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Truly Juliet

By: J G Parkes



Joanne's heart missed a beat. The rumours were true. There it was in black and white on the notice board: Michael Hurst, internationally famous dancer, was going to be a guest star with the company for the next season.

Everybody was excited, and all the talk between classes and rehearsals centred on Michael Hurst. At the age of 25 he'd suddenly taken the dance world by storm and had become a star of the New York City Ballet. Now, five years later, he was at the height of his career and travelled the world, appearing as a guest with the most famous companies. With his forthcoming appearance at Covent Garden, Michael Hurst was coming home.

Home? Well, maybe not. Although he had been trained by the Royal Ballet, he had never appeared with them. Too tall, they said. So he'd carved out his own career and become more successful than he could ever have been with the company.

Joanne stared at the notice. Michael Hurst was coming. She thought he'd gone out of her life for ever, but now they would meet again. A tear rolled down her cheek as the memories came flooding back.

"You'll be all right, dear," Joanne's mother assured her, trying to sound confident.

"I'm not sure."

"You'd better be sure," her father growled. "This is costing us a packet!"

"Gerry!"

"What?"

"If you can't be more tactful than that, why don't you just go back to the car?"

"I only said....."

"I know what you said, but you've got to remember Joanne's only eleven and she's never been away from home before. Naturally she's feeling apprehensive and she's allowed a few tears."

"Just as long as she hasn't changed her mind," father muttered.

"Of course she hasn't. Have you, dear?"

A fresh outburst of tears sent her father stomping off in a fury. His wife looked around her helplessly, but was immediately cheered by the sight of several children weeping. Many of them were obviously not first year students, either.

Then she noticed a tall boy calmly bidding goodbye to his parents. He didn't appear to be at all upset. He was so confident he gave the impression of having been at the school for at least a year, but Mrs Keane recognised him; this was his first year, too.

"That boy was at the audition with you," she said to Joanne. "Do you remember?"

Still sniffling, the young girl looked in the direction her mother had indicated.

"Um," she miserably agreed.

"He's not crying." It sounded like an accusation to poor Joanne.

"Maybe he hates his home and parents," she answered viciously.

"No, I shouldn't think so, dear. He accepts that his chosen career has brought him here. If sacrifices have to be made, he'll make them because he's determined to get on."

Joanne looked at her mother in amazement. "Can you tell all that just because he's not crying?"

"Yes."

Joanne laughed and threw her ams around her mother. "Oh, mummy, you are funny."

"There, that's better." Mrs Keane felt relieved. "I didn't want to leave you in tears. Anyway, it won't be long before you're home again."

"Six weeks." Joanne sounded mournful again.

"That's not long at all. You'll be so busy and have so many exciting new things to do that you won't even notice the time pass."

"I'll be all right, Mummy."

"Of course you will. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Not many girls are able to come to the Royal Ballet School. You have to have a very special talent and a will to succeed. I think you've got both, so does your father, even if he seems to be offhand about it."

"I'll work hard, I promise. You'll both be proud of me."

They hugged and kissed and said their last farewells. Joanne waved as the car drove away, then, fighting back the tears, went into the building.

The Royal Ballet's lower school for children between the ages of 11 and 16 was in White Lodge, set in the middle of Richmond Park. It used to be a royal residence, a grand old house, which had been extended to provide more studio space. Joanne immediately felt a welcoming atmosphere in the labyrinth of narrow corridors and small rooms. Her mother was right. In no time at all she was settled and happy with her new life.

Contact with the boys was fairly minimal to begin with but, nevertheless, there was always a lot of talk about Michael Hurst. Tall and dark, he possessed a striking presence and graceful movement. He also had a wayward streak, which didn't enamour him to his teachers, but gave the other pupils a lot of fun.

Right from the start Michael was popular with his peers and most of the girls worshipped him from afar, Joanne included. At the end of each year the pupils were assessed and some of them were discarded, but both Joanne and Michael continued at the school.

The art of partnering was now being taught and the girls were agog to know which boy would be allotted to them. Naturally they all wanted Michael as their partner, but he was tall; only the tallest of the girls would be suitable.

