 
# 1Helen at Ballet Camp

### by Kay Brown

© 2014, by Kay Brown

Published at Smashwords

# Contents

Prologue

The Interview

Tiffany Dances Ballet

Cara's Story

Cara's Story, Continued

Cara's Story, Continued Further

Running

Kate's Story

Pas de Deux

Cara's Story Again

Off to See Helen Nordstrom

Brussells

Jessica

Dancing a Duet

Tiffany Makes a Call

Nude Ballet

Cara's Story

Dena

Simone

Recital!

### Prologue

Helen had gone to college on a choir scholarship. Quite by accident, she found herself assisting a famous instrument-maker who had just been induced by the College to set up an instrument-making program on campus, and soon Helen was making Renaissance instruments, and learning to play them, and within two years was famous nationwide as a brilliant young Baroque violinist. Meanwhile, she also kept singing, and was on her way to being recognized as a wonderful lyric soprano as well.

Gradually, and inevitably, Helen found it impossible to cope with all her commitments —she had just finished her junior year in college— and some of her many love affairs had unhappy endings. She had married, at the tender age of eighteen, and that had failed, and she was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

Just as things were about to explode, Helen was at a Greyhound station, about to run away to Florida, when she was approached by a mysterious stranger, a woman called Sandy, who asked whether she might be interested in assisting at a girls-only Tennis Camp over the summer. The camp went well, and Helen, using the pseudonym Pink Orchid, was a hit.

Over the several weeks of the Tennis camp, Helen began to fall in love with the enigmatic Nurse of the camp, Sylvia. After the camp was over, Sylvia reluctantly allowed Helen to remain with her. Helen stayed for most of a year, but Helen was pregnant with twins at the time, and there were complications, which Sylvia did not have the resources to deal with, and the mysterious Sandy whisked Helen off to California, where the twins were stillborn. Helen learned at Sandy was really a popular Hollywood actress, Marsha Moore, who liked to go about in disguise. Helen suspected that Marsha was nursing an attraction for her, and the end of the pregnancy brought this out in the open.

Feeling a little uncomfortable in California, Helen asked to be returned to Canada, to Sylvia.

[Author's Note: This episode is perfectly complete without any additional material, but it is also an important part of the greater Helen story. The scenes below—which had been lost---give some insight into the characters of Marsha Moore and Sylvia Tedesco, who reappear in the Sharon Vuehl story, and in _Helen and Lalitha_.]

Helen had been told about an advertisement calling for camp counselors for a Ballet camp in Europe, and now Marsha's secretary, Vicky, was calling to know whether she'd apply for the ballet camp, and Helen said she'd let her know by evening.

"Sylvie . . ."

"What's this all about?"

"It's a camp, but in Europe."

Sylvia looked cautious. "Go on; you look as if there's something fishy about it."

"Well . . . apparently it's an all-girls ballet camp, and . . ."

Sylvia nodded encouragingly, looking interested, ". . . there's a strong lesbian tradition there."

Sylvia shrugged. "Well, sounds like fun."

"You don't understand."

"Should I be concerned about you, or concerned about me?"

Helen was not sure how to respond. Perhaps Sylvia understood it better than Helen did. "No need to be concerned, then. You want me to go?"

"Yes."

Helen was shocked. Sylvia had shown every sign of having missed Helen terribly. She had practically waited by the phone the whole time. And now she wanted Helen to walk willingly into a situation where she could be surrounded by potential sex-partners.

"Why?"

"You see, kid, your reasons for being with me are different from my reasons for having you here. You want to get away from people. I want just to give you a rest from them. You see? You were made for people. You're a natural. I'm not that way. I'm a one-person girl. You must learn to deal with people, and not get hurt. I just can't do it. You can. I don't know how, but you've got to learn.

"I'll lose my heart to some idiot ballerina wannabe from Duluth, . . ."

"Just don't. You won't find anybody you care about at this camp. Have a good time, and come back."

"What if I do find someone?"

Sylvia took a deep breath. "I have to take that gamble."

Helen called Vicky back, and said she would apply.

Over the next week, Helen and Sylvia found themselves establishing new rituals to bond to each other, and each was becoming nervous about the approaching camp experience.

The plane arrived. Sylvia hugged Helen tight, and smiled as she said farewell, but Helen could feel the tension in her. Helen was to interview the next morning, which was Sunday, and if that went well, to attend a week-long intensive intership with a small ballet company in San Diego.

The plan was to disguise Helen dramatically; she was to be a brunette; they would dye her hair and do something to make her look a more convincing brunette, with lighter skin. A young man arrived around 9, and they began working on Helen. It was a strong traditional alkaline hair color, something Helen had never experienced, and then they applied a skin color agent. "Tomorrow you should look a little lighter," the man said, having painted some strong-smelling outment all over Helen's body, and then washed it off, and repeated it three times. Helen also had to take some pills. When she looked in the mirror, she was surprised to see herself look like some of the really light-skinned brunettes she knew.

Marsha looked at her quizzically. "What?" demanded Helen, impatiently.

"I feel odd, that's all!"

"Why?"

"Well, think! If you were in love with someone, would _you_ like them to suddenly look different?"

Helen was taken aback. She wished Marsha wouldn't keep saying she was in love with her. Helen knew she was, but it was a worrying thought. It was all right for Helen to be in love with the movie star, but not the other way round.

They talked about Marsha's movie, which was still being filmed, and Helen was surprised at every bit of news.

"Don't you read the papers?"

"I should, but . . . no, I don't!"

"Last week you were in the news for three days running."

"Me? Really?" It had been the loss of the babies, then the story about Helen and Marsha attending a party together, and Helen's new CD.

"We have a new ID for you: Tiffany Thomas. Can you handle that?"

"Sure."

### The Interview

Early the next morning, they took a taxi and got off at a school in suburban Santa Monica, with Marsha carefully disguised again. Helen felt big and klutzy and Marsha kept asking her to relax.

"Tiffany Thomas? Are you here? Oh! This way, please!"

There were four women seated behind a long table, all wearing glasses except the youngest. They were all beautifully and expensively dressed.

"Please take a seat, Tiffany. You have the letters of reference? Good. We'll read those later, but would you first follow our Miss Kemp, so we can see how well you can dance?"

Helen was already in a leotard, and now she changed into her slippers.

"I'm sory I'm a little overweight; I've put on some pounds in the last few weeks!"

"Overweight? I think you look very nice!"

"Okay, Tiffany. You ready? Here we go . . ."

The tape was started, and Helen began the well-know routine at the bar. Somehow Helen knew everything Miss Kemp did; apparently Mr. White and Miss Kemp had learned from the same ballet tradition. (Andrew White had been Helen's ballet professor in college.)

"Excellent. Wonderful! Please come over and sit down. I see you speak French!"

"Yes; is that important?"

"Well, a lot of the staff will be French, we can use all the help we can get!"

"Oh, yes!"

"Tiffany . . . I never know how to say this . . . but . . . our camp is very liberal in its attitude towards sex."

"Oh. I see."

"Have you worked at any camp before?"

"Well, yes . . . actually it was a nudist athletic camp for girls. Sex was strongly discouraged."

The women looked at each other, surprised. "A nudist camp? And they _discouraged_ sex?"

"Oh yes. Especially between the counselors and the kids. It was a very conservative place, with even young kids of three and four."

"Well . . . here it will be different. The girls permitted to experiment, but to be kind and considerate, and ladylike in all their relationships. You know what I mean? No viciousness, hurting others' feelings, deliberately being unkind, provoking jealousy, etc. Even sex has its honor code; and it has to be learned."

Helen nodded. Very laudable aims, she thought.

Then the youngest woman spoke up. Miss Thomas, I'm Jessica Lawrence, the camp Director, and Ballet Mistress; and I'd like to say something." The other women gave Helen a tired smile, but Jessica was all fired up. "I want to make the camp more about Ballet, and less about sex." The others protested saying that it had _always_ been about Ballet. "Nominally yes. But in fact, it was more about sex. Two years ago, it was almost _all_ about sex. It was almost impossible. But now, at the risk of losing money, I'm going to insist on higher standards of dancing. And I want all the help I can get."

Helen smiled, and said she understood.

The oldest woman then spoke gently. "Because of how attractive you are, dear, you're going to be very popular with the girls. It often happens that girls pair off, and a few are left with no one to turn to, and they turn to the Counselors. There's no obligation on your part, except to see to the emotional well-being of the campers. But in practice, we like our staff to be stable, sexually experienced, tactful, outgoing girls who aren't likely to make things worse by getting emotional with the campers."

"Are you asking, indirectly, whether I'm sexually experienced?" Helen was slightly amused.

"No, I'm asking directly. How long have you been sexually active, if you don't think it rude to ask?"

"About three years." Helen blushed slightly, but it was a fair question.

"Are you likely to lose your equilibrium if a girl was to say she had a crush on you?"

"I don't think so!" Whew, thought Helen, this is a strange interview for a ballet camp.

"Where did you learn Ballet?" asked one of the other ladies. Helen explained that she had studied under Andrew White. "Oh, I know Andrew; I can call him," said the lady.

"Then you will need to use the name I used in College, which is different," Helen said quickly.

There was a silence, and Helen sat calmly looking back at them.

"You know we must run a police check on you, Miss, er, Thomas. We need to use your real name for that.

Helen smiled. "Certainly. I really have nothing to hide, though are people whom I'm hiding _from!"_

"I see!"

"Please call me Tiffany; I have officially changed my name. But I'll appreciate if only whoever's doing the background checks uses my original name, and the rest of you didn't even know it. That would be safest for me."

"Would you write it out on this piece of paper, dear?"

Helen took the offered paper and pen, and looked into the eyes of the woman, looking for a sign of duplicity, and she saw none. She wrote, carefully, 'Eleanor Nordstrom', now she had to warn Andrew not to blurt out 'Helen!' when he was asked about her.

### Tiffany Dances Ballet

A little more than a day later, Helen was stepping off the ramp in the Paris airport, and after a long van ride, they arrived at a castle-like manor in hilly country. The campers were due to arrive all through the following day, and would be ferried in by van.

The place was magical. Very quickly, Helen fell under its spell. Soon the girls began to arrive. With few exceptions, all the girls were pretty, and had that elusive grace that belonged to young dancers, a gazelle like leggy beauty that was irresistible. For the most part they seemed to be eager to dance, pirouetting around at the slightest excuse, many of them with their hair up, most of them wearing ballet skirts. Ballet skirts and leotards seemed to be the camp uniform.

Some of the oldest girls seemed to have come in pairs. Some others, Helen thought, were eyeing each other longingly. They were provocatively dressed, with thin clingy leotards with low-cut necklines and high-cut legs. The happiest, most relaxed ones were quite oblivious to the soulful glances that were being shot back and forth between the others.

Though Helen found herself longing for a little romance, when one of the older girls looked at her meaningfully, she smiled artlessly back. But how long could she last? She had imagined having as much sex as she could, but here she was, avoiding it!

A little after midnight, she stepped out of her room, and walked around the house, exploring. It was laid out roughly in the shape of an H. The main house, the center part, contained a great ballroom that stretched a full three stories, and the banquet hall that stretched two stories. There were little galleries on the second and third floors that looked out on these rooms. The other parts of the first floor contained the library and music-room, a few bedrooms for guests, a sitting-room in which guests could be received, a multi-purpose workroom, a number of classrooms, the kitchens, and so forth. The rest of the floors were divided up into the tiny little rooms that the students occupied, mostly singles, but a few doubles for the tiniest ones.

Setting her alarm for 5:00 a.m. Helen listened to her cassette until she fell asleep.

At 5, she got into her warm-up suit and her running shoes, and set out for her early-morning run. When she returned at 6, she guessed that she had run and walked about 10 miles. She felt wonderful and tingly all over, not a bit tired. Already the younger girls were up, and turned their huge eyes on her with greetings like 'Hi Tiffany!' At a quarter of 7, Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 sounded throughout the building, waking everyone up.

Helen made sure that the dozen girls in her charge were all present and neatly turned out. All the instructors were in a wonderful mood, especially Miss Lawrence, as they called her. They were all dressed in ballet gear. The girls were placed into 10 groups according to age, and each assigned to one of the team members, and Helen was given the oldest ones, aged between 17 and 18, group 10. Now everyone was sent out to the Grand Ballroom, which was fitted with a bar all round and 8-foot mirrors along the walls. Then all 135 of them did half an hour of bar work, during which their equipment was checked out. Then the groups went off separately into different rooms.

The room assigned to Helen's group had two movable bars, and a little tape recorder. They got to know each other's names. Helen looked them over; they seemed to be a friendly group, for the most part, clearly quite affluent; certainly from richer homes than Helen's. One girl stood out in Helen's eyes: a girl with grey-blue eyes and tightly-curling light blonde hair. She was petite, a few inches shorter than Helen, beautifully proportioned. She wore a startling rust-colored leotard, with a belt, very demure, and a bra under her leotard (which was unusual, from what Helen had seen). Her name was Cara Campbell, she said.

### Cara's Story

I couldn't make any sense of what was going on at the airport, most of the other girls couldn't, either, but Mellisande had been here before, so we followed her. After a lot of crazy stuff we had to do, we got on this little bus, and then six more girls showed up, all teenies, like maybe seventh-graders, and the bus took off. The driver spoke only French.

Just before I left home, Mom had told me that sex between girls was allowed at camp. "That _doesn't_ mean you have to," she said, like I was going to.

" _Why_ did you have to tell me, Mom?"

She was very upset. She was feeling guilty for not giving me a 'sex talk.' Now I was worried. I asked whether they _made_ us have sex there, in which case there was no way I was going.

"Oh no, sweetheart," she said, "nothing like that at all. I just warned you that some of the other girls might get into it."

"Oh god, Mom, do I have a private room, or do I have to watch all this?"

"Private, private; I made sure. Just lock your door at night. But...sweetheart, try and make some friends there. Just three friends; that's all I ask. I'd like you to write to them after you get back, and stay in touch with them. Friends are important, Cara; ... I wish I could explain just how important they are. It's a matter of survival." And she went on and on, I just couldn't believe how upset she was. So I promised. But I wasn't going to make friends with any creepy old lesbians; that was for sure, _God!_

I didn't like any of the girls in our group, though we were all introduced at the airport in Baltimore. Mellisande was okay, but I didn't like the way she was looking at my legs. I was wearing this short skirt, and Mellisande was staring. After I knew what the deal was with Mellisande, I stayed clear of her, but she sat next to me on the bus. But she fell asleep, thank god. She kept falling on me. I stayed awake the whole time, and by the time we got there, I was a wreck.

It was daylight when we arrived, and the house was gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. By the time I got my bags out, I was freezing, even with my blazer on. I struggled up the steps with the bags; thank goodness for those large wheels. Just as I got in the lobby of the building, and got to the back of the line, this tall brunette came down the stairs.

She had shoulder-length red-brown hair, and stepped lightly on the stairs. There was a woman at a desk checking the girls in and taking down information. By the time I got to the table the brunette was in charge.

I liked her at once. She had the prettiest dark grey eyes, and the sweetest smile. There were holes in her ears, where she had worn earrings in her cartilage, but she wasn't wearing them now. She even had a pierced nose.

"Hi," she said, I'm Tiffany! What's your name?"

"Cara with a 'C', Campbell."

"Here you are," she said, and found the keys to my room, and asked some questions about traveling in Europe, emergency numbers, allergies, and stuff, and then said I could go up and get comfortable.

But I didn't want to move; I just wanted to stay there and look at her, and listen to her talk. I must have looked an idiot.

That's when I knew I was a lesbian. I panicked, and I was close to fainting.

"Wait here," she said, "and keep anyone who comes in right here at the desk until I get back. I'll take your bags up!" And she took all my bags, ran all the way up to the third floor, and ran right back. I just couldn't believe my eyes.

"You look tired, kid; it's jet-lag. Go on up and sleep. Come down whenever you're ready, okay?"

I thanked her, and she asked why the bag was heavy, and whether it was jewelry, and I laughed. She was so funny! I said, no, it was mostly toys, like books and CDs and junk. She laughed, and I went upstairs.

She had left the bags at the top of the stairs. I hauled them down the corridor; my room was the first one on the left. I got my stuff inside, locked the door, and collapsed on the bed.

I had never felt this way. I had been scared that I might, but it had never happened. There had been boys, but I could never relax and enjoy their company. Tony was gorgeous, and his eyes shone whenever he smiled at me. But inside me, there was nothing, nothing at all. At least with girls I was a little more relaxed. For my birthday in April, we had Sara and Tegan. Sara was my best friend, but even she liked Tegan more than me. So now I knew the worst. And the best! I would be here for two weeks, and Tiffany would be here the whole time!

How do you get a girl to ... whatever? How can I get Tiffany into my room to talk to her? I need to get Tiffany in here, to talk to her, and to just look at her. Oh Tiffany ... what a lovely name!

I unpacked all my clothes, and put up my poster of Helen Nordstrom, and checked out the room. It was really tiny, but charming. I put on Helen's CD, softly, and lay down, and fell asleep right away.

It was about an hour later when I woke up; the CD was just playing the last track. I changed and went downstairs. It was noon, and Tiffany was still at the desk, only a whole bunch of girls were on the grand stairs, softly singing. It was neat! A teeny came up the stairs and asked if I wanted a Danish, and I said yes. Follow me, she said, and took me to the kitchen, where this woman gave me a Danish and coffee. I asked for milk, and she guessed what I wanted, though she couldn't understand English. The Teeny smiled and took me back.

There Tiffany was! I sat on the lowest step, as close as possible to Tiffany so I could watch her as she led an action song.

The girl next to me touched my hair, startling me, and said, "Pretty hair!" Suddenly, I could smile. I let her pick three strands of hair from the sides and braid them together, medieval style. Her name was Mary-Beth, and she was cute.

Tiffany took us round the grounds, and we played a bit, and then we took showers. Some of the girls showered together, but I chose a private shower booth. Anyway, I have to use a shower-cap, or my hair never dries. I can only get it wet once a day, in the morning. Did Tiffany like long blonde hair?

All that evening I watched Tiffany. She was so brilliant! But she acted so ordinary. I wished she was blonde; she would have been perfect as a blonde, like a fairy.

There were strange feelings inside of me. I felt about Tiffany the way I would feel about ... a girlfriend, or even a husband. I wanted to cook for her, and have her come home to me every evening. If I made friends with her, Mom said I could write to her. So that's what I was going to do.

We watched two teams play Win Lose or Draw, and I guessed every word! None of the girls playing could guess them right away. Then I got chosen!

I guessed the first phrase. Then it was the other team's turn, but I guessed theirs, too. Then it was my turn to draw, and Tiffany looked right into my eyes, and gave me the card. Our fingers touched for just a moment, and I was paralyzed. It was "Overlook."

Now, how could you draw that? It meant to not notice something. Then I thought of an overlook on a highway, like a scenic overlook, and I drew one, and they got it! Tiffany was so happy! She grinned at me, and admired the drawing! I was so happy! We won.

The next day I was up early, and I opened my door early, and saw Tiffany going out dressed in a track suit. I watched her go down the stairs, and when I ran to my window, I saw her running off down the drive. I waited and waited, and she didn't show up for an hour. Then she ran in, stripped down to running briefs and sport bra. She was so cute! I hurried to the showers to be there when she came in. She went into one of the private showers, and I couldn't see her.

I put on my most colorful leotard, and went downstairs to breakfast, and I was assigned to _Tiffany's group!_

The main instructor, Miss Lawrence, came in, and taught us an exercise, a little like one that I know, but longer and more complicated. And Tiffany was doing it too. She danced beautifully, specially her hands. I was reminded of when Helen had danced in India; the hands were so expressive. Then Miss Lawrence left, and Tiffany drilled us. She went round, checking each girl, even girls who danced perfectly, correcting an ankle or an arm. She even moved one girl's hip, until it was just perfect. We all nodded at her, telling her she looked better that way. Then it was my turn, and she was correcting everything. I was trying so hard, and I was embarrassed, and I was about to start crying. "You're doing fine, Cara!" she said. She remembered my name! "But don't overdo it; you'll tire easily. A little less ... less ... there! Now you can keep going for hours!" She was right; sometimes my back hurt when I overdid it, as she called it. Had she known I was about to cry?

At 10, they broke for drinks and snacks—apple-juice, grapes and cheese cubes. At 10:30 the younger groups, 12-15, were combined and three of the instructors taught all of them a chorus number in the dining room. The older kids sat in a circle on the ballroom floor.

"We have a tradition at this camp of interpreting male roles as female roles. Some folk think of that as a lesbian idea—you know what I mean—but others think: it's a feminist idea." Jessica spoke seriously, her hands emphasizing her words eloquently. "What a prince can do, a princess could have done. A hunter can be a man, or a woman. What a father and son can do, a mother and daughter can do." The girls nodded emphatically, though a few blushed slightly. "Now since we're all women, if we're going to do Swan Lake, the Prince will have to be ... ?"

"A girl!" they supplied.

"Right. Just to get started, we're going to do a little bit of Swan Lake for you. And the prince is going to be: guess who?" The kids looked at her, blankly. "Tiffany!"

There were "Ooo"s at that, but Tiffany hardly blushed. She had known this was coming, and had taken off her skirt, and proceeded to pin her hair up with Margaret's help. The CD played, and Helen in her black leotard and tights, and Jessica in her classic pink, and brief gauze skirt, danced the _pas de deux_.

The girls watched spellbound until it was all over. Jessica, a little breathless, beamed at them, as they applauded, and Helen bowed, and Jessica curtsied. "Tiffany, you have a great gift! Did you all see how she stands, how she lifts? So different from how she dances normally, isn't it? It's a different _attitude_. So you older girls are going to learn a little pair-dancing. Now remember: it's just so we can do something other than chorus-dancing or solos. Okay, I want all the girls who prefer not to get into pair-dancing over _here_ , all the girls who want to do pair-dancing, but take the female roles over _here_ , those who would like to do the masculine roles _here_ , and those who would like to do only two-girl-dances over _here_."

Out of the 75 girls in the group, 20 opted to do only chorus dancing, and were sent over to join the younger ones. Of those who remained, 14 opted to take the male roles, 15 to do female roles, and the rest opted to do 2-girl duets.

### Cara's Story, continued

We were all seated in a circle when Ms. Lawrence dropped a bomb on us. She first said because there weren't any boys here, some of the girls had to dance the boy's parts. Then she danced a duet with Tiffany.

Tiffany was wearing all black. Somehow she looked more muscular than before. I swear, she can change the way she looks by just concentrating. I loved that dance and I hated it. It was like Tiffany and Ms. Lawrence were on a date, or something. Anyway, while I watched, something amazing happened inside of me. I didn't know what it was then; I felt faint, then there was a slow snap, like an old rubber-band breaking, and then there was a sort of heat that started somewhere near my crotch, and spread to my boobs, and then to my head. I didn't enjoy it when it happened, but then ... I wanted it to happen again.

They kept on dancing. I think the dance was supposed to show sex, symbolically. Anyway, that dance showed how I felt about Tiffany. About wanting to get together; it was the dance of my heart. I wanted to dance it with Tiffany so that she would know what was in my heart. Because I didn't know how to tell her.

I volunteered for the girl parts. There was one chance in 15 that I would get paired with Tiffany. Well, it wasn't her that I got. It was this girl called Dena. She has short hair and grey eyes. She's very serious. When we were introduced, she said, "Hi, I'm Dena. Cara is a nice name!"

"Thanks!" I said. "Dena is nice, too!"

"A little too feminine for me!"

So what's wrong with that? But I couldn't get off on the wrong foot with her, so I said, yeah, well, I liked it anyway. She smiled, and she had a cute dimple at the corner of her mouth.

We had been paired according to size. Tiffany was clearly the strongest girl, so she was paired with a big girl called Kate. Being one of the smallest, and Dena being only a little bigger, we were put together.

They began the exercises. We were doing lifts. I was so jealous of Kate. She wasn't chunky, or anything, just big-boned. And now I could see that she liked Tiffany. The way she stood, her boob resting on the back of Tiffany's arm; that was annoying. Tiffany caught my eye, and smiled at me, and I forgot that I was annoyed.

Dena patiently lifted me almost a million times. It took a while, but she got the knack of standing solid after a while. I hadn't let on that I had been feeling unsteady. She got steadier all the time. Then we did easier things, like arabesques, holds, fun things. And I watched Tiffany all the time.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kate surprise Tiffany with a kiss on the lips. I stopped Dena, and watched.

Both of them blushed, and looked at each other. Tiffany looked Kate in the eye and said something I couldn't even guess. Kate covered her bright red cheeks, and I could tell she was saying she was sorry. Tiffany shrugged and grinned, and made a joke, and Kate laughed and looked sort of apologetic. Somehow Tiffany had warned her off in a friendly way.

"That's so cool," Dena said.

"What?"

"Well, at least she didn't bite her head off!"

"Yes, that's true; she's very decent."

"She sure is! Okay, ready?"

"Yup. Listen, let me try and lift you!" I asked.

"Okay!" It wasn't hard, Dena was really light.

When I put her down, Dena blushed slightly. "That felt funny!" she smiled, showing her dimple.

"Funny-peculiar, funny-disgusting, or funny-ha-ha?"

"Funny nice!"

I liked her from that moment. She would be Number Two.

Cara and Dena were well-matched in terms of personality and disposition. Cara was marginally more outgoing than Dena was. Both appeared to be well-adjusted, but in reality, Cara and Dena both had great difficulty making friends.

Somehow, Cara struck a chord in Dena's heart. Since she seldom smiled, she looked rather severe, but Dena had seen past that severity, and seen the beauty that lay hidden there. Now Dena set herself the task of being Cara's guardian and guide. Where would she like to sit? Dena knew: as close as possible to Tiffany.

A number of girls were maneuvering to get close to Tiffany, but Dena got herself and Cara plates, and put on just a little salad on them. Then she guided Cara to where she expected Tiffany to sit—where she had sat at the last two meals, at the center of the long table—and settled Cara there. Cara said she was really, _really_ hungry, eyeing the few greens. "Well, eat up! Once the line gets shorter, we go back for more, see?" Cara's eyes widened with appreciation of Dena's plan, and she nodded and began to eat. Dena swelled with pride, and smiled into her eyes. "Which group are you in?"

"The top one, group 10, with Tiffany."

"Man, you must be good! I wish I was there!"

"It's just by age. I might be moved down; but I'm keeping up somehow."

"Is she nice, Tiffany, I mean?"

"The best. She corrected me without making a fuss. I'm so glad."

"It doesn't come easy for me."

"I'll help, if you want it," Cara offered, surprising herself. Dena nodded.

Sure enough, Tiffany sat opposite them, and all the girls who had been following her had to squeeze in wherever they could.

"Okay, go get more; I'll keep your place." Cara, getting the idea, went off to fill her plate.

Jessica was right opposite Dena, and she smiled at Dena and asked how she was enjoying the camp so far. Dena blushed and said it was great. "Made any friends?" "Yeah, her name is Cara. She's sitting right here."

"Oh, yes, your partner!" Dena nodded and grinned.

After Jessica had finished eating, she called for silence, and outlined the plan that she and the leaders had discussed the previous night on the bus. The girls would be assigned to several groups, which would each select a dance project; the four best projects would be performed before a celebrity guest in the last night of the camp. The celebrity guest, arranged for by wonderful Tiffany, would be Marsha Moore, the famous actress.

