The Ballerina: A Lesbian Romance Read online

  THE BALLERINA

  A Lesbian Romance Novella

  Nicolette Dane

  Copyright © 2016 Nicolette Dane

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All romantically involved characters within this book are consenting adults over the age of 18 and are not related by blood. All rights reserved.

  About The Author

  Nicolette Dane landed in Chicago after studying writing in New York City. She flitted in and out of various jobs until she decided to choose herself and commit to writing full-time. Nico most enjoys writing about young sapphic love. Her stories are realistic scenarios of blossoming lesbian romance and voyeuristic tales meant to give you a bit of a peep show into the lives of sensual and complicated young women. Be sure to check out Nico’s Amazon Author Profile for more lesbian romance!

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  Table Of Contents

  The Ballerina

  An Excerpt From: Dormitory Dearest

  An Excerpt From: Sweetheart Starlet

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  Psst... Look Back Here

  THE BALLERINA

  *

  “ONE MORE TIME from the top,” said Charles. “Dinah, you’re falling back mid way through. Please take two steps forward.” Charles was a quirky and dramatic old man, with wild grey hair and a matching mustache. A bit idiosyncratic, sure, but in the ballet world he was a legend. He was a former dancer himself of high accolades and for decades the Ballet Master and Artistic Director at our theatre. “Music, people, music!” he said, indicating he was ready for the scene to begin once more.

  And fortunately for me, this production of Giselle, a classic and famous ballet, presented me as Assistant Director to Charles. Working with Charles in this production was an enviable position, a make it or break it scenario in this business, but as I sat there next to my director all I could do was think about Dinah.

  Dinah was a beautiful young woman, lithe and small, her dark brown hair pulled back tightly and pasted against the back of her head. She was a junior dancer in our company’s corps de ballet, but destined for greatness in my eyes. Only 20 years old and having done ballet for most of her life, she was light on her feet yet quite strong. I knew she could have been cast as Giselle, the titular role, but company politics and dancer rank had left her in a supporting part.

  “Michelle,” said Charles in an abrupt whisper to me. “Did you hear me?”

  “Sir?” I said, breaking from my reverie, averting my eyes from Dinah and instead focusing on Charles.

  “I want to tweak that attitude effacée derrière,” he said. “Write that down.”

  “Yes sir,” I said, scribbling a note into my clipboard.

  “Focus up,” he said to me, pinching me lightly on the side of the arm. This was an affect of Charles, a correction, something he learned from his years of performing and working with choreographers.

  But I found it hard to focus as I watched Dinah on stage. Or rather, my focus was only on her. She was magical, her beauty unsurpassed. Ever since I had met her a few years prior, just at the end of my own dancing career, she had become a vision of lust for me. I often touched myself to thoughts of her. As we became friendlier, closer, running choreography together, seeing each other naked occasionally in dressing rooms, my infatuation with her ramped up tenfold. She was so powerful, yet diminutive, her skin was clear and porcelain, she was the epitome of what a ballerina should be.

  I had only ever made it as far as Dinah in the company. As a junior dancer, I often danced with the corps de ballet but my skills were always better suited to choreography and direction. Charles had sat me down one day and told me all this, “You’ll be pushing 30 soon,” he said. “And it’s time to face facts.” And thus went my transition from dancer to production. With Dinah, I knew she would make it to soloist soon and one day she would be a principal of the company.

  After rehearsal, we were backstage and I was handing out Charles’ notes to all the dancers, explaining his opinions, informing them of considerations and changes. But all while doing this, I could see Dinah out of the corner of my eye, waiting for her turn, eager to impress and succeed. My heart thumped within me, heavily and speedily, a feeling of adrenaline coursing through me as it always did when I was close to her.

  “Lay it on me, Mish,” said Dinah as I approached her. I gazed upon her soft face, pallid white but for some exhausted rosiness in her cheeks. A few freckles haphazardly punctuated her visage as she smiled at me.

  “Here you are, dear,” I said, handing her a piece of paper with some bullet-pointed cat scratch on it. “Charles wants your back leg higher in your attitude effacée derrière.”

  “Oh,” mused Dinah, looking down at the paper and pondering on it with a furrowed brow.

  “But I thought you looked great, Dinah,” I said.

  “Really?” she said, brightening up and looking back to me.

  “Of course,” I said. “You’re very talented.”

  “Thank you,” said Dinah, blushing and diverting her eyes. “This is my life.”

  “I know, dear,” I said. “It’s mine as well.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said, reaching her fingers out and softly running her hand over my arm. As she did this I felt anxiety race through me, goosebumps peppering my skin where she had touched. “You have a job many people dream of having.”

  “I could say the same of you,” I said. “I admit that I do miss dancing.”

  “Do you miss the long, physical rehearsals?” she said. “The painful toes?” Dinah smiled at me, a glimmer of playfulness in her brown eyes, almost as though she knew my feelings and was teasing me.

