham had taken over with Amanda where Mark had left off. At least when they came face to face the blame wouldn't be all one way; indeed logically Graham had done his brother a good turn.
"Mark, I want to see Amanda before I catch my train."
"Okay. I'll come into town with you, Gray. It was going to be either running or swimming. Looks like swimming's won."

Soon after two they caught a bus into the centre. They said goodbye and hugged outside the women's hall of residence.
"Tell Amanda I'll be in the refectory at lunchtime tomorrow. That's if she wants to speak to me. I'll be there even if she doesn't. That way she'll know how to avoid me. See ya, Gray."
"See ya, Mark." They hugged again and turned, Graham to go into the hall and Mark to make his way off to the university baths. He did the number of lengths he'd set himself and in record time. He always felt better after some physical exertion. Then he showered and changed. Not wanting to go back to the flat just yet he made his way to the men's hall. He was in luck. Scott was in. The two young men hugged.
"Mmm, I just love the smell of chlorine," said Scott.
"Really?" answered Mark.
"No." They sat on Scott's bed together and Mark recounted the goings-on of he past few hours. "Any regrets?"
"Not really. Thinking of it logically it's worked out rather well except..."
"Except?"
"Except I've still got to make my peace with Amanda. I don't want to have a feud. After all I've got to work with her for the foreseeable and do you know something? I think Graham's fallen for her. By the way, I said I'd be in the refectory at lunchtime if she wants to talk. So if she turns up do you mind disappearing?"
"You can rely on me to be discreet." The two boys kissed, then lay down on the bed together and kissed some more. Scott looked into Mark's eyes and said "Did I ever tell you I love you?"
"No, tell me."
"I'll do better than that. I'll show you."

Mark got back to the flat at about seven in time for dinner. He was starving. The events of the day had made him forget entirely about food. Because he burnt off so much energy he needed his food; and on that Sunday he had certainly used up the calories. After supper, once he was back in his room, he took out the black lockable box in which he kept his most personal things. He removed a self-seal plastic bag which contained a rather foetid knotted condom and replaced it with a rather less foetid used condom in a fresh self-seal plastic pouch. He locked the black box, put it back in its safe place and got on with his timetable and preparations for the coming week. After that a little television and then bed. He was exhausted.

Monday morning started off with a gym session – weight training. Mark and Scott donned a black leotard and black lycra shorts. Except that one had short and the other long hair they would have made a matching pair, but it helped tell them apart. After a week it dawned on the others on the course that they were dressing alike. Taking the piss during a break one of the prima donnas said in front of everybody
"Hey, are you two a married couple or something?" Our couple just looked up and waited for a pregnant pause and Mark said
"We're not married."
Scott added "Yet! But we are a couple." A cheer went up from the gay contingent among the dancers. The tormentor retreated. Mark and Scott were out.

As arranged Mark and Scott went off to the refectory for lunch, but Amanda didn't show. Their declaration of love and its physical fulfilment over the weekend had released a flood of creative activity within the boys. With twenty-five percent rehearsal time already elapsed they made a decision to scrap the Torville and Dean routine. Instead they were going to replace it with a sequence from the ballet Romeo and Juliet. They would adapt the choreography for two male lovers. Naturally they would discuss it with their tutors first, and they were due for a meet after their last lecture. Knowing the culture of ballet dancing they would be allowed to do it, particularly as the interpretation would be in the minds of the audience. In the case of any ambiguity the music would give it away anyway. In their own minds they had already christened it Romeo and Homeo. Over lunch they feverishly worked away at the draft plan and went off to the departmental library to find the required CD. As anticipated the meeting with their tutors confirmed that they could change their act, that it was an adaptation of a female and male dance for two male dancers was approved, even praised by one of them for an imaginative approach, but they knew he batted for their side anyway as sweaty hand prints on the back of their tights had proved in the past, and no, it was not going to appear on the programme as Romeo and Homeo, but simply as 'an excerpt from Romeo and Juliet to the music of Prokofiev'. With the meeting complete the boys went through their first tentative steps and gained some correction and lots of advice. They insisted though that they wanted it to end in an erotic hug. At five the whole group assembled to rehearse the overture and the finale which formed the framework to the individual dances. After the boys had changed, they parted with a kiss on the cheek and returned to their separate lodgings. Tuesday passed in a similar manner, ending with a group rehearsal. However, when Mark regained his flat, he found among the letters awaiting him not only a bank statement reminding him of the amount of his student loan, but what looked like a birthday card – except it wasn't his birthday for another six months. When he opened the envelope he found a homemade card, similar to a Valentine's Day card. Inside were printed two lines of verse: 'I thought I would love no other / Until, that is, I met your brother.' In gold pen was hand written 'With a hug, Amanda'. No kiss.