Later that day, it so happened that Helen met Cara in the hall, and desperation gave Cara courage to invite 'Tiffany' over to her room, to talk. Helen agreed, but said she was busy, and would come by sometime. Helen was so preoccupied with the plans for the projects that she forgot, but Cara knocked on her door, and Helen remembered. She was, of course, quite unaware of the fact that Cara was close to obsessing over her. The girl was startlingly beautiful, but the girls in the camp were all quite attractive by and large. Cara's gorgeous long blonde hair still made her stand out.

Cara sat on her bed, her legs lucked up under her, and smiled at Helen. Helen, with an effort, quietly purged her mind of its desire. There was no way she could safely play with those thoughts now. She casually asked Cara about her mother. Cara gave a little information, and then more, under Helen's prodding. Then she talked about her friends, her special friend, who preferred the company of another girl to that of Cara... and gradually Cara began to talk more freely.

Though she was an extremely pleasant girl, Helen found, she was very dispassionate. She dismissed her lack of friends with a shrug. It was a practical matter. "One at a time," she said. "At least now I have a friend!" "Me?" "Yes? Can I write to you when we go home?" "Of course!" "Good. Mom will be pleased! She thinks not having friends is a problem." But she had told Helen that she didn't particularly like her 'friend' back home.

"What about that Dena? You two seem to get along very well!"

Cara blushed. "She's nice..."

"What did you decide about the West Side Story thing?"

"We're going to find another group... I told her I'm not really confident about modern dance, and she said, okay, let's change projects."

"Just like that? She must like you an awful lot!"

"You think so?"

"Well, who wanted to do West Side Story in the first place?"

"She's the one!"

"See what I mean?"

"Oh." Cara looked at Helen, confused, and suddenly began to blush furiously. What was that all about? "She's nice.... Two friends! It's so easy for some people."

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door. "Are you expecting someone?" asked Helen. Just after Helen spoke, they heard footsteps running away. Helen ran to the door and called, "Hey, come back!" It was an older girl in Helen's group, whose name Helen couldn't remember. The girl waved and ran round the corner. Cara stood in the doorway and leaned out to look out from under Helen's arm.

Helen and Cara looked at each other. "I'll go get her; she must want to talk to you," Helen said, walking away briskly, with a slight smile. It looked like Cara would have not two, but three friends, by the time the camp was over.

Helen found the girl cringing in the alcove that looked out over the ballroom. "Hey, come on, you can talk to Cara; I was just leaving!"

"Oh, no; I think I got the wrong room!"

"Oh, all right then. Maybe you could just drop by and say hello; I think she'd appreciate it!" The girl's face brightened slightly, and she nodded. "I better get back to my room, in case someone's looking for me..." continued Helen, and walked back to her room. She heard soft footsteps behind her, and smiled to herself.

### Cara's Story

I waited for Tiffany for a while, but she didn't come. Something made me desperate; I _must_ make friends with her, I thought. I went and got her, and she came right away. She is a very simple girl, and she doesn't make a fuss. I really like that. And she's beautiful!

It was wonderful having her sit in my room. She's so perfect; she started talking, and everything went well. I love the way she talks; so clear, so intelligent. One word, and she gets me to think! I could have talked to her forever.

But she's so—what's the word? Intelligent? Insightful. She asked how I felt about Dena, and I was speechless. I suddenly felt Dena holding me, and smiling at me, and talking to me. I don't know what to feel or think!

I don't know if I'm a lesbian. I don't really get excited when girls touch me; I really don't. I don't get excited when anybody touches me, usually. Today has been unusual; I don't know what to think. I don't know whether I'm _making_ myself all upset over nothing.

Then, while we were talking so nicely, there was a knock! The girl ran away, I don't know why. It must have been because she heard Tiffany talking inside. Then Tiffany went off to her room, saying she might be needed there, and then...after a few minutes, this girl came in! She was from our group, and her name is Eileen.

She was very shy, and came in and said 'Hi,' and then I tried to talk to her like Tiffany talked to me; asked her about her home and stuff. I tried and tried, but I wasn't getting anywhere. She looked sad and upset, and then in desperation I patted her shoulder for some reason, and she really liked that. Then we held hands for a while.

This sex stuff is really complicated. I don't really want to hold hands with people if it's misunderstood as some kind of sex thing. I held hands with Dena, a few times, and it meant nothing. Now suddenly, it means something to Eileen.

Suddenly I realized I didn't have a bra on. My tits felt heavy, like they were hanging, pulling down on me. They were fine when Tiffany was here; now all of a sudden they get heavy. I got up to pull on a robe over my nightie, and Eileen got up. "I better go," she said, and looked at me, sort of sad. I must have smiled, because she smiled back, and gave me a hug. I was upset, but I didn't show it; I smiled instead, and she hurried off.

After she had gone, I locked the door, and pulled off my clothes, and felt my tits. They felt nice. They felt nicer when I lay down, and softly brushed them with my fingers. I think this is part of sex; I kept brushing them for a long time, and gradually something happened... something very nice. I was able to do it five times, and each time it was nice. That was the first time it ever happened. I never loved my tits so much as that night; and then I fell asleep.

And then a wonderful thing happened! I dreamed that Tiffany was brushing my tits. And the nice thing happened again. Then I half awoke, and then I imagined Dena doing it, and then Eileen. It didn't matter who did it, it was great. I decided that I was going to get one of them to do it. It's sex, for sure, but it's allowed here. And I'll tell Mom after that I did it. I had sex at camp. And it isn't my fault, because it's a camp thing.

Helen did have visitors that night, a couple of young ones, one who wanted to talk, and another who pretended to be homesick. Helen was amused, but also annoyed. Patiently she talked them out of their moods, and sent them away happy. By three a.m. she was able to finally fall asleep.

### Running

Early next morning she put on her running clothes, and stepped out, to find Cara and Dena waiting for her outside her room!

"We brought running clothes, so we can join you!" They wore shorts, T shirts, and sneakers.

"Okay, come on; I'll run with you for a bit, and then I'll run a little more by myself, okay?" They nodded, happily, and they quietly padded down the stairs, unlocked the back door, where a little milk truck was making its delivery, and they ran round the drive, and out the gates. Helen ran slowly, and the kids kept pace effortlessly. They were both under 100 pounds, in contrast to Helen who was about 25 pounds heavier. A little careful questioning turned up that Dena ran at home, around 2 miles a day, and Cara didn't run at all.

"How far do _you_ run?" they asked. "Oh...around 10 miles!"

"Whew!" said Cara. "I'd like to see you do that!"

"Well, run along with me!" said Helen, facetiously.

"No way; I couldn't! Maybe Dena can!" Dena shook her head vehemently. Helen suggested that they run a mile and a half, and then Dena run half a mile more with Helen, and then run back to where Cara was waiting, and they could watch Helen as long as they cared, and then walk back together. They agreed to that plan. "Now, no coming out of the gates except with me, okay?" They faithfully promised that they would only come out with an adult.

They got to the point where they would leave Cara to wait, and Helen continued to run with Dena, while Cara sat on a parapet wall on the side of a little bridge from where she could see the whole course Helen ran. Dena ran on a little farther, and then turned back. Then, running at the fast cruising speed she kept when running alone, Helen continued down the hill for four miles along the winding road, turned round, passing the milk truck and waving to the young boy who drove it, and ran full speed up the hill, finally slowing down when she got to the girls.

"Man, you're fast!" exclaimed Dena. Helen grinned, and they walked back together. From that day, they ran every morning; a little further each day.

They went in for showers, all three choosing private booths. Helen began to see more and more reasons for avoiding sexual contact with the girls. If she didn't care about the camp, she could go ahead and have fun; but somehow she'd gotten herself into a responsible position in the camp. She was looked up to. In spite of their obvious interest in sexuality, there was a certain innocence about these girls. An innocence combined with an extreme sexuality.

Breakfast went fast. In spite of the amusing desire of some of the girls to sit close to Helen, Cara and Dena somehow found seats within grinning distance of her.

The warm-up at the bar of all the girls went smoothly, and there were remarkably few corrections to be made. Helen, keeping an eye on the kids across from her, saw almost perfect form, and the few kids who were even the slightest hair out of the perfect were instantly caught by Jessica. Things were going extremely well.

Jessica took things a level higher than the previous day, still all went well. Then they broke up into their groups, and Helen found herself with the last group again. They got through a lot more than they had the previous day, learning more complex moves, jumps, splits, and combinations. Soon Jessica arrived, and Helen was sent off to help with another group.

At the mid-morning break, the seniors were asked to change to toe shoes, and they worked some more. They had done in two days what Helen had learned over two years. But, she thought, these girls all knew ballet already, even the tiniest twelve-year olds.

The groups had been announced the previous day, and a limited number of trades permitted, until everyone had been happy with their group. After lunch, Jessica announced, they'd start reviewing the group projects. That started a buzz of conversation. The girls ate fast, and soon only the leaders were left, with the ten counselors. Helen knew Molly and Natalie already; then there were Kim, a tall redhead, Elissa, Joanne, Barbara, and three other girls. The leaders were, apart from Jessica, Margaret, Leslie, the rather boyish one, Judy, and Angie. They all looked at Helen, as if to say that she was in charge.

Helen grinned and asked them not to panic. "There must be _something_ everyone can do," she said; "let's see what they've come up with!" They set up a little desk in the ballroom, and Molly waited outside, keeping order, and sent in one group at a time, and Jessica and Margaret interviewed the group, while Helen stood behind, smiling encouragement at the kids.

All the projects that had a specific piece of music associated with it were ok.

West Side Story was all set; they said they'd do the ballet depicting the fight. They were down to about 12 kids, but they had enough.

The Peter and the Wolf team said they'd do the first half of the story.

The Hansel and Gretel team had discovered the music to the overture, and said they'd dance to that, though it would be only a little dance, and very little to do with the story, though they'd dress up as Hansel and Gretel, and a bunch of Gingerbread Men. Jessica smiled at them ruefully.

The Lonely Goat-Herd group was also in good shape, but they needed to learn some Tyrolean dances, and Jessica promised to get them some help.

The group who wanted to do the Baroque Dances were in the best shape of all; they just wanted to know how to do the dances, and Tiffany was told to coach them.

The remaining groups were not happy at all. Patiently Helen and Jessica steered them towards projects that they were happy with.

Unfortunately there was a group of older girls who gave all of them their first serious problems. "Can we do a nude ballet?" asked their leader, Stephanie. They looked Jessica right in the eye and waited for an answer. Jessica was stunned, and simply stared at them.

Helen calmly asked what the dance would be about. "About love, and...desire," Stephanie said, vaguely. Helen asked for more information, and it was clear that they had no idea, except that they wanted to dance naked. Taking her cure from Helen, Jessica said that she wasn't going to approve a nude ballet unless there was a good reason.

"You just won't approve a nude ballet at all! You're just going to say no. We knew this would happen."

"Look, girls, do you really want to find a project that's interesting, or do you just want to find an excuse not to dance?" asked Helen, smiling. Jessica flashed her a grateful glance. "We want you to dance the beast you can. Nothing looks sillier than a nude ballet that doesn't have any guts to it. Right, Jessica?"

"Yes, precisely. Remember, we're going to have two famous people here, and I don't want to look stupid; nor do your parents. The dances _must make sense_."

But they kept on trying to wear Jessica down, and they were asked to wait until all the other groups were through. They waited outside, with glum faces, while the other two groups went in and settled their projects, and then filed in once again. Helen sighed.

"It's not just to get out of dancing! You're so unfair!"

"Then what's the reason?"

"Well, we want to be sexy, you know? Exciting. Regular dancing is so _boring!_ " This wasn't Stephanie, it was a quieter girl whom Helen believed. After much persuasion, they convinced the group to dance a fable based on modern life. As a concession, she promised to help them design costumes that were acceptable, but provocative. "That's half the excitement!" she said, and they decided that was a good compromise. They had to select the music, and build a story that fitted it. Jessica took them personally under her wing.

It was now almost 4. Helen went to the camp office, and called Marsha.

"Hi, Tiffany!" Marsha joked.

"Aw, shut up!"

"Hey, your orchestra is playing in Belgium on Saturday!"

" _Really?_ Aww ..."

"Want to go?"

"And do what?"

"They want you to join them, if you could!"

"I'd love to, but ... what about my disguise?"

"Shall I arrange for the whole thing?"

"It's going to be expensive, Marsha."

(Marsha's arrangements did cost a lot of money, Helen knew. Marsha was wealthy, but she wasn't a multi-millionaire, as she was suspected to be. And she had a large number of people who helped with disguises and arrangements, whom she paid well.)

"Well ... yes; but they'll pay you a little money, ..."

"You can have all of it."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. I owe you so many favors, it'll be nothing."

It was decided. Marsha said she'd talk to Jessica and ask personally for Helen to be excused, saying that she wanted Helen to do her a favor. Helen hung up, and as she was leaving the room, Jessica walked in.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Oh, a friend," Helen said, nervously.

"I heard you call her Marsha! Is it who I think it was?" Helen blushed furiously, and Jessica grinned. "Well, well!"

"She wants me to do something for her!" Helen said, which was true. Luckily, the phone rang just then. It was Marsha, and Jessica took the phone.

"Yes, she's right here; and she warned me that you might be calling! Yes, ... yes, of course we can! Thank you so much, Miss Moore; and thanks for finding us Miss Thomas! ... Okay, she'll be ready! Bye!" Jessica grinned at Helen. "You rascal! You wanted to sneak off for the weekend, eh!"

Helen looked Jessica straight in the eye and said seriously, "No, Jessica, it was all her idea, honest. When she asked me, I said, sure, if she could arrange it."

"How come you were right here when she called?"

"No, _I_ called my friend, and Marsha happened to be there."

"Oh. Do you know a lot of famous people?"

"No, just her."

Jessica sighed. "We have two celebrities ... I suppose we ought to be happy with that."

"Yes. Otherwise, next year you'll have to find three more, and it gets worse and worse."

"Oops, yes; I didn't think of that."

After a couple of hours of tennis and rounders and much silliness, the girls were ready for dinner. Some of them had incredible amounts of energy, while others simply sagged in about half an hour. They never sagged when they were dancing, only when they were doing sports. It was all in the mind, Helen thought.

After dinner, they worked on dancing with pairs. The initial uneasiness the girls had felt, dancing with partners, was dissipating. Jessica had presented the role of the girls who were substituting for boys as simply "helping their partners", rather than some sexual role. "After a while, you should change places, and let the other girl try," she said. Out of the dozen or so couples in this group, roughly half seemed actually interested in seriously dancing this way, including many from the "nude ballet" group, as Helen thought of them, and Cara and Dena, and of course, Katie, who wanted nothing but to have Helen dance with her.

The floor of the ballroom was filled with couples dancing beautifully, as the younger girls watched from the galleries.

Meanwhile, Helen, having handed Katie off to Leslie, was assigned to help with the group of girls who were dancing simple two-girl dances. This involved no lifts at all, just holds, and the occasional assisted jump, keeping the moves as balanced as possible between the two partners. Margaret, who was choreographing this group, was a real genius, Helen found. She had a flair for truly lyrical choreography, and Helen was delighted to help.

They were all tired by eleven, and Jessica chased everyone off upstairs to bed, declaring that anyone caught in the halls without an adult escort after midnight would be punished.

Helen drew a deep breath and headed to her room. Across the room she saw Cara and Dena talking animatedly together, and the other girl, Eileen, following them at a distance. Helen ran up the stairs, and walked to her room, and heard footsteps behind her.

"Wait up!" It was Katie. "Tiff, I want to talk to you." Helen smiled and let her into her room.

"What's up?" Helen asked.

Kate took a deep breath, and let it out all at once. "I want to sleep with you."

Helen was shocked at the suddenness of the request. "Please, ... no."

"Oh, come on, Tiffany, you know you'd like it. We're together here, far from our partners; what's the harm?" She talked urgently and persuasively, her eyes wide, and her manner entreating. "Once we leave, there's no strings attached, we forget that the whole thing happened."

Helen looked away. "That's what I thought it would be like; but these kids depend on me, Kate, I'm a resource, a leader, I settle disputes, ..." She looked sadly at Kate, her eyes asking for understanding. "I can't be effective if I sleep with anyone."

Kate looked at Helen for a long time, and Helen looked right back. "At least, shower with me!" she asked.

Helen blushed. "I can't!"

"Why?" asked Kate grinning.

"I have ... a mark ... it's ugly!"

"It's only me, Tiff! Let me see!" Helen adamantly refused. Kate sighed, and after some argument, Helen said she'd come to the showers with Kate, but they'd shower separately.

By the time they got to the showers, the crowd had begun to thin out. Helen headed to the private shower booths at the back, while Kate stripped right in front of all of the girls, and showered. When Helen came out, she was still showering, watched by two tittering juniors, whom she had enlisted to soap and scrub her back. When Helen came up to them and watched them, Kate sent the little ones off and turned defiantly to Helen.

"Something wrong?"

"If you're going to take it out on the little ones, okay; I'll do what you want."

Kate took a deep breath, and Helen tried not to stare at her breasts. Flushing, she said, "You can't believe that I did that to blackmail you, honestly?" Helen shrugged. "I was just having fun with them!" Helen just smiled. "I'll never even look at them again." Helen smiled and shrugged. "What do I have to do to make you ... ?"

"Nothing. I said you could."

"I'll take it. It's getting pretty hard for me. You don't understand."

_She doesn't have any idea,_ Helen thought. _Compared to how_ I'm _feeling,_ ... "Get good and clean, then," Helen exhorted her with a smile, and went to her room.

Helen got ready for bed, wearing only her thin nightdress, and got under the sheets, carefully leaving her door unlocked. There was a knock.

"Come in!" called Helen.

She was surprised: it was Cara. She slipped in like an angel, and came to stand close to Helen's face, her belly inches from Helen's cheek. Helen moved away, as if to give her room to sit, and she promptly sat down on Helen's bed, tucking her feet under, so that her thigh pressed against Helen's arm. Giving her still more room, Helen moved back, and turned on her side to face her. Smiling sweetly, the girl settled herself, still as graceful as the most perfect angel that ever visited a sex-starved ballerina, she moved so that her thigh just barely brushed against Helen's nipple.

"Thank you for being so nice to me all day!" she said.

"I wasn't really trying especially hard," Helen confessed.

"Well, you ran with Dena and me, and then you helped me a lot in class, and then you helped us a lot to get us into the group project, and then you helped Dena and me in the pair-dancing, ..."

"I help everybody, love! It's my job. And you two are so nice, it's a pleasure to help you both!"

"Most of all ..."

"What?"

"Nothing, ... nothing! Good night, Tiffany! See you in the morning!"

"Good night, dear!"

Then Cara bent and kissed Helen on the cheek! Her breasts brushed Helen's already hypersensitive nipples, and she drew in her breath sharply. "Your body is so hot!" and without another thought, she placed her hand on Helen's breast. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. See you in the morning!"

"Shall I lock the door?"

"No, leave it unlocked; someone is going to wake me in the morning."

"Oh, _I'll_ do it! What time?"

Oh Lord, thought Helen. "Don't worry, I've already arranged for it! If you want to run, come round at 5:30!" At last, Cara was gone.

Helen cursed. Now, more than ever, she wanted to ease herself. Her body was almost flaming with her need. But of course she couldn't because she had invited Kate. Helen couldn't believe how Cara had tormented her, quite unconsciously. Her thighs, her breasts, her hand ... she had done precisely the most arousing things she could have, short of actually touching Helen's privates.

Switching off the lights, Helen turned on her stomach, and put her hand between her legs, and gently rubbed herself against it. Within seconds, it seemed to her, her door opened, and someone slipped in.

Helen pretended to be asleep. The someone shut and locked the door from the inside, and then Helen felt her bed sag as the someone sat down beside Helen. Then she felt a soft hand on her neck, gently massaging her neck and shoulder, relaxing her, so that she couldn't stifle a sigh of pleasure. Her visitor also sighed, but Helen couldn't recognize who it was!

The hand slipped lower, pushing down the sheet, until it came to Helen's buttocks. Still lower it went, and pulled up Helen's nightgown, exposing her body. Then the hand was withdrawn, and Helen realized that whoever it was, was stripping. And then, she lay on Helen, full body.

### Kate's Story

I don't know what I thought I was going to do. First I thought I'd kiss her goodnight, and then leave. Then I thought I'd fuck her to the moon. But how _could_ I? She was so innocent! She claimed to have all this experience, but she acted like someone who had sex maybe three times in her life!

She was lying there in the dark, face down, sleeping. I had taken too long to come over, but her door was unlocked as she had promised. At first I thought she was pretending, but she wasn't overdoing it, like she would have if she was faking it. I massaged her neck, and she relaxed, with a sigh. Then I carefully peeled down her sheet, and pulled up her nightie. Oh god! She was gorgeous. That ass, that back... she was perfect. I could just barely see her body, but I could see enough to make me drool.

I began to feel her up, and kiss her, like I was going mad. I _was_ going mad–with desire. I rubbed myself on her, and she sighed, –oh god, it was too much! I stroked her ass with my hand, just drowning in the feeling of touching her body, and she began to pant softly, and spread her legs. Before I knew what I was doing, I was fingering her. In her sleep she raised herself up, letting my hand in, and I was doing her for all I was worth. I stuck my head in and began to lick her as I fingered her, and she began to moan in her sleep. And then she came, whimpering softly, and then she cried. Her head was turned to one side, and I saw the tear fall onto the pillow. She said "Ohhh!" That was all. I kissed her, and I cried, too. I felt such a piece of shit for defiling her.

Then, lying on her, I frigged myself, and came all over her ass, rubbing my cum on her. Then I did her again, because I wanted her to come again. I wanted nothing but to see her come, over and over again.

The second time she moaned when she came, and something inside me made me stop. I kissed her, covered her up, and went to my room. The moment I was in bed, I wanted to go back. I _knew_ she would enjoy it. She _had_ enjoyed it. Why not do it again? But I didn't; I just played with myself, and then fell asleep. I dreamed of her all night. What's going to happen to me?

It had been the most incredibly erotic experience. It was a little like rape, a sort of fantasy. Who had it been? Kate, of course. But it could have been anybody, and Helen imagined it was everyone she could think of, and masturbated about twenty times in quick succession, until she was so tired, she couldn't even lift her arm.

In about two minutes, it seemed, she was being woken. "Tiffany! Wake up! It's almost 5:30!" It was Cara and Dena, shaking her by the shoulders.

That day went pretty much as the previous one. Jessica was teaching them harder and harder techniques; even the little ones were learning quite difficult stuff. Each group was assigned the most competent instructor that was available, with the five adults rotating among the groups. The two hours before lunch, and the two hours after dinner were _en pointe_ , for the most part, but the rest of the time they just wore slippers. Still, the dancing was incredibly demanding.

At lunch Helen quietly mentioned this to Jessica, with whom she seemed to have lunch every day. "Shh," she whispered; "I've never made them dance so much before!"

Helen looked at her in surprise. "Why this time?"

"I don't know ... I think it's you!"

"Me?" Helen was shocked. She hadn't suggested anything about how much dancing, or how difficult dancing Jessica should teach. She must have looked as surprised as she felt, because Jessica tried to explain. "It's working; they're focused on the dancing, and there's practically no discipline problems at all!" That was true. Apart from an occasional prank, the girls had been models of good behavior.

Then Jessica made an announcement that scared Helen silly. "Tomorrow, the famous American violinist, Helen Nordstrom is playing in Belgium. Are there any Helen fans here?" Six hands went up like rockets, including Cara's, and then twenty more went up, as the name registered. Helen, her heart beating loudly, kept her face carefully neutral. Jessica looked at Helen. "Twelve...can you handle half of them, while I take the rest, out to the concert and back?" she asked softly so only Helen could hear.

"But, Jessica ... I have an errand; I can't look after them the whole time. I ..."

"Yes, I understand; I've arranged with people in town to help me handle that part of it. I just need a chaperone for the bus, ..." Jessica had it all figured out. Helen took a deep breath and nodded, and Jessica went on, explaining that the concert wasn't free, Helen wasn't the main performer, it was the Baroque Chamber Orchestra, and they'd have to buy tickets, etc. Cara turned to the other girls and, very authoritatively declared, "It's one of the best orchestras in the world."

"How do you know?"

"I know. My mom's an expert, and she told me." Oh, the girls said, convinced. So Helen was stuck with twelve girls to escort to the concert and back.

That wasn't the end of the excitement, either. After lunch, a number of the pairs came to Jessica and asked her to let them dance _pas de deux_ for the recital. "The other dances are all group things; we want to dance just with our partners!" Jessica squelched that idea as fast as she could. There just wasn't time to have so many different things at the recital.

That afternoon, for the first time, Helen began teaching the 18th century dances for the suites. The Allemande and the Courant were the first two she taught. Since some of them consisted mostly of simply parading around, they had to improvise variations of the dances to create interest. In a couple of hours, the girls had choreographed rather interesting movements to go with the simple dances. "Hey kids," Helen said, "I think we have a winner, here!"

"Oh, good! I'm glad we have you, Tiffany!"

"Now, wait; I'm going to help the other groups, too!"

"No, you mustn't!" Helen had to explain that it wasn't fair, and they reluctantly agreed to share her.

That night, though, the pairs began to apply more pressure. "There's really no point to this pairs thing, if we can't dance it at recital."

Jessica insisted that they weren't learning dance for the sole purpose of showing off at the recital. The whole point was to learn as much ballet as they could. But they weren't satisfied. Motivation was so bad that Jessica finally gave them all an assignment. Each pair had to come up with an original dance to a movement from one of three CDs she designated. They had to rehearse by themselves, and show the class on Monday. "But we have to do the project!"

"And this, too! You girls aren't interested in the dances I'm teaching you, so you do your own dances."

### Pas de Deux

That night, as Helen got ready to go down for her shower, Cara and Dena came over and begged Helen to help them.

"Don't worry, kids; Jessica is just annoyed that the girls weren't paying attention in class."

"We _were_ ," they insisted. They had been; Helen had been watching them.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Teach us a duet!"

"Oh, sure, no problem. We'll put one together without much trouble."

"Right now!"

"But it's bedtime!"

"She'll let us dance if you're there with us!" This was true. So down they went again, to one of the little practice-rooms.

In the course of an hour, they got started on a nice little dance to a sad, slow piece that they both liked very much. They were going to dance it girl-girl style. "It's the only thing that makes sense," Dena said. "I don't want to be a boy."

In the end, the kids did most of the choreography themselves, with guidance from Helen. They hadn't quite got the knack of selecting moves that would flow over an entire phrase of music, in contrast to a sequences of disjoint, unrelated moves. But Dena had a good sense of style, and soon Helen could just sit back as the kids hammered out very plausible moves to the music.

It was very clear that Dena was in love with Cara. She was restrained in Cara's presence, normally, except for letting Cara do anything she wanted, opening doors for her, fetching things for her, etc. But when they danced, Dena's body expressed her love and her adoration far more competently than Dena could have ever done it in words. And Cara's dancing shyly began to respond. The position of the head, the look in the eyes, the attitude of the hands, they all said that Dena loved Cara, and that Cara was glad that it was so. Helen was happy, and she was sad.

At the end of one section of the dance, Helen could take no more. "Look at the time!" She said.

"Oops! We better go; tomorrow you're taking us to the concert!"

"No running, then, I guess!" The vans were coming for them at 5:30 a.m.

### Cara's Story

There is some magic in that Tiffany. After she began helping us, first of all, it turns out that Dena can make up dances beautifully. It was like an infection she caught from Tiffany! Suddenly she's calling out moves: _balance_ , _pas de Chat_ , this and that, and it's working!

And then, Dena's dancing has some kind of message for me. I know it. I could feel it. And the dance says: Dena adores me. What am I to do? I could dance with Dena all night long. What is happening to me?