  “My body does feel a lot better in this last year,” I said with a light laugh. “But you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” she said. “You should have made it past the corps.”

  “And you’ll make it further than that,” I said, suddenly feeling embarrassed and looking away from Dinah’s eyes.

  “No way!” Dinah said excitedly. “You really think so?”

  The whole exchange felt like its own dance to me, a back and forth repartee, and exchange of pleasant ups and downs. Dinah hung on my words, fascinated with my opinion perhaps a bit out of ego or perhaps due to my growing position in the company. Although Charles’ word was law, mine was becoming an interpretation of the law.

  “Just listen to these notes,” I said, tapping the piece of paper in Dinah’s hand. “Keep working hard and I really think you could make it.”

  “Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed, leaping forward and embracing me. Dinah was smaller than me and her head buried into my neck, her arms snaked through my arms and pulled me tightly into it. I couldn’t help myself and I returned her hug, my hands caressing her lower back through the fabric of her stretchy white rehearsal leotard.

  I could feel my breath quickening. I was so enamored with this little angel. I could feel myself growing moist between my thighs, a soft tingle ringing out in my womanhood. We embraced for a few moments longer, both seeming to enjoy being close to one another. Although I enjoyed it on a sexual and infatuation level,
it piqued my interest as to why Dinah held me so long.

  Finally we pulled back from one another and both let smiles grow over our lips. Despite the smile on her face, I could sense a small sadness in Dinah’s eyes, her big brown eyes emitting a subtle loneliness.

  “Are you okay?” I couldn’t help but ask her.

  “I am,” she said, bringing a finger to her eye almost as if to push a tear back inside of it. “I’m just happy to have your positive feedback,” said Dinah. “It can sometimes get lonely here.”

  “We’re in New York City,” I said with a grin, poking her side softly.

  “I know,” she said. “But I miss everyone back home in Ohio. Life can be so serious here.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Don’t you get on well with all the other dancers?”

  “Of course,” said Dinah. “But it’s just not the same.”

  “Listen,” I said, my hand reaching up and running over the side of her head, her hair tightly plastered against her skin. “Why don’t you get out of the dormitory tonight and come over to my place.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. I knew this invitation would make the other dancers jealous of Dinah, I knew that it was a risky proposition, and I knew that it was a bit of a predatory offer. But she had stolen my heart and I wanted my chance. “We can leave ballet behind for a bit and just talk like regular people.”

  “Oh my God,” gushed Dinah. “I mean, yes — yes, I’d love to. But,” she started with a hint of trepidation in her voice. “What about the other dancers?”

  “Just tell them you have family in town,” I said, my heart beating nervously. “They won’t mind.”

  “They would be so envious that I was spending time with you,” she said. “They would think we were plotting or in cahoots or something.”

  “In cahoots,” I repeated with a laugh. “You’re funny.” But her face was concerned and I knew I should be sensitive to her feelings. “Come up with a story,” I said in a more serious tone.

  “Okay,” she said, nodding slowly. “I will.” Her face returned to a smile and she hugged me once more securely. “Thank you, Mish,” she said as we held one another. “I can’t wait to spend time with you tonight.”

  As we parted and she scurried off toward the dressing rooms, I immediately felt anxiety about what I had coordinated. Dinah was right that the others could be resentful of our evening meeting. Something that would have been no big deal when I was a dancer was now something more since I had become an assistant director. And Dinah was right — we were in cahoots, or would be at my further orchestration. My career be damned. And that glimmer I could see in Dinah’s eye, I was certain she felt something for me as well.

  *

  Before Dinah came over I cleaned my condo in a rush. It was a nice, modern, albeit small, place with an open layout, the kitchen looking out into the living room. Since taking my new position and accepting the nice salary bump that came with it, I was able to afford to buy my condo in the West Village. It wasn’t opulent and it wasn’t expansive, but it was home.

  I put on a kettle of water and lowered the lamplight, attempting to make it cozy and comfortable. Although I stressed a bit about what I should wear, I eventually settled on a casual ensemble of trendy athletic clothes, quite popular among the dancers. I had on a black tank top and matching black leggings. While I usually wore my hair up in a bun while at the theatre, as I’d been trained to do back from when I was a dancer, I opted to let my blonde locks flow down over my shoulders for this get-together. Casual and comfortable was my game, even though I was riled up and excited on the inside.

  My phone rang and I rushed over to the coffee table to answer it.

  “This is the front desk,” said the doorman’s voice on the other end. “Dinah is here to see you, ma’am.”

  “Please send her up,” I said, my nerves starting to get the better of me. I dropped the phone back to the table and gave my condo one more look. Catching the body length mirror near my bedroom door, I rushed over and checked myself out one final time. I straightened my tank, flipped my hair, and gave a smile to myself to check my teeth. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and contemplated the evening that lay before me.

