Frank Brown
The Smiths come together!
CHAPTER ONE
Greta Smith padded barefoot around the polished wood floor of the dance studio, straightening a back here, lilting a chin there, reminding her students to keep their toes pointed, their shoulders back, their chest lifted high as they stretched at the bar. The tang of sweat hung in the over-heated air, and the radiator clanged from time to time. As the half dozen boys and the three-dozen or so girls of Greta's advanced dance class performed their final stretches at the bar, Greta told them to drop to the floor and do a few stretches in the full-split position to finish things off.
The girls, in their tight black leotards, had no trouble sitting in the full-split position. With backs straight, tits lifted high, crotches pressed to the floor, they bent from one side to the other, touching their chins to their knees, reaching out to grasp their pointed toes. The boys, on the other hand, being built differently, were not nearly so flexible. They grunted and sweated as they struggled to imitate the more flexible girls.
Only one boy had no trouble sitting in the full-split position and performing perfect stretches – Greta's golden-haired son, Patrick. Greta had started him stretching early in life. He'd been doing full splits and stretches since infancy.
"Thomas, you're going to have work more on your flexibility," Greta told the least flexible of the boys. "You've been slipping lately. I want you to put in extra time at home."
Greta walked among the teenaged dancers, counting out their stretches as they bent in unison to one side, then to the other. In all her years of teaching ballet and modern dance, in the fifteen years since she'd founded Greta's School of Ballet and Modern Dance, this was by far her best class. And the pride of the class was her own son, Patrick, now six feet tall and good enough to dance professionally. Greta's daughter, Susanne, Patrick's younger sister, was a fine dancer as well, but the competition among the girls was greater than among the few boys and several girls in the class surpassed Susanne in ability.
"Fine," Greta said. "Very good. See you all tomorrow, boys and girls. Class dismissed."
As the dance students left the studio for their respective dressing rooms, Greta couldn't help noticing the way several girls surrounded Patrick, flirting with him and giggling. They all wanted to be his girlfriend, but Patrick had never taken a steady girlfriend. He seemed to prefer being free to take out any girl he wanted to, any time he wanted to. Even Candace Wilson, the prima ballerina and top girl dancer at the school, couldn't get Patrick to commit himself to her. It pleased Greta that Patrick refused to pledge himself to any one girl. She knew that if he did so, she herself would feel jealous, resentful even. He was hers, after all – her son – and she dreaded giving him up.
The girls pressed up against Patrick on all sides, rubbing against him like cats, some of them stroking his back, his ass. They intentionally stepped on his bare feet with theirs. It was a shameless display of female sexual heat, and Greta had to bite her lip to keep from saying something to the sluttish girls.
Leave him alone, she thought. Will you just leave him alone!