Dena waked me to my room. She's always so sweet. I began to notice that she always opens doors for me ... like I'm a lady, and she's a guy. It's sort of cute, only I'm scared some of the other girls might make fun of us. Nobody is doing it yet.

In my room, something happened. We couldn't look at each other's eyes. "Wanna take a shower?" "Yeah," she said. I said, "I'll lend you a towel, come on."

We went into the same shower booth. I went in, and Dena just came in with me. She looked at me, and I sort of smiled, that it was okay. Then we undressed, and Dena was looking at me.

She's really slim, with cute little tits, round, but small. And I have these large knockers. I turned on the shower, and she stood outside the spray, too shy to come close. I pulled her in, and she smiled and began to rinse her hair! So it was all right. I began to rub my tits, like I do now in bed. I explained to her that it felt good when I did that. She didn't say anything, but she took my hands away, and began to rub them herself. It felt so good! She asked if I liked it, and I said, yes, very much. She looked so serious. She rubbed for a while, and the nice thing happened right there, in the shower. I must have given some sign, though I was trying not to, and she grabbed me, looking worried.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Why, nothing," I said, trying to cover up. "Why? Did I look funny?"

"Yeah, you half-closed your eyes ... I thought you might be fixing to faint on me! Then I would be in trouble."

"No you wouldn't; they allow sex here."

She was shocked. "This is sex?" I nodded. She blushed like mad. She's so cute when she blushes! And then she kissed me, right on the lips, and I kissed her back. It was my first real kiss, but I didn't realize it right away.

We finished showering, and hurried to my room. Nobody was watching us. I quickly shut the door, and we looked at each other. "Wanna sleep over?" She nodded.

"I don't have my pajamas."

"Let's sleep naked." She sort of sucked in her breath. I quickly got into bed, and made room for her. She got in next to me. Then we began grinning, because it felt so nice! So I hugged her, and she brushed my tits again, and I got the nice feeling, and then I must have fallen asleep. As I was falling asleep, she said, "I love you, Cara!" It was just a whisper, but I heard it, and I hugged her tighter. It was the most beautiful moment of my life so far. Sex is the nicest thing in the whole world. I am so happy I came to this camp.

Dena could not sleep for a long time. Cara's body felt incredible under her hand; her soft breasts, her soft lips, her long lustrous hair; Dena was in heaven. Cara fell asleep, just as Dena whispered her love to her, and Dena's heart gave a little lurch as she saw the soft little smile on Cara's lips. When Cara smiled, which was not often, her whole face was transformed. Her normally severe countenance softened into the most beautiful face in the world. While Dena was sad at being confirmed as homosexual, something that her family was definitely not happy about, and had suspected for some time, she was thrilled that she had found someone, especially someone so utterly compatible. She had no illusions that Cara loved her yet. But Dena hoped that she could make Cara love her. All Cara wanted now was sex. Now that Dena knew _what_ they were doing, that much was clear. Her dad had told her over and over, love was not sex, and sex was not love. Now Dena had love, and Cara had sex; and they had to work on the other parts. Meanwhile, it was wonderful to sleep with a naked angel.

Helen had another visit from her phantom lover that night. This time she was really asleep, having masturbated out of desperation and collapsed into bed, on her back. She had been too tired to shower, so she had slept naked, with the door unlocked. Again the visitor locked the door, and came to Helen's bed, and sat and listened to Helen's soft breathing in the darkness. A gentle touch on Helen's arm interrupted her breathing for a moment, but she didn't wake. The visitor then slid her hand until it touched the thin sheet which covered the sleeping girl, and gently peeled it down, caressing Helen's breasts, and she woke up.

"Who is it?" she whispered, breathlessly.

"Shhh..." said her visitor, "just sleep."

"I'm so tired... I can't..." Helen wanted to say that she couldn't open her eyes, but the words never came out.

"You don't have to...just sleep."

And Helen slept. The clever hands just caressed her, and then the lips kissed her, and finally the visitor sighed, and left.

### Off to See Helen Nordstrom

Helen woke up early morning to find herself cold and sticky. There was also some disturbance that had alarmed her ... there it was!

" _Tiffany?_ _Tiffany_!" It was still dark, but it was clearly morning. A little puzzled, Helen pulled the sheet around her, and opened the door with the words _who're you looking for?_ on her lips, but stopped herself just in time.

It was one of the younger kids, Hunter, who had asked Helen if she wanted to be woken up. Just behind Hunter were Cara and Dena, all of them dressed and ready to travel.

"Tiffany! You're so hard to wake!" exclaimed Hunter, pleased to have done it, anyway. Helen looked at Cara and Dena, reflexively moistening her lips as she was hit with her lust for the two girls. They seemed to look radiant, especially Cara, as they stood close together, smiling indulgently at Hunter.

"Thanks, girls; I'll go get a shower and be right out!"

Helen went back inside, got her towel and toilet kit—a present from Marsha—and hurried off to the showers. She was back in no time, to find the three girls installed in her room, waiting to get her all ready.

"Out, out; I have to get dressed!"

"We're going to help you!"

Oh jeeze, thought Helen to herself, that's all I need! But she didn't have the heart to throw the girls out, so she quickly put on her underwear to cover her belly, which was the most important thing, under cover of her towel. They had picked out her underthings and a dress already, assuming she was going to the concert.

"No, girls, I've told you: I'm going on a private errand. I'm not coming to the concert!"

"But you have to take us, Tiffy, Jessica _said_ so!" said Hunter, dismayed.

"Yes, I'm taking you there, but I'm not coming in to the concert."

"Why on earth not, if you're going all that way? It's a chance in a lifetime! She hardly performs anymore!" said Cara, talking urgently. "We'll get you a ticket somehow; I'll ask Jessica!"

"No, Cara, listen; _I have another engagement!_ I have to do an errand for someone, so you guys can have Marsha Moore here next Thursday!"

They stared at her, silently, not knowing quite how to respond to that. Hunter seemed impressed that Helen knew Marsha Moore, and remarked to that effect, and Helen quickly mumbled that Marsha was a friend of a friend.

"I'm so disappointed," Cara said, and she looked it. Helen continued to dress in her traveling clothes of a spring dress and a light pullover, because it was still chilly in the mornings. Cara, and especially Hunter, kept glancing at Helen's body with interest until she was completely covered. Helen put a few things in a bag, not knowing what Marsha's contacts in Brussels would have for her to wear. But she couldn't really get everything she wanted because of her audience. "Okay, wait for me outside! I have to do a few things in here." They skipped outside, and Helen heaved a sigh of relief.

A few minutes later, they were in two large vans, heading towards Brussels, Jessica in one, and Helen in the other. Cara, Dena and Hunter, predictably, went in Helen's van. For a little over an hour the vans hurried along the narrow hilly roads, and the girls held on to each other, Cara on one side of Helen, and Hunter on the other. Then they were on a wide highway, and the vans began moving at an incredible speed, as the girls looked wide-eyed through the windows. But after a while the novelty waned, and most of them began to drowse.

"I wish you could come!" said Cara wistfully, again, turning to Helen and smiling.

"Oh, I've been to lots of concerts," Helen said. "There'll be others."

"But I want you to _see_ Helen!"

"Why?"

Cara wouldn't answer, but simply looked enigmatic. She was clearly very excited, and that made Helen excited. Cara was a fan! It was just coming home to Helen that there were girls out there whom she had never seen, who dreamed of seeing Helen.

"So you like violin music a lot?"

"Oh, yes; I wish I could play..."

"Why don't you learn?"

"It's expensive around where we live. And I'm probably too old to start; people take up violin when they're seven, eight years old! My fingers are probably too stiff."

Helen picked up Cara's hand; it was surprisingly large, and the fingers were thin and long and tapered. Helen placed her own hand on top of Cara's; they were about the same size, but Helen's was slightly wider. Helen glanced at Cara, to see if she had noticed Helen's tenseness, but she smiled coolly back. Looking past her head, she could see Dena looking solemnly back at Helen. Helen knew, from Dena's expression, that something had happened between the two girls overnight. But she also saw, with surprise, that Dena considered Helen to have certain rights over Cara; clearly, if Helen wanted to hold Cara's hand, Dena would suffer it. Helen gently dropped Cara's hand, and suddenly found Hunter's hand in her own.

"Try mine!" It was a tiny, delicate hand, and Helen absently played with it.

Helen was about to airily remark that she had taken up the violin only two years ago, but again stopped in time. Now, that was not really true; she had played bowed instruments since she was sixteen, and the guitar even earlier.

"My guess is that you're not too young to start. I have friends who began to play quite late. How old do they say Helen was when she began to play?"

"Oh, she was five. Yes, somebody told me Helen has been playing since she was in _Kindergarden_!" offered a junior called Neysa, who had rather a rich imagination, looking over the back of the seat in front. Helen grinned and nodded. Helen had just told them that they would get to their destination mid-afternoon.

Helen was acutely aware of Cara's leg carelessly pressing on her own, and Cara's soft fragrance, and Hunter's little-girl smell.

"I'm going to talk to her somehow," Cara announced, quietly. It took a few seconds for Helen to realize the implications of that. "Dena is going to help me! She's great at those kinds of things! You said you would Dena, didn't you?" Their eyes met, and something passed between them, something that made Cara take Dena's hand in her own, and gently squeeze it. Dena's smile was radiant. She was positively beautiful.

"So what will you tell her?"

"I don't know! If you had been there, I would have made you talk! Dena, what shall we say?"

"Tell her you like her playing!"

"Well, of course, silly; _after_ that, what?"

"I don't know; tell her Tiffany wouldn't come to the concert!" They giggled, and Helen smiled. She put her arm around Hunter, and Hunter snuggled close. Hunter was a really cuddly, affectionate girl.

They stopped for a potty break, and then for lunch. As they walked into the restaurant, Helen studied her companions. Cara was dressed in a stunning beige lace dress. It was a ballet dress, meant to dance in, and must have cost a great deal. The cut was perfect; it draped beautifully. Dena also wore a beautiful ballet dress, a more conventional one in pale blue. She looked enchanting, and oh, so feminine. "Both of you look so pretty today, I can hardly recognize you!" said Helen playfully, and made Dena blush furiously. "Thank you!" she said softly. There was something very beautiful about this very boyish, feminine young girl who loved Cara so fiercely.

Helen couldn't quite figure what Cara thought of the whole business. That Cara was on cloud nine was clear, but whether it was love of Dena, or just the excitement of being 'in a relationship,' Helen couldn't say.

Hunter looked cute in pink. All the girls wore pretty dresses, some of them were in slinky evening clothes.

Jessica wore an elegant pair of slacks, and Helen found herself escorting Jessica into the restaurant. Jessica simply had that air of someone who needed escorting. She breathed femininity today, and Helen had to open doors for her, and pull back her chair and the whole bit. It was a whole new experience for Helen. When Jessica turned her big blue eyes on her, Helen found herself melting.

Then she remembered Marsha, and was filled with longing to see her again. When Marsha and Helen were together, they didn't play 'role games,' though sometimes Helen longed for it. In Marsha's presence, the fact that they were lovers was never far from Helen's mind; Marsha made sure that Helen was aware of it in subtle ways. But Marsha always made Helen feel that it was a private thing, just between the two of them. But the potential was always there, that they might be a couple in public.

Sylvia was protective and serene. That Sylvia was solicitous of Helen was always clear; but that it was a sexual relationship was not. Helen might have been a good friend, a student, a patient, a sister, or a lover; it was all the same.

With Janet, the world was irrelevant; what they felt was only between them. When Janet was forced to acknowledge their relationship in public, Janet was usually embarrassed, but resolute. If Helen wanted to flaunt Janet, Janet was game. So it had been with Leila, though Leila was less concerned about appearances.

But Jessica wore Helen like a mink coat, proudly. And Helen found herself enjoying the experience! "I'm glad you came ... I wish you could come with me to the concert!"

"Yeah, me too!"

"I hate to sit alone at these things! I hate to go to a restaurant alone, too."

"But there's all these lovely young ladies! Twenty-six of them!" Jessica smiled and wrinkled her nose, as if to say: it's not quite the same! "Oh Jessica," said Helen with a grin, so only she could hear, "you're such a flirt!"

Jessica put her finger to her lips, and looked at Helen, widening her eyes, and then gave her a special smile, tinged with a little reproach. She let out a soft sigh and looked down at the table. "Who was the young woman who came with you to the interview?"

"You can probably guess," Helen said, with a faint smile. Jessica nodded. "Why do you ask?"

Jessica looked at Helen archly and shrugged. Helen looked around at the girls; they weren't paying any attention to the two of them. Cara and Dena were in a world of their own, Hunter and another young girl were trying to get Cara to help them order.

"Jessica, do you have, you know, like, a 'significant other?'"

Jessica looked right into Helen's eyes and shook her head slightly, her sensitive lips pressed together. "Let's not go there," she murmured.

"Is it especially hard for professional dancers?"

"Yeah; I guess it's the kind of personalities that go into it." Jessica's eyes roamed over her charges. "These are nice kids; the nicest batch I've ever had." Helen nodded. "I think those two are getting serious," she observed, nodding towards Cara and Dena.

Those two were talking very quietly, as if anxious not to be overheard. Cara's eyes crept round to Helen, and suddenly both girls were blushing furiously. "Did you hear?" Cara asked, alarmed.

"Hear what?"

"Oh, nothing!"

Lunch came; the girls pretended that it was wonderful, but it was clear that it was a little too insubstantial for American appetites. Helen watched as Jessica smiled and tactfully asked the waiter for a large plate of canapés to supplement their order. Helen ate heartily. There was something about love; it made Helen hungry.

"What does Kate say?" Jessica asked, casually.

"Kate?"

"She seems a little smitten, to me!"

"You can say _that_ again," Helen said, exasperated.

"Oh, cut her a break; she's a good kid."

"I _know_ she is; what do you want me to do?"

"Just be nice to her!" Helen thought: you don't know just how nice I've been to her!

"I'll try."

"Good girl." Jessica put her hand softly on Helen's arm. That was the first time Jessica had actually touched Helen that way; up to then, it had been with her eyes that she had toyed with Helen. "Tiffany," she said, looking serious. "I'm really enjoying having you with us. Please tell me you'll come next year, too?"

Helen sighed, and said she'd try and do it again. She felt rotten at the joy in Jessica's face.

"Will you stay in touch with me after the camp is over?"

"Sure," Helen lied.

"I know you won't," Jessica said, quietly, smiling.

Helen grinned. "I'm terrible at that sort of thing," she confessed.

Back in the vans, they raced northwards, and arrived in Brussels around 3. They got out at a quiet hotel where they had arranged to have two rooms in which to rest and freshen up. As soon as Helen quietly called a number she had been given by Marsha, a gentleman found her, and whisked her off to an office of the hotel, and then into a car, and finally to another hotel in a different part of town.

### Brussells

The people were all European, and they were subtly different in their attitude from Marsha's US people. Helen had been encouraged to call all of Marsha's male employees 'Henry', and Helen realized these were all Marsha's European 'Henries', as it were, but they were a lot less blasé about what they were doing than their American counterparts. The woman who was to do Helen's hair gazed at her in obvious excitement, and spoke to her respectfully in French, which Helen was pleased to reply in.

_I can hardly believe it is Madame_ , she said, _though I have only seen photographs!_

_Why?_ asked Helen, _do I look very different?_

_But the hair! The skin! And you look_ — _pardon my saying this_ — _a little heavier!_

_Yes_ , said Helen, _I have put on a little weight. I hope the clothes you have will fit me!_

We were told that you needed larger sizes, and we are ready. Come.

They put a blonde wig on Helen, and carefully glued it down, taking their time to make sure it was secure. Then it was carefully put up and pinned. Helen's eyebrows were "de-colorized," not bleached, and slightly thickened. _Everyone knows_ , said the woman, _that your eyebrows are a little thicker than is considered fashionable!_

Helen's face clearly registered dismay, and the woman hastened to reassure her. _Some women are wearing their eyebrows that way,_ she said, _perhaps you are the cause of it!_ Helen was stunned; she had never thought to influence eyebrow fashion! First of all, it was news to her that her eyebrows were thick enough to be remarked upon.

Stripping Helen, they applied a light dye to color Helen's skin the shade of tan that it normally was. They assured her that it would come off with a little ether. Helen's grey contact-lenses were taken out; she had forgotten that she had them on.

To Helen's surprise she found that they had a dress of hers that she had left behind at Marsha's. They told her that there was a rehearsal at 4:30, and she'd have plenty of time to attend it if she wanted to. _Of course_ , she said, _I want to if I can; I need to find out what they will be playing._ They had her on her way, violin in hand, in minutes.

The rehearsal was in the same beautiful old building in which the concert was to be, but in a different room, and she was welcomed with great enthusiasm by her numerous friends in the orchestra.

"We have plans for you, you know!" said Cindy, one her oldest frineds. Suddenly Helen remembered that her school had offered to readmit her, and she had to respond. She could easily be playing with these people regularly within a few months.

Jane, the conductor, let them all get their greetings over with, and then hustled them into their seats, and got the rehearsal started. To Helen's surprise, there were many interesting new works that they had added to their repertoire; works by Haydn, J. C. Bach, Vivaldi, Handel, and Boccherini. Helen was seated next to Pat Wallace, the beautiful and aristocratic woman who had put Helen in her trajectory of fame, by lending her a fabulous old violin she had inherited from her own father. The incredible sound Helen had been able to obtain from it eventually resulted in numerous invitations to play with major orchestral groups, and was an indirect cause of the creation of the Baroque Chamber Orchestra. Pat and Helen always played first desk when Helen was playing.

It was a lovely rehearsal. "Helen," said Jane, "I was beginning to forget the lovely sound you help us achieve!"

"Oh, Jane," Helen murmured, "you folks do fine without me!"

"No, we don't," said Jane, and Rachel, turning round in her seat, and Lisa, all at once, very vehemently. Rachel continued, "it's a little better with Mom here, but we sound a little thin, Helen."

"It's the violin. Pat, you should..."

"It's not just the violin, dear," said Pat quietly. "We're not just flattering you. We're talking about our sound, and Jane means what she says."

Helen was shamed into silence. Perhaps they were right. She certainly loved the sound they made together. They rehearsed long and carefully. And all the time, Jane exulted over how smooth and lively and athletic the violin sound was. Rachel grinned at Helen, delighted!

"Why're you grinning?"

"I try so hard to get this sound, and today we're getting it!"

"Sort of thick? Or smooth, or warm, or what?"

"Well, a combination! Smooth and warm, or as smooth and warm as we can get it without vibrato, but still it moves. Muscular, without being klutzy! It's just you, kid; face it, you're a great first violin."

"I have to admit, I'm tempted."

"Give in! Give in!" said Evie, making Helen laugh. Jane had been talking to the lower strings, and now she rapped for attention, and they rehearsed some more.

"Helen, are you up to a solo?"

Helen blushed. Rachel said, gently, that they would like to do some of their favorite Bach concerti, and asked if Helen would like to play the double concerto with her. Helen said she'd love to. So they rehearsed that, and it was the best of all. Helen and Rachel had styles that contrasted just enough to keep their lines distinct, but not so much that it was distracting. And they both knew the piece inside and out (as did most violinists, Helen had to admit,) and they played while watching each other, and listening to each other. Helen glanced at Lisa, Pat Wallace's daughter, whom Helen loved very much, and smiled to see that longing in her eyes, the longing to play a duet with someone, the longing for the intimate interplay that was the essence of a duet.

"Where are you staying?" they asked Helen after the rehearsal was over. "I'm not sure, Marsha's contacts are arranging everything," she replied, rather vaguely. She looked at them a little confused, realizing that she hadn't been told a cover story about what she was doing in Europe.

"Marsha Moore?"

Helen nodded, trying not to blush.

"Are you two, like, ..."

"Lisa, ..."

"Sorry! I just asked, okay? I mean, it was on TV!"

"What?"

"You didn't know? They showed you and Marsha Moore at a function somewhere, and they hinted that ... something was up!"

"I was visiting her, when ..."

"Yeah, we knew that. I think it was nice of her to be so supportive."

That was a reference to Helen's miscarriage, of which this group was well aware. They were Helen's closest friends, outside of Marsha and Sylvia.

"When did you all arrive in Brussels?" asked Helen, later, when she had a moment alone with Amy, the flutist, who was also a surgeon, and the one to whom Helen went whenever she had a medical problem.

"We've been here about a week, and we've played in the UK, once in Venice, in Germany: Hanover, Hamburg, Leipzig! It was crazy."

" _Really?_ I'm so jealous! How did they go? Did they like it?"

"Well, the Press has sort of liked us so far, though they keep comparing us to the European orchestras, and there are a couple of really good ones."

After a while, Amy brought up the subject of Marsha Moore. Helen had been visiting Marsha, when she had the miscarriage. Now Helen looked at Amy thoughtfully. "I've always been suspicious of my feelings towards Marsha, you know?" Amy looked a question, though her slight smile told Helen that she could guess Helen's reasons. "Why? Because—she's only the most beautiful woman in the world, stupid. That's a frightening thought."

Amy grinned. "Well, ... I think she's for real, kid. She really cares." Helen smiled at Amy, please to have her endorse a woman that Helen was getting extremely fond of. "You know after ... you lost the baby, she called me." Amy looked at the hazel eyes that were suddenly serious.

"I really wanted to die," said Helen, her voice suddenly rough with emotion.

Amy groped for words to convey how she felt. "Try to imagine how it felt to be at the other end of that line, kid. It was the most god-awful moment of my life." Amy's brown eyes looked soberly at Helen, and tears glistened there. "And I knew how you felt, and I knew that if I had been there, I wouldn't let you die."

Helen needed no convincing that Amy loved her. She knew exactly how much. It was a narrow line, indeed, that kept them friends, and not lovers. By a curious trick of reverse psychology, it hurt Helen's heart to think how much Amy must have suffered. But Helen put the thought from her mind. She wasn't convinced that life had enough to offer her, though Amy was certainly a large part of whatever there was. Amy continued: "I told her to let me talk to you, but you refused to come on the line."

Helen grabbed a tissue. "But I know you understood how I felt."

"Kid, it's only a baby."

"Oh _god_ , how can you _say_ that?" Helen was furious, and her eyes sparked fire at Amy.

"I shouldn't say that ... but it's true. Because it's _your_ baby, it hurts me, love; you know how much I want to hold your baby in my hands! But I have seen hundreds of fetuses aborted. And I have seen hundreds of fetuses just barely saved, and I've wished they hadn't been."

"Oh, Amy ... what's wrong with you?"

"Because, if I had to choose between your baby and you; it would have to be you."

Helen stared at Amy for a long minute, then looked out of the window. "I wish you never told me that. I can't trust you with a decision about a baby of mine ever again."

"Then you can't trust _any_ surgeon."

Helen turned her huge eyes on Amy and the tears came in torrents. Amy went to Helen's chair and kneeling in front of her, held her close. Helen looked into Amy's eyes, holding Amy's face in her hands, and asked, "Don't you understand how I feel about having a baby?"

"Yes, I do! Don't cry, ... don't cry, girl; someday you'll have your baby. You're the healthiest person I know. We'll have you seen by the best people. I'll give you the money if you need it. Now talk about something else; I'm tired of arguing. And I'm tired of you being hurt."

Helen sighed, and made herself stop crying. She stroked Amy's back, comforting her. "I used to imagine myself holding a baby, nursing it ... it's been a few weeks, now, since I did that last ..."

"I do, too."

Helen was startled. "What do you mean?" Amy explained, blushing, that she, too, imagined Helen holding a baby and nursing it. Somehow, that mollified Helen, and pleased at Amy's confession she calmed herself and cheered up.

Dinner was brought up, and then they dressed for the concert. Helen told the make-up girl privately that she wanted to be particularly sure that anyone who had seen her earlier, in disguise, wouldn't recognize her. _Let me see,_ she said, _I think I can do it._ And she did. And off they went to the concert-hall.

The concert-hall was beautiful, with beautiful wooden chairs upholstered in velvet. On the stage was a reflector shell and all the chairs in the usual places. They went on stage for a 10-minute rehearsal, to check the balance. There were microphones, since the new recording company wanted to tape the performance live.

The auditorium filled, and the concert began. Helen looked over the audience from behind a curtain, searching for her ballet friends, and finally found them, rather far back, all seated in a block together. The audience lights dimmed, the stage lights came on, the orchestra walked on stage to polite applause, which turned to loud cheers as Helen was recognized, and the murmur "Helen!" went round the room.

Pat turned to Helen and revealed that Helen's playing tonight was unexpected. "It wasn't advertised," she said.

"So what, I'm not a featured performer!"

"Ah, but look on the programme!"

"Yikes, Pat, who did that?"

"Jane and the recording company. When the management heard that you were playing, they insisted on putting your name on the programme. But the publicity folks couldn't use you for the PR, because we didn't know you'd be here until the last minute."

"Ah! They've even got me down for the announcements."

Jane had asked Helen if she would announce, and Helen had said she would, provided she was helped with the technical portions of the announcements. Helen was always ready to announce whenever they asked her to do it.

Rachel came on and initiated the tuning ritual, and then Jane came in, to much applause. Helen introduced her, and described the program.

It was like a dream. The acoustics of the auditorium were better than those of the practice-hall, and the orchestra played beautifully.

The second big item, after the somewhat smaller pieces they opened with, was the Bach Double Concerto for two violins, and while Helen announced it, Rachel took her place. Helen's violin was sounding heavenly, and when it was time for Helen's entry, it sang out warm and rich and true. Rachel's violin, too, seemed to speak eloquently that night. It was even better than the rehearsal; Rachel had never played so well.

The slow movement was sheer poetry. Somehow, Helen happened to look out over the audience for a fraction of a second, and caught the eye of a young girl seated towards the back, who seemed to be listening and watching intently, every molecule of her body straining towards Helen: it was Cara. Helen smiled slightly, glancing over the audience, before she looked back at Jane and Rachel. When the strings came in for the _tutti_ passages, they sounded perfectly balanced, beautifully phrased. Beth and Pat were doing a fantastic job. And the last movement was a model of liveliness and energy, combined with songful sweetness. They all loved this concerto, and it showed. The applause was warm and generous.

The announcements were tricky; Helen decided to artificially raise her voice, to further emphasize the difference in the voice and manner of Tiffany and of Helen. Helen narrated Peter and the Wolf, and it was a huge success, even with Rachel conducting and Jane playing the clarinet, leaving the first violins two short. It was these quirky little things that was the hallmark of their band; the willingness to make fun of themselves. They received a standing ovation, not least from the numerous younger members of the audience.

For the first time as far as she could remember, there was no call for encores; nor had they planned any. After several curtain-calls, they were done.

Helen had been half-expecting it, but was nevertheless surprised when the whole contingent from the ballet camp turned up backstage, including Jessica, conducted by a severely disapproving Belgian aide, to see Helen. Nervous as never before, Helen asked Pat to help deal with them.

The aide explained in French that these were American students here for a few weeks at a camp in the hills, and were anxious to meet Helen.

"You're all aspiring ballerinas?" They nodded, and pointed to Jessica as their camp leader, and Pat introduced herself to Jessica and then they all introduced themselves, and Helen shook hands with each of the girls, and gently pronounced their names as if hearing them for the first time. Cara's face shone with a light that made Helen tingle. "Did you like the concert?" she asked Cara, and she said it had been wonderful. "Which one did you like most?" asked Helen mischievously, and Cara said: the double-concerto!

"But _we_ liked Peter and the Wolf!" said Hunter, eyes wide.

"Aw, I wasn't playing on that one!" said Helen, with mock disappointment.