Mark was confused. Since before the weekend he had been so infatuated with Scott that he had taken little time to think of anything else. In his quieter, more pensive moments he had assumed the break up of the relationship to be his fault and he was still coming to terms with that. Unless she was being viciously sarcastic this card introduced a facet to the situation that he not even considered. That she could have been attracted to Graham seemed even more unlikely to him because Graham had shown little interest in girls and the girls he had been friends with had always been part of the group he went round with rather than close personal friends. Could it be that he, Mark, was more sinned against than sinning?

Over Wednesday lunchtime Scott and Mark could relax more. There were never lectures on a Wednesday afternoon as across the university this was a time set aside for sports teams and fixtures. The dancers were discouraged from playing university level sport because they opened themselves up so easily to the risk of injury and if they were following their courses conscientiously they were getting sufficient exercise. It also meant that the gym and practice studios were largely free. Only the swimming baths were off limits as they were used by the university swimteam. Their dance routine had been accepted in principle and it just needed rehearsing, and they had the studio time to do that after lectures and timetabled practices were over. Largely they were left to their own devices with one of their tutors dropping in from time to time to give help and advice. Not only did they have the personal incentive of doing a good job, but the final performance would be assessed as part of their final class of degree. As they were consuming their carbonated mineral water and organic yoghourt, they looked up to see Amanda approaching apprehensively. Mark stood up and hesitatingly she took him in a loose hug. Scott said hello and made an excuse to leave. Mark and Amanda sat down at the table looking across at one another. Luckily with a free Wednesday afternoon the refectory was reasonably empty and they could enjoy their privacy.

"I'm sorry, Mark."
"Amanda, I think it's me that should be saying sorry."
"Why do you say that?"
"I was too busy with my dancing to talk. And then you had flu. I did ring, but your mother was – what shall I say? – firm that you shouldn't be disturbed."
"Yes, Mummy can be a little off-putting at times."
"Are you happy with Graham?"
"Yes, he's sweet." Mark immediately thought that he'd never heard the adjective 'sweet' applied to his brother before. With the exception of their mother of course. There was a silence. Mark was pondering whether he should say anything about... about being gay and himself and Scott. She would find out anyway. "He's invited me up to his campus for next weekend."
"Who?"
"Graham of course."
"Sorry, I was miles away."
"And he's coming down to see your end of course dance show."
"Yes, Mum and Dad will be here for that too. How's your course going?"
"Not too well. Ten days out of a six week module takes it toll. Physically as well when you've had flu. Luckily we haven't got to put on a performance for this one or I'd been completely out of it." Another silence.
"Amanda, I've got something to tell you. I want you to hear it from me before you hear it from other people. You see, I've discovered that I'm... that I'm gay." Amanda took a sharp intake of breath. She reached across the table and held his hand.
"You weren't very gay that night when..." She batted her eyelids, but it was lost.
"I can't tell you how I felt about that." He couldn't. It would have insulted Amanda's integrity as a woman. He let the ambiguity stand. "I suspected it for some time and when we got together I could dismiss the idea. But then I met Scott and something happened. I discovered a whole new world, a world where I fitted in, felt at home, felt natural... That's a damn silly word."
"Are you er... boyfriends?"
"I think so. No, that's simply dishonest. Yes, we are." Mark was on the brink of tears, tears of sorrow for having hurt Amanda, tears of frustration. "I'm so sorry, Amanda."
"Mark, don't beat yourself up so. I may have lost you, but I've gained your brother, and supposing we do make a go of it, you and me we'll still be there for one another. We can still be friends." Mark thought this over and typical for a manic depressive his mood changed and he gave out a chuckle.
"You know, you could be my fag hag and I think you'll like Scott as you get to know him."
"I do already. Pity, he's such a loss to womanhood." They sat in silence for a few minutes holding hands across the table. "Mark, I've got to go. I've got a catch up session." They stood up and hugged. Mark sat down again and thought. Finally he stood up decisively, said to himself 'Phew, I got off pretty lightly there,' and went off to look for Scott.

