Trust Ch. 11

I smiled inwardly at Bryony's choice of description of Joanna. I had never once heard Bryony utter an expletive or use abusive language about anyone or anything. It made the word 'horrible' all the more vehemently expressive of her feelings towards my former partner.

"I guess we've both learned that often you have to lose something first before finding something better," I smiled and squeezed her hand. "But what did you mean by that stuff about not being surprised by whatever you saw of my body?"

She blushed and placed her hand on my knee in embarrassed apology. "I'm sorry, Chas, but I have to confess that one day, when we were fifteen, I saw you heading for the woods on your own so I followed you to see what you were up to. All I'll say is that, although what I saw didn't change my mind about anything, I was very impressed with your display."

We both laughed for a moment and then I looked at her seriously, knowing that I'd never have a better opportunity than this to confess the thoughts I'd used to have about her.

"Well, as this is a time for confessions, I've got something I really need to confess to you. Do you remember the day we got kitted out for Whitings? Well, when you were wearing that tennis dress and you bent forward to tie your plimsoll laces I saw more of you than was good for a hormonal youth and for years afterwards, until I met Emma in fact, I fantasised about having sex with you. And after you came out I fantasised about you having sex with other girls. I never would have done anything to you and, apart from you, Emma's the only other person I've ever told about it and she's the one who's cured me. But you're the most wonderful sister a guy could ask for and you didn't deserve to have me thinking like that about you. I'm really sorry."

She immediately leaned over and took me in her arms. I felt wonderfully comforted by her soft, warm and sweet scented nakedness enfolding my own and I felt privileged to have this beautiful, kind, sensitive and courageous woman as my sister; my twin.

"You didn't give in to it and you've come through it, that's all that matters," she smiled gently as she hugged me again. Those words, coming from her who had come through so much pain and despair, meant the world to me. "Anyway, let's look forward to the future instead of getting stuck on the past," she continued. "Laurelle and I are planning our own wedding for next year. I do hope that you and Emma can come over for it."

"We'll be there, guaranteed," I replied, hugging her in return. "It's great that you can get married too nowadays."

"Yes, life is getting easier for same-sex couples," she agreed, "although we find that being a mixed-race same-sex couple is still a step beyond for a lot of people, especially now that we're seeking to adopt a child."

"That's wonderful," I exclaimed in delight, "but how come you decided on adoption?"

"We thought about trying for a baby of our own but Laurelle's career just doesn't give her the space to be a mother and pregnancy would be far too painful for me to bear. Besides which, I really couldn't get comfortable with the idea of having a man's semen inside me, even using a syringe to put it there; nothing personal, you understand."

"None taken," I smiled, "but what's been making it difficult for you?"

"Peoples' assumptions more than anything," she replied. "Worst of all is that, because I'm supposedly the feminine and pretty one out of the two of us, I would automatically be the one who would become pregnant. Just because Laurelle is big and extrovert and assertive, lots of people assume that she's the 'masculine' one. But they don't stop to consider that maybe she's the way she is because all her life she's had to cope with prejudice on account of being black, gay and poor and that's how she's learned to protect herself against the outside world. When we're alone together she's so gentle and sensitive."

I was so deeply touched by the depth of her love for her partner that I hardly noticed the return of Laurelle and Emma until they were standing next to us. Laurelle bent down behind Bryony and enfolded her with her powerful yet gracefully sculptured arms.

"Hey, Honey, watch yo rappin wi yo bro?" she asked in a self-parody of her urban black origin.

"Saying lots of lovely things about you, My Dearest," Bryony replied as she stretched up to kiss her cheek. I loved the contrast between Laurelle's broad New York tones and Bryony's very English expression. Although she had lived in New York for several years not a trace of Mid-Atlantic influence had yet crept into her voice.

Emma announced it was time to go up for dinner. "But before we eat, my husband-to-be and I have prepared a little entertainment for your pleasure and delight."

