Regardless of the title of this story, I have to admit right up front that our family was not a family that one would say was "loaded with culture". In fact, my sister Ronnie was not really a ballerina and had never been to a ballet. If the truth be known, she was not even a very good dancer.
This story is about the time my cute younger sister Ronnie decided to wear a ballerina costume to a costume party being sponsored by the Police Athletic League on the West Side of town. My name is Louie and my friends called me Lew but my real name was Lewis which I really hate and never use. Ronnie was also officially dubbed at birth Veronica which sounds a lot classier than plain old Ronnie, but was too close for comfort to a popular cartoon character with dubious moral standards and sexy clothing. We both belonged to the P.A.L. because it was the only club in our less than snazzy neighborhood in downtown Manhattan. Our Uncle was a bigwig Police Department mucky-muck but he generally stayed away from us because he had a reputation to uphold. Our mom was a widow, at least she told everyone she was a widow, but I had my suspicions about that and the string of "Uncles" that paraded through our tiny apartment like a changing of the guard didn't fill me with confidence in the existence of my deceased parent. The both of us, my sister Ronnie and I spoke Spanish pretty good, at least of a conversational nature. That was because the neighborhood had changed from Irish to Puerto Rican right in front of our eyes and most of our neighbors were Puerto Rican now and the stores and shops had Spanish language signs and even the local church on Sunday would kick things off with "Hoy es Domingo!"
My sister and I had to go to this silly costume party dance because it was being sponsored by my Uncle and he had given our mom the tickets and cash to buy our costumes. I was not at all enthused about wearing a costume for fear of the backlash from my buddies down at the pool hall next to O'Leary's Bar and Grill. My sister who had just celebrated her sixteenth birthday was ecstatic about it and she was like bowl of nervous jitters rattling the kitchen table until we got our costumes and went to the party. I decided to go as a pirate because that seemed safe from the "buddy" aspect of friends with no sense of humor and nobody could accuse me of being cultured.
Before we go any further, I want all the readers to know there is no chance of me getting hooked up with my own sister, so don't even go down that route at all. I have to admit she is a cute thing with her compact little boobs and the big nipples and her petite little ass that just stands up high and proud waiting to be fondled by dirty minded guys with perverted thoughts on their brain and a yen for immature girls.
Looking back at it in retrospect, I can see that the ballerina costume was perfect for her ripe young body and the Tutu would enhance her posterior perfection with tempting exposure of the most dangerous kind. The crowd at the party was about fifty percent Puerto Rican and fifty percent Irish but that was just by sheer coincidence and not intended to be so equal. I saw a couple of other safe pirate costumes worn by like-minded young lads just like me. There were no other ballerinas and I think that was to Ronnie's advantage because she really stood out with her long delicately shaped legs coming to a fork in the road right at her pretty white Tutu with its fluffy circles of lace curling around her narrow hips and drawing attention to her delicious bottom standing there in innocent disregard for the evil intent of human nature.
My Ronnie may not have been a good dancer but she sure could flounce around in that skimpy Tutu. All the girls were jealous because their boyfriends couldn't take their eyes off my sister's ass as she fluttered around the room like some Genie just out of the bottle. As the evening wore on, she weeded out the male admirers to a final two candidates. I imagine they both thought at some point she would decide who would be the one to walk her home and possibly get an opportunity to check out the terrain under the Tutu in the privacy of a darkened doorway. I didn't think that was going to happen because I was supposed to run interference for her in just such a scenario. Unfortunately, I met a pretty Puerto Rican girl who couldn't speak a word of English but was fond of saying "yes" to any question. That really sealed it with regard to my younger sister's virginity but I didn't know that at the time.
I hadn't really thought about it to any degree of serious thought, but it seemed fairly certain my sister went to that costume party as a "virgin" ballerina in both deed and circumstance. Later I realized she returned home to our apartment no longer a virgin because I was far too immersed in teaching my pretty little Puerto Rican female friend some new and important phrases in English like, "Can I put my hand inside your panties?" or "It is more fun if you use your tongue!" I was always happy to teach new English language skills to my new female friends who lacked a good standing vocabulary.
In fact, it was a total distraction for me because Maria was adamant that we consummate our passion in her rear door channel to avoid any chance of "No baby, mister!" Actually, that was the best news I heard for quite a while because it was so difficult to talk Irish girls into granting posterior privileges without a lot of pleading and promises that I knew I would never keep.
Apparently, my little ballerina sister had decided to let both of the boys to walk her home since I was so busy with Maria.