"Oh, I loved the way you narrated it!" said Hunter, diplomatically.

"You speak French, then?"

"Oh, sure; _comment allez vous?"_ They all cracked up. After a minute or two, Helen began to relax; it was clear that none of them had recognized her. Helen had also worn platform shoes, and looked even taller than she usually was. She knew that the gown emphasized her hips, and she simply looked different, smelled different, and acted different.

Finally, it was time for the kids to leave. Jessica, turning on her charm full force, explained that they had to get back to camp, and it was a six hour drive. "Say goodbye to Miss Nordstrom, girls, and then we must find Tiffany!"

Dena came to speak to Helen last of all. She had Cara by the hand, and looked just so beautiful, Helen longed to give the girl a hug. Dimpling at Helen, Dena said "Cara wanted our friend Tiffany to meet you, but she couldn't!"

"Oh! Where is Tiffany, then?"

Cara shrugged, smiling as if to say she had tried. "She had to go somewhere! You'd like Tiffany; she's our best friend!"

"Well, say 'Hi' to her for me, then!" Helen smiled.

"Can you sign this for her? Here's a pen." So Helen signed a programme for Tiffany!

Helen wanted to give them all big hugs, but of course that would never do. So she went backstage with Pat, who smiled indulgently at Helen. But then a number of other young fans came looking for Helen, and it was almost half an hour before she could get her things together, and say her farewells to the orchestra.

It was another half-hour before Helen could join the girls waiting aboard their vans. Helen's hair was back to its ballet shade of medium brown, worn pulled back and tied with a big ribbon, her eyebrows were thin again, her lips subtly made to look younger, her eyelashes darkened; her dark grey contacts back in place, and her skin lightened again with the magic of chemistry.

"So what was it like?" asked Helen cheerfully, when she had taken her seat at the back, this time between Dena and Hunter.

"Look what we got for you!" It was, of course, the signed program.

"Oh, _thank_ you!" said Helen, touched by the effort they had made to include her in their joy. "So you got talk to her, after all, huh!"

"Oh Tiffany," said Dena, in a hushed voice, "she was _so cute!"_

"Yes, she was," agreed Cara, eyes shining. "And so tall! And she can talk French almost like a native!"

Helen grinned.

"And she has long hair," said Dena, "almost as long as Cara's!"

"Is she prettier than Cara?" asked Helen mischievously.

"Yes," said Cara, and "No" said loyal Dena, at the same time, and the girls in the seat ahead of them laughed, making Cara blush.

Helen traded banter with them for a while. Hunter had an opinion on almost everything that had transpired that evening, and as the youngest on the van, had to be patiently listened to. She explained that for some reason they had two bassoons instead of horns for Peter and the Wolf. Cara explained that they needed four horns, and they had only two. Helen was surprised at how much the girls understood about what was going on.

When things had quietened down, Hunter whispered to Helen, "I wish you had been there!"

"Why?"

"I wanted to sit near you," said Hunter snuggling a little closer. She had been very affectionate all during the drive, and was now more affectionate than ever.

"Well, here we are; close enough for you?"

"It's the music, Tiffany; sometimes when some pieces are playing, I want someone special near me!" Helen was stunned.

"Like, what piece?"

"Well, this one ... 'Concerto in D minor, Op. 1043.' The two girls played that. And, like, ..." Hunter groped for Helen's hand, and took it in her own little one, "... you _have_ to hold someone's hand." She began to hum the slow movement, and Helen hummed the second violin part, softly kneading Hunter's hand. "You know it!" Helen nodded, and continued to hum, and Dena and Cara joined in, trying to remember the tune. Cara really knew it well. Dena urgently signed for Cara to trade places with her, and sit next to Helen and sing, but Cara smiled sweetly at her and shook her head, continuing to hum. They hummed the entire second movement, and looked at each other, excited, the girls in front having turned round to watch at them in startled admiration.

"You knew the whole thing!" exclaimed Hunter.

"Well, you knew it too!"

"Yeah!" said Hunter, in wonder.

They settled down to sleep as well as they could in the hurtling van. In the dark, Helen heard an almost inaudible kiss from her left: Cara and Dena had kissed. Dena heaved a soft sigh, and Helen's heart was filled with a deep joy mixed with sadness. A large tear rolled down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. She realized that what she had felt for her friend Annie, so many years ago, in 10th grade, was nothing either more nor less than love. They had loved deeply and innocently. Helen had experienced love so many times since then, but nothing as pure and innocent as that. _And she's still lovely,_ Helen thought, seeing Annie in her mind's eye. _We've never really stopped being in love in some way or other_. Helen was filled with pleasure at the memory of Anne as she was now, so warm and graceful.

Then all the girls were asleep, Dena with her arm around Helen, and Cara with her arm round Dena. Helen was content. Hunter's head nestled in her lap, and Helen gently stroked the girl's soft upper arm, and drifted off to sleep.

In a few hours, she was woken again by Dena and Cara softly whispering together. Then the van began the climbing through narrow roads, and in a while they were at the grand old house from which they had left the previous morning.

The vans parked in the driveway, and most of the girls went in, tired and sleepy, and anxious to get to bed for the last few hours of the night. Hunter was still fast asleep on Helen's lap, and Jessica came in the van, and smiled at Helen.

Helen looked at Jessica with a tired smile. "Can you carry her in?" Helen nodded. There was a strange look in Jessica's eyes.

There were just a couple of lights on, so they could see their way up the stairs. Hunter's room was on the second floor, and she shared a room with a junior who hadn't gone on the trip. "I'll put her in my room; I'm not sleepy anymore," whispered Helen. Jessica nodded. Helen took her upstairs, and Jessica unlocked her room, and Helen laid the girl on her own bed, and removed her clothes, and covered her with the sheet, all in the dark.

### Jessica

A little later Helen found herself in Jessica's room, while Jessica made them some tea. Somehow Helen did not have the heart to refuse. It was a much larger room than the girls had, with a large desk, a phone, a sink and an attached bath, and also a small sofa.

They sipped the tea, and Jessica talked, and Helen listened. The concert had brought back sad memories to Jessica, of concerts she had attended with friends who had departed from her life in one way or another. Jessica was about thirty or thirty-two. She lived to dance, and she had just lost her lover of three years to another woman. Music, ballet, food and sex were her life, it appeared, more or less in equal proportions.

Helen lay on the sofa, Jessica lay on the rug near Helen, covered with a scrap of blanket, and asked Helen about herself. Helen implied that there was nothing much of interest. She said she had just moved in with someone, and it seemed to be working out. Jessica complimented Helen on her dancing, and then on how well she related to the girls. "You care so much!" she said, her eyes shining. Helen smiled back at her, saying that Jessica was an excellent teacher. Jessica asked how she compared to Andrew White, and Helen said, quite favorably. Helen felt the mood intensify, as they felt silent. She wanted to comfort Jessica very much, but was afraid to take the initiative.

Jessica slowly got to her feet and stretched, and walked slowly to the sink, and then turned around and began to slowly pace. Then she slowly came to sit near Helen on her sofa, and gaze into Helen's eyes. Helen's soul yearned to make some gesture of intimacy that stopped short of ... going too far.

"Would you come downstairs with me, and dance?"

Helen slowly nodded.

It was a magical hour. They stripped down to their underclothes, and danced, humming tunes to each other. Then they dressed and went back upstairs.

"We better get a little sleep," said Jessica, trying to sound businesslike. Helen agreed. Jessica lent Helen a nightie, and Helen put it on, and Jessica tucked her in and turned out the lights, and went to bed herself.

Early in the morning, Jessica woke Helen. The Catholic girls were to go to church in the village, while the rest of them would do observances in the little chapel in the house. "Are you Catholic?" Helen shook her head. "One of us leads the devotions here; perhaps you could?"

"Sure," said Helen. "I'm not qualified, though, Jessica."

"Why not?"

"Oh, you know ..."

Jessica's eyes widened. "You're so hard on yourself!" Helen smiled. She had to watch herself. Jessica was getting under her skin. The feel of Jessica in her arms was still fresh in her memory, her soft breasts against Helen's skin, the feel of her thigh in her hand. Even now her fragrance was making Helen's pulse race.

Helen tried to imagine Sylvia, and she saw Sylvia clearly, smiling shyly at her from a little distance away, as she did so often. Sylvia didn't hang around Helen, touching her all the time. When she needed it, she'd come and directly initiate sex. Jessica had this way of clinging that was annoying, sometimes, and exciting at other times.

"You're thinking about your lover," Jessica smiled. Helen smiled and nodded. Jessica's yes were large and shining with a soft light. "I don't want to ..." and her thought tailed off unsaid. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong."

Helen shook her head. "It was fine. I'm here for you, okay?"

"What will Kate say?" Jessica joked. Helen shrugged, as she got up, and began to pull on her clothes.

Hunter was still asleep when Helen got to her room. Helen went off to shower. In a while everyone was up, and they got caught up on the latest news in the showers.

About one third of the girls were Catholic, and they got dressed and walked off down the hill to the village to Mass at 8. In the house, Helen found some song-sheets that contained familiar hymns, and Jessica and Leslie, and a number of the remaining girls had a little service. They had a late breakfast at around 10, when the girls returned from the village, and then they watched a movie in the dining-room, which doubled as a movie theater. There was a movie projector, and it was a great movie about Johann Strauss the younger, _The Waltz King_.

The younger ones took the opportunity to explore the great house thoroughly, while the older ones amused themselves with other things. During lunch, Jessica announced how happy she had been with the first week's progress, and suggested that this was a good time to begin to think of costumes. Rooms had already been assigned to each project, and they went into high gear with rehearsals.

Helen, as did all the leaders, went from room to room, helping with choreography, costumes, scenery and all sorts of practical details. The groups were beginning to get secretive about the details of their performances! Some of them began to rehearse in the garden, away from prying eyes, with music from cassettes; others rehearsed in corners of the basement, behind locked doors, and late at night. With great effort, Helen managed to disassociate herself from any particular group, though the Baroque Dance group considered her as their own property.

That night, soon after supper, the older students cornered Jessica and all of the leaders, and petitioned once more to be allowed to dance nude. It was a preoccupation of a few girls, and the very fact that they were forbidden to stage a nude ballet made them particularly insistent on being allowed to do so. Jessica firmly refused every proposal. Finally, Katie accused Jessica of being a prude. "That's very unprofessional," she accused, with an arch smile.

Jessica was angry, and there was an ominous silence. "Well," she said, "that's it. I'm not going to succumb to blackmail. If I allow a nude ballet now, you girls will believe that it will be because I didn't want to face being called a prude. I can't have that, you see. You'll be able to egg me on to do anything you like. No. I'm sorry. The subject is closed."

There was an outcry, the girls denouncing Katie of destroying their hopes of staging a nude ballet, no matter how sedate and tasteful. A girl who had been quiet up to that moment, Evelynne, spoke bitterly. "I have seen a really tasteful, classy nude ballet. It could have been done. Now you girls have ruined it."

"Miss Lawrence, why _do_ they have nude ballets at all? What's the point? Are the people who do that just trying to get cheap thrills?"

Helen felt that it was time to defend nude ballets. She spoke up, explaining that it was an artistic decision based on the subject-matter, and the expressive needs of the ballet being conceived. Some ballets were intensely personal expressions, and the choreographer decides that only the rawness of the nude human form could convey the emotion or the ideas in specific dances. It's not merely about sex, she explained. Sex was a large part of it, but there were other emotions too, desire, vulnerability, innocence.

_Innocence?_ they exclaimed, eyes wide, and Jessica watched Helen intently as she explained her ideas with great eloquence and earnestness. She was relieved to have Helen take over the task of discussing expressiveness in ballet, a sophisticated idea that dancers had to eventually learn to think about, but which did not fit naturally into the kind of thing they had traditionally done at camp.

Yes, innocence can sometimes be expressed with nudity, she remarked; a nude ballet could depict very innocent emotions. Sex could be there, but in a latent, hidden, unfulfilled way. Nudity doesn't always go hand in hand with depravity, she explained, carefully, using language that the girls would understand. Sometimes you see someone nude, and sex does not come into your mind immediately, but maybe beauty, innocence, desire, admiration, a desire to protect.

As she spoke, the girls listened to her with wide open eyes, hanging on her every word. Indeed, Jessica, too, hung on her every word.

By the time Helen had finished talking, it had been agreed that the girls who had been interested in a nude dance should see if they could perform their _pas de deux_ wearing sheer leotards, which would give something of the feel of nudity, but still be modest enough to perform before the younger girls. One girl sighed that she wished Tiffany would dance nude for them.

With a straight face, Helen confessed that she had danced nude. The girls gasped. In public? Helen nodded. Was it decent? Helen said yes, she hadn't been ashamed of those dances. Would she have danced them in front of her parents? Yes. They begged Tiffany to dance a nude ballet for them. Helen smiled and declined.

That night, just before lights out was called, Helen announced quietly to Kate that she was sleeping with her door locked. "I want to be alone tonight," she confided; "I'm missing my friends a little."

"Are you homesick?"

"Something like that ..."

"Why don't you let me help you?" Helen shook her head, looking at Kate seriously. "Are you mad that I said ..."

"No; I ... just want to be alone and think. It's nothing personal, Kate; we're still friends." Kate nodded, and went away, her heart heavy.

A little later, there was a knock on Helen's door. Helen called out asking who it was; it was Cara and Dena. Helen went to the door and asked them what they wanted. They looked very serious and Helen asked them in. They were still in leotards and tights, and they wanted Helen to help them with their little duet.

"Oh, girls," Helen said, "you dance so beautifully; just go to sleep; we'll work on it tomorrow! You don't need any more practice."

"Please," they begged. "It has to be _perfect_."

Helen sighed. Then she dressed again, and went down with them. They had changed the dance considerably, and Helen was stunned at how much better it was. They danced with a lyricism that went far beyond their considerable dancing skills. They were both very good, but over the past week, they had simply improved to an unbelievable degree.

"Who's been coaching you?"

"You have, Tiffany; we haven't danced for anyone else!" said Dena.

"But it's all different!"

"Yes, we changed the dance this afternoon, and we practiced by ourselves out in the garden! We danced it forty times!" Helen was stunned. It showed. And it hadn't been mere mechanical rehearsing, either; they had been watching each other carefully, the moves were carefully thought out, and very logical. Helen suggested some minor changes, and they eagerly adopted them, after asking her for her reasons. Helen explained that it had to do with perspective, and the momentum of the dance, the way it moved about the stage, and the inner language of motion. They nodded, vigorously, as they smiled at each other. They had obviously anticipated many of these ideas in the way they had put their dance together thus far already. They were only satisfied after they had gone through the dance five times.

Helen, back in her room, lay awake thinking of the amazing ballet the two teenagers had created. Its message was clear; it was a dance of pure, tender devotion. Though their relationship might have been evolving into something sexual, the dance itself did not depict it that way in the least. And the dance, unmistakably, was about the two of them. And it was not a closed, introvert, brooding piece about their need for isolation; rather it was about how they gave each other strength to interact with the audience positively; about being a social unit. They brought the audience in, with smiles and gestures. All Helen could say positively about the piece was that firstly, it was about the love of the two girls, and it was not about sex.

Oh Marsha! Helen thought about the woman who was now the keeper of her heart. There was still a deep loyalty in Helen's heart for Sylvia, but her heart longed more and more for Marsha. It was clear now, that to expect fulfillment with Sylvia in the wilderness was a futile thing. This was her life: to dance, to sing, to perform, to teach, to interact with people, to rejoice in the blossoming of young minds. Every time Helen brought Sylvia's face into their imagination, and kissed her, and lavished her with her love and her kisses, gradually Helen found herself making love to Marsha instead. Helen felt both misery and resignation. She was getting accustomed to thinking of herself as being fickle and inconstant. She wished she could cry for herself, but she was just too tired.

### Dancing a Duet

At around 3:00 in the morning, Helen was woken up by a soft tapping on her door. It had been going on for ever, it seemed. Helen cursed; it felt as if she had fallen asleep only a second ago.

With a frown darkening her sleepy, red-eyed face, Helen opened the door quietly.

"Jessica! What's the matter?" Jessica was dressed in a sheer black bodysuit, and nothing else. The power of her nudity hit Helen even in the dim night-light filtering through the door. Jessica looked almost afraid, as if she had been caught in some lewd act, or as if Helen was about to slap her. Helen put on a smile, and gently asked her inside.

"I'm ... I'm sorry; I don't know what I was thinking, Tiffany! Go to sleep. I'm going to my room."

"Oh come in, Jessica; it's okay. Something's bothering you. Come in; tell me." Why did she feel so protective about Jessica?

Jessica made several more weak attempts to make Helen go back to sleep. But Helen persevered, as she gradually woke up more and more fully. She physically hauled Jessica in. Jessica felt fragile and soft to the touch.

Jessica insisted that Helen should get into bed. "Can I just sit here for a while, and then go to my room? That's all I need. You sleep, go on! _Sleep!_ "

Helen couldn't sleep. Jessica weakly complained that Helen wasn't sleeping, and Helen decided that she might as well find out what was wrong with Jessica. But Jessica would not discuss it with her. Helen masked her frustration somehow, and they regarded each other in the dim light of the night-lamps in the hallway for a while. Jessica was strung as tight as a fiddle.

"Tiffany ... would you dance with me?"

Helen was stunned. That explained the odd get-up. Jessica wanted to dance; it was her way of making love to Helen, Helen guessed. In her own way, she was being considerate. Rather than make sexual overtures, she was sublimating her desire into dance. Helen was grateful. It would have been incredibly damaging to Helen's mental equilibrium to have had sex with Jessica. Sex with Kate would have been relatively painless, but even that had been too hard on Helen. Helen had begun to care for Jessica, and that made it all the more difficult.

"Okay ... let me get dressed ..."

"Wear a sheer leotard. I want to rehearse a nude ballet." Helen took a few seconds to absorb that, and then rooted around her clothes for what Jessica wanted; a sheer black leotard. This was rapidly becoming a disaster. But on the face of it, it was just a dance in sheer bodysuits.

Downstairs in the ballroom, they played the music that Jessica had selected at minimum volume, and Jessica called out the moves to Helen as they danced. She thought she knew what she wanted, but it kept evolving into something more erotic, and she kept having to modify her choreography.

"No, no; let's not do that. _Ohhhh!"_ she groaned. "I hate having to start over..."

They had skipped back so many times in that one place that Jessica was embarrassed and sick of it. The last move she had called had been incredibly suggestive. She called a more restrained move this time. And so it went, just barely on the decent side of the line between a dance of subtle invitation, and a dance that hinted lewdly at Jessica's very carnal desires. It was so confusing with the constant backtracking that they had to write it down in a notebook. The 15-minute dance took two hours to rehearse.

They danced it all through once again. It was strange and unnatural, though Helen thought it was beautiful in its own way. What a contrast with the cool, innocent dance of Cara and Dena, with its effortless eloquence!

Helen began to take a hand, and Jessica was relieved to have a collaborator. "Yes! I was trying to think of something like that ... One last time, Tiffany! Please, love, humor me." In her preoccupation with the dance, Jessica didn't notice the little slip.

They danced, throwing more emotion into it. Now that they knew it well, they could look into each other's eyes; and it was their undoing. At the end of the dance, they kissed. As their tongues sought each other, they melted together. Soon they began to draw away and Helen buried her face in Jessica's soft brown hair, and Jessica pressed her cheek against Helen's breast.

They hurried to Jessica's room, avoiding each other's eyes, trying to walk quietly and sedately but failing utterly. Helen picked Jessica up effortlessly, and carried her to her bed and laid her down, and Jessica gently drew Helen next to her by the hand. Her hands were soft and gentle. Jessica moved to remove her thin garment, but Helen stopped her. "No," she said, "not today, Jessica." For several long minutes they kissed each other tenderly, caressing each other, comforting each other.

It was plain that they could never be lovers. There was no obvious reason why not, but it seemed clear. But it was also clear that they were getting incredibly close. Jessica offered to do whatever Helen wanted. "Anything," she said. "You have been so kind and good to me, I'll do anything for you."

"What have I done?" exclaimed Helen, softly, holding Jessica's face in her hands.

"Only everything. Imagine if you hadn't come here this year?"

Helen smiled, and caressed her face. Jessica, in tears, was very beautiful. They began to make love again.

"Shower with me?" Helen took a deep breath and looked at her. "I won't do anything," Jessica promised. Her lovely grey eyes seemed huge pools of love. Helen nodded. "It has to be totally dark, again." Helen said, and Jessica nodded. It was a tender, intimate ritual. They kept their hands mostly to themselves, though they couldn't resist the occasional caress. They must have kissed each other a hundred times during that brief shower, and then Helen borrowed a towel, and tearing herself away from Jessica with the greatest effort, hurried upstairs to her room, her mind in a whirl. It had been three of the most erotic hours of Helen's life, in spite of having been almost entirely without sex. Helen locked her door and masturbated a dozen times; only then did her level of arousal begin to ebb.

The next day went by as in a dream. Rehearsals, practices, drills, costumes, makeup, backdrops, lights, music. It all became a blur. Helen was so tired, she fell asleep in her clothes that night, not waking even when Dena and Cara tried to get her to rehearse once again with them.

Her door was unlocked, but Kate left her alone. When Helen awoke, it was still dark. But she had a visitor; she found Jessica asleep at her side, her arms wrapped around Helen. She was remarkably innocent; that much was clear. Helen put her arms round the older woman, and let her sleep, feeling the pleasure of holding her. She wondered how she would act when Marsha arrived in two days. Would they sleep together? Would Jessica, or indeed anyone at all, realize the special relationship between Marsha and Helen? Would Marsha see how it had been with Helen and Jessica?

With her lips, she touched Jessica's ear, and Jessica sighed, and woke up. Helen could somehow feel her smile, though it was still completely dark. Jessica wore the same slacks she had worn the previous evening, and a thin silk blouse. A soft, thin hand touched Helen's face, and Jessica whispered, "Three more days!"

"You'll find someone," Helen whispered back, though they were alone, and there was no need to whisper. "I know you will."

"Yes," said Jessica, gently. Helen knew she didn't believe it. But she couldn't do anything for Jessica. My own life is such a mess; I can comfort someone for a week or two; but in the long run, I do more harm than good. She wondered what would happen to Sylvia after she left her. She believed now that she would leave Sylvia sooner or later.

Her thoughts were brought back to the present by Jessica placing Helen's hand on her breast. Tears threatened Helen then. Helen rubbed her thumb around Jessica's nipple, and gently caressed the soft breasts, and then caressed Jessica's back, while she kissed her lips softly. Jessica sighed, obviously disappointed.

"Would you come practice our duet with me?"

Helen asked: "Now?"

"Yes; while the kids are asleep."

Helen said okay, and wearily got up, and began to dress. She wore briefs and a bra; she was running out of dance-wear. The crept out, and headed downstairs to Jessica's room where she stripped, her eyes watching Helen for a reaction to her nakedness, and then put on a dance leotard, a sleeveless one that was cut quite high, to show off her beautiful legs. They walked slowly to the ballroom, put on the music softly, and began to dance.

They danced well together. Jessica was a considerate partner; she didn't hurl herself at Helen as some dancers hurled themselves at their male partners. Helen told her she could let herself go just a little bit more. The second time through, Jessica put more passion into it. Helen encouraged her still more, and the last time through it was incredibly passionate.

"God, you're strong," Jessica gasped one time. There was a hold towards the end, where Jessica hung down, her body resting against Helen's outstretched leg and the tips of her fingers, while Helen held Jessica's outstretched leg against her breast. It was the emotional climax of the piece, and signified Jessica's abandonment to their mutual pleasure. The recovery from this hold was difficult, and they had to work out alternative recoveries for the future, depending on how tired they might be at that point.

When they began hearing little footsteps upstairs of the girls beginning to go to the showers, they turned the music down, and silently hurried off to Jessica's room.

Jessica pulled Helen inside and shut the door. She held Helen by her arms, and looked into her eyes. "Today we select the best acts; tomorrow we polish them up, and Marsh Moore gets here the next day."

"I know."

"After that, ... we shouldn't be together."

Helen didn't quite follow the logic, but she had to agree. She nodded.

"I want to make love to you just once. Just only once, Tiffany."

"We'll only hurt ourselves, Jessica; you know we can't fall in love."

"It's not about 'falling in love.' It's about loving someone. If we never meet again, and we love each other now, is it better to think that we loved each other but never made love, or that we made love once, and were hurt by it? You tell me. I'd rather be hurt. Hurt me, Tiffany!"

Helen gently undressed Jessica then, and undressed herself, and they made love right there, on their feet. Helen's hand slid between Jessica's legs, as she spread them to give Helen free access. Her tongue licked at Helen's breasts, her eyes closed tight, savoring the sensation of Helen's lovemaking. In a little while, Jessica moaned as she felt her body respond to Helen's expert ministrations. She was not as experienced as Helen; she soon gave up, letting Helen do what she wanted, and simply entwining her hands in Helen's hair.

After Jessica was sated, Helen lay back, and Jessica began to pleasure Helen. She brought Helen to a climax, following Helen's instructions. After Helen had an orgasm, she gently pulled Jessica close, to kiss her. It was more satisfying to just hold her and kiss her than to tell her what to do.

"You're much more experienced than me," Jessica admitted. Helen admitted, ruefully, that she had been around quite a bit. "Don't worry; we'll cover up the tattoo when we dance," Jessica comforted her, referring to a tattoo Helen had got done in her pubic area.

"How?"

"An adhesive patch under the leotard. A lot of dancers have tattoos, and we have to do that. I brought some with me."

"Oh."

It had been a mistake to have sex with Jessica. Things had definitely changed between them; there was a sense of union, of being joined. It was a pleasant feeling; quiet, soft intimacy. To have Jessica lying on her body, breathing gently, was incredibly satisfying and beautiful. How could anyone let her go?

"Why did you break up with your ... last ... significant other?"

"He got tired of me. I'm a very boring person."

"Dance is your life."

"Yes. I know my limitations. Dance, music, sex, ..." Helen held her tight.

"Tiffany?" she said, after a while.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure there's no hope for us?"

### Tiffany Makes a Call

When Helen finally got back to her room, she felt exhausted emotionally. Jessica had cried, and so had Helen, a little. But she had managed to escape without making any promises at all. She hurried to the office as soon as she could get ready, and called Marsha.

"Hello?"

"Marsha!" Helen began to weep.

"Helen! What's up?"

Helen couldn't speak for a minute, but it was so wonderful to hear Marsha's distinctive voice! "I'm fine," she said; "I'm fine now, I just needed to hear your voice!"

Marsha guessed what was wrong, and talked her down. It so happened that Marsha was in the air, already on her way. "I'll be in Paris in about 4 hours, and then I'll run some errands, get over my jet-lag, and then find my way to your chalet."

Making sure she wasn't being overheard, Helen said in an undertone, "I can hardly wait to see you!"

"Me too, darling, ... me too. I didn't think it would be this hard. Are you getting lots of action?"

"Oh, please, Marsh, don't ask. I can't stand it when this kind of thing happens."

"Someone you don't want to hurt."

"Oh, god; how can you guess? That's exactly it."

Helen heard Marsha sigh clearly over the phone. "One day at a time. You just do the best you can. I know you wouldn't hurt someone intentionally. I know you'd rather hurt yourself."

Helen wept at that. How sweet Marsha was; it made Helen love her so much, that she had so much faith in Helen's good intentions. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too," Marsha said.

When Helen went out, she was shocked to see Jessica standing near the door, holding her face in her hands, her eyes red. "I'm sorry!" she said, looking at Helen, her eyes full of remorse.

