Chapter 3

A bed full of dancers made for an athletic, graceful, sweaty, exhausting and ecstatic orgy. Two wives, two angels, one overlapping in the wife column, a former lesbian couple also with an overlap, a redheaded Amazon who had joined us in Boston, a second male, a very handsome and strong Lakota warrior, with Lindy of course directing it all. Only the gay contingent, and the June/September couple amongst all the dancers were absent. Eva’s and Miwa’s dildos brought two more tools for deep penetration. Threesomes became prevalent, including double penetration and even Stan being fucked in the ass (not my cock) while fucking Lindy. It was wild, though never chaotic like most orgies became. Lindy managed to delay the anal fucking for the climax, so that plastic phalluses could be cleaned afterwards. None of the flesh ones had been dirtied by backdoor bacteria.

The pause at the end provided time to collect Ger and Vance onto the full bed, as well as to collect our breaths. “With the reclining seats,” Lindy finally began, “I want to try something, and I wanted all the dancers to see samples of what I’m thinking.”

“All the dancers?” I asked. “What about Samantha and Barnaby?” The beautiful and lithe Chinese/Caucasian dancer and her legendary, much older dancer/choreographer mate had arrived in town a couple days before, Miwa disappearing to be with them until the Tales restarted.

“Sam’s probable reluctance, especially in sharing her lover with anyone but me, prevented them joining us,” said Miwa. “Besides, once their part in Lindyfest ends at the end of this month, Barnaby needs to return to San Francisco, to his company. It’s been a rather long sabbatical for him. And of course his prima ballerina and fiancée will be with him.”

“And I don’t think they’ll be interested anyway in participating in this particular form of dance,” Lindy added. “It’s something I saw while in the ACT workshop in San Francisco, and it fascinated me. To the point I had to know everything about it. If it wasn’t for Snake, and of course Joe and Angelique, I might have stayed and joined the company.”

“What form of dance?” asked Miwa.

“Aerial. Let me show you.” Lindy placed her laptop on a chest of drawers so everyone could see the monitor. A couple taps and swipes on the bottom center area of the keyboard, and a video began. “Could someone turn off the lights?” Shira did as commanded.

To an avant garde soundtrack, percussive contrasting with flowing, an angelic choir providing the sweet flow, dancers actually flew, connected to the ceiling with bands, looking very much like extremely wide rubber bands. They swooped around each other without ever tangling. Two of them even met together in a most exotic pas de deux.

A second piece, a solo accompanied by solo cello, also avant garde, mesmerized me more than the first, which actually enervated me by its end. “That’s the head of the company,” Lindy explained. “The principal choreographer. We got along great.” I could hear the regret in her words.

“It’s like Cirque de Soleil without all the pizazz,” said Hannah.

“And the immense amount of capital,” Lindy chuckled.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“The ceilings are low enough,” said Lindy, “we could actually fly over the audience. That would be so cool. And it seems Snake could afford it. He could hang scaffolding. I bet he could afford just about anything.”

“It wouldn’t transfer,” said Miwa.

“What do you mean transfer?” Lindy asked.

“Nick didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He reserved BAM for us.”

“The Brooklyn Academy of Music?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow. Really? When?”

“November. Two weeks.”

“A popular performance space.”

“He reserved it a while ago.”

“How would he know... ?”

Miwa shrugged. “He had an inkling.”

“Like this place.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s next? Broadway?”

“He’s working on it.”

“What?”

“More south than Times Square. More like the Village or Soho.”

“Off Broadway.”

“Except technically maybe on. He wants to call it Off/On Broadway.”

“An expensive joke.”

Miwa shrugged.

“Another residence?” I asked. “This seems built to be headquarters.”

“He’s looking for even more places,” Miwa responded. “Like in Baltimore and Houston and Denver and San Francisco or Oakland.”

“Including Bass Lake,” I added.

“Exactly.”

“We could do aerial there,” Lindy said excitedly. “We could bring reclining seats.”

“Or put padding on the tables,” I shrugged.

“I’m serious.”

“It’s just that...”

“What?”

“I don’t get it.”

“Joe,” said Shira. “Do you think watching a video does it justice? Imagine being there.”

I imagined it. People soaring not just in front of me but over me. “Right,” I said.

“Cool?” Shira prompted.

“Yeah,” I grinned. “So have you discussed this with Snake?” I asked Lindy.

