Hot Lycra Ballet Class

It had been a while since my last ballet class, however after working- out, I decided I was in good enough shape to wear my zip-back Marika cotton-lycra turtle neck leotard. I had dyed it gray when it's original white had gotten dingy. This would be the first time I wore it to ballet, however. In the dressing room, carpeted with the rest room attached, I saw another dancer in his dance belt...a Wendy Knits. After stripping nude, I put on my M. Stevens black spandex dance belt and rifled around in my dance bag for the leotard. Curious as to the contents, the other guy watched out of the corner of his eye as he pulled his tight blue T- shirt on and tucked it into his dance belt....I was watching him out of the corner of my eye.

I pulled it out and unzipped it. Holding it out in front of me, I stepped into the highly French-cut leg openings. It slides on so soft and tight. Nonchalantly, I put my arms in the sleeves and pulled them up a little and then reached back to zip myself in. That a moment the other guy, said, "Let me help you with that." I could feel his hand grab the bottom of the zipper as the other one took the zipper itself and slid it up to the top of the neck. "There," he said as his lower hand traced down my back to my butt and adjusted the seat of the leotard slightly. I gave a slight moan of approval (or did he just slip? ) and said thanks.

"No problem" he said with a smile, reaching for his black suspender-top footed unitard. "That leotard really looks hot on you," he continued casually.

"Thanks," was all I could reply, my mouth drying-up with nervous excitement. "That unitard you're sliding on doesn't look like it's having any complaints," I managed to save myself with. I watched the dance belt disappear under the spandex, slithering over his powerful thighs and great butt. Black unitard; it would be difficult to tell if he had a hard-on. My dance belt was going into overtime trying to keep my erection under disciplined control. The lighter colored leotard, made my situation obvious, however.

I started to fumble for my shinny black Bal Tog tights when I noticed one of the shoulder straps on his unitard was twisted. Repaying his favor from before, I said, "OOPS. Here you have a twist," as I adjusted the tangled section and let the back of my fingers rub his erect nipple under the shirt, beneath the thin lycra strap of his unitard. His hands moved to my body, one my waist, one on my hip, left exposed by the cut of the French. And he pulled my body closer, moving his lower hand back to the seat of my leotard, snapping it slightly and running his finger under its edge.

I traced the line on his back of where the cool sleekness of the unitard met the soft cotton of a shirt that had been washed many times. Feeling his lean muscled body under it all, I felt the top of his dance belt and paused and put my full hand on his butt cheeks. Now the lycra was warm, not cool. Our straining lycra-covered crotches met, rubbed slightly and then pressed into each other, as he put his mouth by my ear and I felt a buzzing in my head and crotch that made me dizzy. He Pulled back looked at me and said, "You'd better get your tights on, it's almost class time.. " snapping the back of my leotard over my butt for emphasis.

With that, he was out the door, leaving me looking for my balance and looking at my shinny tights now dropped haphazardly to the floor. I slid them on, almost cumming with every inch of their journey up my legs, over my crotch and to my waist. I was so hard and so aware of every square millimeter of my lycra encasement. Under black tights, my hard-on was only obvious in profile. I moved quickly through the lobby and into the classroom where everyone had assumed their positions at the barre.

My new friend was on an adjacent corner and he only gave me a slight, knowing look. Was I still trembling? Did it show? I tried to warm-up and not stare at my friend in the unitard. Normally, I would be looking at the cuts of the leotards on the women in class and see how they showed- off their crotches, but my attention was elsewhere today.

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In class, I felt like I was lumbering like a tree on roller skates. This guy in the unitard was bouncing like a gazelle, his sweat soaking through the spandex, making it gleam wet. Sweat poured off my body and into my leotard making it change from light to dark gray in ever increasing patterns.

As class ended, I was the first one in the dressing room. No one else! When the man in the unitard sauntered in, he looked coolly at me then broke into a smile. "I thought your were going to explode in there," he said. "I live nearby. You wan come over to stretch-out?"

"God, yes." I blurted out, no longer attempting to be cool.

He put on a light jacket and boots over his unitard, and I slipped on my sneakers and sweat shirt, leaving our bulging tights for the pedestrians to see..and wonder. We left the studio and onto the street.

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