Audition Preparation

Literotic asexstories – Audition Preparation by barnabus,barnabus
WARNING:

This is an adult story, containing sensitive material of a sexual nature, including graphic descriptions of consensual, “vanilla” sex. If you find such material offensive or are underage, do not read further, but please bypass this story for one more suitable for you.

This is a work of fiction: it never happened. The young girl in the story doesn’t exist, but the descriptions reflect fantasies concerning people I have known. This story is written for enjoyment and entertainment purposes only, and no commercial profit is expected to be made from it. It may be copied for personal use or for posting on other sites, provided the sites are free sites . . . it may NOT be posted on any site that requires a “membership fee” of any kind. Posting is permitted on sites where ‘adult verification services’ are used, provided they only cost a few dollars a year for access to many sites, (the way Adultcheck used to be), but posting is prohibited on any “Adultcheck Gold” site, which requires much more money.

Perhaps this story should be classified as a ‘novella’. It is not simply a two page ‘fuck-’em and forget-’em’ story, but makes an attempt to create a mood and to develop some of the characters, and possibly even (gasp) have a bit of a plot.

Birth control is used in this story, because in ‘real life’ every reasonable adult should know that he or she should behave responsibly when participating in sexual activities and he or she wishes to avoid unwanted conception and the spread of disease.

You are encouraged to vote. Fives are always best!

Feedback is welcome and accepted at the link below.

Chapter 1. Sari’s problem.

With some satisfaction, the Amonasro-Aida duet came to its incomplete end, and I paused to lean back from the keyboard of my piano and to take a breather before Radames made his entrance. I stood, flexing my fingers and stretching my back, then went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Practicing an operatic score on the piano for six to eight hours a day was tiring, but much of the score to AIDA was gradually ‘working it’s way into my fingers’.

I looked out of the living room window at the crowds swirling along Eight Street below. Early Saturday evening in Greenwich Village always provided a pleasant spectacle as tourists, natives, artists, and bums all rubbed shoulders on the busy sidewalks below. Summer was rapidly approaching and the warmth of today would quickly become tomorrow’s oven. I would have to leave the window open then, and out of respect for my neighbors, I might not be able to spend so many hours practicing with the window open.

The pangs in my stomach reminded me that it was suppertime.

There was a tap at the door. It must be Sari (She pronounced it “Shah’ – ree”) I reflected. She always waited until I had paused in my playing before she would timidly tap on the door. I checked through the peephole before opening the door and greeting her with a big smile.

“I picked up some Chinese,” she explained, holding up a brown paper bag. “Are you hungry?”

“Ummmmmm, I sure am,” I responded, inviting her in. Passing by me, I caught the scent of fresh soap, shampoo, and – – – Channel No. 5? Soap and Shampoo I could understand, but somehow she always seemed too innocent for things like Channel perfume. She took the bag directly to the table. To my surprise, she had a bottle of wine also. As I closed and locked the door behind her, she went to the cupboard for plates, spoons and chopsticks. She looked in other cupboards while I began unpacking the containers of Chinese food.

“You have some wine glasses, don’t you?”

“Yes, to the left of the sink.” I pointed, and a moment later she returned and set the table. Like many dancers, she wore tights and a loose sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail.

While I poured the wine (I noticed it was a better vintage than I usually purchase), she sat and removed the rubber band allowing her hair to fall loosely over her shoulders. We ate quietly. She was in a pensive mood tonight and ate lightly.

I was surprised as Sari swallowed the last of her wine and refilled her glass. It was unusual for her to have more than half a glass of wine and I had never seen her take a second glass before.

“Frau Schmidt talked to me today,” she said, taking her glass and moving to the sofa in the living room.

“Umm-mmm,” I responded, sitting on the other end of the sofa.

“They’re setting up the cast for the NUTCRACKER benefit in August. Frau Schmidt said I am being considered for the BALLERINA DOLL role.”

“Is that the one where the girl . . . .” Unable to phrase it properly, I twirled my index finger in the air as if I were using it to stir a cup of coffee. Sari nodded.

“Yep!” she smiled smugly. “I get to do forty-two pirouettes without a break.”

I reflected for a moment. “Is – – – – ummmm – – – – Who will be directing the production?”