“Not yet. Nor with Angelique. I wanted your reaction first. You’d be the ones wearing rubber bands and flying.”

“God,” said Hannah. “Swooping around like that. I’d bet it’d make me cum.”

“Everything makes you cum, Slut,” said Shira and we laughed.

“Problem is,” Lindy pouted, “Jennifer’s choreography and the music, it’s already perfect.”

“So invite her?” I proposed.

“But ... it’s my showcase. Mine and Angelique’s. Neither of us would be involved.”

“Except for you and us to dance it.”

“Yeah.”

“Make her an extra special guest star choreographer,” Eva chimed in. “I’m sure spreading her work to the East Coast would not be something to be rejected. And it would inspire your own perfection, yours and Angelique’s.”

“A co-production,” Lindy nodded. “The Aerie Dancers and ... What in the hell do we call ourselves?”

“Aeries and Faeries?” Ger suggested. We laughed. “Of course that would exclude all but two of us, and the most temporary two.”

“Unfortunately,” I said.

“Thanks,” Ger returned.

It was true. They would be hard to replace. Vance especially, but Ger as well. He hit the trifecta of performance: good at dancing, singing and acting. His key role in the Wizard piece proved it. His presence made everything stronger, more magical, better in every way.

But we needed permanency in our company. Nick advertised for it. Rehearsals would often include an audience of hopefuls, usually one or two, and Lindy would set aside time for auditions. It was an ongoing process. We may have stumbled on our core group, but adding to them proved difficult. Not that we didn’t enjoy the reactions of the arbitrary audience, and some of the auditions were interesting and impressive, just not whom we needed.

“Am I being too selective?” Lindy asked Nick at some point.

“It’s just too unique,” Nick replied. “A pure amateur in Joe here, you have trained specifically for your choreography. Another amateur that mostly trained in strip tease...”

“Two other strippers as well,” Lindy reminded him.

“A second interest, purely financial,” Nick shrugged.

“Maybe not. Their sexiness shines through, especially Shira. But Hannah as well, since her beautiful orgasms have actually fed her amazing improvement. And Joe has that seductive, please impregnate me presence. Maybe we’re looking in the wrong places.”

“You mean gentleman’s clubs?”

“And Chippendale dancers for that matter,” Lindy shrugged, looking amused and yet somehow serious. “Many if not most of them strip to make a buck. There are frustrated actors and dancers amongst them. Talented and intelligent people.”

“Some even go farther with their sexuality and their need to make money off it.”

“Escorts.”

“Amongst dancers.”

“I thought a lot of these clubs frown on that.”

“On the surface. And those who find johns amongst those they tease tend to charge more than the usual escort.”

“Unless it’s another side business.”

“But won’t the best of them demand the most money?”

“If they think they deserve it,” Lindy shrugged.

“True,” Nick nodded.

“But the money... ?” Lindy pointed out.

“For much more noble work, which involves their true calling? Besides, I pay more than any would suspect, not being Broadway or Hollywood.”

“True,” Lindy smiled. “And much appreciated.”

So Nick sent minions in search of gems amongst the mundane and the bored. We even took time occasionally to go hunting ourselves, either locally or off to far flung places where minions suggested women and men of interest.

Only men needed to be replaced, all beside me in the company. This proved far more difficult than finding women, who we did audition with great scrutiny and allowed only three to pass screening, adding three expressive, unique and talented bodies to Lindy’s company.

However intentional, the three men we found ended up being what our Caucasian society refers to as people of color. Instead of a direct replacement in terms of race, only one, a remarkable young student from the University of South Dakota, found by Nick via his tapping into workshop auditions, just as I surmise he might have found me, or Lindy if I was already under observation, represented Native Americans. He could also be considered a direct replacement to Vance, with similar brilliance and diversity of talent, if the Chinese American who stumbled into one of Lindy’s auditions didn’t have similar breadth of abilities. The third male, the only one found via the Chippendale route, could be seen as the racial replacement for Vance, as well as the replacement for Stan’s handsomeness and virile body. Though not bisexual like Stan, he replaced him in the stud department, much to the delight of Consuela and many of the women, though the slutty Spanish Helen clone became his favorite, and he hers. The Native and Chinese Americans didn’t lose out. They found each other.

But I’ve gotten way ahead of myself. These replacements and additions became complete only after Lindy’s and Angelique’s showcase in Boston ended.