With just over two weeks until the final rehearsal, plus the intense course of teaching Mark and Scott spent hours together, but had very little time for socialising. They made sure, though, that during the weekend they spent at least one night together, either at Mark's flat or in Scott's room at the hall of residence. Their relationship had been accepted and was no longer an item of news or gossip. At long last came the Friday before the performance in the university theatre. There was no teaching that day. The morning was spent debriefing the teaching content of the module and individual assessments. I don't know whether something had been noticed by the staff, but Scott and Mark were not summoned to individual assessments, but seen together. They were congratulated on the sheer effort they had put into their work and while it was agreed by the staff that they were on the way to a good grade for the module, the final grading still depended on how they performed on stage. It was after all a performing arts course. It was noted that the boys had worked well as a team and it was at that point that Mark put in a request to transfer onto the same course that Scott was doing. He was told that it would be given favourable consideration, but he could not assume that would mean an automatic yes. He could still keep up his acting and singing, but they became an option rather than a compulsory part of the course and in a smaller proportion. They finalised with their tutors how their dance would appear in the official programme: "A Cottage Romeo and Juliet, an amalgam inspired by Anthony Tudor's ballet adaptation of Frederick Delius's opera A Village Romeo and Juliet and by Sergei Prokofiev's ballet Romeo and Juliet" and with Mark's agreement Scott asked that their dance routine should be dedicated to the memory of his hero, the Russian émigré dancer Rudolf Nureyev, who had fallen as one of the early victims to AIDS.

The afternoon started early with a full rehearsal. Mark and Scott had been drawn as the last act before the interval. That meant once the overture was over, which involved the whole company, that they had plenty of time to change and warm up. The programme did not contain only ballet. It reflected the full gamut of the course – modern, tap, synchronised, even folk – the performers had made their own choice for the duets. The only prescribed parts of the show were the overture and the finale, and Mark and Scott featured prominently in the finale. Finally they were on. They danced superbly, but even so held something back for the real thing. Their routine finished with a stage hug, their bodies backlit so that the audience would see them as a silhouette with the spot shining between them to symbolise the way they felt about each other, that they were one, yet still two.

When the rehearsal was over Mark quickly showered and changed. He had to go and meet Graham off the train. Once he had deposited his luggage in Mark's room he got changed and disappeared into town to see Amanda. Mark didn't honestly expect to see him again that night. After dinner he relaxed completely in preparation for the next day. As it was Friday evening his flatmates had gone out and he had the communal television to himself. He didn't forget to give two complimentary tickets to his landlady. Graham appeared back at the flat at ten o'clock the next morning in high spirits. He only wanted to shower and change and he would be off to take Amanda out to lunch, or if he timed it right, to meet his parents and get them to take him and Amanda out to lunch. Mark insisted on following his own schedule. He wouldn't see the 'rents until after the performance.

