Naughty Little Secrets. Mary Wilbon

one moved. All arms and legs were extended with absolute precision. He searched their young faces. No one breathed. Not even an eyelash fluttered.

      Dale looked slyly back at Sindee. His strategy had worked. Over the years he had learned that all he had to do was embarrass just one of the chorus boys, and their worst fears would drive them all to perfection. No one wanted to be singled out for ridicule.

      They were all still young enough to dream of being the next Baryshnikov, the next Fosse, or a budding Alvin Ailey. Dale remembered being that young, and dreaming those dreams.

      Actually, he was still a young man, but at 44, his time as a dancer was almost up. All the jumping, pounding, and demanding actions a dancer’s body must endure had taken their toll. Now, all he dreamed of was inspiring a few of the ones he instructed to reach the heights he had never attained.

      Well, that, and the new crop of boy toys each show offered up to him. He had a lot of sweet sticky dreams about them. Oh, yes. Life was still damn good.

      “…and rest,” he said finally.

      Bone-weary with fatigue, the chorus boys let their strained arm and leg muscles relax. They sagged and sighed with relief. They had put in about four hours of rehearsal time and they were beat.

      Dale tapped his pointer on the floor.

      “Okay, listen up, my little sugar plum fairies. Surprisingly, that last run-through was not as pathetic as all the previous ones. I suppose it really is the season for miracles. I’ve asked Santa for some real dancers, but I suppose you’ll do until they come along.

      “You are dismissed, but be back here January second at 7 P.M. Sharp. I don’t give a damn how bad your New Year’s hangover may be,” he said sternly.

      “Tonight is Christmas Eve. They tell me Christ is coming. I wish the same for all of you. Now be gone.”

      Sindee and Dale watched as the dancers bounded from the stage and changed into their street clothes. They watched and enjoyed as the hard young bodies were stripped of tights, leg warmers, and toe shoes and returned to jeans, sweaters, and Timberlands.

      Dale hoped to fuck as many of them as possible. Sindee felt the sharp twinge of lust, too. She hoped to be fucked by as many of them as possible.

      She lit a cigarette and tried to figure out which ones might be straight. Oh, but they were all so young and beautiful, she thought. Why set restrictions?

      She would settle for the ones suffering from the delusion that they might be straight. The conflicted undecided ones were always good for a few laughs.

      For some reason, there was always a lot of sexual energy around a theatrical production. Not that the theater itself is sexy, but performing can be a very sexual experience. All those raw naked emotions being played out, night after night under hot lights.

      Gay or straight, almost everyone would be getting some action. And if you weren’t getting some action or planning to get some, you were at least thinking about or hoping to get some.

      It can’t be proven that creativity causes horniness, but maybe it’s a by-product.

      No matter what the explanation, the theater turned those involved in it into Lust Bunnies.

      Whatever the reason, sex was just a part of the experience of doing a show.

      Attractions were felt, relationships were formed. The bonds frayed then broke. Partners changed, and it started all over again with the next show.

      You couldn’t do a show without some kind of sexual intrigue happening.

      Drama and passion, a seductive combination. Some performers lived for it.

      “God, I love the theater,” Sindee said passionately as she watched the chorus boys leave.

      She finished her smoke, blowing little smoke rings in the air, confident she had made suggestive eye contact with a few of the ones she wanted.

      The last chorus boy to leave was Richard, the dancer with the sock stuffed in his tights. He was always the last to dress because he was so self-conscious about his abnormally small size. Some of the other dancers cruelly called him Little Richard to his face.

      Richard believed that Dale was being so tough on him because Dale was trying to help him work through his shyness.

      Richard had been so grateful when he found out that he had passed the dance audition and landed a spot in the chorus line.

      Richard had big ambitions, but for the time being, this little community theater show boosted his self-confidence. He hadn’t made it to the first string of the chorus line, but he had made it to the second, and he was thrilled. It was his confirmation that he had talent. His battered self-esteem needed the positive reinforcement.

      Richard trusted that Dale had his best interests at heart.

      Richard was stunningly mistaken in his perceptions.

      As he walked out, Richard sheepishly wished Dale and Sindee a Merry Christmas.

      When they were sure Richard couldn’t hear them, Dale laughed, “Merry Christmas, Shrimp Dick.”

      “Happy New Year, Wee Willy,” Sindee joined in.

      Now that they were completely alone in the theater, Sindee lit another cigarette, walked over to Dale’s Diet Coke and took a long drink.

      “Aaaah. Mother’s milk. Very refreshing,” she said. “But next time add more rum.”

      “Will do,” said Dale, smiling. He got serious for a moment.

      “Have I thanked you enough for getting me this job?”

      “Yes, you have,” Sindee reassured him. “But if you want to smother me with gratitude, I won’t stop you. And, just so you know, I’m not offended by excessive flattery, either.”

      “Seriously, Sindee, I owe you. I haven’t worked in a while.”

      Dale took the Diet Coke from Sindee, but avoided looking her in the eyes. He shook the bottle to mix the rum and coke then took a big swig. He wiped his mouth and gradually returned her gaze.

      “I suppose you heard about the Disney thing.”

      “I heard. Why don’t you tell me your side of it?”

      Dale and Sindee had met years ago doing musicals in New Jersey community theaters. He was an extremely gifted dancer, and she was an exceptional singer and musician.

      Dale made the rounds of auditions in New York City and landed parts in a few off-Broadway productions. Frustrated by never dancing on the “Great White Way,” he accepted an offer to choreograph a few shows on the Disney cruise ships. There he finally started getting the recognition he felt he deserved. His star began to rise.

      Dale made his peace with not being the featured dancer in an elegantly mounted Broadway production and accepted his fate of teaching dance movement and technique to a bunch of cartoon characters.

      Soon, he was promoted to head choreographer for Disney World in Orlando, Florida.

      One day, after an afternoon performance of Sleeping Beauty, a seven-year-old boy wandered away from his vacationing Bible study group and found his way backstage.

      He saw Dale with his pants down, while someone knelt in front of him, their head moving back and forth slowly. The face of this second person was obscured by Dale’s well-toned buttocks.

      The boy was speechless, but fascinated. He had accidentally witnessed his Mommy and Daddy playing the same silly game at home.

      But when Dale pulled his fully erect and glistening cock out of his partner’s mouth and started ramming it in and out of his ass, the boy gasped in horror. A man was on the receiving end of Dale’s dick and now the man’s face was completely unobstructed.

      That man was “Prince Charming,” still in full costume from the Sleeping Beauty show the boy