Getting back to the evening of the orgy and Lindy introducing us to the Aerie Dancers via video and the discussion that followed, we wrestled with the name of our company. It had only ever been linked to the Cass Lake Theater, which no longer made sense.

“ACT 2,” Vance cleverly suggested, since, in a sense, we were a spinoff of ACT’s workshop. Though the reference would barely be noticed except for press coverage that delved beyond the surface, it wasn’t the spinoff aspect, only marginally true, which brought rejection.

“Too much of the play in it,” Lindy argued. “Even if a long ballet has its acts, it connotes theater. We’re much more confusing than that. Plays and modern dance mixed. Who’d have thought that could ever make sense?”

“And don’t forget performance art and musical concerts,” Shira reminded us. “At least I hope we do more of the former, and the latter seems inevitable.”

“True,” said Lindy, and the rest of us murmured our agreement. “Then it has to be vague and umbrella-like.”

“The Serpentine Company,” I said.

“Sounds too much like The Serpentine Corporation,” Miwa objected.

“How about just Serpentine?” Hannah suggested. “That’s plenty vague.”

Murmurs tried out variants of it, and smiles revealed it to be a winner. Ger said loudest, “Serpentine and the Aerie dancers present. Much better than Aeries and Faeries.”

“I don’t know,” said Vance. “I think we should use that for a dance title. Lindy?”

“Most provocative,” Lindy grinned. “A collaboration?”

“I’d like that,” Vance nodded. “Could we watch that first dance again?”

“Excuse me,” I said, sliding off the bed and grabbing my robe. “I need to be somewhere else.”

“Of course,” Lindy smiled wonderfully. I kissed her and my two wives and exited my apartment.

Tash, the lovely, lithe black haired Goth genius, and the gorgeous and sexy Jewish angel Naomi shared a smaller apartment upstairs. I knocked and heard, “It’s open, Joe.”

When I opened it, my adorable Chinese wife kissed me. “I’m going to sneak into Yoshie’s bed,” she told me and darted past me.

On the bed in front of me, three naked beauties, including my first wife, looked calm and sated. I could see the shine on all of their faces revealing shared cunnilingus.

“Doesn’t look like I’m needed,” I grinned. Only then did I see the shadow of sorrow in Naomi’s eyes.

“Please make love to Helena for me,” she murmured.

“With pleasure,” I grinned. Gazing at my soulmate, voluptuous, black haired Greek perfection, always made me want to pinch myself, reminding me this wasn’t a dream, that the most desirable woman I ever met actually desired me just as much. This was no exception. “How can you still take my breath away, my love?” I asked her.

“Feeling’s mutual,” she told me. I decided to believe her this time. My doubts and wonder at her adoration always pissed her off. Anyway, I could see it in her eyes and loving smile.

Letting my robe slip to the ground, I crawled into her welcoming arms.

Even if it was for Naomi, who needed, for some reason, to witness physical proof of the great depth of love my wife and I shared, a reassurance that such love remained in the universe maybe, it seemed just as important to Helena and me. Though we loved our wives, it became too rare for us to share our bond one on one. An audience may have watched us, but, for nearly an hour, they barely existed.

We kissed. Hands framed faces. Between kisses we gazed into each other’s eyes. When tongues came out to play, hands moved, exploring wondrous textures. Familiar and new. Feeling and getting felt. Mouths separated and I took over the exploring, bringing lips to known places. Her ear. Her neck. The underside of her breasts, licking up to the nipples and sucking them. Then down across her soft yet strong belly and into the concavity of her navel, where I tickled her before moving on. Her strong perfume lured me to its source, across short, dark hair to her dewy pussy lips.

We turned over so she could straddle my face and take in my cock, already rigid enough to penetrate the place I suckled. Careful sucks sustained my pleasure while I teased her closer and closer to climax. Genitalia worship.

Pulling my glans from her mouth, she murmured, “Joe.”

Turning around and over as swiftly and gracefully as possible, I knelt between her thighs, gazing at her form. Her torso. Her face. Beauty and lust. She placed me where she needed me and I pressed into her. We watched my glans disappear, bringing all senses to the moment. Taste lingering in our mouths. Breath filled with moans, and the most subtle sound of wet friction. The sweet pungency of her desire.

Her hands gripped my ass, guides to our lovemaking. Mine took hold of her breasts, thumbs caressing her nipples. Between kisses, short and long and always passionate, we returned to our eye to eye gazes.