Laurelle again assisted Bryony as we ascended the steps to the flat. They opted to remain naked and we left them to get comfortable on the sofa and enjoy a glass of wine. Bryony snuggled up into Laurelle's loving embrace and rested the backs of her ankles in the crook of Laurelle's ankles where they joined her feet. Emma and I left them to go to our bedroom to put on our ballet costumes for the Mirror Dance and it was a pleasure to look back and see Bryony's pink plimsolls resting on Laurelle's black ones as she rested her head on her partner's shoulder while Laurelle lovingly stroked her hair.

As Emma laid out her costume on our bed I struggled into the Underpants of Doom.

"Won't you be uncomfortable trying to dance in those?" she pointed out.

"Yes, but I feel that being in pain while I dance will somehow help me identify more with Bryony and make me feel closer to her."

"You love her a lot don't you?" Emma smiled as she touched my shoulder sympathetically. I only had to smile back and kiss her hand resting on my shoulder for her to understand.

We put on matching lilac tutus with short pink tulle skirts, pink tights and pink ballet shoes. I fixed on my falsies under the bodice of my tutu and put on my long dark haired wig and we helped each other arrange our hair in neat ballet buns garlanded with a circlet of roses in pink and lilac lace. We put on our makeup and we were ready. In the dance studio room we had set up a wooden partition with an arch cut into it to represent the mirror. We took up position behind the scenery and called to Bryony and Laurelle to come and take their seats. When they were comfortably settled down, with Bryony's leg resting on a low stool and cushions, I stepped out from behind the scenery in best turned out ballerina fashion and made a graceful curtsey. Bryony sat bolt upright and clapped her hands in delighted surprise,

"Oh my goodness, Chas, you look exactly like I did when I made my debut as a soloist," she exclaimed, hugging Laurelle in her excitement.

"Way to go, Girl," Laurelle cheered to me with a huge dazzling grin. "Bryony told me her brother was pretty liberated kind a guy, and how!"

Emma started the music and Bryony, who had performed the dance herself, beamed with pleasure and whispered to Laurelle about what was going to happen. I danced my opening solo steps as daintily and gracefully as I could and then as I moved across the stage in front of the 'mirror' Emma appeared as my reflection and duplicated my movements. As the dance progressed I reached 'through the mirror' to take Emma by the hand and draw my 'reflection' into the room to continue the dance together, sometimes in unison and sometimes with Emma echoing my movements.

As I stepped and span en pointe and bent and stretched and jumped as gracefully and delicately as I could in my masculine frame concealed beneath the feminine loveliness and delicacy of my tutu, tights and ballet shoes I exulted in the knowledge that I was as close as I would ever be to feeling like a beautiful woman. I wobbled on my pointes a couple of times and fluffed a couple of steps but that didn't stop me from being totally taken up into the love of dance and of being a ballerina, even if only for a few magical moments.

At the end of our performance Emma and I made our curtseys and took our curtain calls as Bryony and Laurelle clapped and cheered and whistled their approbation.

"I wish we had some flowers to throw to you," Bryony laughed.

"Use these," Emma giggled as she emerged from behind the scenery with a huge bunch of roses in assorted colours and tossed it to Bryony. Bryony and Laurelle enthusiastically lobbed handfuls of roses to us as we continued to curtsey gracefully and gather them in our arms. Then Bryony got up and embraced us.

"Thank you for such a wonderful surprise," she smiled while her eyes moistened with happiness. "Seeing how lovely you look in a tutu, Chas, makes me want to put on one of mine again."

We went to the spare bedroom where her clothes were kept ready for her to wear. "You're still keeping good care of them," she said approvingly. "I'm sure they're being put to good use too," she smiled.

"We've both always had good taste," I grinned back to her. Then I watched in delight as she transformed herself into a beautiful ballerina. With a delicacy and gracefulness that was magical to watch she took off her pink plimsolls, slid on a tiny white g-string over her nakedness, eased into a pair of white ballet tights and then stepped into and fixed herself into a lovely silver and white Swan Lake tutu. There was a lump in my throat as I saw her put it on for the very first time because she had ordered it shortly before her accident, intending to pick it up on her next visit to London from New York. It has arrived at my flat while I was with her in the New York hospital where she was fighting for her life. To see her wearing it at last was to exult in the triumph of beauty, hope and love, just like the message of Swan Lake itself.