"Joanne, you go with Michael."

When the teacher spoke those words there were audible groans of disappointment and many looks of envy.

In the beginning they both felt clumsy and shy, but gradually, as one lesson succeeded another, they became fluid in their movement and confident of the other's abilities. On the occasions when there was a change of partners Joanne felt desperately disappointed. No one else could make her dance as well as Michael, and she felt the reverse was true.

The second year passed and they were both through to the third. Their friendship was deepening and each Saturday they would go into Richmond and have lunch together. Michael spent a half-term holiday at Joanne's house and she visited him during the Easter break.

The teachers, as they watched these two youngsters dancing together, nodded sagely. It was that rarity -- a true partnership. If only they could keep it up through their formative years, the world could be their oyster.

There was, however, a problem. Michael was fighting authority more and more the older he got. 'Rules were made to be broken'seemed to be his motto. He worked hard at his dancing and gave it everything he'd got, but his academic performance was a different story. He neglected his studies and made no attempt to attain the necessary standard. Away from the studio he became listless and bored. Dance was all he cared about, all he wanted to do. He fought constantly with those in authority and there was even talk of dropping him; but he was too good and it was too near exam time.

By the time they were 16 and in their final year at the lower school, Joanne knew she was in love. She knew it as certainly as she knew the world was round. When she was with Michael she was alive; when he wasn't there she was alone and dead inside.

At the end of the year she was offered a place in the upper school at Hammersmith for two years. When she was 18 there was a good chance she would be taken into the company. Overjoyed she ran to Michael to tell him, but her happiness quickly faded when she saw his scowl.

"What's wrong?" she anxiously asked.

"They don't want me," Michael replied, bitterness hardening his tone.

"What!" Joanne couldn't believe it. "You're not going to the upper school?"

"They've offered me a year."

Joanne was relieved. "Well, that's all right."

"Is it?"

"A year's better than nothing."

"They might as well have given me nothing," he said savagely. "They also said I'd no chance of getting into the company."

"Why not?"

"Too tall. Six feet two is too tall for the Royal Ballet. They knew I was going to be tall right from the start. Why didn't they refuse to take me?"

Joanne took hold of his arm in sympathy. "What will you do?"

"Go for a year, I suppose, then take pot luck. I'm not ready to get a job yet; I'm only half-trained."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

She wanted to hold him tight and kiss him; to tell him how much she loved him; but she couldn't. They were good friends and dance partners, but he had never declared any kind of love for her. She had no right to expect anything, and now they were going to be separated for weeks during the summer holiday. 

When Joanne left White Lodge for the last time she was crying as profusely as on the day she had arrived. She felt stupid, but was unable to stop. Her only consolation was that she wasn't alone. Most of the girls were crying, whilst the boys looked quite forlorn. A huge and important part of their lives was over and the next part was still some way off. It would be a long summer.

Michael was the last person to say goodbye to Joanne. He smiled down at her gently and wiped a tear from her eye with his finger. They held each other tightly and Michael gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

"See you in Hammersmith," he said softly.

"Yes," she whispered.

But she didn't. In fact, she never saw him again throughout her years of training. Joanne received only three letters from Michael during that summer holiday. The first told her that he was going to dance a few performances with a combined British/American youth ballet. The second dealt with the excitement of actually performing and how much he was enjoying it. But it was the third letter which was for ever engraved in her mind.

'They have offered me a contract,' he wrote. 'The Americans, I mean. Now I have the problem of deciding what to do. I could go back to school for another year and then wonder what to do; or I could take this job in America The pay isn't much, but it will be great experience and I'll still be learning.'

Reading the letter and feeling the excitement between the lines, Joanne was in no doubt that Michael's decision had already been made. At the age of 16 he was going to America to find a career for himself. That night she cried herself to sleep.

For the next two years Joanne worked hard at the upper school and was rewarded with a contract for the Birmingham Royal Ballet. After four years dancing with that company she was promoted to the Royal Ballet at Covent Garden. She did well enough, but it was obvious she would never be a really big star.