"You were listening?" Helen demanded, indignant. Jessica nodded. "How much did you hear?"

"I heard you cry, and then you said, 'I love you.' That's all."

The anger melted, leaving Helen very sad for her new friend. They looked at each other helplessly, Helen red-eyed and a little tired, Jessica looking fresh as a daisy, except for the acute misery in her face. She backed towards her room, beckoning to Helen, her face pleading. Helen went, and Jessica pulled her gently in and, looking nervously about to see if they had been seen—they hadn't—pulled the door shut behind her.

"I'm so sorry."

She was truly upset. Gone was the woman of practiced charm, the clinging vine who draped herself over Helen's arm, who had worn Helen like a prized diamond bracelet, a mere ornament. She seemed young, and helpless, and miserable.

Helen managed a smile. And Jessica's face lit up like the sunrise. "You forgive me!" Helen nodded.

"I started it," Helen confessed. "I'm such a baby. It's all right. You'll be fine, I'll be fine."

"Oh, yes," Jessica agreed. "I'm going to be fine. I have friends. I was thinking ... there are friends that I haven't called in a long time. What are they for, if not to help old Jess when she's feeling down?"

Helen nodded, looking downat her feet. She had faithful friends, too; for all that they demanded, she realized, they gave back in even measure. And they had forgiven her much. "I guess I'm part of the team, too!"

"Very much so!" Jessica glowed. Then she said, wistfully, "Your ... friend ... is a lucky person."

That morning, the groups met separately, each with a different leader, quickly finished their warm-up at the bars, and went straight into their more advanced drills. It was all done by 9:30. Then the auditions began, in random order.

First was the West Side Story group. It was a super dance. They had followed the choreography of the movie, presumably by Jerome Robbins, almost exactly, all of them dressed like boys. Leslie followed their dancing with pride; she had been their main consultant. Everyone clapped like mad, and Jessica simply glowed with satisfaction. Helen saw Cara and Dena watch, wide eyed!

It was a tough act to follow. Peter and the Wolf was next, and they did a passable job, but not anywhere nearly as good as the older girls. These were all twelve-year-olds, Hunter's gang, and there just wasn't enough there to work with. But the applause was polite and warm, simply because the young ones were universal favorites, and at least some of the older girls seemed to feel protective towards them.

They came up to Jessica and said, softly, "No good, huh?"

"Wait and see!" said Jessica, equally quietly, smiling. "It was a good job, all on your own; why don't we see what the rest do?"

The next was Hansel and Gretel. It was an abstract ballet on the Overture to the opera, and was remarkably good. They had given up the gingerbread men, mercifully, and become angels instead. Helen remarked softly to Jessica that they could have done the dream sequence instead, and Jessica said that they might be able to talk the kids into doing that instead. It was well received, and they ran off happy.

Next came the group who had wanted to do the nude dance. They had settled on a little scene from modern life. Several couples gather at a bar, drink, and the couples begin to bill and coo for a while. Shortly, dancing begins, and the couples dance, but one of the 'girls' begins to take notice of someone else's 'boy'. They begin a passionate dance together, which is interrupted by their original partners.

After a stormy scene, everyone leaves, except the new couple who dance a sad duet, and sadly part, to go their separate ways.

Jessica wiped away a tear and clapped louder than anyone. It was really good choreography, Helen had to admit, and good selection of music. The girls grinned at the audience, flushed with satisfaction. Everyone loved it.

While the other group got ready, Jessica turned to Helen, her eyes shining. "This is _your_ magic," she said, her voice trembling. Helen looked at her, smiling, but her eyes asking Jessica what she meant. "You _know_ what I meant! I haven't seen so much creativity ever before. Not ever! It must have been Leslie's choreography!" One glance at Leslie took away all doubts; she must have had a share in it.

Then it was Helen's Baroque Dances group. Except for teaching them the dances and helping with the costumes, Helen hadn't been involved; they had done it largely on their own. But they were really good. Ten of the girls were dressed in ballet versions of period costume, doing the classic dances, while the other ten were in simple ballet dresses, dancing around them to modern choreography. It was charming and well executed, and got warm applause. Everyone turned to Helen, grinning widely, but Helen quickly denied any major involvement. When the girls were asked who had helped them, they said, of course Tiffany, but also Margaret and Natalie. And they got their share of appreciation.

And on it went. The Lonely Goatherd, A scene from the Sleeping Beauty, a scene from the Nutcracker, The Dance of the Blessed Spirits, from Gluck, and so on.

Jessica led them over to the dining room, and when they had all sat down, said that she had never seen so much ingenuity and such imagination in all her years with this camp. The girls cheered loudly, very pleased, as all the leaders nodded. As Jessica smiled meaningfully at Helen, the other leaders did, too; Helen realized that she was a favorite not only among the campers, but also among the leaders. Helen modestly looked down at the table. She hadn't been as involved here as she had been at Sylvia's camp. She had come to have fun. This camp must have been a mess in earlier years, she thought to herself.

Jessica then said they'd decide over lunch which groups would represent them. Every girl had to come to her and tell her which three ballets she liked the best. That will help me decide, she said. An excited buzz started up. "Now let's have lunch; who'll help with the serving?" Helen immediately hurried out to the kitchen, followed by Hunter, Kate, Stephanie, Molly and Natalie. It was Sunday, and the French kitchen workers had the day off.

Lunch was served and eaten in no time, and then it was time for the girls to visit Jessica and cast their votes. When they were done with the voting at 2, West side story, the Bar Scene, the Baroque Dances, and Hansel and Gretel had won. Jessica decided to go with those. "Hansel and Gretel can absorb a lot of the little ones, especially if they do the dream sequence," she observed to the other leaders, and they all agreed that the important thing was to get the other girls helping with the four acts that had won.

The afternoon was very busy, with scene painting, more costumes, the groups who had lost being absorbed into, or recruited to help, the winning teams. Helen showed the girls how to do backdrops with a slide projector, and that idea took off like wildfire. Soon they were taking photos of pictures from the little library in the chalet, or scenery from nearby, and were asking to be taken to the town to get their film processed. Costume fabric had been found somehow, and four sewing-machines were going full tilt, making all sorts of costumes that they simply could not improvise with the clothes in the attic, or the clothes they had brought.

Around tea-time, Helen was rescued by Leslie from a very determined group of seniors who wanted her to stay and help with choreography, which they were doing in the back yard. "I'll bring her back in a while; just give her a break, okay?" The girls groaned, but let her go.

"Jeeze! Tiffany, I guess Jessica's told you how much of a difference you've made, huh?"

"I just don't get it; what's so different?"

"Oh Lord," Leslie said. "Usually, by this time, they'd spend most of their time locked up in their rooms. I was used to finding them kissing in the bathrooms, and there were several occasions where girls were ... engaged in very intimate activities in the bathrooms."

"Actual ... ?"

"Oh yes; inserting various objects into each other ..."

"Oh good heavens; that never happened even in tennis camp."

"No, I guess we were unique. Don't get me wrong; I know they do that kind of stuff back in their homes." At Helen's stunned look, she nodded wisely. "Oh yes. These are very different kids than we were. I don't know how you turned it around."

"I wasn't looking to, Leslie; I just thought it's a good idea to keep them busy. They _want_ to dance; they _want_ to have an audience. Sometimes, dancing is as good as sex, I figure."

Leslie nodded. "You've done a lot for Jessica," she said, looking down. Helen thought she caught a note of regret.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't need to pretend ... I know she's going through a hard time, Tiffany. I want to thank you for everything you do for her."

Alarms began to ring in Helen's head. "I think ... if I help her any more, Leslie, I'll end up hurting her. Maybe it's time for someone else to take over."

She was rewarded with a shy smile, and a gentle pat on the back. "You want her taken off your hands, eh?" Helen shrugged, smiling. They left it at that.

At the dining table, where tea was being served, Helen was received warmly by her colleagues. She blurted out that she didn't want to hog all the nicest jobs, and they assured her that she needn't worry.

"The moment I heard that Marsha Moore was coming, I knew that was the clue we needed. But you've done so much more than just give us good ideas, Tiffany!"

"You ladies must have so much courage to stick with this program even when you hated the way it was going!"

"You know, I just couldn't believe that it was so bad. I thought every year that it was going to be all right. This is the first year I really expected a disaster, and the opposite happened," said Anne, one of the senior leaders. "I think we sort of have the formula for success, now."

"I have another idea," said Helen. They all looked at her intently. "A few motivated girls could make the difference. So offer scholarships to the girls who really help make the camp a success, and get them back next year! Even part-scholarships will help, don't you think?"

They all looked at each other, stunned. "Of course ... that's the ticket; some of these girls could really change the chemistry!" Suddenly, they were all excited about next year. "But the best idea is to get Tiffany back next year!" said Leslie, and there was an uproar. Helen said, "Hey, I'll come, if Molly and Natalie and ..." She was drowned out by all the other girls promising to come if Tiffany would come.

Helen was upset about being made a fuss of. She suddenly blurted out, "I really wish you all would tell Jessica what a great job she's doing. I may have done a few things that make a difference, but Jessica and Leslie and the rest of you ladies, and _all_ of you: really, your teaching is astounding. I know good teaching. And Jessica is just fantastic. I think it's important to let the campers know that, quite apart from the ... extra-curricular ... things that this camp is well known for, that it is superb ballet experience. If you advertised it that way, you'd get even more girls who were interested in dancing! I think Jessica is doing just a terrific job." Immediately there was a rush to assure Jessica that she was truly appreciated.

Then Jessica spoke quietly. "You girls are my friends, now; I have to make a confession. Some of you know that I'm having a ... difficult time in my life. And I turned to Tiffany. She has her own relationship, but ... she helped to heal a wound in my heart." Jessica looked at Helen, who was staring at her in disbelief. "I'm sorry, Tiff; this is how I am. I can't keep these things a secret. I trust these people. Forgive me." Helen shook her head, bewildered. "Think, dear; how can I keep it hidden?"

Helen was blushing bright red. She looked quickly at the rest of the women, and saw only sympathy, gratitude, and understanding.

Jessica continued. "I thought it would be nice if we, the leaders, danced for the girls." There was immediate interest, with a low buzz around the table. "Tiffany and I have prepared a dance; I think maybe all of us should dance for the girls tomorrow night! What do you think?"

"I think it's a good idea," said Leslie, thoughtfully. "We just have a day to get something together, eh?"

"Well ... if we take longer, we can present it to Marsha Moore!"

"Oh, no; let's not," was the unanimous opinion.

After tea, it was back to furious rehearsal again. By around 7, Jessica went round each of the four groups, and told them to stop costumes and props, and concentrate on the dancing. "You'll have time tomorrow morning to do work on the costumes, and I'll let you stay up late tonight. But first, get the dancing straight." They were also warned that the duets were all to be judged that night. A gasp went up, and costumes and backdrops were abandoned, and couples ran off to practice their duets, while the younger ones practiced their steps.

A couple of hours later, dinner was over, and it was time to see the duets.

There were twenty-five entries; some of the pairs had had problems and got permission to drop out. Helen had wriggled out of her dance with Kate, and Kate had joined up with Stephanie.

The auditions began. The girls reminded Jessica that she had said they could dance in provocative or daring costumes, and Jessica said she'd stand by that.

The first couple were Kate and Stephanie, and their dance was certainly provocative. Kate wore a sheer costume that left one breast and one leg bare, while Stephanie wore a sheer vest and black hose. She made a convincing male partner to Katie's voluptuous femininity. Dressed and made up carefully, Katie looked quite pretty. She really threw herself into the role, and it was an excellent start.

Several excellent duets followed. The music had been carefully chosen, which was important.

Cara and Dena were the tenth couple. The girls watched them in total silence, and then gave them a standing ovation. The applause simply did not stop! While they stood there blushing, dozens of the juniors flung themselves on the slim seventeen-year-olds, crushing them in their enthusiasm. Jessica, full of smiles, calmed the excited juniors down, and quietly congratulated the two happy and flushed girls.

"I have never seen such beautiful choreography, and beautiful execution, in my life," she said seriously. "Who helped you?" They pointed at Helen. "I should have known!"

Helen quickly denied that much of her choreography had survived. "Tell her, kids; you changed it all around, right?" They agreed that they had changed it around. But, they said, Tiffany had helped to coach them.

After the girls had calmed down, they watched the remaining dances, which were not at all bad.

Jessica, overwhelmed by the overall high level of dancing exclaimed that she had no idea that they could dance like this. After they listened to Jessica carrying on for a while, Stephanie interrupted Jessica quietly.

"Miss Lawrence ... don't you think Cara and Dena's dance would have been beautiful danced nude?"

There was a gasp, and a long, stunned silence. Everyone looked at Cara and Dena, who were seated together holding hands, but which they quickly let go, and at Stephanie and at Jessica.

"Stephanie, think about it; the dance was perfect as it was. Nudity was completely unnecessary. It was perfect."

"It would have been _more_ perfect if it had been nude. Ask anyone."

"This is silly. They didn't _want_ to dance it nude; what's the point?"

But Stephanie wouldn't give up. She insisted that if innocence and desire was what nudity was about, then it would be perfect for that dance. It was innocent, she argued, it was about love and desire, there was no sex in it; it was a natural. Jessica calmly rebuffed all Stephanie's arguments, with a slight smile, confident that the beauty of the dance would stand on its own. Then Stephanie turned to Cara and Dena.

"Would you two really mind dancing that nude? I think it would be the most beautiful thing in the world." While Helen and Jessica watched in shocked silence, Cara and Dena looked at each other, and Cara asked, softly, "You want to?" and Dena, her eyes shiny with love, nodded, yes. Cara turned to Stephanie and said, "She says okay."

Helen, a little angry, stood up and said, in a low voice, barely under control, "Cara, you don't need to dance nude just to satisfy Stephanie. To dance nude is a creative choice, and it's a choice you should make _before_ choreographing the dance. I think I'm a little suspicious of Stephanie's motives here. Don't do it."

Suddenly the girls split into two camps, half of them encouraging Cara and Dena to dance it nude, and the other half asking them to stand firm. Jessica demanded to know if Stephanie wanted to dance nude herself, or to have _someone_ dance nude at any cost. The argument was in full swing when Stephanie stood up and asked for quiet.

"Please don't think I'm just into seeing people dance naked. I want to see for myself whether it makes sense. If it was just for the sake of dancing naked, I'd ask to dance nude myself, with Kate. But our dance works with clothes. I just thought it would be educational for us to see what it's like. That's all. And I'm not putting pressure on Cara and Dena. Not at all."

Then Cara spoke up. "It's not a big deal. We'll do it right now." She looked at Jessica, who looked at Helen. Helen asked Dena one more time. "Are you sure?" And Dena nodded, yes. Helen looked at Jessica and said, "It's your call." And Jessica said, "All right; everyone get seated, give them room; Tiffany, could you take charge of the lights and get them changed? Get wraps for them." Helen hurried upstairs with the girls and helped them undress and wear wraps.

On the stairs, Cara asked Helen, "Tiffany, are we being stupid?"

"Not at all," Helen replied, her heart thudding wildly, "I just wanted to make sure you weren't doing it unhappily."

"Oh, no; I only care about Dena and you; if you think it's all right, I'm okay." They told Helen how to cue the music, and having got ready, Helen took their wraps, and cued the music, and turned up the lights.

### Nude Ballet

She was watching them from the left edge of the stage, and saw and heard them whispering together just before the music started.

Cara was ethereally beautiful, her hair tied in two ribbons, all soft curves, her dark nipples seeming unnaturally large to Helen's embarrassed eyes, the downy blond hair that covered her crotch almost hurting Helen. Dena stood, looking taller than usual, and then the music started. Their awkwardness vanished as they began to dance; the perfection of their form even more evident with the nude limbs, the muscles smoothly flexing to the rhythm of the music. Neither girl had painted her nails, they wore no makeup, the soft light blurred the detail of their bodies, until only the abstract forms of their limbs was important. And suddenly Helen realized that she was part of the dance. It was not the audience they were celebrating; it was Helen. It was Tiffany, their dear friend. It was about their affection for each other, and their love for Tiffany. Repeatedly they approached the corner of the stage in which Helen stood, and made what was clearly obeisance to her. At the end of the five-minute dance, they bowed to Helen, and made a mock curtsey to the audience, and then stood there, quite calm in their nakedness, to receive the applause of their friends, and there was not one single lewd remark, or sly look, or any sign of embarrassment. Then they came to Helen, and hugged her.

The applause was loud as Helen helped them on with their wraps. One face was even more filled with delight than the rest: Stephanie jumped up and down yelling, "I was _right!_ I was _right!_." She rushed to the front and grabbed Cara and Dena and began to dance round in a circle, dragging them with her. "You were great!" she yelled. Finally they got her quieted down, and Dena gently said, "Cara is so pretty, I guess that's why it worked." Helen assured her that she was every bit as pretty, and she flushed with pleasure as Cara earnestly agreed. "Cara will be one of the most beautiful women who ever lived." Cara leaned over and gave her a little peck on the lips, her heart too full to speak.

It was late; the auditions had taken two long hours. Jessica said that they could go to sleep and work in the morning, or they could work tonight until midnight with the sewing machines. "I want the sewing machines carefully supervised tonight; Natalie and Helen: tired hands can get hurt. If anyone shows signs of fatigue, chase them upstairs." Helen and Natalie agreed, knowing that they would end up doing most of the sewing. Jessica came near and told them that if they got tired before midnight, they could simply close up and go to bed. Helen grinned and said she was used to late night sewing marathons.

### Cara's Story

Tiffany helped us so patiently, I got the idea that we should thank her right in the dance itself. So we practiced parts of the dance as if we were saying something to the audience. Tiffany never guessed what we were doing!

My feelings for Dena are changing very fast. At first, I only wanted her to touch my tits and rub them. But now I want to touch her, too. We've slept together four nights, now; Friday through Monday. Something inside is changing my heart. I don't care what I am; I don't care whether I'm a Lesbian or not. All I know is that I want to be with Dena all the time. I love two girls; Tiffany and Dena are my best friends in the world. Yes, I want to touch Tiffany, too. I Know Dena wants to touch her; she was so happy to sit next to her on the way back from Brussels. It's the touching that is sex; the feeling in my heart is love. I have fallen in love.

I tried to make part of the dance so Dena touched my tits, but it didn't work. I had to stop the dance and tell her to rub them until ... that thing happened. Dena said that it wouldn't work, so we gave that up. But the dance, the way we have it now, is so perfect, it says how I feel about Dena, and how she feels about me, which is, she loves me, too. Life is so perfect! If this is love, everyone should have it! No wonder Mom wanted me to have friends! But I didn't want to call her, because I'm not sure everything I'm doing will be okay with her. I have to check with somebody; maybe Tiffany.

Then we danced at the auditions, and everything went smoothly. We bowed at Helen, the way we planned, but she never noticed! She was seated with Jessica and the other leaders, and she thought it was to the audience again! But they loved the dance, and the clapping just went on and on! Dena was so shy, she just squirmed. She wanted to hold hands, but too many people were watching. Jessica and Tiffany were very impressed! I knew Tiff liked the dance, but Jessica was really happy with it!

And then, this girl, Stephanie, who's really into nude ballet, said she wanted us to dance nude. I thought, maybe this is the perfect chance to make Tiff understand that the dance was a dance of thanks to her. Something made me ask Dena is she'd like to do it, and she said yes. They argued and argued, and I thought maybe it's not such a great idea. I was a little nervous that my tits would start getting in the way, and then I'd get all confused. But somehow, when they said, don't dance unless you really want to, I said it wasn't such a big deal. Then Jessica said, go ahead.

We went up to get undressed and put on wraps. Then we told Tiffany to stand close in front, and I said to Dena, okay, we dance right up to her, and then we bow, and we do the part of the dance after the parallel steps facing Tiff, and the one lift that follows, facing her.

It was perfect. When the music started, it was like I forgot who I was, and what I was doing. There were only Dena and Tiffany. I was watching to see if the girls were staring at my tits, or my pee hole, or whatever. No, they were watching my face. Tiff's eyes were shining, Dena was trembling, but when I touched her, I, like, gave her some energy, and she was fine. I gave her energy all the time, and she danced perfectly. She was very strong; she had got stronger every day, and she knew how to balance me, and I knew how to balance when she was holding me; Tiff had shown me how.

Dena looked right into my eyes, and I think that moment I knew that I had found a partner for life. The dance was a promise to her, as well as thanks to Tiffany. Dena was so correct; her hands never went where they weren't supposed to. I wished they would, but they never do. I don't think any pair of dancers ever loved each other the way Dena and I did tonight.

And we looked right at Tiffany for that part, and we danced to her. She _had_ to realize we were dancing for her, and she did! She blushed so prettily! And we finished the dance bowing to her, and then we kissed her! It was the happiest moment of my life, right up there with meeting Helen! And with meeting Dena. I could almost believe in god; so many good things are happening to me. And I have never done anything bad to anyone, and I have tried hard to be nice to people. Now, after seventeen years of no friends at all, hardly, it's all coming together.

I wanted to go talk to Tiffany, and ask her if she'd rub my tits, but they've got her helping with the sewing. My plan is to help with the sewing, and then ask her tonight when she's going to bed. I'm going to ask Dena tactfully if she'd mind sleeping alone for a little while, and then I'll come and join her.

Helen somehow kept awake until midnight, helping with the sewing. To her surprise, Cara stayed downstairs, helping too. Cara really knew sewing almost as well as Helen, and they got almost five costumes done between them, while Natalie helped with another half dozen or so at two other machines. Around midnight, Cara, very gently suggested that Tiffany was too tired to keep them out of trouble, and the girls quickly agreed that Natalie and Tiffany should be allowed to close down.

Cara flushed with pleasure when Helen smiled at her gratefully. Presently they were headed upstairs, with their arms companiably around each other. "Where's Dena?" Helen asked, and Cara said she was sleeping in her room, and Cara would join her in a bit.

"Can I come to your room, please, Tiffany, for a little while?"

"Of course!" Helen replied. "You going to shower?"

"Oh, yes; I'll get my towel."

"Oh, I'll just lend you one, here. Let's go."

The showers were deserted, and they took two adjoining booths and began to shower. While they showered, Cara wondered how she could broach the idea of 'tit-rubbing' with Tiffany. They helped each other soap their backs, and finished showering, dried off, and headed back to Helen's room.

"Sit anywhere," Helen invited, when they were inside and Cara had carefully closed the door. Cara carefully draped the towel over the back of the chair and curled up in it, quite relaxed in her nudity, smiling at Helen in the most friendly way. "You two danced like angels, today!" Helen said, very proud of her pupils. "And I had very little to do with your success."

"Well, you showed me how to balance when I was being lifted. That was the point where I began to think I could really do it." Helen assured her there was never any doubt about that.

"And I was very touched by your including me in your dance!"

"That became the main thing, after a while!" Helen laughed and asked why, and Cara tried to explain. "We both like you, Dena and me. A lot." Helen smiled at her. And Cara, unable to convey her meaning, repeated, "I really like you a lot, Tiffany."

"I know you do, girl. We're going to be friends for a long, long time! I'll write to you."

"Tiffany? If I show you something nice, will you do me a favor?" Not quite paying attention, Helen said, of course. She quickly turned her back and pulled on her nightgown, and turned round.

"Okay, get into bed," urged Cara, and Helen slid into bed. Then Cara came to sit by her side, and slid the spaghetti straps of her nightgown off Helen's shoulders. That was the first inkling Helen had that things were not what she had expected them to be. Cara bared Helen's breast and Helen gasped. "Relax, Tiffany, you're going to like this, promise. Close your eyes ..." and she began to gently stroke Helen's breast. Helen found herself closing her eyes and letting Cara continue.

Cara's hands were magical. She was very gentle, her touch feather-light. Helen put her arms under her head and her mind into neutral, and let Cara do what she wanted.

"You should feel something nice real soon," Cara said, and Helen thought, oh jeeze, you don't even know what it's called? The hand continued to caress Helen's breast which hungered for the touch. Through slitted eyes, Helen studied Cara's own breast which hung so close and so full, a miracle of sensuous perfection. But I don't like large breasts, Helen reminded herself; and she replied, except this one. And in a few moments, she sighed as she felt a powerful sensation in her belly, which Cara had described as 'something nice.' "There," she said, slightly breathlessly, "I felt it."

"Isn't it great? I do it all the time! You can do it, too."

"Thank you, love. It's beautiful. Do you talk about this to everyone?"

"Uh-uh; only you and Dena. Tiffany ... you and Dena are special to me. I won't let anyone but you and Dena touch me, you know."

Helen nodded, weakly.

Cara sighed, and when Helen made room for her to sit comfortably, lay down next to Helen. She was so graceful, it was like having an angel lie down next to her. "So many good things are happening to me," she said breathlessly, "I fell in love, we did that dance so well, that everyone liked, I met Helen; ..." she explained how she never did anything bad to anybody, and it was all paying off. Helen said she was glad that Cara was happy. She told Cara that happiness must come from inside. Don't wait for good things to happen to make you happy. Just decide to be happy, and let anything happen. You can't control everything.

Cara thought about that a while, and said she agreed. "I'm going to try to just be happy," she said. Helen smiled and put her arm around her.

"Tiffany, would you do something for me? It's really important to me. I wanted to ask you for a long time."

"What is it? Is it something I don't want to do?"

Cara paused for a second, and then said, softly, "I don't know; I want you to rub my breast. Please?"

Helen turned to face her. "Darling; that's something you do only with a special friend. It's a way of bonding."

"That's why I want to do it with you, Tiff. It's my way of sealing our friendship."

Helen was at a loss. She said, "It's more like something you might ask Dena, though I'm not sure I should be suggesting it."

"Yes, I asked her; and she does it for me every night."

"Are you and Dena ... lovers?"

"I don't know; we sleep together, ..." Helen's heart sank, "... and we rub tits for each other; is that what lovers is?"

"Partly, yes. You can't have lots of lovers; I've tried it, and in the end, you hurt them. I think humans are meant only to have one. I have one back home, and I'm so lonely without her! It's a gentle hurt when we're apart, a sweet reminder that someone is waiting for me!"

"When I go home, I'll wait for you, too!"

"But you have Dena, and I have my own lover. You'd like her! She's ... can you keep a secret?" Cara nodded, her eyes troubled. "...she's a lot like Marsha Moore!"

Wow, mouthed Cara silently. Then looking right into Helen's eyes, Cara asked, "Is there no way you and I can be lovers?"

Damn the girl! She pulled Cara gently against her body, feeling the soft breasts crush against her own, the fully aroused nipples brush against her own. "We can be something better; we can be sisters!"

Cara smiled and kissed Helen on the cheek. "If I had a sister, I'd ask her to rub my tits," she said. "Please do it, Tiff, they're hurting for you to touch them."

"Darling, if I start that, I won't be able to stop. I'll do other things, and I'll corrupt you completely."

"What will you do?"

"Oh, all sorts of horrible things that you never dreamed of. You'll end up hating me."

"I won't, I promise. Go ahead."

"Okay, off the lights." What am I doing? Helen asked herself. Cara smoothly rolled around and turned out the lights and turned back. Helen placed her hand on her soft, round breast, and began to stroke it. In seconds, Cara began to moan. Helen stopped just long enough to pull off her nightgown, and lie atop of Cara. She resumed the stroking, and Cara gasped that it was happening. "It was very strong," she said, seriously. Helen turned her attention to the other breast, and began to stroke. Cara's legs spread of their own accord, and Helen slipped in-between them, settling her stomach against the heat of Cara's crotch. "Oh, Tiffany," she sighed "... You really know what you're doing..."