She chose a pair of white pointe shoes and sat down on the floor to put them on. She had no trouble bending her left leg up to put on her ballet shoe but she had to turn sideways to sit on her left hip in order to draw up her right leg to put on her right ballet shoe and tie the ribbons around her ankle. She managed it and stood up triumphantly. She tentatively flexed and stretched her legs and feet for a moment before placing her lovely feet in fifth ballet position and gently rolling up onto pointe.

"I shouldn't really be en pointe," she grimaced as her pointes made little tapping sounds on the wooden floor while she maintained her balance, "but I just have to now and again. I love to dance for Laurelle when we're making love," she added without a trace of self-consciousness.

We watched in delight as she sou-sou'd and bourre'd and even managed a few quickfire echappes. She may not have had complete freedom in her legs but she could still move her upper body and especially her arms with a fey, melting, floating grace that was magical to behold; especially with the long dark shining curtain of her hair shimmering and swaying and caressing her lovely shoulders and neck. It was a wonderful moment but also a very sad moment as we were reminded of the very special beauty that had been lost to ballet and to the world.

After a few minutes Bryony couldn't go on any more. "My leg always gets sore and aching and tired towards the end of the day, but I've really knocked it up this time. Please can someone help me off with my ballet shoes?"

I looked instinctively at Laurelle but she smiled back at me.

"You go ahead," she said.

I knelt down before Bryony, feeling thrilled and privileged to be a real ballerina wearing a tutu, tights and ballet shoes like she was. I lovingly and reverently picked up each of her feet in turn, rested them on my knees, undid the ribbons from her ankles, slipped off her white satin ballet shoes, lifted her feet again and bent my head to kiss them. Then we all helped her to take off her ballerina costume and get dressed again. Laurelle also got dressed and it was time for them to go.

Emma called for a taxi and we said our goodbyes as we waited for it to arrive. It was a time of partings, at least for a little while. Bryony and Laurelle would spend the week before the wedding sightseeing and visiting friends, while Emma would be leaving in the morning for the West Country to stay with her parents and help with the final preparations.

The taxi arrived and we all went down to see Bryony and Laurelle off on there way. Bryony had been forced to use the collapsible telescopic walking stick she kept in her handbag and it was heartbreaking to watch her limping and hobbling down the stairs and along the front garden path to the road, while Laurelle supported her. Whatever the taxi driver thought of the sight of a beautiful and ethereal young woman walking with a stick accompanied by a tall black Amazon of a companion and two ballerinas acting as acolytes, he kept to himself and received his instructions to head for the Dorchester with a poker face.

Even though she was in a lot of pain and very tired, Bryony's smile was radiant as she kissed Emma and I and thanked us for a wonderful day. "I can't wait for next week to see you two married," she beamed.

When they had disappeared around the corner, Emma and I went back upstairs, took off our ballet shoes and put on white plimsolls over our pink ballet tights, poured ourselves a nightcap and cuddled up in each other's arms on the sofa and played footsie for a while as we talked. Our tutu skirts rustled together and Emma's body felt warm and soft through her tutu as she pressed against me and I loved the feel of her legs as they rubbed against mine through the fine nylon layers of our ballet tights. I kissed Emma and said to her,

"For years I dreamed of having sex with Bryony. Now I've spent the best part of today with her naked seeing her naked for the first time since before she started growing her breasts and I never even thought for a second about jumping on her. I've got you to thank for that. That's why you suggested we all got naked, wasn't it, so I could prove to myself I was cured?"

She just smiled mysteriously as she leaned back into the sofa and raised her arms so her hands rested against her head, which made her breasts nestled in her tutu look even more pert.

"Jump on me instead," she giggled.

It was my last chance before our wedding night. I made the most of it.