She met Robert Bryan at a wedding reception. He was fair-haired, average height and spoke with an Australian accent. They found themselves standing next to each other, glass in hand and looking as if they wished they were somewhere else.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

"Only when my mother thinks I should be here."

"Is she right?"

Joanne shook her head. "I barely know the bride and groom. She's the daughter of some woman who sits on a committee with my mother back home."

"Where's that?"

"Yorkshire. As the wedding's in London I've been designated as the family representative. What about you?"

"Ah. I represent the groom's side."

"Is he a friend?"

"No, just a colleague. He thought it would be a good idea for me to get to know a few people."

"You're Australian."

He grinned. How did you guess?"

"I can't imagine. Woman's intuition, I suppose."

They both laughed.

He held out his hand. "I'm here to get to know people, so I'll start with you. I'm Robert Bryan."

"How do you do." Joanne solemnly shook his hand. And I am Joanne Keane."

"Pleased to meet you."

They had an instant rapport talking easily and laughing at the slightest thing. Robert revealed that he was on an assignment for his company.

"We install computer systems," he explained. "We landed this big contract with a major company -- worth millions of Australian dollars. Or so I'm told. I'm under orders to do a bloody good job."

"How long will it take you? Two days? A week?"

Robert laughed. "It's obvious you don't know much about computer systems."

"I have a laptop."

"Good on you, but this is a different ball game. There's a whole network of computers that have to talk to each other, many of them in different countries. It's an international company. I've got to set it up, make sure everything's working and then maintain it. This is my personal baby and my big opportunity. I'll be here until someone says different."

"Gosh! It must be complicated."

"It is. Needs a top expert."

"Like you."

"Exactly."

They laughed. By the end of the reception they were firm friends. By the end of a month they were more than friends. Robert made it a practice to meet Joanne after a performance and on this night she had invited him up to her flat.

"Very cosy," he commented. "Warm and welcoming."

"I'll change into something more comfortable then make us some supper."

"Righto.."

"Help yourself to a drink. There are some bottles in that cupboard. Whisky, brandy, sherry and orange juice, I think."

"Thanks."

Joanne had planned this night and she had everything worked out, supper and clothes. In fact, she had bought an outfit for the occasion. It flattered her slim figure and revealed a tantalising glimpse of her pert breasts. What was her intention? What did she expect would happen? She had no clear idea of why she was behaving in this untypical fashion, almost like a femme fatale. It was totally out of character, but she had reached a point where she felt an overwhelming need to have a man inside her and this man was particularly desirable.

When she returned to the living-room, Robert was standing by the window looking at a framed photograph.

"Who's this?"

"A -- a fellow dancer."

"I can guess that by the costume and the leap he seems to be making."

"It's a double cabriole," Joanne murmured.

"Is he your dance partner?"

"When I was at ballet school. He...he went to America. I haven't seen him since I was sixteen. The picture was in a dance magazine so I....I cut it out and...and...."

"Bought a frame for it."

"Yes."

"Was he your lover as well as dance partner?"

"We were only sixteen and strictly supervised. I....I haven't had a lover."

"You mean -- you're a virgin?"

"Yes," Joanne softly admitted.

"Wearing an outfit like this might change the situation."

Robert took her into his arms and kissed her. She felt his hands exploring her body with a gentle, erotic touch.

"I -- I thought we might have a little supper."

"Let's cut to the dessert."

He led her through to the bedroom, where they stood for a few moments, gazing at each other in an unhurried appraisal. Joanne reached behind and slowly unzipped her top. Robert unfastened his trousers and each garment was simultaneously removed. Her skirt was next and his shirt. She hesitated before unclipping her bra, dropping it onto the floor. She felt like a stripper as she stood in front of this man -- a near stranger -- whilst he gazed at her intimate parts.

She nervously cleared her throat. "I....I don't have very large breasts." It was almost an apology. "The bane of a dancer."

"Don't worry. They're fine." He lowered his briefs to reveal a penis that was already hardened. He grinned. "You can see for yourself that they have the desired effect on me."

