Frankie Fey
by Rigby Taylor
Chapter 20
Out With a Bang
The three paid up members of the Rationalist University Society of Independent Intellectuals held a moonlight meeting beside the lower pool to confer honorary membership of their club on Frankie, in the hope that his fame would boost both their prestige and membership of the Society. After crowning him with a wreath of oleander, having no laurels, they presented him with a hand-painted certificate recognising his status as a talented young man whose modest demeanour concealed an incorruptible intelligence, rationality, honesty and physical excellence. Frankie accepted the honour with gravity, then laughed wildly and tossed his three devotees into the pool before scampering off to a rehearsal.
Later, over a liquid supper, Frankie's three admirers analysed his character in the hope of learning how they too could become widely accepted and admired. Under the spotlight of their critical gaze they realised that although he wasn't really special, he was nice to be near simply because he was nice to be near; his breath was sweet, his skin meticulously clean and glowing with health, and his eyes suggested he had a genuine interest in the opinions of whomever he was with.
After rather too many sips of sweet sherry they came to the gloomy conclusion it was his deliberately cultivated ordinariness and refusal to advertise his successes that deflected antagonism and prevented jealousy. It's easy to like people who are not obviously better than you. And that sent them into a slough of despond because above all else they did not want to seem ordinary! They wanted to stand out, to be noticed, to be the envy of all. Nauseous from the vile sweet gunk they'd been imbibing, they lapsed into alcoholic torpor – still unable to comprehend that Frankie only stood out because he was the only person on campus who managed to seem as though he wasn't trying to.
As well as dancing and acting, Frankie loved to sing in a pleasant baritone that was usually more or less in tune. As a tribute to his spiritual mentor, Orpheus, son of Apollo and godlike poet and musician, Frankie purchased a second-hand lyre on which he accompanied himself when singing his own poetry set to tunes he made up as he went along. On summer evenings for a few days each side of full moon, devotees, both male and female, gathered on the grass in a quiet corner of the Gardens around a slab of marble that looked as if it should hold an urn or statue. As the bloated yellow moon rose above the surrounding trees, they were transported to Arcadia when a naked bronze statue of a young man in elegant contrapposto materialised on the plinth, lyre pressed lightly against his left flank, right hand reaching across as if to pluck the strings.
Frankie would sustain the pose (a copy of the sculpture of Orpheus by Charles H Niehaus) for fully five minutes before plucking the first notes from his instrument and singing softly. Later, wandering among amused admirers, his songs of sweet lament, forced laughter and tears from even the most misanthropic eye. [Mainly, according to those not under his spell, because he was tone deaf.] Then, as mysteriously as he had appeared he would vanish into the trees, followed by the young man he had selected to assist in the removal of bronzing cream before sharing his bed.
In the middle of his final term at the University, Frankie turned twenty and took a two-week refresher course on economic theory where he renewed his acquaintance with Prudence, who had remained as eccentric as ever, delightedly informing him of the house she had built on acreage in the country, thanks to the continuing success of their speculative enterprises two and a half years earlier. They spent several evenings together discussing the course, during which Frankie let slip that despite all his experiences, there was one thing he had not yet crossed off his 'to do' list. He had never had sexual intercourse with a woman and felt he owed it to himself to rectify the omission.
Prudence sympathised, because she had a similar problem in reverse. In an uncharacteristic surge of generosity she offered to satisfy Frankie's curiosity on condition he join her in performing a balletic extravaganza as the last act of the Annual Student Variety Concert to be held during the last week of term. Naturally, the idea of ending his university days on stage in a blaze of glory was immensely appealing, so he accepted.
The Concert ran for only the one performance, it being just a fun, in-house production. The program always consisted of items written, composed and performed entirely by students, and included one-act plays, poetry, stand-up comics, musical interludes. This year, the final item would be Frankie and Prudence's ballet; "Afternoon of a Satyr"—a wry comment on the classical ballet, L'après-midi d'un Faune. The music had been composed especially for it, by fellow student Constance Randie, who declared her tunes and melodies to be musical collages, although there were some sneered, 'Plagiarism'.
Frankie threw himself energetically into preparing for the role of the satyr; Prudence was equally energetic at perfecting her moves as the ravished nymph. Because the concert was on the last night, there was usually no trouble getting tickets, but leaked information that Frankie would be performing a sexy satyr dance, triggered a scramble and within days the theatre was sold out.
One afternoon during rehearsals Prudence said bluntly, 'Lay off the young men until after the performance. I realise you're robust and saturated in testosterone, but as this is to be a one off show, I want to take no chances.'
Frankie nodded calmly. 'Have no fear, Prudence. I am determined it will be a momentous experience. It'll be my first and probably my last copulation with a female, so it would be embarrassing to be less than spectacular in front of one and a half thousand people.'
Prudence nodded satisfaction. 'I assume that, like me, you experience things with increased sensitivity and exaltation when observed by an approving audience?'
'Of course! In fact this performance is the last piece of research needed before I publish my monograph.'
'Prudence raised an enquiring eyebrow. 'What's it about?'
'The working title is "Proof of the Proposition that Public Displays of Intimate Acts Heighten and Increase Pleasurable Sensations and Intensity of Passion".'
'Verbose, but intriguing.'
'Exactly, and as the Great Hall is fully booked, the success of our enterprise is assured. Are you certain of the timing?'
'Of course! I will be in my most fertile state on the evening of the performance, and the fact that it is my first experience of male penetration will augment the heightened state of arousal and desire, and increase tenfold the likelihood of conception.'
'Brilliant.'
'I know.'
'Are we going to record it?'
'Naturally. I've three cameras that will capture everything, and after the show I'll edit them into a single movie. Do you want a copy?'