"Cara ... I want to kiss you."

"Okay," she said, and offered her lips. Helen kissed her gently, and then more insistently, and she opened her mouth to let in Helen's tongue, and gasped as Helen's hand pressed into her breast. "Oh... again...it's happening... it was the kiss that did it, Tiff,..." she began to kiss Helen passionately, her tongue searching Helen's mouth, her saliva sweet in Helen's mouth.

There was no going back then. Helen was as careful as she could remind herself to be. She very gently stimulated Cara's clitoris with her hand, and taught Cara to do the same for her, and they made love.

Helen tried to forget who it was she was making love to, but it was impossible. Cara was an overwhelming presence, unlike anyone else Helen had had sex with. She had a way of forcing Helen to experience her pleasure with her, and at first it was all Cara exploding with a million new sensations. But then she began to take charge.

She had no clue what to do, but she was determined to do to Helen what she had had done to her; she wanted to learn. She was an apt student, in the art of pleasure as she was in dance. She made love to Helen several times until she got it right.

Cara lay on top of Helen, her hand at Helen's crotch, with two fingers inside, and her thumb gently pressed against Helen's clit. She brought Helen to orgasm smoothly and competently, and then lay on Helen, breathing hard, as if she had been the one who had had the orgasm.

"I want to do this for you every night!" she said, softly.

"No, darling; wait until Dena is ready, and do it for her. This must be our last time. If we get any closer, it will make life a misery for both of us. _Don't you understand?_ "

"But, the more friends, the better, Tiffany!"

"Weren't we good friends before we started this stuff?"

"But we weren't ... fulfilled!"

"I think we were, darling. Promise me you won't do this with anyone, unless you and Dena break up."

"Break up! I guess we're a couple, now! Break up," she said, savoring the feel of the phrase. "No, I don't think that will happen. We really need each other!"

"Promise me!"

"I promise."

"And you won't do it to her until she's ready."

"How will I know?"

"Ask her."

"How?"

"Describe what it's like, and ask her if she's ready. It's simple. Like I asked you."

"Okay, I won't do it until she's ready. I have to go!"

"Wait!" Helen pulled her close and they began to kiss again. Then Cara insisted she had to go, because Dena was waiting. She got her clothes, wrapped the towel around her, another towel around her head, and leaving a peck on Helen's lips, said "Good night, Tiffany!" and slipped out and shut the door behind her. Helen felt thoroughly abandoned.

For a long while, Helen lay in bed, trembling from the experience. She had been so close to doing something extreme to Cara that she had only been able to stop it with the most enormous effort of will. She exulted in that accomplishment; she knew it was a turning point. It had never been so hard to slow down; Cara attracted her like a magnet. Helen fantasized about the beautiful girl with the soft, round breasts and the glorious hair for hours, touching herself over and over again, sometimes sensuously, and sometimes painfully, as her hungry body demanded.

Somewhere, within a few hundred miles, probably, Marsha was heading towards a hotel; perhaps she was already installed in one. If only she had brought a phone with her! But no; that would have created far more problems than it solved. It had been Helen who had taught Marsha to make love. _I taught the most beautiful woman in the world to make love to me_ , she thought, in wonder. And Cara was truly destined to be another Marsha; she was that spectacularly beautiful. When she smiled, it was the sun itself. When she spoke, it was the voice of angels. When she was sad, it would melt the hardest heart. How had the girl been so marginalized? She had somehow blossomed at camp. Helen vowed to keep an eye on her after they returned to the States. Helen's hand once again responded to her thoughts of Cara with a touch of her clitoris. Ohhh!

Would Jessica visit her in the morning? She fell asleep, dreaming of the girls, and Jessica, and Marsha.

In the wee hours, Jessica did come to her. She felt her soft lips kissing her. Helen pretended to be asleep, so she could feel Jessica's touch a little longer. Suddenly she felt a tongue in her crotch; Jessica was licking her; Helen gasped, and Jessica gasped in response. "I'm sorry, it's only me!" she whispered softly.

Helen pulled her into her bed, and in seconds they were making love passionately, their tongues and hands everywhere. Helen sucked Jessica's breasts insistently, and Jessica bit into Helen's shoulder as she climaxed, to avoid crying out and attracting the attention of the girls.

As they stopped to catch their breath, Helen breathed into her ear, "I want to eat you; I'm so hungry for you."

"You're just hungry; not for me."

"Well ... yes; you're right."

"But me...it's you I want. But I can't have you!" There was a smile in her voice, but Helen heard the tears in the eyes.

"You have me for one more day!"

"I wish we could make love all day long."

"I'll come to you after lunch." Jessica nodded silently. They made love again, kissing the whole time, their hands doing what they could while they kissed.

"Let's dance."

"Okay."

"Let's walk out naked!"

"What if we get caught?"

"I don't care! You make me mad with desire, I want to run outside in only my skin."

"Okay, let's go!"

Hand in hand the two of them stepped out, their hearts in their mouths. It was around 5; the girls were not yet awake. Lights showed under some doors, but Helen suspected they were asleep with their lights on.

It was frightening to walk naked through the stately old house, but they did, and Helen stopped at the top of the stairs, and pulled Jessica into a kiss. They held each other tight, lost in their passion. On the landing, Helen lifted Jessica off her feet, and carried her the rest of the way downstairs, kissing her breasts, as Jessica arched her back in ecstasy.

They went to the great ballroom, and went through their dance, stark naked, every nerve singing with excitement. Their hands found little nooks and crannies into which they could slip for every hold and lift. Jessica was panting halfway through the dance, and danced right through an orgasm. Helen grabbed her and put her on the floor and ground her hips into Jessica's panting body, unable to contain herself.

"What's happening to me? You're driving me mad," Helen gritted out as she felt the most incredible wave of pleasure burn though her body. She saw Jessica flinch as she felt its intensity. They rolled on the floor, kissing, sucking at each other's breasts and necks.

Suddenly Helen felt afraid. "I don't want to get caught. I don't want you to lose your reputation, darling; let's go in your room." She picked Jessica up again, and hurried to her room and threw her on the bed. Jessica spread her legs and Helen fell into her arms.

"You're beautiful," Helen said, finally, when she could think of such things.

"It's you who are beautiful, Tiffany; you have an almost magical beauty. You hurt my eyes, you're so lovely."

"I'm not; your heart makes you say that, Jessica. I'm a very ordinary-looking girl."

"No, you're not. You're absolutely stunning. When you walk into a room, there's no one else there. Everything disappears but you. There is some magic in you ... it's as if I have known you for decades ... as if you were my queen in a past life, and I'm accustomed to fawning over you ... I can't understand it."

Suddenly, Helen grew afraid. Jessica _had_ fawned over her after the concert, in Brussells.

She smoothly said, "Tell me about your lover."

"Oh..., he's short, powerfully built, assertive, impatient, short-tempered; we fought all the time. He'd send me flowers after we fought. He had a huge penis, about eight inches long, and really thick ... I shouldn't tell you things like that."

"No, I want to know! Tell me how it felt to have him inside you."

"Oh god... it was so wonderful; I felt so filled... so perfect; I'd wrap my legs round his body so he couldn't do anything! Then I'd let him do it; god, he was like a madman. He'd go on and on, and he could keep it up for a long time ... then it would begin to hurt ... and then he'd shoot his stuff into me, and it wouldn't hurt anymore. I loved him, Tiffany. I really loved him! I miss him something awful."

Helen let her cry, caressing her tenderly.

"Did you ever have a woman lover?"

Jessica shook her head, her eyes large. "You're the first. I did it with a girl once, just to find out what it was like. We were both first-timers with other women; it wasn't anything like you and I do." Helen nodded. Jessica continued: "But there's someone ... with whom I'd _like_ to do it."

"Who?"

"... I can't tell you."

"Someone you dance with?"

"How did you know?"

"I just guessed! That's how it happened for me, one time. My partner and I had orgasms while we were dancing. It was disgusting at the time, but it seems so sweet now."

"An orgasm on stage?"

"Yes."

"I want that to happen to me. My life is so boring ... until I met you! Fuck me again, Tiffany; do everything. Hurt me. Come on! Make me feel alive!"

"No; Living is what you do so well, Jessica; this is not living, it's just dessert. We've had enough. I went overboard, but that's enough for the morning. Come, I'll wash you in the shower."

Helen tenderly washed Jessica and dried her off, and Jessica clung to her, reluctant to let her go. Helen held her gently, until she gradually relaxed, She felt so soft and warm and sweet in her arms that Helen found it hard to let her go, too.

"Tonight, we dance for the girls."

"Yes. You'll be great. Relax, and let's make it a great day! See you at breakfast, love! Now go out there, and give that other person a special smile! I have a good feeling about that!"

"You think so?"

"I'm sure! I've seen a longing look in those eyes, if I'm guessing right."

In a few minutes, Jessica turned up at breakfast, looking more than usually sexy, and Helen saw something pass between Jessica and Leslie, and she pretended not to notice. But the face that Helen feared most was Cara's. Helen bent over her breakfast, trying not to look at anyone. But Helen felt an urgent tap on her shoulder: It was Cara, and, to Helen's alarm, she looked very upset and confused.

### Dena

"Can you come outside for a bit, please, Tiffany?"

"Can it wait until I finish breakfast?"

"Oh, yes, of course." But her face plainly said that it could not. Helen asked another girl to watch her plate, and went out with Cara. Cara took her all the way out to the front steps before she turned to Helen and said, quietly, that Dena was upset with her. "Is there something you can do?"

"Why is she upset? What happened?"

"Well, ... last night, you know, we ... slept together." Helen nodded, encouraging her. Her face was stiff, and her eyes searched Helen's face almost fearfully. "I did all that stuff to her."

"Did you ask her first?"

"Yes; I said, would you like to try something, and it's really wonderful. She said sure. I knew she would, but I asked anyway. And then I did it to her."

Helen took a deep breath. "Then what happened?"

"She asked where I had learned all that, and I told her."

Helen was aghast. "You told her it was me?"

"Yes; what else could I tell her?"

Helen felt so weak, she gradually sat on the steps, and put her head in her hands, and Cara began to get worried. She stopped breathing, and then asked in a tight voice, "What did I do wrong, Tiffany? Are you angry, too?"

Helen closed her eyes, unable to look at Cara's face, and said in an almost inaudible voice, "It's my fault. Normally, those kinds of things are done only with the most special people in the world."

"Yes, you told me that, Tiffany, and Dena is very special to me, that's why I thought it would be okay. I figured she was ready!" Cara was on the brink of tears.

"Not her, me. Dena must hate the thought that _we_ did it before the two of _you_ did. I had no right. I stole something from Dena, love; and you're too innocent to realize that Dena would be hurt. I should have warned you."

Cara breathed hard. Very calmly she said, "What does it matter? Why does she care?"

"That's how love is. Go and apologize. Tell her that you'll never touch me again, until she gives you permission, or something like that. Her heart is very tender, love, and easily hurt. It's important to do this."

"No."

She was very firm. Helen looked up at her, and tried to be as persuasive as she could. "Why not?"

"I don't think I did anything wrong."

"It's a sacrifice you make, because you love her. Sometimes you apologize even when you're right. Trust me; she'd do it for you."

Cara was bewildered more than ever. She was clearly a girl who had been ruled by logic thus far; compromise and the give-and-take of personal relationships was not as obvious to her as it would have been to any ten-year-old. Helen gazed at her; she had dressed hurriedly in a black leotard and blue tights; her hair was carelessly tied in a ribbon, and she looked in bad shape. They must have had a terrible night; her eyes looked red.

She picked herself up, tiredly, and said, "Okay," and walked off to find Dena. Helen's emotions were in turmoil. She just sat on the steps, her thoughts going round in circles. _Why me?_ Why do I have to befriend the most confused and complicated girls in the world? Why can't I meet ordinary people with ordinary needs? Why does it bother me so much when other people screw up? Why am I so stupid? Why don't I think? Why am I not happy that Cara and Dena aren't on speaking terms, and now Cara has only me? Helen hated the fact that she _did_ find that thought pleasing. Her nipples were suddenly erect as she remembered Cara's soft hands on her breasts. She squeezed her thighs together and sat, her head buried in her lap. She was hungry, but she didn't want to go in to eat. Nobody cared about her; Marsha wasn't here, or she'd comfort Helen. Sylvia would have comforted her. Damn it all, if she had stayed with them, none of this would have happened. It was this incredible libido of hers that fucked her every time. This was something she did to herself. She found herself biting her hand painfully. She wanted to draw blood. She tasted salt. Good; that's what she wanted.

But it wasn't blood, it was her tears. They were pouring down her face. Someone was patting her shoulder and talking to her. She asked whoever it was to please go away. Then it was someone else, and she covered her head with her hands and shut herself off.

Then Helen thought she was going crazy, because they were calling her by another name. There were lots of them, all calling her Tiffany. "What?" she asked, looking up. It was little Hunter.

"Come and eat, Tiffy, your food is getting cold!" A whole lot of juniors had been sent out to fetch her. Embarrassed, and not wanting to create a scene. Helen followed them in, wiping off her face. She stopped by a bathroom to clean her face up, but stayed and nursed her misery. Dena found her there, and came in and shut the door.

"Tiffany, can I talk to you for a minute?" Helen nodded. Time to drink her medicine. "I love Cara very much." Helen nodded, and waited, but nothing more came out. Dena was at a loss as to what to say.

Helen spoke in a very soft voice, "I'm sorry for what we did. It won't happen again. I know how you two feel about each other. Please forgive us."

Dena looked at the floor and shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like I have any rights, or anything. I feel _stupid_."

"You feel betrayed. You must understand; Cara hasn't figured out things like jealousy and the usual feelings of people. It has to come slowly; she needs to figure them out with her head. You have to make allowances. What did she say?"

"She said she was sorry. And I felt like a pig."

Helen smiled a little. "Well, ... if you're done with me; I'll go eat."

Dena's pale grey eyes were still serious. She watched, confused, as Helen washed up, and went out again. A crowd of girls had gathered, but Helen walked right through them, and went in to find her half-eaten plate.

Jessica had learned that Helen had been involved in a little misunderstanding, but was unable to get any further details. Gradually Helen's mood returned to normal.

The day went by with all of them helping each group fine-tune its performance. Each group rehearsed over and over, and presented their dance to the company at the final dress rehearsal in the afternoon. They had all worked especially hard with the Hansel and Gretel dream sequence to get the large group of new dancers into the project. It was much better than the overture, since it had been written to dance to, and the girls were very satisfied with the result.

All the dances were in great shape. The Baroque dances group had also acquired almost a dozen new members, and Helen helped the original team teach the new girls the steps. And so it went, with everyone helping. Finally, they put together a new big chorus number with anyone who wanted to join, to finish the show. It was a simple dance, with opportunities for each girl to do a tiny solo before she took her place in the chorus.

It was all over by six, and everyone went off to shower and get ready for supper. It was to be a special supper, a sort of dress-up occasion. The cooks and maids were to join them at the meal. The cooks were two German women, and a little German girl who helped peel potatoes and such. They spoke French fluently, but were overjoyed when Helen spoke a few words of German to them. They complemented Helen on her accent, and said she spoke pretty good German for a French girl. Helen explained she wasn't French at all, much to their amazement.

Finally it was time for the entertainment that the leaders were going to put on. Stephanie was appointed the master of ceremonies. She was dressed in an elegant tuxedo, and was given careful notes on the various acts.

The first was a chorus number with all the student assistants, the camp counselors. They had rehearsed quietly that afternoon, and Leslie had drawn up the dance for them. It was cheered heartily by the girls, who liked the student assistants very much. Next came a couple of dances with Margaret and Leslie and Anne and a couple of the girls, and another with the rest of them.

Finally, it was Jessica's and Helen's turn. Jessica had helped Helen cover up her tattoo earlier, and now her sheer, sleeveless unitard drew a gasp from the girls, as did the lovely costume Jessica wore, a sheer black long-sleeved unitard, and a brief, sheer tulle overskirt. She looked just incredibly graceful and lovely in it, as she tripped to the center of the stage, escorted by Helen.

Helen closed her mind to everything but Jessica and the music. Jessica was the perfect professional. She danced like an angel, a mere feather in Helen's arms. They let their passion flow, with just enough control that they didn't do something stupid. Jessica seemed to fly through the air, borne by the wind. Her leaps were fantastic. Their meaning was abundantly clear to those who had an inkling; it was sexual ecstasy, and the two of them were making love. It was forbidden, but irresistible passion.

All day long Cara and Dena had watched Helen, concerned each in her own way, that she had upset Helen. Both girls adored her; Dena, in particular, felt responsible for what she thought was Helen's disturbed state. Cara was beginning to understand the intricacies of being concerned about the feelings of others. She was more attuned to Dena's changes of mood than to those of anyone else, but Dena's mental state gave her a clue as to what Helen must be feeling. As the day progressed, and Helen got involved with the practical problems of getting the program ready, they gradually relaxed. It was something of a shock to realize that their Tiffany was dancing so intimately with Jessica.

Cara gazed at Helen's body, especially at the powerful buttocks and thighs. Her hair was tied back in a simple black ribbon and she aroused the most intense sexual feelings in Cara. Dena, feeling her fascination with the dance, felt for her friend's hand, to remind her that Dena was near. But Dena, herself, could hardly take her eyes off Tiffany. Here was the climax of the dance: Tiffany was holding Jessica upside-down, in an incredibly sensuous pose. Jessica's foot was against Tiffany's face, her leg held tight against Tiffany's breast, while her other leg hung between Tiffany's legs. It was a clear reference to the kind of intimacy that Cara and she had shared the previous night. But their faces did not show the sweet satisfaction that lovers should feel, but rather pain and fear. Then it was over, and Jessica was helped off the floor by her partner.

The girls clapped furiously, not quite understanding the details, but realizing that they had been deeply moved by it.

Very excited, Cara pushed herself to Helen's side and gave her a huge hug, her eyes shining. "It was the best dance I've ever seen!" she exulted. "I knew you could dance, but I never guessed!"

"It was mostly Jessica, kiddo; I just helped her."

"Oh no, you didn't; you were a full partner. And I understood everything!"

The last thing Helen wanted just then, especially with Dena lurking just behind Cara, was an in-depth analysis of the complex meanings in that particular dance. Jessica was surrounded by a bevy of seniors, fortunately, and wasn't paying attention to Helen and Cara. "What was there to understand?"

"Desire, and guilt," Cara said. Helen looked at her, stunned. "Yes," Helen replied, "that's exactly what it was." Suddenly Dena was standing right there, looking at Helen thoughtfully.

"Tiffany! These girls have a suggestion!"

Helen turned to the seniors who were trying to lobby Jessica with some plan or other. "What's the suggestion?"

"You should dance this one for Marsha Moore..."

"Yeah, right!" said Helen, out of the corner of her mouth.

"... _nude!"_

Helen looked at them severely. She should have known; it was Stephanie and her friends. "What _is_ it with you girls and nude ballet? Didn't you like it the way we did it?"

"But Tiff, think at how _intense_ it would be, nude!"

"It would be practically pornographic," Helen said, sarcastically. They argued and argued, but Helen stood firm. She would not dance it under any circumstances, nude or clothed.

Jessica smiled ruefully at the seniors and shrugged. "For what it's worth, I agree; tomorrow is _your_ turn. Marsha isn't coming all this way to see the leaders dance." The girls went away disappointed.

All the campers were shooed upstairs to bed, and Jessica collected the leaders together for a quick meeting to plan the details of the following day. Among other things, Helen learned that the girls were allowed to visit the town on Friday, to pick up souvenirs and socialize with the townsfolk, who were generally pleased to see them come out. But they'd let the girls out on Thursday afternoon, since they would be busy both nights. "It'll also help get their minds off the performance, and relax them a bit. So we all go down around two."

Helen slowly climbed up the steps, but was called down again. "It's a call for you!"

"From who?"

"They didn't say."

It was Marsha. Helen sank to a chair, and greeted her with gratitude. "I'm so anxious to see you!"

"What's the trouble?"

"Oh, ... little things ..."

Marsha sighed. "Helen; what should I wear?"

"Oh, anything. I guess something a little formal would be better; ballet people like to dress formal."

"Okay, a black gown?"

"A gown, you can pick a nice color. Doesn't have to be black."

"Do I get to talk with you?"

"I guess so; after all, I set it up, supposedly!"

"Are you okay, love?"

"Not very."

"I love you." Marsha sounded oddly anxious. Helen thought there was an undertone of tension. Marsha was often excited, but rarely tense. It was contagious; Helen felt her body respond to Marsha's need, even over the phone. "I love you so much ... I want to see you. I can't stand it." Helen thrilled to her those words. Marsha went on, breathlessly, awkwardly. She was a good actress, but she was hopeless at putting her thoughts together in words. "I want to hold you and kiss you ... you mean so much to me.... Helen?"

"I'm here ..."

"I just told you I love you." There was an impatience there that made Helen's heart sing! Helen assured Marsha that she had heard and understood.

Half an hour later, Helen was in her room, happy to know that Marsha wanted her so much. Helen wished that one of the girls would come by, so that they could release some of the sexual energy that all the dancing had built up. But no one came; Helen stayed awake almost all night, sleeping fitfully, trying to relax enough so she could sleep. But it didn't happen.

### Simone

It was five in the morning, when unable to stand it any longer, Helen put on her running briefs and tank-top, laced on her running shoes, and set out to run. An hour later, Helen found herself on the other side of the little town, in a little lane that ran past a row of cute old stone houses, with low roofs, with tiny little gardens. Helen looked at her watch, and turned round. She had to get back in an hour, and it was going to be uphill. Suddenly she saw someone watching her from behind a fence. Helen called a greeting in French, and the person came out from the shadows. It was a girl, very sexily dressed in a simple black dress with a very high hemline that showed off her pretty legs. She had grey-brown eyes, and an expressive mouth with a mole just above the corner of her upper lip, long lashes, and short, dirty-blond hair tied back and long bangs in front.

Helen stopped running and walked up to her, smiling to put her at ease. _You're going to work very early,_ Helen observed.

The girl blushed and said she had been out all night, and was just getting back.

_Oh, I know how that is_ , said Helen. _I have done the same myself!_

_You must be from the ballet camp on the hill_ , she said. _You speak very well, for an American!_

Helen shrugged and smiled. She liked the girl very much; there was something strangely attractive about her. Helen could not help staring at her legs; her dress was so incredibly short. How can she sit down, Helen wondered.

_Is this your house?_ Helen asked.

_I rent half of it_ , she replied. _I am a student, and I can't afford very much._

_But this is the summer, you should go home_ , Helen said, jokingly.

Her eyes were so pretty! Helen found herself gazing into them. They were a soft smoky brown. Her mouth was so sensitive when she smiled, so expressive! Right now the eyes were open wide with uncertainty. Should she trust this unfamiliar American girl? Helen smiled reassuringly.

_I have problems_ , she said. _My parents don't like me!_

_Why was that?_ Helen wanted to talk to her very much. She tried to think of a good excuse to see her again. Perhaps she had a boyfriend; perhaps she wasn't into girls. But she was looking at Helen's legs, too, and as Helen watched, her tongue stole out to moisten her lips.

It was an electric feeling, trying to see whether another girl was interested. Helen's hunting instincts were in full cry. Helen had a brainwave. _May I invite you up to the house for our recital this evening?_ Helen smiled as sweetly as she could.

She blushed bright red and shook her head. _Oh no,_ she said, _I will be quite out of place up there!_

No matter how hard Helen tried, she simply could not be persuaded to come to the recital. Helen reluctantly gave up the struggle. She said her name was Tiffany, and she repeated it, nodding, pleased that it was an easy name. Helen asked what her name was; it was Simone. Helen repeated it softly, and Simone blushed again. She said she had to go in, and offered her hand and Helen shook it. It was small and soft, and she didn't want to let it go. Simone said it was good to talk to Helen, and smiled and went inside, glancing at Helen just before she shut the door. There was definitely a mutual attraction, here.

Damn, thought Helen; my goddamn hormones are at it again. She was late. She began to run as fast as she could through the town, and ran back up the long road to the chalet—or more properly, chateau. It was just about seven when she got in. She showered fast, and hurried down to breakfast, late. Cara and Dena were seated closer than ever, everyone was busily eating their crepes and fruit, or eggs and bacon, as the case may be. Hunter was waiting, keeping a place for her, and Helen sat down near the girl, grateful for her kindness. She moodily ate whatever she was given, thinking about Simone.

All morning Helen fantasized about Simone, floating thorough her duties automatically, not really paying attention. The lights and the decorations were all ready by noon, all the backdrops lined up, the projector in place, the various props and furniture labeled and ready, the music all arranged near the stereo system in the proper order. The girls knew exactly where everything was, and they shared the duties of the electronic systems efficiently, depending on who was to be free at what time. Helen was in charge of the music of the Baroque Dances portion, Natalie was in charge of West Side Story, and so on.

Helen wanted so much to have Simone come, and to be able to dance for her and show off. But neither of those were to happen; Simone would not come, and Helen wasn't dancing. If only Simone could have come last night! That would have knocked her socks off. But _Marsha_ would be here!

It was two, and they were all getting ready to go down to the town. Helen suddenly perked up. Maybe she would see Simone! Helen dressed as attractively as she dared in a short dark orange dress. They filed down the hill in groups of three and four, and soon one hundred and thirty five girls were creating a ruckus in the quiet French town. Girls were everywhere, trying to buy odds and ends to take back with them; hats, books, bottles of wine, perfume, ornaments, all kinds of souvenirs.

It was well known that Helen could speak French, though she took pains to make it sound different than she had spoken it as Helen in Brussels. Somehow, she slipped away, and found her way to Simone's house. They all looked the same; which one was it? It was the one with the tall hedge ... and there it was, and there was Simone in the window! She was reading. Helen, her heart beating like mad, knocked on the door, and heard Simone dash off to the back of the house. Helen wondered what the matter was. She waited for a couple of minutes, and then knocked again.

This was frightening. There was no answer. Helen, fear and sadness filling her heart, turned to leave, when she heard Simone call through the door, _who is it?_

_It is I, Tiffany_ , she said.

The door opened a crack and Simone smiled through it. _Oh, it's you! I had forgotten your name!_ She said, and opened the door and motioned for Helen to come in, glancing apprehensively at the street.

Is something the matter?

No, not at all! So you're back!

Yes; we're visiting town to pick up souvenirs!

I see. Would you care for a drink? I have some Pepsi.

_Great! Pepsi is fine._ Helen looked around with interest, The girl was a philosophy student; there were translations of Kant and Nietzsche and Bacon and Russell. The room was absolutely filled with books.

Simone hurried back with the Pepsi. She was wearing shorts and a thin shirt, and Helen could see her nipples through the soft material. They made polite conversation, but there was an undertone of sexual tension. Finally Helen decided she had to get back. Just then, Simone asked Helen what she thought about incest.

Helen stammered through an awkward answer, which Simone attacked on philosophical grounds. Isn't love more important than mere rules? she asked. She quickly had Helen arguing a conservative view, in complete opposition to Helen's own beliefs.

_Don't believe anything I say,_ Helen said, suddenly very earnest; _above all, I believe in love._ Somehow it seemed important that this girl understand that to Helen, love was all there was.

_Yes; I imagine that people up there believe in love_ , she said, smiling.

_Why do you say that?_ asked Helen.

_Dancers must believe in love; that's what they dance for. And the propensities of the folk up there are well known,_ Simone said, with a smile.

_I am not ashamed of what I am,_ Helen said, blushing.