Long, languorous thrusts continued their length but became gradually swifter and more intense. At medium speed, I changed angles and shifted tempos. My hand reached between us to stroke her taut clit, my mouth replacing it on her nipple. I continued gazing at her. Her head lifted, and a pillow propped her. Though obviously a moment suggesting someone other than us, it might as well have appeared by magic.

Soon after that, I saw her eyes widen and her lips become tubular and, moments later, a blush color her cheeks. I felt the ripples around my cock and my balls dampen. Thrusts slowed but continued as I relished the sounds and sights and the physical manifestations of her orgasm.

Her hands insisted I speed things up, moving past the speed before towards a much more aggressive fucking. We lunged at each other. Our pubic bones smashed together. “Yes!” she hissed. “God!” she exclaimed. “Joe!” she shouted. “Fuck me! Keep fucking me!”

I had no intention to stop. Even if my balls swelled to maximum. And that sweet pain surged through me, a precursor to release. I waited. Not passively. Everything we did made demands greater and resistance harder. Her tremble and deep moan gave me permission, and her finger rubbing my prostrate made any more resistance impossible. The intensity of my orgasm made me tremble, too, and brought forth an even deeper moan.

“Mmm,” I heard beside me, Naomi voicing her quiet orgasm. Thighs scissored together, she and Tash had been rubbing pussies, Tash in the superior position. Both faces faced us. Naomi’s beatific smile and her rosy cheeks made her as beautiful as ever, meaning breathtakingly exquisite. She gave us some moments to return to our undivided intimacy, with soft kisses and loving gazes before nudging us apart just enough to topple me onto my back. She positioned herself in a soixante-neuf, desperate to harden me up and yet careful to not overstimulate until she knew I could take all of her attention. Tasting her sweet nectar from her small, beautifully made pussy helped revive me quicker than usual.

Beside us, a similar position formed between my wife and Tash. I knew my Goth lover had to contend with a cream pie. Her hum sounded like approval.

“Why does this taste so good?” she finally asked.

“Besides being Helena’s pussy juice?” Naomi answered, her hand fisting me for the moment. “It tastes like love. I taste it, too.” She and Tash resumed their oral attention. Helena and I continued ours.

Satisfied with her results, Naomi crawled off me, turned around and opened her thighs. “Love me, Joe.”

“I do,” I responded and placed myself where she wanted. Her hand guided my cock inside her.

“Slowly,” she insisted, her eyes closed.

“Of course,” I said, gazing at her lovely body and face.

Like all the angels, she felt tight and supple and hot and vibrant. I could have closed my eyes like she had, and concentrated on the feeling, but her sexy beauty couldn’t be resisted. And her obvious appreciation only helped.

About halfway in, I added gentle stimulation of her nipples. “Mmm,” she approved.

Once fully in, her eyes finally opened. Pressing up added to our enjoyment, sensitive mounds rubbing together, along with additional activity of her vaginal walls.

“Kiss me, Joe,” she murmured.

We spent quite a while exploring the act of kissing. We remained fully connected, only the shifting rubs of pubic bones changing.

Somehow we knew when kissing became enough. “Long steady strokes,” she murmured.

Medium pace, I made each stroke count. My mouth lowered to pleasure her nipples. Our eyes kept contact except for moments when hers closed, enjoying a piquant moment. They came more often, and I aided them by caressing her clit. They coalesced into an explosive orgasm that seemed to roll through her if her undulations expressed it. I slowed my thrusts, and intensified them, stroking as high as possible inside her. I nibbled her nipple, squeezed the other, and pressed her clit. Everything I could do to make her climax longer and better. It worked.

It finally subsided, and she pulled my mouth to hers. A kiss of thanks. Turning to her left, she greeted Tash’s smiles with her contented one. By then my wife held Tash in her arms. I could tell they had attained their own pleasure.

“Your turn?” Naomi asked Tash.

“Yes please,” Tash giggled. “On your back, Joe.”

“Thank God,” I grinned, rolling onto my back, my cock bouncing free from luscious containment. It soon got contained again in a slippery sheathe. Not as tight and hot as an angel’s, Tash’s pussy compared extremely well to any mortal. And being Tash’s, a woman I loved, and whom I admired as much as I admired anyone, equal to Lindy and to Angelique, it felt all that much more wonderful.

