Erotic Men's Ballet Class
submitted November 19, 2001
I am sitting here in my tan unitard with white cotton socks and a dark blue ballet tunic reminiscing about how I got into ballet and my ballet fetish. Most is true and some embellished, but it is my fantasy.
As a young man playing baseball, our field was adjacent to a ballet studio. From third base I could see the dancers through the studio window at the barre, stretching, plieing, etc. I loved to see the teen boys in their black tights and white shirts and socks at the barre. Oh, to be out of this baseball uniform and into some tights and slippers!
One day after the practice session, I hung around and snuck over to the ballet school. I peered into the window and saw the ballet master going thru the positions with his class. He noticed me and invited me in. I introduced myself rather nervously and he shook my hand. He told me ballet was always in need of boys in class to partner the girls. Whatever the reason, I just knew I wanted to be in tights!
The ballet master, a handsome man around 35, said if I was interested in ballet, it would be good for my baseball playing. I, still in my uniform, said I would like it, but would have to think about it awhile.
Well, after graduating from high school, I enrolled secretly in his ballet school, sneaking into the city to buy black tights and slippers. The minute I got home I pulled on my tights and was aroused instantly. I think I slept in them for many nights.
Classes were held in the late afternoon; my excuse to my family was I was studying at the library late. The class was enrolled with more girls than boys, but still there were 8 boys, all in black tights, white socks and tees! I loved the feeling of being in line at the barre with the boys, plieing in unison or doing an arabesque, stretching and doing splits. I would often be aroused in class, but wore a jock strap under my dance belt for extra concealment. Many times I would be pre-cumming in my tights while plieing at the barre.
A year later, our ballet master started an all male ballet class with 18 boys. I was in heaven, but they were all more experienced than I was: They jumped better and higher; their jetes flowed better; they had deeper full plies and coup de pieds; and their arabesques stretched higher behind them. What was their secret? I had to know.
I soon discovered it. Sean, who was the dark-haired, older ballet student, became good friends with me. Sean was the one who would come to class in a blue unitard or white M. Stevens unitard, always looking the hottest with his firm, bulging thigh muscles and calves.
One afternoon, we took a ten-minute break. Most of the guys went out into the hall to chat or to eat, while I stayed at the barre stretching more as Sean disappeared into the locker room. From my view in the reflecting mirror, I watched as Sean opened his locker and pulled out his ballet gym bag. From the bag he extracted a leather cockring. He then proceeded to pull down his powder blue unitard and snap the cockring around his balls only, while attaching a rubber band to the leather strap. He was facing away from me and into his locker full of tights and ballet gear, when suddenly he again reached into his bag and out came a 6-inch flesh-colored butt plug! Oh my God, I thought.
He reached in again and next came out a small jar of Vaseline. He then proceeded to grease up the plug and began a slow plie onto it, real slow, real graceful, his feet turned out, head turned sideways and upwards, and then back in ecstasy.
I watched as it slowly disappeared into his firm smooth ass cheeks with each plie. Then it was gone! Sean smiled with pleasure, reached between his legs and pulled his balls back towards the base of the plug and attached the rubber band to it. He then pulled his unitard up snug, the plug totally hidden under them.
I was so hot by now I could not believe what I saw. Did ALL the guys wear plugs under their tights and unitards? And the ballet master too?? By the time the guys came back into the studio I was dripping with precum: I wanted a plug in me so I could leap and jete like them!
Meanwhile back at the barre, I tried to secretly look to see if the other dancers wore plugs too. As they plied, I glanced around and as they bent forward in attitude position I noticed something between their firm cheeks. OH my GOD! All the guys had plugs in! When the ballet master bent over to adjust his slippers, under his white tights I glimpsed the base of a plug, small yet detectable. I had to have one!
After class, I lingered awhile and chatted with the ballet master. I asked if there was a secret to better leaps and turnouts, etc. He responded: "Yes, there is a secret: Harder work!" I smiled and asked, "Anything else?" He looked puzzled then he smiled back.
We went into his office. Pictures of famous male danseurs covered his walls: Nureyev, Erik Bruhn, Chris Gable, Hugh Lang, Anthony Dowell, Michael Somes. He opened his locker; it was filled with tights, unitards, slippers, legwarmers, knitted tights, and tunics. He said, "Take your pick. Put on anything you like." I was so excited. He had every color you can imagine! I picked out a powder blue unitard like Sean was wearing. I stood before him as I stripped out of my black tights and I pulled on the blue unitard: it felt so hot as I glanced into the mirror.
The ballet master stood there and began to plie while rubbing his crotch. I was hard as a rock. He handed me white socks and white leather slippers to put on. As I bent over he arabesqued in front of me; his pouch grew huge with excitement. He then walked over to his desk; from the bottom drawer he pulled out a 5-inch plug and Vaseline and then pulled the desk chair out and placed the plug on the seat. He told me that he would dance for me if I would slowly sit on the plug. Man, was I ever ready to do that! So I pulled down my unitards as he smeared the plug with Vaseline. He stood before me and started a slow plie while I started to jerk myself off. With every move it sunk deeper into my hole, filling me with such pleasure.
The ballet master began a pas de chat and the plug fell right in. I bent my head back with excitement. "Good," he said, "now pull your unitard back up," and he handed me an embroidered black tunic and black legwarmers to put on. I felt great, like Nureyev or Bruhn. He said, "We will now pas de deux in the studio."
Out we went and spent hours partnering, both of us in our unitards and plugs firmly planted inside us. After an hour of batterie and arabesque and unison plieing at the barre, we soon could not hold back any longer. With his arms at my waist and his masculine hands cupped over my crotch, we plied and suddenly with a deep demi-plie, he squeezed on my pouch while pressing his erection against my tights-clad cheeks. The plugs worked their magic: on the decent of our plie, we both exploded in our tights at the exact same time.
Needless to say, this was the beginning of many more private sessions.