Simone's smile faded. _I wasn't laughing at you,_ she said; _I was merely amused at how seriously they take themselves up there. One must not laugh at love._

Helen gazed at Simone, desperate to connect with her. _We leave on Saturday, she said; I'm glad I made at least one friend in this town!_

Simone smiled, a little sadly, it seemed to Helen. Simone's eyes searched Helen's face, trying to say something. She was looking for words to explain something important.

Tiffany, I am no use to you. My heart goes out to you, ... but I am not your type.

Is it that obvious?

Let me say, I am very sensitive to the needs of one such as yourself.

Helen was utterly frustrated. Her obsessive desire for Simone had built up all morning. It was only an affair of a single day, but it was as if she had longed for Simone for years. She had worn a sexy dress; as sexy as Simone's dress had been that morning; low cut and short. She had hardly any cleavage to show, but she liked the way the thin skin between her breasts showed, the fine tracery of blue lines, the smooth muscle of her arms. She wasn't beautiful, but many women had fallen in love with her, and she knew her body had never looked more attractive than it looked now, after the intense dancing she had been doing the last two weeks. Somehow her body responded to the dancing well. Her legs were sleek and tapered, her buttocks sculpted, her arms beautifully defined.

But Simone looked more agonizingly beautiful than Helen herself.

_You are beautiful,_ Helen said, her words filled with the longing in her heart. Simone threw out her hands in a characteristic French gesture of hopelessness. Helen stood up and walked very slowly close to Simone, and knelt in front of her, and Simone shrank back. _I won't hurt you,_ Helen promised her in a whisper. _But I can make myself like a man for you,_ she said. _It is a trick I have learned. Close your eyes, and let me kiss you. You will think it is a man!_ Oh god, thought Helen, I must be desperate. I can't believe I'm saying this to a perfect stranger. But she was, and she couldn't stop.

Then it was rape. Helen caught the girl in her arms and began to kiss her passionately, and Simone suddenly began to respond. Their tongues began the usual dance, and it was as though Helen had kissed Simone for decades, as if they were old lovers, familiar with each other's bodies, needs and desires. Helen picked up the girl like a feather, and laid her on the rug, and began to undress. Off came Helen's dress, and her scrap of panty, and her shoes. _Oh, you are so beautiful_ sighed Simone, _beautiful and perfect...you have come to break poor Simone's heart...why did you not ignore me this morning..._ Simone sounded bitter and sad. Helen laid a trembling hand on her breast, which seemed to flutter like a bird. _Wait!_

_What?_ gasped Helen, as Simone pushed her gently away.

_Let me do this my way._ She took off her blouse, and her breasts were only slightly larger than Helen's. Helen crouched before her, worshiping her with her lips, daintily touching her nipples with the tip of her tongue. Simone patiently waited until Helen was done, and then she murmured, trembling, _I want you to know that ... you have almost killed me with your beauty. Oh Tiffany ... You have destroyed me._

She took off her shorts, and Helen was stunned to see: _she was a man_. She had tucked her penis between her legs, so that her shape appeared perfectly feminine. Now the released member was stiffening into a stubborn erection. She had absolutely no pubic hair; not even stubble; it had all been waxed off, probably with great discomfort. Her skin was baby soft, and she did have soft round breasts that had felt completely natural.

Helen looked at her aghast for a long minute, and then took her into her arms, and began to make love to her. Her penis was thin and lumpy and long, with a prominent bulbous head. Helen took it in her mouth, and began to give her oral sex for a few minutes, and then inserted it in her opening. It had been a long time since Helen had felt a male organ inside her.

It was an indescribable feeling to be filled with a penis, and to feel Simone's soft breasts beneath her hand, and her soft tongue in her mouth. Helen rode her with increasing passion, and cried out as they climaxed, and then lay still.

Simone tenderly caressed Helen's face and body, murmuring disjointed phrases to Helen, assuring her that everything was all right, and that Simone was going to die in alternate breaths. It was a bitter-sweet moment. Helen felt a strange desire flow through her, to hold and cherish this girl. She was absolutely a girl in Helen's heart. She was incredibly delicately built; delicate even for a girl. And her voice was a perfectly natural voice, not the voice of a boy pretending to be a girl.

_How old are you?_ Helen had to ask.

_Twenty._ They were exactly the same age. _And you?_

The same.

Oh. Are you hurt by this as much as I am?

_No,_ said Helen sincerely, looking deep into Simone's shining smoky brown eyes, _not at all; you are truly beautiful. I have never met anyone as beautiful and as sexy as you._

Simone's eyes shone with pleasure. She kissed Helen tenderly. It was a completely feminine movement. She even had a tiny dimple. If only ... she was the most perfect girl.

Why do you dress up like this?

Simone's eyes showed a little hurt. _Because I like to look pretty. Why do you dress up like you do?_

I don't know; I just have to, I guess.

So do I, Tiffany. I have the soul of a woman. That is just how I am.

_Of course. I did not mean to criticize. You have the legs for it, certainly!_ There was the smile again! Helen loved to see it.

She grew serious again. _You have killed me, sweet girl. I am going to die._

_You are not going to die,_ Helen told her, softly kissing her. _Why will you die?_

I used to be a lover of men, she said; now I don't know what I am.

Their bodies fit together so perfectly. Helen searched her face as she tried to think of a suitable reply, but her mind was too full of dirty, sexy thoughts.

_You're the philosopher; you work it out. I only know what I enjoy, and I enjoy you,_ Helen said. Helen took her penis in her hand, and began to massage it back to life.

Helen had sex with Simone again, and then tore herself away. She—Helen still thought of Simone as 'she'—was gracious about their entire encounter. Helen apologized profusely. _Someone I know is coming to the Chateau,_ she said, _a celebrity, and I'm expected to help entertain her._

_Anyone I would recognize?_ asked Simone, dressing quickly, not quite able to keep up the pretense of unconcern for her appearance. She was really incredibly graceful and feminine in her movements; slow and precise, without a single wasted motion. Helen was more in love with her manner than with anything else. She was delightful to watch.

Have _you heard of Marsha Moore? She is well known in the US._

Simone looked at her sharply. _You can't be serious, she exclaimed. She is my favorite actress!_

Mine too! You have good taste!

Simone smiled, and Helen's heart fluttered. God, she was beautiful! It was the weirdest thing. It was almost four when Helen left, finally, after they had both made vague promises to meet again. They both knew that they would probably never see each other again.

Helen practically flew back, her skirt flying in the wind, as young boys admired her flashing thighs as she ran past them up the hill. It had been a treat for the boys to see the hundred girls walking around town; it irked the boys that the campers spent so much time indoors. They could catch only occasional isolated glimpses of the girls, even when they had the excuse of making a delivery to the house. These were simply not outdoorsy girls. But this one, now; she had possibilities, they thought.

There was no one in evidence when Helen got back. Everyone was getting ready; hair was being braided, dresses were being pinned, cassette tapes were being cued precisely, makeup was being applied.

"There you are! Where have you _been_? Will you help get Marsha Moore's room ready?"

"Is she staying here?"

"No, but she needs a room to clean up and rest in."

"Good idea, yes."

"Hurry; it was supposed to be ready by four. I have to go see about the food." Helen looked at the pile of linen and supplies Margaret had handed her, and smiled to herself. If they only knew how little Marsha cared about this kind of detail! She hurried to the room Margaret had pointed to, and had it ready in no time. Then she ran upstairs to her room, ripped off her clothes, and careened into the shower, to rinse off the dust, perspiration, and telltale odor of her visit with Simone. It was now hard to believe that Helen had had one of the weirdest adventures of her life scares minutes ago. Toweling her wet hair dry, she hurried to her room to put on some suitably festive clothes. _Marsha was coming!_ Images of Simone and Marsha tumbled through her head as she stepped lightly towards the stairs, absent-mindedly braiding her straight brown hair.

There were Cara and Dena, looking a little friendlier than they had been, of late. They were dressed in simple dresses over their tights, ready to change into their costumes. As soon as the guests were seated, the hallway out the back of the ballroom to the kitchen would be turned into a green-room. Cara and Dena ran down the stairs with a cheery wave to Helen, and Helen walked down more slowly, trying to sort through her impressions of Simone.

What Helen could think about her feelings for Simone all had to do with superficial things—her beauty, her mannerisms, her voice, her little tricks of behavior and speech; her slim legs, so smooth and fair, her long eyelashes, her soft lips. As a person ... what did Helen know? The sex had been excellent; there had been a desperate passion that had been exciting. And what a face! Helen smiled, dreamily, just remembering that face.

"Tiffany! _She's here!_ Jessica wants you!" It was Hunter. Marsha had arrived, and Helen was needed at the front steps.

The grey Mercedes was whispering away when Helen got to the front entrance, and there was Marsha, looking glorious in a warm red dress, and a dark rust raincoat. Jessica was talking to her, all nervous, her charm flowing. There was another visitor, a Frenchwoman, who looked a dancer.

"Here's Tiffany, who you know, of course!" Helen smiled at the women, and the one she didn't know was introduced as Lorraine Manet. Then Marsha was shaking Helen's hand and they were smiling at each other, pretending to be strangers.

Helen tried not to stare, but Marsha looked just spectacular. Her breasts were so perfect and full and round, her skin so smooth and delicate, her eyes so beautiful, the lips, the hair, the sheer presence. It was strange to think that it really wasn't Helen's imagination, this incredibly exciting woman really _was_ in love with Helen. Helen's heart thudded and she felt as though everyone could hear it. I'll do something stupid, and the whole gig will be up, she thought to herself.

"I've looked forward to meeting you!" Marsha was saying, as she smiled into Helen's eyes. Helen mumbled something about being honored. "The girls are excited to have you here, I know," said Helen, smiling as sweetly as she could, and she saw something catch fire in Marsha's eyes, as though her smile had ignited Marsha. Helen felt strange; after a couple of weeks as an anonymous girl, it really felt strange that she knew celebrities such as Marsha, and that her smile could make a difference to Marsha. Marsha managed to communicate that to Helen alone, without the other women noticing anything out of the ordinary.

They were talking to her, and she had missed it all. " ... again next year! Maybe you can!" Jessica was saying. So, it was about coming back next year.

"Oh, she'll be back, I'm sure," smiled Marsha

Helen said that Marsha's room was ready, and she assumed that there was a room ready for Lorraine, too. Helen saw about a dozen girls out of the corner of her eye, watching them intently from just round the corner. They hustled Marsha into the little room they had got ready for her, and Lorraine into a neighboring room.

"Can I keep, er, Tiffany with me to keep me company?" asked Marsha innocently, and Jessica gamely said, yes. "We do need her during the show; she's heavily involved in the stage managing!"

"I understand! But I can have her until you start?"

"Sure! Dinner is at six, and we thought you'd join us! Or would you rather eat in here by yourself?"

"Hm. What about if I joined you and the girls tomorrow for dinner, and Tiffany and I ate in here today? Or Lorraine could join us in here, too."

Jessica thought that was a good plan, and she went off to see about dinner. Jessica looked happy that her celebrity guests had actually materialized.

Finally! They were alone together. Helen took Marsha's bag and set it down, and put her arms around her. Marsha, very deliberately leaned forward and kissed Helen softly on the lips. And then they kissed again, more passionately, and Helen realized that they had passed some milestone in their relationship. It was time to seriously decide what they meant to each other; at least to reconsider their relationship. They were no longer merely good friends who enjoyed each other's company, who trusted each other intimately, who supported each other in their projects. They were two girls who found it hard to be apart. Very hard.

Marsha tenderly wiped off Helen's lips with a tissue. The simple action meant so much to Helen. _They were lovers._ They had begun to belong to each other.

Each looked at the other, and knew what the other was thinking. Helen felt frustrated at being unable to tell her new friends that she and Marsha were lovers. She would have given anything to proudly wear Marsha on her arm, the way Jessica wore _her_. "What are you thinking?" Helen asked Marsha.

Marsha gave her a tired smile that spoke volumes. "That I want you by my side the whole time! But, of course, ..."

Of course; Helen was too busy, and Helen was incognito.

"Have you enjoyed it so far?"

Helen considered, recalling the last several days. "Yeah; ... actually, I've had a great time."

"Good!"

"But I missed you a lot."

"That's good, too!"

"I'm serious. You were right. We have to do something." Marsha's eyes widened very slightly, but before she could respond there was a tap on the door; dinner was here. The cook, Lauren, and a couple of the girls were bringing in several trays of delicious-smelling food. Lauren told Helen that she was to get the other lady down here to eat, and Helen said she would, and hurried out. The table was laid in seconds, and Helen returned, accompanied by Lorraine in a minute more. The chef waited until they had begun to eat, and after a single bite, Marsha and Lorraine smiled and nodded to the Chef, certifying that the food was excellent. Marsha extolled the virtues of the food at length, and Helen translated. Lorraine nodded, wide-eyed at Helen's efficient translation, and added her own congratulations to the pleased chef.

Lauren and her assistants went away, and they continued eating quietly. Helen translated for Marsha and Lorraine, and they enjoyed the food and the little wine that had been brought. Lorraine was amused that Helen declined the wine because of her age. _This is Europe_ , she said, _wine is part of life!_

Helen grinned and said she just wasn't quite into wine yet, but that she would be, soon.

After dinner, it was a few minutes until Lorraine was safely back in her room, and then Helen and Marsha were alone once again.

"What were you saying? We have to do something?"

"Yeah," said Helen, very unhappy. She wanted to say: I want to be with you; but the words somehow stuck in her throat.

"I would love that," breathed Marsha. Helen hadn't said a word, but it was out, now. "No, maybe I wouldn't... I don't know..."

"I don't want to hurt her," said Helen, and they knew whom she meant.

Anyhow, Marsha's courtship of Helen was dramatically over. In this strange, remote, romantic place, surrounded by a hundred young women and girls, Marsha achieved her desire, and Helen conceded to Marsha her victory. Helen placed Marsha's hand on her heart, in symbolic capitulation. She smiled at Marsha; a sad smile, uncertain of what lay ahead. In the uncomplicated world of music and art in which Helen had lived, existence was easy, duty was clear, expectations were simple and few. Marsha's world was a complex one, filled with illusions, public scrutiny, great wealth, great risks, great rewards, intense competition. The only island of reliability and calm in it was Marsha. The most beautiful, most elusive, most desired woman in the world was also one of the most honest, most loving, and most considerate. And she belonged to Helen.

There was an hour, yet, to the recital. The girls had been told to leave Marsha strictly alone. Helen knew that there were at least a dozen girls who would be looking for her, for last-minute advice, instructions and help. And Helen knew that Marsha would love to be involved with them, talking with them, asking them about dancing and the simple concerns of aspiring ballerinas. And Helen, above all, longed to be out there with Marsha, proud of her new-found relationship. And Helen knew Marsha felt even more that way: she simply loved to appear with Helen.

Helen quietly opened the door and looked out, and a few yards away in the lobby she saw two young ones looking for her. Having seen her, they beckoned to her furiously.

"Who is it?" asked Marsha.

"Oh, some of the little ones are calling me over! Probably some minor thing."

"Aw, get them down here; I want to talk to them!" said Marsha, her breast pressing against Helen's back in a soft caress as she looked over Helen's shoulder, and immediately the juniors hid round the corner.

"Hunter! Lucy! Come here!" They leaned out and shook their heads vigorously, no. We'll get into trouble, they signed. "It's all right; Marsha wants to talk to you!"

Hunter leaned out of the lobby, eyes round, her face glowing with excitement and a little uncertainty. Helen nodded, and Hunter looked at the other girls, all excited, and three of them cautiously came over to where Helen and Marsha waited for them.

"Marsha, this is Hunter, this is Lucy, and this is Angelica! They're very nice girls, and excellent dancers!"

The girls looked shyly at Marsha and Marsha twinkled at them with obvious pleasure. She soon had them talking enthusiastically about the camp, their visit to Brussels, dancing in general, the camp, and Tiffany. Helen blushed to hear them tell Marsha that Tiffany was their hero.

"She's the best," Lucy declared. "She danced a duet with Jessica; oh man! It was fantastic! I wish I could dance like that some day!" Hunter and Angelica jumped in to promptly agree.

Helen, sounding a little annoyed with them, said that was enough about that, and tried to change the subject. But Marsha wanted to know more. "You three must be the ones who like her the most, huh?"

"I guess, ..." said Hunter, smiling. "...and she was a lot of fun going to Brussels and back! But the ones who really like her are Cara and Dena..."

"And Kate!" added Angelica, as they all laughed. So they all knew, thought Helen. "And Miss Jessica," added Lucy, slyly.

"Hey, there's no reason to start rumors, Lucy," said Helen, very embarrassed, and Hunter joined Helen to censure Lucy.

"It's was just a dance, Lucy," she said.

"Yeah, I know; I wasn't implying anything! I only meant, Miss Jessica likes Tiffy, that's all!"

Helen asked them what they needed, did what she could, and sent them off.

"They love you to bits; anyone can see that," Marsha said, softly. Helen loved to hear Marsha speak; half her magic was her voice, she had to admit.

"I love them, too, Marsha; I expected a bunch of over-sexed valley-girls, but they're the sweetest kids ever. They really love to dance. Either it's a really good year, or they're very careful in their recruiting for the camp." But Marsha thought that Helen had made a big difference.

### Recital!

As Helen had been instructed, they collected Lorraine and headed to the ballroom where they were received with great ceremony by Jessica and the other leaders, and Helen quietly faded away, as Marsha was seated in the place of honor with Lorraine.

There was seating for 150. Around 20 girls were dancing at any point in the program, about 10 were busy getting ready, and the rest of them sat and watched, with a dozen or so girls standing against the back wall. There were around a dozen folk from the village, people whom Jessica knew, and who presumably attended every year.

Stephanie was the designated master of ceremonies for the whole recital. She was really excellent, and introduced the acts with flair. The first act was the Baroque Dances.

The music was just right, and the set of five dances went off without a hitch. It was simply spectacular, and Helen applauded her girls enthusiastically. Jessica, seated with Marsha and Lorraine appeared to be highly satisfied.

They were so well trained, the second group was ready almost immediately: it was the Lonely Goatherd scene. This was really comic; the props tending to come apart all the time. Some of the girls in that piece were turning out to be accomplished comediennes, and the audience laughed loud and long.

Next there was a brief intermission, and then Cara and Dena's dance. Helen was a nervous wreck. Dena was very tense, she could tell, and Cara was getting overexcited. "Tiffany... do you think Marsha will hate our dance?"

"No, love; I think she'll like it very much. She's not a ballet expert, you know? She probably likes everything." Helen, suppressing her own nervousness, somehow kept them relatively calm. Dena turned to Helen and said in a low voice, "Tiffany; wait exactly where you waited last time, okay?"

"Oh no; are you going to do that again?"

"Yes, Tiffany; it's part of the dance, don't you see?" Helen promised to stay in the designated spot, and to curtsy back to them.

Helen cued the music, and they were off. The lights had been dimmed, and the audience gasped to see the two girls appear nude.

Marsha was not certain what to expect; the young lady introducing the piece had simply said that it was an Adagio for two girls danced by so-and-so, and choreographed by them, and that all the girls had loved the dance very much. Clearly Helen was the designated helper for this particular dance, and Helen stood close to the 'stage' area, towards the door. A diffused spot shone down from one of the balconies high on the third floor, and suddenly two girls walked on, completely nude.

Marsha went white as a sheet, and immediately flushed bright pink. Thank god the audience lights were turned all the way down. From her position right in front, with Jessica on one side and one of the instructors, an older woman on the other, Marsha was barely three yards from the teenagers. The woman on Marsha's left gasped softly, and muttered under her breath, how beautiful the girls were.

One of them was a long-haired blonde, her tightly-waved hair tied in three bands, pulled back from her face. She was exquisite, her perfect young body both slim and voluptuous. The other girl was even slimmer in the chest, but her arms and legs seemed slightly better-developed, and her hair was short, in a pixie style that was just perfect for her androgynous role. (Marsha glanced at Helen, and saw a sheen of perspiration on her face.)

The music started out pretty but with just a touch of melancholy, and the girls began to dance, side-by-side, in perfect synchronization, their arms and legs as perfect as statues, their musculature displayed to perfection. Then they came together, and their bodies joined in the most graceful shapes Marsha had seen in ballet. Not only were the structures they formed simply beautiful to look at, their attitudes toward each other were clearly very affectionate. In fact, it was a story, of their discovery of each other; it was plain as daylight.

Marsha, caught up with the poetry of the dance, forgot about the nudity. She smiled with sheer pleasure, as the girls faced the audience in their dance and portrayed their quiet happiness in motion and in their expressions. The girls then turned to Helen, and to Marsha's surprise, involved her; it seemed it was an homage to Helen. Marsha smiled, knowing how it felt to want to do exactly that! Then they melted into one last movement in which the beautiful long-haired girl's leg, held by her partner, pulled open for just a fraction of a second, and Marsha was reminded that she had missed the opportunity to ogle two nude teenagers for five whole minutes. It was over; they prettily made obeisance to Helen one last time, and Helen curtsied back to them, smiling!

Marsha leaped to her feet, applauding, and she wasn't the only one! The lights came on, and the girls were given robes, and they stood beaming, a little out of breath, the perspiration glistening on their bare limbs. Helen motioned to them, presenting them to the audience with the amazing grace she possessed. How self-possessed she was, even in this strange situation, with her two young students having just danced nude. Marsha could hardly believe it.

"Did you like that?" smiled the woman on her left, Marsha remembered her name was Margaret. "It was glorious!" Marsha breathed. I wish I could ..." What could she do? She had to talk to the two kids afterwards, and try not to drool over them.

"They are darling, aren't they? They're the sweetest girls, too!" They were seated now, the girls having hurried off. The lights came back up, and there was an excited chattering as girls yelled to each other in excitement. Marsha hear the names Cara and Dena, and guessed those were the names of the last couple. A quick query to Margaret verified that.

Jessica was now pouring her charm on Marsha, and she graciously observed that she had enjoyed every minute of the dance. It had taken a little over an hour. Marsha had made up her mind that she wanted to do something special for Cara and Dena, and brought it up, now. Jessica asked her what she had in mind, obviously pleased at the prospect. Marsha said she'd think about it and let Jessica know the following day. Jessica agreed that it was a good plan; bringing it up that very night might interfere with the concentration of the girls for the following evening.

"Would it be all right if I met the girls and chatted with them a little?"

" _All_ of them? Tonight?"

Marsha, looked thoughtfully at Jessica. "Maybe a few at a time? Or even just those who were involved with tonight's dancing?" Jessica discussed it with the other leaders, and to Marsha's amusement, they decided to consult Tiffany. One of the girls was sent out to fetch the lady in question.

Helen had watched the dance in amazement. If possible, the two girls were even better than they had been during rehearsal. The innocent poetry of the dance went completely unnoticed by Helen. She looked for every opportunity to ogle their bodies; from her vantage point she could see them closely, and her mind made an erotic fantasy of the dance. She could imagine the girls having sex as they danced together, and she knew it was all in her mind. As Dena's hand supported Cara's leg, Helen could feel her soft skin as though it was her own hand that supported her. The memory of the feel of Cara's warm sex around her finger came flooding into Helen's mind, and she broke out in a sweat. She welcomed the filthy thoughts, and wallowed in them, knowing exactly how long she had to purge them from her mind, before the dance ended.

The time was now...the dance was ending...oh god, they were delicious; she had to smile and curtsey now. Marsha was up and applauding! Helen went through the usual ritual of acknowledging applause, and went out through the side door with the two girls.

Once out of sight of the crowd, they all three shared a hug. They felt soft and tantalizingly sensuous against her body, and Helen kissed each of the girls on the cheek, but at the last minute, in her excitement, Dena turned her lips to Helen, and their kiss brought both of them up short. Helen blushed in confusion, and Dena smiled softly, saying she was sorry.

"You danced beautifully," Helen said quietly. "I'd like to give you something, a little present, to thank you for being so good, so sweet, and dancing so well. What would you like?"

They looked at each other, quickly, and Cara murmured that they could talk about that later, looking seriously at Dena, who avoided Helen's eyes. What did they want? "Anyway, the dance was for _you_ , Tiffany; it would be silly for you to thank _us_!" Dena nodded her agreement. Helen smiled, and hugged them again.

Helen looked at them for a long moment, and then said, "I'll try to have Marsha talk to you two alone!"

"Oh! _Could you?"_ asked Cara, and Helen nodded smiling. Just then Natalie hurried up to say Tiffany was wanted.

Jessica explained to Helen that Marsha had kindly consented to visit with the girls, and Helen cheerfully agreed to manage it. "Just the groups who danced to day, Tiffany; and, Miss Moore, you'll talk to the rest of the girls tomorrow, won't you?"

"Yes; that way I'll have something to talk about, I thought."

"Exactly! Well, let me know when you're ready to go down the hill, and we'll get you there safe and sound!" Marsha replied that she should be done in an hour or two, probably.

Helen first of all arranged to have Cara and Dena brought to Marsha. They came, dressed in their nicest dresses, wearing ballet slippers, and looking very ladylike. Marsha quickly put them at ease and told them, rather clumsily, how much she enjoyed the dance.

"It was supposed to be danced with clothes on, Dena said, blushing slightly. "But Stephanie wanted it this way, so..." she shrugged. Helen explained that some of the older girls were a little hung up on nude ballet, and they had consented to this one dance, just to show what kind of thing was possible. Marsha nodded, saying that it had been a good choice, from what she had seen. Cara, who had been a little nervous to speak, ventured an opinion that the dance was almost more beautiful with clothes on.

"What do you wear?"

"Oh, I wear a regular ballet dress, and Dena wears a short skirt." Marsha put her head on a side, trying to imagine it. "I almost wish you could dance it again," she said, and the girls looked at each other and at Helen, and Helen grinned.

"If you asked Jessica, she'll probably agree to do it!" So they decided to ask. They talked some more, and then Helen went off to gather the younger girls. They were to do the visiting in two groups, first the younger ones, and then the older. Cara and Dena escorted Marsha to one of the larger classrooms, and she was given the seat, while the rest of the girls trooped in and sat on the floor.

This was Hunter's group, and they quizzed Marsha unmercifully about Hollywood, the movie industry, the current crop of male heartthrobs and starlets, most of whom were TV actors, and not close acquaintances of Marsha's.

"What's Helen like?" asked Hunter, suddenly. "I mean, like, really?"

Marsha looked startled for a minute. "Helen?"

"Helen Nordstrom, you know? I saw you and her on TV together, and you're good friends, right?" Marsha looked anywhere _but_ at Helen, then. Hunter continued blithely: "We went to see her, and she was so nice, but I was wondering, what is she _really_ like?"

"Well, she's nice," said Marsha, as Helen kept her face carefully neutral, showing just mild interest. "What you see is what you get, with Helen."

"Do you like her?" The girls laughed at Hunter's impertinence, including Marsha and Helen. Marsha risked a quick glance at Helen, and verified that Helen had gotten a little more comfortable with the idea of being discussed in this way.

"Sure. She's very talented, and a very nice person."

"Will you make a movie with her?" Marsha talked back and forth with the girls who suddenly came alive to discuss Helen to the exclusion of everything else. Helen started to tune out, when suddenly she heard an unexpected subject.

" _I_ think she ought to finish college," a usually quiet junior was saying, in response to Marsha, who had remarked that Helen had dropped out of college. When asked why, the girl said that Helen was such a role-model for young girls that dropping out of school would send the wrong message to girls. "Like, she's an artist, so she doesn't need to finish school."

"Well," said Marsha, suddenly on the defensive, " _I_ didn't finish college, either! I'd hate to think I had to go back to school just because a bunch of girls felt I was a role-model!"