She looked at me and didn’t answer. There was such a sad look in her eyes.

“Is it – – – – HIM – – -?”

Sari nodded and her head drooped.

We were referring to a man who had been a star at the ballet company with every expectation of becoming one of the greatest dancers of all time. But a few years ago, he was in an accident and sustained injuries prevented him from ever dancing again. Now he walked with a cane, and directed ballets for the company. He was a brilliant, if cynical, choreographer. It would be an excellent career move for Sari to dance under his direction. But it was also rumored that he had a taste for young dancers, and liked give chorus girls a special private ‘audition’ before he promoted them to featured roles.

Seeing her dejection, I became uncomfortable and started squirming in my chair. “Is he – – -“, I fumbled. “Does he want – – -”

I shouldn’t even be thinking about asking this!

“Are you going to have to audition for him privately?” I finally asked, unable to think of a more delicate way of phrasing my question.

“Frau Schmidt said he would probably want to see me early next week, and I should be prepared.”

“Look,” I began. “I know there are rumors about him, but you don’t KNOW whether or not they are true. Maybe the rumors are all overblown and maybe he’s a really decent person who casts his productions based on dancers dancing abilities. Maybe the other rumors simply aren’t true.”

“Maybe,” Sari admitted, “but Frau Schmidt asked me if I was a virgin.”

My eyes widened.

“I don’t think she likes what he does. But there’s nothing she can do about it.”

“What did you tell her?” I asked astonished.

“I didn’t answer her. She said she hoped I wasn’t, because it would be easer on me if I weren’t.” I tear rolled down her cheek and she began to tremble. I moved next to her and put my arm around her, and she hugged me, pressing her face into my shoulder and began crying. This should have been one of the most glorious celebrations of her young life, but here she was, crying in my arms. I held her as her shoulders shook and her tears spent themselves. Soon the paroxysms passed, and she pulled a tissue from a box on the end table to dry her eyes and blow her nose.

“I guess I should have expected it,’ she reflected. “There are always stories around about ‘the casting couch’. I always thought they were exaggerations. Apparently in this case, they are not.” She began to weep again, and I held her until her tears spent themselves.

Chapter 2 – “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Gradually she recomposed herself and moved away from me to get another tissue. I didn’t know what to say. Finally I posed the standard question.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Again, her head dropped, almost as if I had struck her. I saw her lips tighten and she examined the tissue in her hand. Then, making a resolution, she straightened her back looking forward. She looked like a dancer again.

“Yes, there is,” she responded. “That is, if you are willing.”

“Anything!” I assured her. She looked at me and gave me an appreciative smile.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I had known Sari for a little less than a year, ever since she had moved into my apartment building. She had been accepted in the apprenticeship program at a major ballet company in town. She lived and dreamed of the ballet. She had been the only ‘apprentice’ who had graduated to the chorus when the apprenticeship program ended, and this would be her first opportunity to move out of the chorus and into an actual role. It would mean her name would appear in the program and if she did well, she might start moving to bigger roles.

I had helped her move boxes into her apartment when she first arrived and we had became good, if casual, friends during the past year. The first thing I noticed about her was her radiant smile, which she gave occasionally. She had introduced me to her parents when they were in town.

She didn’t own a TV set, so if there was a ballet on TV, she would ask if she could watch it on mine, and we would generally enjoy the show together. Sometimes we would have dinner together, usually takeout or Chinese, and for her birthday, I had bought two tickets to the ballet. When I asked her to go to the ballet with me, she had been so excited she had thrown her arms around me and kissed my cheek. Then suddenly self conscious, she had backed off. That had been the only time she had kissed me.

Once or twice a week, we would spend an hour or so together just talking, maybe sipping a glass of wine. We had shared our adventures and disappointments with each other, and I really enjoyed her company. We each had a key to the other’s apartment, for emergency use, but she had never used my key and I had only used her key once. Romance had never entered the picture, although our relationship generally included a ‘goodnight hug’ at the end of an evening. And, to be sure, I had had a few fantasies about her glorious smile and her tight dancer’s body.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Sari discarded the tissue and took a new one, which she began twisting in her hand. “I’ve been in this city for almost a year,” she began. “My whole life has been the ballet. It’s my dream, and I hope my destiny. As you know, a dancer’s life expectancy is only about ten years . . . and a dancer has to take whatever opportunities she

can to move ahead.”