Late Saturday afternoon. The dancers gathered in the green room of the university theatre to receive last minute instructions from the producer and director (their tutors) before going off to change. The overture was modern dance fronted by two hoofers. Mark and Scott took their places in the chorus dressed in black jazz pants and pale blue silken shirts with a ruff. The performance went went well and was aimed at warming up the audience. They then went off to the dressing room to get ready for their own act. They had about fifty minutes. They changed their costumes and sat in front of the mirrors, the ones surrounded by bright lights, to apply their make up. They had decided to keep it simple – pink lips and black eyeliner, enough powder to take the shine off their faces. Scott kept his hair natural, Mark gelled his and back-combed it to make it stand on end in spikes. They returned to the green room to watch the performance. They realised that they had the best position on the programme immediately before the interval. The audience would be well and truly hyped up and would necessarily cool during the interval, but also remember their act. The equivalent position in the second half would be taken up by the finale. Mark and Scott received their first call. They did a few stretches to warm up and make sure their muscles would respond. They received their second call and made their way to the wings. The dance before theirs was just beginning. Five minutes to go. They continued their stretches silently. They heard applause as the curtain came down. They were on. They listened to the intro of their music, they were in position as the curtain went up. For the first few bars they were still. The audience clapped as they saw our two boys in costume: they were dressed in leotard and tights both with a sheen, but to make the contrast Mark wore a white leotard with black tights, Scott a black leotard with white tights. He was stunning. The white tights not only ably outlined his package, but his buttocks too. He did not have a bubble butt, nor like Mark almost no butt at all, but the butt muscles were well developed emphasised by his tights clinging to the crevice and the large dimple on the flanks. As they started their dance Mark's mind was completely focussed on Scott and producing the best dancing possible from his partner. The music was no longer a coherent melody, only a guide to their movements and time, and apart from the timing of those movements, for them it ceased to exist. Mark and Scott had discovered a parallel world of bliss. In their minds they flew, their feet not touching the ground, and as the final chord of the music played they ended their dance in perfect synch, in the hug as it had been planned, except... except instead of their bodies forming a perfect arch for the spot to shine through, their packages touched, almost ground together, shaped perfectly for the audience to savour their silhouette. As the curtain fell to rapturous applause Mark impulsively kissed Scott on the lips. In that moment it was decided who would be top that night.

Departmental tradition had it that there were no encores and apart from the finale no curtain calls, or surely they would have received them. Scott and Mark literally skipped back to their dressing room which they found empty as the rest of the cast were in the green room enjoying the televised version of the show. Mark pushed Scott up against the wall and finished the kiss he had begun on stage. As they did Scott put his arms round Mark's waist, his hands on his butt cheeks and pulled him in. They ground together until they heard a rush along the corridor towards the dressing room.

Their fellow students burst into the dressing room ready to shower congratulations on the pair. Praise from one's peers was worth ten times the praise from the audience for there would usually be piques, quarrels and jealousies among them, but they knew their performance had overcome any petty mindedness. During the interval they chatted among themselves. Once the beginners had received their call Scott and Mark got changed for the finale. It was an excerpt from Cats made famous by Wayne Sleep. Mark and Scott were leading the chorus. They removed their make up and washed their faces, climbed into the body stocking with tail attached and applied the stripes and whiskers to match their costumes.

The finale closed to enthusiastic applause from the audience and the company returned to the their dressing rooms. Mark and Scott were the first with their make up off and into the shower. Now a certain reality dawned on Mark. It was the first time that his parents would meet Scott. Had Graham mentioned him to them? A little trepidation seized his mind, particularly on recalling some of his father's attitudes. Still, the Isle of Wight was quite a congenial place to live. Changed into 501s and white tee shirts, each with the printed slogan 'I'm with Him', they waited for the speeches and comments to finish and then excused themselves from the party as soon as courteously possible. They went off to the restaurant where they were due to meet Mark's parents. Graham and Amanda were already there. Mark's parents were full of enthusiasm for what their son had achieved. Mark waited with some disquiet until they had had their say and then he announced
"Mum and Dad, I want you to meet Scott... my partner..."

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We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

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Pas de Deux

by N Fourbois