'Of course.'
'What about the orchestra?'
'What do you mean?'
'When the dance becomes interesting they might stop playing. We can't risk that.'
'Good thinking. I'll record their final rehearsal, then have it played over the speakers… louder than they can manage so if they go on playing they won't be heard.'
As one can never be certain how others will react to truth, Frankie told anyone who cared to enquire that the performance illustrates a mythical truth and would be in impeccable taste. He didn't specify whose taste. Nor did either of them warn balletic aficionados that it would be very different from the ballet usually associated with Debussy's L'après-midi d'un Faune in which a sad woodland creature hobbles around to dreary music, tries to make friends with a nymph, but is so rudely rejected that when he finds her scarf he takes it home to wank over.
Although a satyr is always naked, nudity in the first part of the dance was out of the question because Frankie's extravagant leaps and scissor jumps could do irreversible damage to freely dangling testicles. So he made a pouch from a small piece of flesh-tinted sheer nylon that kept his scrotum lifted well out of the way and held his penis proudly vertical against his belly like a true priapic satyr.
Prudence's costume was a diaphanous confection reaching to mid thigh. Draped from her right shoulder it exposed her left arm and breast. Leaps and lifts caused the insubstantial gauze to float, mist-like, and remain suspended for several seconds after she returned to earth. Despite her feminist ideology she endured a pudenda waxing after Frankie convinced her that in the world of theatre, aesthetics trump ideals.
Every important personage and even greater numbers of unimportant ones filled the stalls and gallery, fully expecting to be bored by amateur, poorly produced and inadequately presented acts that they could criticise and disparage for weeks afterwards. Their expectations were well and truly satisfied by musical interludes, poetry readings, plays and sketches that so thoroughly bored them they returned after interval vowing that if after two minutes the ballet failed to amuse them, they'd just get up and leave. There was only so much amateur crap a sensitive human can take in one evening.
A hush fell as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose on a woodland scene bathed in golden light so perfect it set the audience clapping in delight. An expectant hush descended and a gentle sigh arose as a spot came up on Frankie draped languidly across a flat rock in the centre front of the stage—any closer and he'd have tumbled into the orchestra pit.
To the sylvan strains of an oboe, Frankie raised his head. Gilded horns poked cheekily through short curls. Hooded eyes scanned the forest. With a predatory smile he licked his lips and rose sinuously to his feet. The gasp that greeted the sight of his apparently naked groin was drowned by clapping as he leaped into the air in a double turn and landed in a catlike crouch, eyes ablaze, mouth wide in a silent laugh displaying powerful teeth and sending a thrill of terror into the hearts of the already enraptured audience.
His solo performance to wild music that sounded very like something Mozart might have written in a skittish mood, banished all disparaging thoughts from even the most hidebound redneck's brain. When the music changed to something that made some people want to sing 'Three Little Maids From School Are We', the satyr hid behind a tree and the nymph bounded in, full of girlish delight at having escaped her mother, or something equally dreadful. She danced superbly, and although less spectacular than the satyr, the absence of undergarments coupled with the anti-gravity qualities of the flimsy little shift, more than made up the deficiency; at least in the eyes of most males. The music changed again to became gloomy and longing as the nymph sagged onto the rock, gently fondling breasts, thighs and groin.
Absorbed in self pleasure she failed to notice the satyr who pounced from behind, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, making everyone in the audience also jump. She screamed silently and made her escape. After a robustly gymnastic display of chase, capture, escape, chase and recapture, during which her insubstantial garment was torn off by an increasingly impatient and randy satyr, she sagged to the ground at his feet, nuzzling at his groin for mercy.
He relaxed and gazed skywards in delight. She took her chance and escaped into the forest. He followed.
Returning alone and shiftless she began to dance, then stopped and looked over her shoulder, clearly disappointed that the satyr had given up. Shrugging sadly she picked up the torn remnants of her costume and was about to leave when, this time minus his restraining pouch, the satyr returned in a dizzying series of pirouettes that created sufficient centrifugal force to fill his penis with blood. He grasped the nymph. She sagged to the ground in wide splits, her face hard against his erection. He lifted her high above his head and spiralled slowly towards the front of the stage where, with a diabolical smile he lowered her onto his rampant manhood.
Utter silence. Everyone had forgotten to breathe.
Slowly, Frankie turned side on to the audience, released his hands and bent backwards, arms wide. Prudence, literally pinned to his groin, also bent back, arms and legs outstretched as they performed what has to be the most unusual pas de deux ever seen in a serious ballet, moving gracefully in a wide circle, ending up at the rock on to which the satyr gently lowered her.
He withdrew. She quickly rolled onto hands and knees, back a deep convex arch demonstrating perfect lordosis, presenting her lust. Frankie gazed down contemplating both of their swollen organs before thrusting his firmly into hers.
To the increasingly orgasmic strains of what sounded suspiciously like the last movement of Tchaikovsky's Italian Caprice, the dance culminated in what were obviously genuinely momentous orgasms. Then as the light and music faded, Frankie withdrew and skipped off into the forest, leaving the ravished nymph kneeling on the rock with her bum in the air.
The reaction was thunderous. Shouts of abuse and acclaim. Stamping of feet and deafening clapping, booing and shouts of encore! Frankie took the curtain call at the front of the stage, smiling and bowing, then indicated Prudence who was now on her back on the rock, holding her hips high in the air so gravity could assist the passage of spermatozoa to the desired spot. The hysterical audience reaction as the curtain came down was proof to both Frankie and Prudence of their success.
Two minutes later neither dancer was to be found. Both had evaporated and were never seen again at the university.
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