I was uncomfortable. It sounded like she was planning to go to bed with the director, and possibly try to sleep her way to the top if she could. Somehow, this seemed absolutely foreign to the morality of the girl that I knew.

She hesitated before continuing. “I wouldn’t tell Frau Schmidt if I was a virgin.” She turned to me and our eyes locked. “But I’ll tell you.”

We had never had a conversation like this before. I sat speechless.

“I am.” Somehow I felt like her soul was speaking to my soul. “I’ve always been a dancer. I’ve never taken time for boys or romance. I was only interested in the dance. I’ve – – -” she stumbled as she tried to form the next sentence. “I’ve never even been touched by a man.”

Having made this admission, she dropped her eyes. Then very timidly, she whispered, “Will you please hold me?”

I put my arm around her again and pressed her to me. She was trembling. “I’m scared to death!” she admitted.

I couldn’t say anything. I just held her trembling frame in my arms and stroked her hair. Eventually, the trembling subsided and she began to relax.

“I’ve always thought I would save my virginity for my wedding night. Or at least for someone special.” She whispered against my shoulder. “Whenever I talked to my mother, she always told me to ‘keep pure in mind, spirit, and body’.”

I felt her back stiffen. With vehemence, she said. “I don’t want to give it to HIM! I don’t even LIKE him!” She started trembling again and began to cry again. When her tremors subsided, she sat up and, seeing my shirttail hanging lose, took the shirt tail to dry her eyes, looking at me as she did. We both laughed as she dried here eyes on my shirt. This was the type of casual familiarity that we shared that had made our friendship so special.

“So, what are you going to do?” I asked.

She took a deep breath and straightened her back again. “When I’m called, I’ll go to the audition and I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

I dropped my eyes. I didn’t like it. But I determined not to pass judgment on her. Then I spoke out. “I don’t like the idea of your giving your virginity to a – – – a – – -“, I couldn’t find words to finish.

“Neither do I!” she responded. “And I hope I don’t have to!”

I was confused. “Do you have a boyfriend? Maybe he can – – -“. It pained me to even try to finish the sentence.

She shook her head. Our eyes met. My arm was still around her so her face was inches from mine. “You’re the closest thing I have to a boyfriend.” That was no help! She continued:

“I have saved myself for my husband. Or at least someone special. I only have a few days, but I want my first experience to be with someone who loves me and cares for me and cares about me- – – – someone I feel I can trust, who I’m safe with – – -” Her voice trailed off and she dropped her eyes. “- – – someone like – – – you!” She put her hand on my chest.

Was she saying what I thought she was saying? Impossible!

“Will you?” she whispered. Her hand was trembling.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I know she felt safe with me, ever since I had saved her from the man she had picked up in a coffee shop in ‘The Village’. Somehow he had gotten her to bring him to her apartment and had forced his way in and was attempting to take her against her will.

Hearing the commotion in the hallway, I used the key I have for Sari’s door to let myself in. When I had entered Sari’s apartment, he had ripped her shirt open and was groping her, trying to find the crotch snaps to open her leotard. When I interrupted him, he left, and I had the unenviable task of drawing Sari back from near shock and intense panic.

I had taken her to my apartment and fixed her a cup of cocoa. (She wouldn’t let me out of her sight, and followed me like a puppy). She had calmed down as it got late, but she was still afraid to go back to her apartment or to be alone, so I had given her my bed, intending to sleep on the sofa myself. She was so afraid that she had me move to the floor next to the bed, and finally onto the bed with her, cradling her and rocking her until she fell into a fitful sleep. Whenever I tried to move away from her, she awoke in a panic and wouldn’t let me go. Eventually, I simply spent the night there.

The next morning I fed her breakfast and rode with her to her dance rehearsal. At the end of the day, I met her and we rode the subway back to our apartment building, where she had dinner in my apartment. We spent several evenings together talking through her experience until she finally was able to resume her normal schedule.

Ever since then, she has always said that she always ‘feels safe’ when she is with me.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“Will you?” she whispered again, her hand still trembling.

