(damaged boys) 6

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.
Company Class
It was rainy and the type of horrible November morning he’d come to hate – intensely. Between the coffee fix that didn’t work anymore and his inability to purchase the chemical enhancements which helped him deal with the day to day, Corey managed to stumble into the bathroom to ready for the day of rehearsals and the opening performance of Romeo and Juliet.

There would be no time for irregularities today. The ballet master Patrice would be keeping a keen watch on all of the dancers, watching and waiting for errors, waiting for the opportunity to repress, oppress and/or scold and dancer who was not performing up to par that day. Patrice was harsh, demanding and cold. He could reduce a dancer to tears in less than five seconds. Corey thrived on the perfection, the demands, the sharp tongue.
For Corey, it meant being absolutely focused on every movement. It meant hiding his secret delight from even his best friends in the corps. It meant not disclosing that he’d been hired on the spot by Metro Escorts. Well, hired after displaying the goods he had to offer potential clients. From his chiseled physique to his enviable endowment, Corey had wowed the boys at Metro, so much so that they’d offered him and exclusive arrangement, immediately. Certainly, it was to their benefit to list one of the principal dancers from the city’s ballet company as one of their own. Whoring was more or less all about cache, and Corey had exactly the background considered most desireable: educated, healthy, fit and sexually gifted. Indeed, there was money to be made, and money would certainly roll in once Coery became available to Metro’s exclusive client list.
Corey smiled as he stepped under the searing streams of water jetting from the locker room shower. He would visit his first client that night immediately after the performance. How delicious to think after making his debut as Paris in Romeo and Juliet he would be entertaining a wealthy ballet patron on his own terms, in his own way and without criticism. Performing to the extent of his abilities, he would feel true freedom in his actions, and pocket a healthy sum of cash in the process. It all seemed scandalously simple.
Corey executed his choreography perfectly throughout the performance. He’d nailed his dances technically, and artistically, he’d performed with remarkable finesse. He was satisfied and aroused, thinking about his secret rendezvous later that night. After the cast party, after the accolades, he would rely simply on himself, his body and his insatiable sense of sexuality. Then, he would prove himself, make himself worthy.
It was nearly midnight when he rang the doorbell at 4006 Clinton Avenue. The darkness and quiet threw him for a moment. He stepped off of the porch toward his car when the door opened.
“Wait.”
Corey wheeled around to face a shadowy figure in the doorframe.
“It’s you. I shouldn’t be surprised you’re a whore. Selling your best asset, your body. Come inside. Now.”
Corey stepped inside the house as Patrice closed the door behind him.
“Where shall we begin, Corey? First position?”
Patrice led Corey to the bedroom.
“Take off your clothes and turn around…I want to fuck you. Just because you have a huge cock doesn’t mean you’re going to top. You are going to do what I say, just like in class…only tonight, I am going to shove my cock in your tight, perfect ass…and I’m going to fuck you like a dog until I’m finished with you. Are we clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then tomorrow, you will work twice as hard in studio.”
“Yes.”
“Feel this…”
Patrice plowed his rigid cock into Corey in one, swift motion, burying it to the hilt. Corey winced in pain, and Patrice pulled out and shoved back in even harder. Corey had no time to adjust as Patrice started slowly pumping his ass…steadily increasing speed until he was pounding Corey’s hole with complete abandon.
From behind, Patrice stroked Corey’s cock…a full nine inches, until he was ready to come. Patrice groaned as he shot his load deep inside Corey, pumping out every last drop. He pulled out slowly and Corey shot his load over four feet and hit the headboard.
———-
Corey’s rendezvous with Patrice had added an unexpected and unique sexual energy to the routine of rehearsals. Every command uttered by Patrice seemed exciting, stimulating and playful. His energy was dark, immense and demanding. Corey could feel his dark eyes piercing him, surveying every move, every pause. Company class was suddenly more interesting, even for the other dancers…other dancers who did not know Corey’s secret, but sensed it.
Now that Romeo & Juliet was open and running, it was time to start rehearsing the holiday staple… The Nutcracker. Most of the dancers, even Patrice, had performed The Nutcracker countless times. Most had performed it since the beginning of their careers, once a season. For the ballet world, it was the one staple that guaranteed a little financial freedom to do other, more gutsy and artistic work. This was the workhorse of all American and European classical ballet companies. Corey hated it. Hated it vehemently. The Nutcracker, to him, represented the worst in the holiday season: lack of personal freedom. He felt indentured to the company. He felt like a slave…performing this sad, tired old tradition day after day from Thanksgiving to New Years. Even though the audiences loved it, they never stuck around to see the real artistry, the season after The Nutcracker, or ‘The Nutbuster’ as many dancers referred to it. No, there were far fewer audiences who stayed to see Gaite Parisienne or even de Mille’s legendary Rodeo. These were the important pieces, the historic and preserved choreography like a Rodin sculpture or a Manet.
Patrice watched the corps like a raptor stalking his prey. He watched for any flaw, misstep or slight imperfection, and corrected it with a sweeping and authoritative bellow across the rehearsal studio. He was born in Lyon, France, and came to the United States as a teenager, dancing with New York City Ballet, and attending school on an international scholarship for male dancers. He’d endured years at boarding schools and various dance academies. After his parents sent him away to study in London, he’d had his first encounter with another young male dancer. He’d loved Colin’s grace and charm, two things he thought he lacked. The other students were not inclined to speak to Patrice or invite him along on social occasions, but everyone recognized his extraordinary talents in the rehearsal studios. He was flawless and breathtaking, and the dance meant everything to him…it was his life.
Colin was the gregarious student among the class. His tousled hair and winning smile made him a favorite with all of the students, male and female. The instructors, however, found Colin a bit trying. After all, it was a prestigious academy of ballet, and not a social dance hall. Colin preferred the new and explosive rock music to the structure of classical. He was one of the most athletic dancers in the academy, having incredible strength and power. He could leap a vertical two metres from a dead-still position and complete three revolutions on the way back down. He thought, perhaps, he might be more suited for basketball.
Patrice liked to be around Colin. Through Colin, he could be involved with the others, and over time, became amiable, but no friendships could blossom or survive Patrice’s dark and distanced nature. There was room only for the dance, and for Colin.
Colin loved Patrice’s serious nature, his focus and his dancing. He also loved his body, shorter and taut and spring-loaded. There seemed no end to his grace and agility, and that more than compensated for his rather average face. But, in dance, the courtship is silent. The muscles speak, the extremities speak, but rarely the mouth. Patrice was moody and complicated and Colin was exactly opposite.
“Plie, plie…good, good, good…Gabrielle, head up…up! Christopher, we are not dancing about as if atop a surfboard. Strength, give me solid movements, tighter circles…tighter, tighter!”
Corey smirked, remembering quite a different conversation in Patrice’s bed. When rehearsal concluded, Patrice motioned for Corey.
“Corey, you were not focused at all today. I think you may need some additional instruction. I’ve called your service to inform them I’ll be expecting you later. Don’t be late.”