  Soon after, a soft knock came through my door.

  I held myself in place for a moment and then slowly sauntered over toward the door, flipping the lock, and easily pulled the door open. Behind it was Dinah, a wide grin on her face. She too had her dark brown hair down from the usual bun, but she had it back in a braid. As though she could read my mind, she wore a comfortable athletic-style outfit, a bright white tank top that form-fitted to her small figure, and a very short pair of lightweight running shorts in a purple plaid pattern.

  “Mish!” she exclaimed, jumping forward and hugging me. As we held each other close, my anxiety began to subside and I melted into her small body. She was quite firm and compact, muscular yet tiny. Her creamy white thighs, bare from any clothing, were taut and solid.

  “Welcome Dinah,” I said, finally stepping back from our hug. “Come on in.”

  Dinah followed me inside and we wandered slowly into the kitchen, saddling up at the island. She dropped her small bag onto the countertop and smiled at me.

  “This is a beautiful place,” she said, letting her eyes trace over my condo. “It’s much different than the dormitories!” We both laughed softly.

  “I did my time in them,” I said. “It’s nice living with the other girls, though. It really helps you form a nice bond with your fellow dancers.”

  “But it’s also good to get out them,” Dinah said with a grin.

  “Can I get you some tea?” I asked, scooting over to the stove to take the kettle off.

  “Sure!” said Dinah. I prepared two mugs and dropped a tea bag in each, then filled both with the steamy water.

  “Let’s head to the couch,” I said with the mugs in either hand. Together we made our way to the couch. As I sat the mugs down on the coffee table, Dinah kicked her slip-on shoes off and hopped up on the couch, sitting cross-legged. I slid down next to her, sitting on my leg and reaching over to adjust the mugs so that one was in front of each of us.

  Dinah’s white tank was cut low, a swooping neck, revealing her pale upper chest. The tensile fabric of the top stuck to her body, her small breasts barely sticking out. We had similar bodies, dancer bodies, both of us condensed and slight people. As she sat cross-legged, her thin shorts slid up further on her thighs leaving very little to the imagination. Reaching down between her legs, Dinah picked her shorts out from under her thighs, adjusting herself to get more comfortable on the couch.

  “I’m so glad you could come over,” I said. “Were you able to get away easily?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Dinah, reaching down to her mug of tea and swirling the bag around by the paper tag. “I told them I had an aunt in town and I may be out late.”

  “That’s perfect,” I said with a small laugh. “It may get a little weird if they knew you were out here with me.”

  “They might think that I was trying to further my career or something,” said Dinah with a smirk. She looked at me with a bit of fire dancing in her eyes as though her words weren’t completely untrue. At that moment something strange hit me. While I was conniving to get some alone time with Dinah, she may very well have been trying to do the same thing.

  “And why would they think that?” I said, trying to get some more out of her.

  “Well,” said Dinah with a shrug. “You’re close to Charles and help him make decisions.”

  “That’s true,” I said.

  “And if you put in a good word for a junior dancer,” she went on. “It could help them get a promotion.”

  “That’s also true,” I said with a grin.

  “Why were you never more than a junior dancer?” asked Dinah with a curious look on her face.

  “Well,” I said with a sigh, looking down to my tea. “I was in the corps de ballet, but when I spoke with Charles about it he told me he never sa
w me progressing beyond that.”

  “Really?” said Dinah. “That must have made you so sad, Mish.”

  “It did,” I said. “But he told me he knew I would flourish better in a production role and he gave me the option. Continue dancing in the corps and never go beyond it, or move my career in a different direction.”

  “Do you like being the assistant director?” she said.

  “Oh yes,” I said. “He was right.”

  “Good,” said Dinah, smiling at me.

  “Do you like being a dancer?” I said, picking up my tea and slowly taking a sip.

  “Yes, of course!” Dinah exclaimed. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s very consuming though, and I feel sometimes like I miss out on a lot.”

  “It’s true,” I said. “When your life is dancing, you don’t always get to live a normal life like your friends.”

  “I haven’t even been romantic with anyone in years,” Dinah admitted, fidgeting a bit in her seat, perhaps a bit uneasy about opening up. “It’s lonely.”

  “None of the guys in the company interest you?” I said, fishing around to get a handle on where she was coming from but suddenly feeling embarrassed. “What am I talking about? I shouldn’t advise you getting involved with your fellow dancers,” I said with a nervous laugh.

  “No,” she said, considering my question. “A couple are gay and the others I just don’t click with.”

  “What about the girls?” I said, raising my eyebrow.

  “The girls?” said Dinah. “Well, I don’t know.”

  “You live so close with them,” I said. “You’ve never experimented?”

  “Well,” said Dinah, taking a deep breath and averting her eyes from me. “Okay, yeah, just one time.”

  “You can tell me,” I said with a warm smile, my hand reaching down and gently caressing her bare leg.