“Sari, you and I – – – ” I stammered. “How can we – – – I – – – I – – – I don’t know what to say.”

Her eyes met mine again.

Suddenly she was worried. “Don’t you find me attractive? I thought you did!” She pulled away from me, worrying the tissue in her hands. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking. Maybe I’m just being a silly fool – – – ”

She started to rise, but I grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Sari!” I pleaded. “Don’t be upset with me. Don’t be angry. You are probably the most desirable woman I know. There is absolutely no reason why I wouldn’t want – – – I mean, it’s not that I don’t want – – – I mean I would – – – .” Nothing I tried to say was coming out right. “I – – – I – – – ”

She turned to me again and searched my miserable eyes.

“Do you like me?” she asked.

I nodded.

She looked down at herself, and seeing the loose sweatshirt, she quickly grabbed the edge of the sweatshirt and pulled it up over her head. Underneath, she was wearing her regular uniform: a leotard and tights.

“Do you like the way I look?” I openly let my eyes survey her small mounds, probably an “A” cup at best, her trim waist, her narrow tight hips and muscular legs, and I allowed my eyes to linger on the ‘v’ where her legs joined her body. Everything about her seemed pure and virginal. Somehow, everything that was happening seemed in conflict with her innocence. I nodded again, and looked into her eyes.

Her face was only inches from mine. She smiled a small smile. “Maybe you don’t have to say anything. Just nod your head.”

I hesitated. “Sari, I haven’t even given her a proper kiss. – – – ”

“You can do that now,” she whispered and closed her eyes and raised her lips. Very slowly, I leaned into her and our lips met very softly. We held it gently for a long time. It was an innocent kiss. She brought her hand up to my face, as the kiss broke and pulled my cheek against hers. Neither of us moved, both enjoying the touch of the other.

“Will you?” she whispered in my ear. “Please?”

I nodded.

Chapter 3. an agreed upon solution.

Flustered with the commitment we had just made with each other, she didn’t know what to do next. She quickly glanced at my bedroom door. “Do you want me to take off my clothes?” she asked, blushing.

I shook my head. “Not yet. Let’s just talk for a while. And when the time comes, I’ll take care of your clothes.”

A puzzled look passed over her face before her eyebrows raised a bit. “Oh!”, and she blushed a deeper shade of red.

“Well, just in case you don’t know,” she started, “this leotard has three snaps down – – -” she started to point to the junction of her legs, but suddenly became embarrassed again. I nodded and she smiled appreciatively. “When they’re unsnapped, the leotard comes off over the head.”

I smiled at her and I turned her shoulders away from me and leaned her back against me. I leaned back into the sofa and cradled her in my arms. I could feel her tension and nervousness.

“Relax, Sari,” I urged. “We’re just going to talk for a while.”

I started by asking her about the birds and the bees. She knew the basic biology from her High School biology class. But was very much in the dark when it came to the interactions and realities of men and women together. Years spent concentrating on dance and ignoring boys revealed an embarrassing neglect of knowledge of relationships.

As we talked, she soon pulled away from me and sat on her knees facing me, asking question after question. She listened intently as I explained the woman’s cycle to her, but she was unable to describe a normal cycle in herself. Like many athletic females, her constant physical training and low body fat had resulted in an irregular and infrequent menstrual cycle which was useless when it came to trying to estimate her fertile periods.

She was fascinated when I began discussing contraception with her and was visibly relieved when I volunteered that I would use protection. She knew some form of contraception would be necessary, but didn’t have the foggiest idea of the mechanics involved. Since we wouldn’t have time for her to obtain a diaphragm before her ‘audition’, I promised I would buy her some contraceptive foam the next day and would show her how to use it. She could apply it before her ‘audition’ to achieve some protection, but I suggested that she also ask him to use a condom, and warned her that some men will refuse this request. I also suggested that she have her own supply of condoms in case he didn’t have any.

“Supply?” she asked. “Will I need more than one?”

“You might.”

“How many should I have?” she asked.

“At least six. And keep an extra six in your purse.” Her eyes widened. I explained to her that a healthy man could climax several times in a night, and that six times seemed to be the limit for most men. In all probability, her ‘audition’ would not involve that many, but by having a dozen ‘rubbers’ in her purse, she would be ready for almost any contingency.