Joanne blushed. "Now I'm more embarrassed than before."

"There's no need to be. This is exactly what's supposed to happen." He lay on the bed, tapping the empty space next to him. "Come and join me."

"Yes."

She slipped her knickers off and lay down. He drew her into his arms and she tingled all over as her naked body came into contact with his. He kissed her, long and deep.

"Try and relax," Robert murmured. "You're as taut as a violin string." 

"Be gentle," she whispered.

"Of course."

And he was. There was no hurried thrusting into her, only gentle caresses and kisses, gradually bringing her up to a peak where she wanted nothing more than to be filled by his penis. Robert knew exactly when the moment came to enter her and when he did she gasped and stiffened. His cock was dormant inside her for a few moments, then he gradually began thrusting in and out, picking up speed as he went.

He was near to coming when the thought struck him. "Protection."

"Pill," she gasped.

With that he let go his seed and her vagina was filled with his cum.

They made love again that night and for several nights after. It looked as if the relationship would became permanent and Robert was close to proposing when he saw her standing with Michael's photograph. There were tears in her eyes. He kept quiet and decided not to propose marriage just yet.

Three months later, Robert announced that he had been recalled to Australia. He was to leave the following week.

"I want you to come with me."

"To Australia?"

"Yes. As my wife."

"Oh." There was a long silence.

"I take it the answer is 'no'," Robert said quietly.

"I.....I have a.....a contract with the Royal Ballet."

"Of course."

"I....I don't think I can break it."

"And you don't want to."

"No."

"I wish you all the success you deserve."

A brief kiss and he was gone. 

As time went on some of the bigger roles were given to Joanne and several critics made kind comments about her 'Giselle', but there was always something missing; some inner fire which would take her to the heights. Her partners also seemed to lack that necessary strength and style out of which greatness is made. Now, at the age of 30, she was beginning to think it was too late. The working life of a dancer is short and she couldn't expect many more years in the company.

Joanne had already begun making plans for her future. Eventually she would open a dance school somewhere and settle down to a quiet, domesticated life, probably with a cat for company. There was no man in her life. There hadn't been since.....

"Michael Hurst!" exclaimed Marion Daly as she read the notice. "Oh, how I envy her." She sighed.

"Who?" asked Joanne.

"Michelle, of course. She'll be his partner."

"Oh -- yes, I suppose she will."

"Lucky girl. Can you imagine what it must be like to be partnered by Michael Hurst?" Marion sighed again.

Joanne walked away from the notice board feeling annoyed. Some of these new young dancers seemed to be so immature and went around in a permanent dream. Most of them wouldn't last long in the harsh world of ballet. They'd fall in love, get married, have children and.....

"Oh, Michael!" Joanne cried as she collapsed into her dressing-room chair and began to sob her heart out.

When it was announced that Michael Hurst was going to dance Romeo in Kenneth McMillan's famous version of Prokofiev's ballet the public went wild and began to besiege the box office. A dynamic dancer, one of the best in the world, was going to dance one of the most exciting roles in the ballet repertoire. It was also announced that Michelle Hinton would dance Juliet.

Joanne and her partner were to be the third couple in the revival, dancing in two matinees and one evening performance. It was inevitable that the sales were not as good as those for the Hurst/Hinton performances, but they were reasonable.

The press were out in force to greet Michael upon his arrival at Heathrow, and so were thousands of his fans. He was hustled into a large limousine and swiftly driven away to his hotel. There were more fans and more photographers as he dashed through the doors into the foyer.

"This is no good!" Michael exploded when he was safely in his hotel room. "I've got to find somewhere quiet. I don't like a lot of people around me, pushing and screaming."

"You have a lot of fans in this country," Ray Sheldon, the company's head of publicity explained. "So far they've only read about you and seen you on television, but now you're here in the flesh, they're going a bit wild. You should be pleased."

"I'm not a pop star. I'm a dancer who needs to sleep well, keep fit and practise hard. I don't want any distractions. All publicity must relate to my work and not my private life. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely."