Of the three fucks in that bed, the last was by far the most playful. She found a diversity of speeds and angles. Her small breasts teased my mouth before lifting away. Her lips did the same. We made faces. We giggled and chuckled. Such fun intermixed with pleasure.

When pleasure won out, she rode me ferociously. Eyes closed, fingers stroking her own clit, my fingers abetting with twists and squeezes of her nipples, she concentrated everything on feeling. I knew because I entered her mind, brought her my pleasure. Lifting at perfect pace to her bouncing upon me, we rode to ecstasy together. Its achievement brought a rolling feedback. Such exquisite pleasure. Intense. Profound. Cosmic. Impossible to sustain, and yet sustain it did for I don’t know how long. Seconds? Minutes?

She collapsed atop me at its end, her breath heavy in my ear, filling her needy lungs. “Fuck,” I heard beside me. Both my wife and Naomi looked as done in as I felt.

“You joined in?” I asked.

“You brought us in,” said Helena, as breathless as the rest of us. “You didn’t know?”

“I guess I figured tonight was about sharing,” I shrugged as much as I could with the tall woman on top of me and my body wrung out.

For some reason we all laughed. “Ooh,” both Tash and I moaned, feeling the flexes our sexes created where they continued their conjoining. That brought more laughter, and despite the squeezes it created, my penis slipped out of a very moist place.

I looked at Naomi. A tear in her eye. One from happiness. “Thanks,” she said.

“My pleasure,” I shrugged slightly.

“Ours,” said Helena.

“Yes,” Naomi grinned.

The next morning, during a brief rehearsal break, Lindy took Nick aside, and I could read her disappointment when their conversation ended.

“Snake’s right,” she told me. “There’s not enough time.” Her smile returned. “But he wants to watch the videos. The idea of flying angels amuses him.”

I laughed. “As it should.”

“He said maybe he could set something up for them in the New York house.”

“The Off/On Broadway Theater?”

“Yes.”

“So it won’t even be inappropriate. You won’t have to steal her ideas or anything.”

“I’m going to talk to Jennifer. See if she would teach angels to fly.”

“And you.”

“And you,” she smirked.

“A lumbering ox flying? I’d probably tear down the scaffolding.”

“You always think you’re worse than you are, Joe. Afraid?”

“I don’t know.”

“Flying? How could it not be fun?”

I shrugged. Getting pulled about by some sort of harness. How would my balls survive? And however it held me, it had to hurt, at least a little. What about whiplash? But flying about. Choreographed flying. Challenging. Fun?

I nodded.

Nick took center stage that evening. “Finally,” he said.

The audience had a different configuration. I sat with only one wife, Shira. We had, as usual, gotten each other horny that morning, but hadn’t relieved our need. Salomé joined us with her own need for pleasure from her new favorite, my wife. With Shira snuggling me at my right, Angelique snuggled my left, with Lindy of course beside her. Thus formed my sexual partners for the evening and the night.

“It seemed bad luck had struck again,” Nick began. “My angels are such rare gifts, to me and I think to the world. Cleopatra ... I mean with Sitara, I had to watch her age, which always had a tinge of sadness, but her death being inevitable helped me accept it, even if losing such a wonderful soul hurt, but suicide? To literally lose her head over a lover. To be a muse, there has to be a deep connection, but deep enough to be dragged into suicide... ? It made me thankful for the reasonableness, the levelheadedness of my surviving angels. I mean Betty, the most levelheaded of all, spent a mortal lifetime with the first of her subjects to amuse, grew up with him, severing their relationship only when he died, in their bed, may have experienced the deepest loss of any of us, and it depressed her deeply. But suicide? Never.

“And it came to Chanda to help me bear the weight of my pain. Amazing, wonderful, brilliant, creative, spunky Chanda. Thank you,” he addressed her and she nodded. “Her sister angels had things to do. Important things. I insisted they do them despite their protests. But they knew, just as I knew, that Chanda would be enough to salve my pain. She always knew how and when to cheer me up, better probably than any of them. She became my companion without the sex of course. Those needy years, when womanhood first bloomed, and she hungered for me like all my angels except Betty, who had the distraction of a soulmate, had long since gone. Not that we didn’t flirt with temptation. These were most intimate times, just the two of us together. We resisted. Somewhat. Okay, we did everything but fuck. I suppose we could have. She no longer ovulated. But I guess we had to draw the line somewhere.