The most peristent fans besieged Covent Garden for a few days, but gradually grew tired as the object of their adoration remained surprisingly elusive. He was in another part of London, rehearsing in a hired studio from early morning until quite late at night. Everybody around him, including Michelle, was exhausted, though he remained strong and dynamic. 


Truly Juliet



But there was a problem.

"She's too short," Michael complained. "Or I'm too tall, whichever way you like to look at it. The school knew this would happen. That's why they told me I wouldn't be able to join the company. They want girls who aren't too tall, so the men can't be either. I don't have this problem in the States."

He paused, and a far away look came into his eyes.

"There was one girl though," he continued, remembering. "We were at school together for five years. She was the tallest girl there. I guess that's why we were partnered."

He smiled at the memory of two young people who had a complete rapport when dancing together. Then he snapped out of it.

"Come on, let's get back to work."

Rehearsals progressed steadily and the day of the first performance was fast approaching, but a chill wind blew through the ranks of the company. There was a feeling of disappointment. Michael Hurst, great dancer though he might be, had proved to be very cold and distant. Since his arrival in London he had shown no interest whatsoever in the other members of the company. He was rarely seen outside the rehearsal room and didn't socialise. In fact, he spoke to no-one except those directly concerned with his performance. There was an air of hostility between him and everyone else.

Joanne hadn't seen him, except as a fleeting figure walking quickly along a corridor. She wondered if he was deliberately avoiding her, then realised, sadly, that he probably didn't even know she existed. He had completely forgotten her.

One evening, long after everyone else had gone, Joanne was alone in the rehearsal studio. With the aid of a tape recording of her music, she was practising her solos. This was the biggest chance she'd had for a long time and she had no intention of making a mess of it. Deep in concentration, she moved gracefully around to the music, beginning to feel as if she might just be Juliet. She began to enter into the spirit of a 14 year-old girl.

Suddenly she became aware of a figure in the doorway and stopped dancing.

"Bravo."

It was Michael Hurst.

They stood gazing at each other in silence. The tape continued playing the sweepingly romantic dance of Romeo and Juliet. Without a word Michael took off his jacket and began to move as if he was a young Italian lover come courting. Hesitating only momentarily, Joanne joined him and together in the rehearsal room they danced one of the most romantic duets in ballet.

He swept her into his arms, lifted her high and held her close. There was magic in every movement and an unmistakable feeling of passion. As the last bars of the music faded away, Juliet was back on her balcony and Romeo bade her farewell as he went off. Michael picked up his coat and left.

For a moment Joanne was unable to believe what had happened. She ran to the door and looked out into the corridor. It was empty; there was no sign of him.

Joanne hadn't cried over him for many years but now, leaning against the door, her tears were falling for the second time in a few weeks.

The full house received the performance rapturously and the following morning the papers were full of praise. The only points of criticism were the disparate heights of Michael Hurst and Michelle Hinton and the slight lack of ardour. Otherwise it was a marvellous rendition of one of the best ballets in the repertoire and one to cherish for all time.

There was little excitement when Joanne danced the role with her partner. It was a good house, though not full, and the applause was more polite than ecstatic. Hardly any critics were witness to the performance so there would be very little in the papers. All the attention and all the publicity centred on the Hurst/Hinton partnership. Since that night in the rehearsal room Joanne hadn't seen Michael except in a crowd.

She was also coming to realise now that her career as a dancer was over. It had never been anything more than a damp squib, and now it had fizzled out. As for any vague thoughts she might have had about making a home with Michael, they were just girlish dreams that fade away with time.

She put out the dressing-room lights and went towards the stage door.

"This has been left for you, Miss Keane." The stage-door keeper was holding out a single flower.

"Is there a note?"

"No, miss."

"Who left it?"

"Don't know, miss. One minute there was nothing, I turned me back, and then it was there. Funny, if you ask me. Maybe you should have someone see you home. You can never tell these days. There's a lot of strange people around."

"I'll be all right. Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Miss Keane."

Joanne took the flower back to her flat and set it beside her bed. She fell asleep wondering who might have given it to her. One name kept recurring to her, but it seemed too unlikely; nevertheless, Michael Hurst haunted her dreams that night.

The following week Michelle Hinton landed awkwardly in one of her dances towards the end of the ballet. She struggled through the remainder of the performance, but she was obviously in pain and next day the doctor declared that she wouldn't be able to dance for at least a month. A replacement had to be quickly found and word had it that another of the youngest dancers would be chosen. When Joanne was summoned to the office and offered the chance to partner Michael she was as surprised as anyone. 

"It seems Mr Hurst refuses to dance opposite anyone but you," said the administrator with a sigh. It was obvious he disapproved, but was powerless to do anything about it. Michael was proving as rebellious against authority as he had been at school.

They had time for only two rehearsals before their performance. Michael barely spoke a word to Joanne, and then only to comment on the difficulties of the choreography. They were dancing well together, but that essential rapport was missing. There was a general shaking of heads. Joanne was obviously secondary to Michelle.

On the night of the performance Joanne found another single flower in her dressing-room. There was no note. It was a full house and as the lights faded there was a hush of expectation. The first notes of the ballet started and the curtain rose on a Verona street. Standing at the side of the stage, waiitng for her first entrance, Joanne felt strangely calm. She'd expected to be nervous almost to the point of sickness, but there was nothing but a kind of inner peace.

When the ballroom scene began, she went on with the excitement of a young girl at her first dance; a young girl who was going to meet her lover for the first time. Juliet saw Romeo across the crowded room and time stopped as they went towards each other. The audience held its breath. There was the magic of love in the air. From that moment it was clear the new partnership was a stunning success. They weren't two strangers dancing with each other, but lovers, revealing all the passion, joy and sadness that goes with love.

The curtain fell at the end and, after a few moments of silence, thunderous applause rang round the darkened auditorium. The curtain rose and fell several times; the two principals came to stand at the centre of the stage, and still the audience cheered. It seemed as if they would never stop, as the flowers rained down onto the stage. 

Michael bent down and picked up one solitary flower which he presented to Joanne. Then, in front of two thousand people, he kissed her.

The audience went wild, as did the rest of the ballet company. The Press Representaive, Ray Sheldon, rubbed his hands in glee.

"This'll make the front page of every paper.! A real life Romeo and Juliet. And what dancing! This will be the best partnership since Nureyev and Fontaine."

Joanne went back to her dressing-room with the applause still ringing in her ears. She could still feel the touch of Michael's lips upon hers. Everything had happened so fast she was completely dazed. Perhaps it was a dream and soon she'd wake up in her bed.ood But everything seemed real enough as people clamoured around her, offering their congratulations; and she still had the flower.

"Has Mr Hurst gone?"

"Yes, Miss Keane," the stage door-keeper told her sympathetically. "About half an hour ago."

"Oh. Did he leave a message?"

"No, miss."

"I see." She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but failed miserably. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, miss."

Harry shook his head sadly as he watched her sign a few autographs for people waiting outside, then walk away from the theatre, a lonely figure with the collar of her coat turned up against the cold and rain.

The following performances of 'Romeo and Juliet' went smoothly enough and all were received with a standing ovation, but somehow the vital spark that had turned into a blaze on the first night was missing. It was as if Michael was holding himself in check emotionally. He didn't kiss Joanne again and, though he handed her a flower at the end of each performance, it was an automatic gesture to please the audience.

The press and the public were all clamouring for Michael to stay on this side of the Atlantic and create a true and long-lasting partnership with Joanne. However, it seemed as if their wishes would be ignored. The date for his departure was set.

On the last night the electricity was back. Love and passion flowed across the stage between the two dancers. When Michael lifted Joanne high in a pas de deux then slowly set her down, there was longing and desire in every movement. At the curtain call Michael once more took Joanne in his arms and kissed her to roars of approval from the crowd.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear and held her tight.

It was 20 minutes before they were released by the audience and Michael took Joanne back to her dressing-room. They embraced and kissed again.

As if in a dream, the two left the theatre, slipping out through a side door to avoid the waiting fans, and made their way to a cosy, quiet restaurant with subdued lighting and soft music.

"I want to explain everything to you," said Michael. "About my behaviour."

"I didn't know what to think when you came back. I hadn't heard from you in all these years."

"I know, but I've never forgotten you."

"And yet you didn't write," Joanne said, recalling the painful years of silence.

"I've never been much for writing letters." He groaned. "That's a devil of an excuse, isn't it? I was too wrapped up in myself and my career, if the truth be known."

"Why not? You've been very successful."

"And very lonely. I didn't realise how lonely until I came back here and met you again. It suddenly came to me that I was in love with you all those years ago. That night when I saw you practising, I knew what I'd been missing."

"But one minute you seemed to care, then the next you were cold and distant."

"That's what I wanted to explain." He hesitated; "I didn't want to get involved."

Joanne suddenly realised the significance of Michael's answer. "You're married!" She didn't want to lose him now he was back in her life.

He laughed. "Good Lord, no! At least, not now. I'm divorced."

"Oh."

"She was the Artistic Director of the Youth Ballet. More than twice my age -- at least. I was only eighteen when she asked me to marry her."

"She asked you?"

He laughed ruefully. "Yes. You might say she wasn't slow in coming forward. I was her toy boy. It made me king of the world, of course. Very impressionable. Lots of money, good sex.....I'm sorry, but I'm pretty experienced. There were a few others after the divorce -- nearer my age."

"I'm....I'm not a virgin."

"Of course not, why on earth should you be? I wouldn't expect it."

"If you're not married, then why....?"

"Why play hard to get? I couldn't offer you much of a life. For the past 15 years I've lived out of a suitcase, moving from one place to the next. Just recently it seems to have been getting worse. Then there was your career to think about."

"That never really got started. I'm not bad technically, but I'm a very unexciting dancer."

"Not judging by your performance as Juliet."

"That's because I was dancing with you."

Michael took hold of her hand.

"I can ask you to marry me now, Joanne. I've just been offered a contract with the Royal Ballet. Principal Dancer and a chance as a choreographer. I'll be able to settle down and make a home for myself and my wife. That is, if you'll have me."

"You and nobody else," said Joanne softly.

They were married in St. Paul's Church, Covent Garden, which was packed to the gills with performers and fans. After taking their vows they walked down the aisle to the strains of Prokofiev's Love Duet from 'Romeo and Juliet'.

By a mutual, unspoken agreement they had not been intimate, preserving that pleasure for after they were married. Now they lay together relishing the feel of their bare flesh against each other. He gently stroked up and down the length of her back, his fingers lightly brushing her skin. Little tingles of ecstasy coursed through her. She trembled.

"Are you cold?" Michael enquired. "Perhaps you should put on a nightdress."

"No, no!" Joanne protested. "I'm not cold, it's just......"

"Just what?"

"It's so arousing being close to you."

She could feel him hardening against her thigh and unthinkingly parted her legs slightly, ready to take him into her. She had lain awake at night so often thinking about such a moment, but never expecting it to arrive. Robert had been a mistake that she now regretted. Her first time should have been here and now, married to the man she had loved, it seemed, all her life.

Her nipples were little hard buds pressing against his chest. He was muscular and solid. Male ballet dancers were often categorised as soft weaklings, but that was a fallacy. To lift a woman weighing 120 pounds and hold her above his head, or on his shoulder so she may fall and be caught in a fish dive requires strength and coordination. Michael was all that. When she was high in the air balanced on one hand she felt safe.

He gently turned her on onto her back and lay on top of her, his knees pushing her legs apart. His cock caressed her vagina and the lips opened. She relished every moment as her warmth engulfed him and felt her juices flowing. He pushed in and out, gradually building up the rhythm and going ever deeper until she had taken all of him. He paused for a moment and then resumed pumping, faster and faster.

They came together and her vagina was filled with his semen.

"Aaaah!" It was a long, satisfied sigh.

Joanne remembered the first time she'd seen Michael, when they were only eleven. It had taken a long time, but Romeo and Juliet were finally together.