"It's not the same, Miss Moore," said the persistent girl. "Helen does a lot of education-type stuff, and it doesn't _look_ right..."

"Yeah; what if she has a baby, and the kid needs help with her homework?" asked Hunter, cracking them all up.

But they kept on saying, over and over again that Helen _should_ go back to college, and Helen began to get seriously annoyed at the opinionated little ladies.

"Okay," she called, firmly, "wind up your chat, say goodnight to Miss Moore; it's bedtime for you girls." There were the expected _awww_ s, but they obediently wished Marsha goodnight and thanked her for coming, and headed outside. Helen was very annoyed with Marsha, since she refused to meet her gaze, but looked about the room, admiring its decor in a rather pointed way.

"I'll be back," promised Helen.

It was just past midnight when Marsha was whisked down the hill in the silent grey Mercedes, and Helen headed to bed, exhausted.

Helen was up most of the night, wondering how to sneak down the hill and meet up with Marsha. She could run early morning, and look for Marsha's little inn in town. But it was too complicated. If Marsha had asked her, she certainly would have, but she hadn't. Meanwhile, Simone was down there, too.... It was an impossible situation. It gave Helen a headache to think of it.

In the morning, Cara and Dena came to wake her, and they went out running. Jessica hadn't been around for two days. Had Helen imagined Jessica and Leslie being very friendly? Leslie was a very reserved, undemonstrative woman, and there could easily be something between the two of them, and Helen would never know unless they chose to reveal it to her. Certainly Jessica looked a lot more relaxed.

At breakfast, Jessica was all smiles. She announced how pleased she was at how well the recital had gone, and then Margaret stood up to tell everyone, in her own quiet, emphatic way, that this had been the most wonderful recital for the last ten years. Two of the camp counselors were veterans, and they nodded solemnly. "I really hope," said Margaret, "that most of you will come back next year, and keep the tone of this camp as high as it has been this year!" And the girls were all pleased to be complimented this way by Margaret, whom the girls liked a lot, and they all cheered for Margaret and for themselves.

Rehearsals began immediately after breakfast. They broke for lunch, and suddenly the girls began to realize that the camp was almost at an end. To the consternation of the leaders, girls began weeping all over the place. The dining room was awash in tears, and Helen called for silence, with Jessica's permission, and said that everyone should write down their e-mail addresses and she'd make a directory with all of them on it, and copy it for whomever wanted it. "Then you girls can keep in touch the whole year," she pointed out. That perked them up considerably, and Helen began the job of taking down all their addresses right away.

In the afternoon, it was going to be their last formal class. They all gathered in the ballroom to work at the bar, for the last time that year, and they went as far as the juniors could keep up, and then dismissed the juniors, and continued with the seniors. Then they rehearsed the chorus numbers with the juniors and everyone else, and Stephanie suggested that Helen and Jessica dance their _pas de deux_ for Marsha that evening. Jessica looked at Helen, her eyes twinkling, and said they'd consider it. Helen looked at Leslie, who colored just a shade, nothing that could be noticed unless you were looking for it. Aha, thought Helen, that's who should be dancing.

The rehearsing stopped around three, and Helen sat on the front steps, wishing Marsha would be back early. Cara and Dena came by and sat near her.

"Hi!"

"Well, hi right back atcha," said Helen, chewing on a blade of grass.

"You said,... well, last night, you said you'd like to do something for us!" Cara seemed very nervous about something.

"Yes, what would you like?" Helen was confident that they wouldn't ask anything outrageous. If she couldn't afford it, she could get Marsha to help.

"Promise you won't be angry!"

"Well, ask; if it's too expensive, I'll tell you. I'm not rich, but I have enough to buy you both something nice. Really; just ask!"

Cara came close to Helen and whispered in her ear, and bent her head to look into Helen's startled eyes. "Oh, don't be silly," Helen snapped, looking quite angry. "Be serious." Dena ran into the building.

"Oh no; ...now look what you've done," said Cara, upset.

"You should know I wouldn't do a thing like that, Cara."

'How could I know, Tiffany? Why not?"

"Those kinds of things must come from the heart, kid," Helen said, not unkindly. "You just can't...set it up like that," whispered Helen.

"Set it up? What are you talking about?"

Helen sighed. "Dena and I ... just don't have those kinds of feelings for each other."

"Tiffany: it wasn't my idea, you know."

Helen was shocked. She looked at Cara, and Cara looked back, faintly amused. Here was another instance of the strange attitude Cara had towards sex. Helen knew such people existed, girls for whom sex and love were completely separate. But they were usually cynical women, the kind with whom Helen would not usually associate.

Then Cara said she was going to the library. "Just like that?" Cara shrugged, and waited for Helen to suggest an alternative. "Go, talk to Dena, love; she's hurt, all this is her way of ... I just don't know. My guess is that she likes you a lot more than you may like her." What am I _saying_?

"I thought I'd give her just a little time ... when I'm upset, I like to be alone, you know?" Helen nodded. "Why don't _you_ check on her?"

Helen looked at Cara's eyes, to see if there was any sign of calculation there; no, it was an innocent suggestion. Helen stood up and dusted herself off, thinking of what she could say to comfort Dena.

Helen knocked on Dena's door. This was the first time she had visited it, and she wasn't sure it was the right room. She tried the door, and it was open, and she went in.

Dena lay on her bed, completely naked, waiting. Helen quickly closed the door. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you."

"How did you know I'd come?" asked Helen, stumbling over the words.

"I just hoped you would. Lock the door!"

"Dena, I don't want to; two wrongs don't make a right."

"What did you do wrong?"

"I shouldn't have ... you know, touched Cara."

"You taught her that stuff. She had to learn. I was angry at first, but now I understand."

"Tell me; why were you angry?"

Dena looked away, at the wall. "I wanted Cara all to myself. I hated the thought that you had a piece of her."

"I don't."

"You do. When she touches me, I feel that she's thinking of you."

"You _know_ she isn't. There was never anything going on."

Dena shook her head, her soft light grey eyes looking at Helen in a strange way, half-accusing, half inviting. "If you show me now, ... at least Cara and I will be even. As it is, you're a sort of barrier."

Helen wasn't really listening, now; she had begun to lose her embarrassment at Dena's nakedness, and was devouring the sight. She had a slim body, very slim breasts, much like Helen herself when she was young, and Dena's arms and legs were strong and muscular, her little patch of pubic hair was very light, and her pudendum was a soft pillow of smooth flesh, inviting Helen's touch. Slowly she spread her legs, and her lips parted at the same time, and her tongue peeped out. Moisture glistened in the opening between her legs.

"I'm not as pretty as Cara, but it won't take long, Tiffany!" Helen felt her resistance slipping away. Dena turned up her pressure. "I'll undress you, come, I'll do all the work."

"No, no, ... I have someone, Dena, I want to be faithful ..."

"Just one time. It will never happen again." Dena was up off the bed, turning down the blinds in the window, darkening the room, and she was peeling off Helen's leotard, and then her tights and slippers.

Dena's body felt cool and dry. They lay on the very narrow bed and wrapped themselves around each other, and their mouths searched for each other, and they kissed.

It was almost 7 when Helen found herself alone in her room, still thinking over the last three hours. The three of them had found a certain sexual chemistry that simply did not want to let go. They had pushed Dena's bed on its side, against the wall, and made love on the floor. It had been Helen's first true orgy, where they had instinctively known what to do. There had been a rhythmic grace to the dance of love they had shared. Certainly there was love there, but not the kind that Helen had with so many others. Helen loved them as students, first and foremost; as children, for all they were not much younger than herself. She agonized over this betrayal of the implied trust a student places on a teacher. But they had been the ones who had, in fact, seduced her; at least that is how it appeared today. But it seemed to Helen that she had watched herself orchestrate the whole affair, helpless—or at least, unwilling—to slow down or stop. But, suppose they followed this path to its end, suppose they bonded together, the three of them, and then had to disperse to their homes? Helen would be hurt, but how much more would they?

The three of them had cautiously stepped out of the room, and gone to the second-floor shower, and showered together. There had been no sex in the shower, just the warm intimacy of close friends and sometime lovers, familiar with each other's bodies, unashamed and unembarrassed, and unafraid to touch each other. They had washed their hair, one of Helen's favorite things to do with girlfriends. There was something sensuous about the feel of female fingers through her hair. (Boys had helped her wash her hair, but it had almost never been the same. It had been a different kind of pleasure, surprise at the gentleness of men, the excitement of the novelty of it.) Dena had brought her clothes up to Helen's room, and they had all dressed together. Helen had then embraced the two girls together, and cried. It was her weakness, that she wanted to have her lovers with her always. The thought of having to part was too painful.

"Tiffy, you have your own ... friend, don't you? There's someone waiting for you; you said so."

"Yes, darling; I'll be fine."

"Why're you crying?"

"I'm just silly; when I make friends, I want to keep them with me forever." As soon as the words were out, Helen regretted them. But Cara was smiling. Only Dena looked at her with understanding. Helen's nerves were stretched to the breaking-point when she gently asked to be left alone for a little while. Cara had said, "We'll see you later then, Tiffy! We love you, okay?" and hauled Dena away to her own room.

Helen had worn one of her most beautiful, seductive dresses. It was black lace over sheer mesh, which she wore over a black nylon slip. Now she undressed, took off the slip, and put on the sheer unitard instead. The unitard was a sheer garment from her toes to the top of her breasts, held in place by two thin bra-straps. Helen had glued on the skin-colored triangle of false skin that obscured her tattoo, as Jessica had taught her, before putting on the unitard. Now the three layers of sheer material was enough to satisfy the demands of modesty, especially since no pubic hair showed through. Helen carefully applied makeup in dramatic dark shades of brown and grey, to echo the color of the contact-lenses she wore to disguise her golden-green eye color.

Helen lay on her bed, thinking about Marsha. For some reason, she couldn't quite remember what Marsha looked like. She knew Marsha was beautiful; she knew Marsha loved her; she knew Marsha was the one she loved now, more than she loved anyone else. She could feel Marsha's body in hers, she could hear Marsha's voice, but she simply could not see her in her mind's eye. For some reason that sent Helen into a minor panic. She got out of bed and went outside to pace up and down, making no noise in her soft black ballet slippers.

"Tiffany! You're wanted downstairs!"

"Why?"

"Marsha Moore is here, with Miss Lorraine. I think they want you to help take them around."

Helen hurried down, and there she was; incredibly beautiful, her lover. She was dressed exquisitely in some wispy French creation in brown, beige and gold, a goddess, fragile and powerful at the same time. Helen approached her slowly, and she held out her hand to Helen, and shook it warmly. Only then did she notice Jessica standing close by with Leslie, watching Helen with amusement. "You look lovely, dear," she remarked, and the other women agreed at once. Helen certainly did look lovely, and Lorraine's eyes looked at her with open admiration. It was just that golden hour when the sky was full of color, and the light made everyone look their best. The heart hurt with the beauty of existence, and time stood still.

After a brief discussion, an idea emerged: the guests could begin chatting to the girls already, whichever ones were ready, in the dining-room. Marsha was made comfortable at the center table, with Lorraine close by, Jessica at the head of the table at the end, and Leslie at the other end, and Helen began to escort girls in and soon a lively discussion was on. Surprisingly, Lorraine was a lively conversationalist, and got the girls talking about their aspirations and ambitions, both dancing-related and academic. Helen was surprised to learn which ones wanted to marry and have families (Stephanie, Hunter, Dena, Molly) and which ones wanted to find challenging jobs (Kate, Cara, Natalie, Evelynne, Ariadne).

Unbelievably, the talk turned round to the elusive Helen, again. They were insatiable for news about Helen. Where did she live, they asked Marsha, what does she do in her spare time, what were her leisure-time interests, was she popular, and most of all, where was she now? Helen held her breath, but Marsha gave believable answers to all the questions. She said Helen was an athletic girl, and played tennis, and was an excellent swimmer, was popular, and a loyal friend, much loved by her numerous friends, was married but now separated from her husband, and was vacationing somewhere in Europe.

That group finished eating, and the next group came in, and the discussion followed the same path, ending with Helen.

Marsha was amused. "Why don't you girls send her e-mail?" she asked. "She'll reply, I'm sure!"

There was a moment's shocked silence, and then a loud clamor for her e-mail address. Marsha couldn't help glancing at Helen, and Helen shrugged, almost imperceptibly. "I'll find out," promised Marsha. "I know one of her friends, and I'll let you know before I leave. How's that?" There was a deafening show of approval. "We're just getting a directory of all our e-mail addresses ready," offered Helen, rather lamely, "but I forgot to get it ready!"

"Hey, I'll help you! I have a computer with me!" said Hunter, unexpectedly.

"You do?" It was a shock; Helen had no idea there was a computer anywhere on the premises!

"Come on!" And Helen and Hunter hurried off, leaving the rest laughing. Hunter had not only a computer, but a printer and a scanner, all of which ran on both US and Continental power-supplies. The scanner software was so powerful, it would read even hand-printed writing, and they scanned in the long list of e-mail addresses, and had it organized and sorted in almost no time. It was like old days, sitting near Lisa; Hunter was supremely confident and had all the software they needed.

"There! All done! Can you believe how neat it is?"

"You're fantastic, kiddo! Where did you learn all this?"

"My brother Joel is, like, a hacker, and he knows all this kind of thing. I can program, too. I have to do it in UNIX, though, I don't know windows programming."

"Hey, I can show you; it's easy. I learned in College."

" _Really?_ How do you do it?"

"You need Visual Basic..."

They had discovered each other too late.

They printed out the e-mail directory, and then Hunter showed her that she could link to the Internet. Helen was amazed, but Hunter had an international cell-phone, and in seconds she was on-line.

"Hey, I can get Helen's e-mail address... wait, I can call my friend Lisa and find out. Can I use your phone? I'll use my calling-card..."

"No, go ahead; we have a very cheap rate. Really; it's less than a dollar a minute!"

Helen dialed, and a sleepy voice answered on the second ring.

"Lisa? It's ... Tiffany."

"Wow, ... I _thought_ it was you." There was a short silence, and then Lisa's voice came on, stronger, and sounding a little more awake. "You're not in trouble, are you? Wait, you said _Tiffany_."

"Yes, I'm with some friends, and they want to know if Helen has an e-mail address at which they can write to her."

"Jeeze, why don't you give them your damn address?"

Helen gritted her teeth. "I'm sorry to wake you up, Lisa, but I thought you might know if she had an address especially for fan mail. Does she have a website, or something like that?"

It took Lisa about a second to get the idea. "Let's see... give me a minute; can I call you back?"

"Great! The number is...here, I'll let you talk to the owner of the phone!"

Hunter took the phone and hunched over, and said 'Hi! I'm Hunter!" She was funny; she had to crouch when she talked on the phone; the more excited she got, the more she hunched over. She gave her number to Lisa and hung up. She turned to Helen, grinning, and said, "She seems really nice!"

"Yeah, she's a buddy of mine from College! You'll like her, she's a hacker, too!" So they talked about Lisa, Helen telling her fond stories about the impetuous blonde, careful to keep out enough to preserve some privacy. The phone rang in 5 minutes, and Hunter took the call. "Hi! ... Okay, ... okay ... got it! Thanks a million!" She turned to Helen and grinned wide-eyed. "Guess what! There's a web-site for Helen. Let's look...it's a temporary one ..." they connected to the Internet again, and ... There it was!

There was a lovely photo of Helen, one that Helen couldn't remember seeing, ever, and there was a link that said, Write to Helen! Hunter found the address, and they ran down to the dining-room with it. It was on a free public server; Lisa had set it up while Hunter and Helen had been talking, and even set up the website. Helen heard Hunter's phone ring, and went back to pick it up, knowing that it would be Lisa.

"Where are you?"

"Somewhere in France! Thanks a million!"

"Okay, it's the same password as before, okay?"

"Okay! I love you!"

"Yeah, yeah, ... I miss you too."

Helen spoke with her a little longer, and rang off.

Helen was surrounded by happy campers as soon as she got into the dining room. Everyone had gathered there, and Marsha was telling them that the most interesting thing about Helen was that she was an all-rounder, a girl who could do a lot of things, and was kind-hearted and humble at the same time. And to Helen's horror, many of the girls turned to Helen and smiled, as if to say, that's just like our Tiffany! Her heart ice-cold, Helen smiled coolly back at them, and the moment passed.

Just as Helen thought it was safe, Stephanie sighed, and said to the guests, "But the best dance was Tiffy and Jessica. Jessica, you should do that for Marsha! Tiffy, say you'll do it!"

And there was an uproar. Jessica and Leslie looked startled; Leslie recovered fast and nodded slowly, though she wasn't in a position to affect the outcome one way or the other. A hundred girls clamored for Jessica and Tiffany to dance that night.

"No," said Helen, quietly but firmly, shaking her head. "That was just a demonstration. The whole point is to show what you girls are capable of!"

They argued and argued, and Jessica joined Helen to stem the tide of interest in that dance. After a while, Helen simply looked down at her unfinished plate, and shook her head and smiled.

"She's gonna do it! She's gonna do it!" yelled some joker, and the move began afresh.

Finally there was a lull, and the girls on either side of Helen nudged her, asking her to say something. Helen looked at Jessica, who was smiling at her apologetically, and then at Marsha who looked confused, trying to understand, but not quite sure what to think of it. "What _is_ this dance about? Was it unusual in any way, a nude ballet, maybe?" she asked, not wanting to create an uproar, but anxious to understand.

"Oh, no," said Jessica, explaining; "we practiced a few dances, us instructors and leaders, for the entertainment of the kids, because they had worked so hard, and we wanted to show them that we were grateful! We did several. But somehow, the dance by Tiffany and me is all they remember!"

"It was special, Jessica, you must admit it," said Stephanie, a dangerous opponent. "It was very ... what's the word?"

"Sexy!"

"No it wasn't!" "Oh yes, it was!" There was a loud controversy then. "You _have_ to see it!" was the consensus of the girls. And they were really adamant.

Marsha looked at Helen, and Helen blushed bright red and shook her head. Marsha looked at the expectant faces around her and shrugged, ruefully conceding that it wasn't going to happen.

It was almost eight. Jessica chased the girls off; those who were to perform, as well as those who were to help, and to sit in the audience, and those who were to usher the townsfolk who would be attending. This was the night when they would do their big chorus number, too, so everyone was involved. Marsha asked to have the use of one of the rooms for a few minutes to clean up and rest for a little. Again, Helen was seconded to the task of escorting her, with a skillful nudge from Marsha.

"Why won't you dance?" asked Marsha from Helen, once they were alone.

Helen was silent, and Marsha looked at her, concerned. Helen turned to face her, and said, "Because I love you. I love you more now than when I came here, Marsha. The things I did aren't important anymore."

Marsha's eyes shone. "I'm an actress, love; I'm not as fragile as you think I am. I'm not a stranger at having to put my heart on show." She was warm, and sweet, and breathtakingly lovely, and she was completely Helen's. With her every movement and expression and gesture she showed Helen that Helen was all that existed for her. "I have to show you this new movie ... and there are things in it that will ... test your love for me." How lovely her eyes were. Then she took Helen's hands in her own. And Helen was sure that she could never dance that pas de deux with Jessica and look Marsha in the face again. She hardened her resolve not to do it. Marsha was beginning to mean too much to her.

Helen shook her head. "You've guessed. It was very erotic. Jessica and I were having a little affair; I guess you could call it. Forgive me, love." Helen looked at Marsha with deep sadness and contrition. "She was not the only one, either."

"I know you. I know you very well. I love you with all these things you do. But you're not listening: _I_ had a little affair, too." Helen looked at her sharply. Her eyes shone with equal contrition. "And there's a permanent record of my ... affair. Do what you like, but I hope you're willing to make as many allowances for me as I'm willing to make for you. I'm willing to make any allowances at all. Because I love you completely, I will never love anyone as much as I love you now. There will never be as perfect a woman as you, no matter how many affairs you may have. I know how you love, and you love the right way. If you loved Jessica, have the courage to stand by that love. I won't hold it against you. I promise. I will never hold any of your loves against you. It's just you. If you stopped loving this way, you would die. It would be someone else."

And they kissed, and Helen remembered their history together, so brief. So filled with irrelevance, so much wasted time, so much counterfeit pleasure, pretending to be who they weren't, when they could have told each other how they loved each other, and been together.

Helen took a deep breath, and pulled away from Marsha. "There's more." Marsha looked at her, quizzically. "After we danced that ballet, ... Jessica has also found someone."

Marsha looked at Helen sideways, as she turned to study a book that lay on the table, "A woman?" Helen nodded. "The big-made, short-haired blonde?"

"Yes; Leslie."

Marsha nodded her head after a while. "That's different; perhaps it wasn't meant to be."

By a strange twist of fate, by the time Helen excused herself from Marsha's company and went back to the ballroom to help set up, she wanted to dance that dance. The crazy erotic power of the dance was coming to Helen, now; she felt she could make love to Marsha through that dance, in a sort of perverse way. Then she was stunned: Simone was coming up the steps.

The color drained from her face. Simone looked up at that moment, and saw Helen, and smiled slightly.

Helen walked slowly to the steps and waited until Simone climbed to the top of the steps. "So, you came!"

Simone looked around guiltily and then looked Helen right in the eye. A shiver ran through Helen. She was incredibly beautiful. More beautiful than Marsha. Helen longed to hear her speak in her soft voice. Not for a moment could she bring herself to think of her as anything but a desirable woman. She was dressed in a deep red dress, with black hose, and a black lace shawl.

"I had to see you again," she whispered, those wonderful eyes melting Helen's heart.

Helen led her towards one of the smaller classrooms that wasn't being used as a green-room, her heart thudding furiously. Closing the door behind them, she turned to Simone. Suddenly she realized they had been talking in English. _I'm sorry; I don't understand why I asked you up here. There can be nothing for us except grief and disappointment. I have a lover, and ... she is here."_

Simone made as if to touch Helen, and then took back her hand, in a hopeless feminine gesture of resignation. The face trembled as if she was about to cry. _Please don't send me away; I only want to look at you. Will you dance tonight?_

_No, it is only for the students_.

Simone's eyes opened wide. _You are a teacher; I did not know that._

_Of course_ , said Helen, impatiently, _the students are not allowed to run around on their own._

_Of course, I am so stupid. May I just sit at the back and watch? I promise I will not be a nuisance. You will hardly know I am here. I am not a threat to girls; only to boys. Usually. Now, after you, ... I don't know._ She held her face in her hands, wondering. Helen felt acutely sorry for her, and impulsively put her arms around her and hugged her tight, and Simone hugged her back. _You decide, Tiffany. I have seen you now, anyway. Perhaps a kiss?_

_Of course,_ said Helen, her heart full of love for the tragic girl. And they kissed, tenderly. _Oh, stay then, Simone; how can I send you away?_

Oh, thank you! I will be very quiet. If I do not see you, be well, live happily, knowing that someone in France is thinking of you!

Oh, we'll meet again!

Shortly afterwards, Helen was back in the thick of things, getting people ready for the show. Simone sat quietly on the further side, against the wall.

Jessica found Helen and pulled her aside and looked at her intently. Then she smiled, and said, "I almost wished you had said you would dance!"

"What about Leslie?"

Jessica blushed deeply. "How did you know?" Helen shrugged, not interested in playing the game anymore. "There is no Leslie," she said, casually.

Helen was shocked. "Why not?"

"I broke it off. We're not really suited for each other."

"But, even at dinner, she looked ..."

"This was five minutes ago." Gosh, thought Helen, that was sudden. She asked Jessica what she meant by not suited. Jessica looked at Helen a little defensively. "We've known each other for a long time, Tiffany. You might have thought we'd only met recently." In fact that _was_ what Helen had assumed. "We've been friends since we were children. And we need each other as friends. As lovers... we haven't been much of a success. It's hard to explain."

But Helen understood perfectly. She patted Jessica on the back, and they went back to work.

It was time to start. Everyone was in their seats, and Marsha and Lorraine looked like jewels in their seats, with juniors on the floor in front of them, and the seats packed with townsfolk, and the rest of the girls lining the wall at the back.

Again Stephanie was the MC. She welcomed everyone, and then gave the floor to Jessica, who thanked everyone for coming, especially Marsha Moore, and Lorraine Manet. She thanked the townsfolk for their support, and everyone connected with the establishment, and her colleagues. She also thanked the student leaders, or camp counselors, and said that this year they had done an especially wonderful job. Finally she thanked the students, saying that they were the best group of students, ever. There was a loud cheer from the students, and Jessica sat down. Then Stephanie took the floor again, and said that, if Jessica really liked the students, she should dance for them one last time! And Jessica blushed as they cheered even more loudly than before.

The show began. First there was the West Side Story dance, which was spectacular. Marsha could really understand this kind of dance, and she was clearly excited with it. The cheering was tremendous. The girls dressed as boys were perfect: the manner, the posture, all very masculine and energetic. The leaps, the fights, the slashing, it was just exciting to watch.

Then it was Hansel and Gretel, and though it was frankly a little boring, it was fun to see all the juniors who tried so hard to be angelic, and the kids had done a wonderful job with the props and the backdrop.

Then there was a long break, while everyone got ready for the last chorus number, and Marsha was left to Margaret's care.

Helen came backstage, and was immediately mobbed. She looked around and there was Jessica smiling at her, also surrounded by a score of excited girls. "Tiffany," she said, a little pleading in her voice, "they want us to do it! Let's just do it; they've been so good! It's not that bad, really, don't you think?"

"All right," said Helen, trying not to show her excitement. There was a tremendous yell, and the girls flooded out back into the ballroom, and took their places, Marsha wondering what was up.

"Tonight, too, we have a special treat for everyone. A couple of nights ago, two of the instructors danced for us. It was a dance of such emotion and beauty that we could hardly believe something that intense was possible. Some of us girls believe that this dance could become a classic in women's ballet. The instructors refused to dance it tonight, but us girls kept pestering them, until finally they have agreed. So we present Jessica Lawrence and Tiffany in an original duet!"

There was loud applause from the girls and somewhat more subdued applause from the guests. The lights went down, the spot came on.

Marsha's mind was in a whirl. She had never felt so out of control as she had the last few days. Speaking to Helen over the phone had been wonderful; Helen's personality on the phone was very relaxed and thoughtful, almost contemplative. The week of longing for her company had been quickly eased as Helen's first words came over the line, like the warmth of home, the fragrance of a lover, the smile of a beloved sister.

But seeing her in person was a shock. She was still the self-effacing but strong leader that Marsha had come to know in Ohio. Somehow Helen was the center around which the little orchestra had revolved. Now she was the center of this group of women and girls. Helen seemed to let Jessica be the leader, but Jessica was quite clear in her manner that she regarded Helen as the driving force of the present operation.

Marsha had eagerly studied Helen's eyes when she arrived: was she happy? Had she missed Marsha? Was Marsha welcome? Did she hold as important a place in Helen's heart as Helen held in hers? Could Helen tell that during the last few weeks Marsha had become more and more convinced that she could not be happy without Helen? Did Helen realize how fragile was her emotional equilibrium? Marsha longed to make her feelings clear to Helen. But she was here on official business! She had to play her public role of movie celebrity. It was the most frustrating situation Marsha had ever been in. For the first time, she was in love, and her beloved was incognito.

So far, this evening, her reactions had all been automatic. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts, and her intense curiosity about matters concerning Helen. She did her best to pay attention to the girls who were telling her things about their beloved Tiffany.

Then the business about the famous dance by Helen and Jessica had come up. Marsha saw at once that there had been something serious there, and Helen would have told Marsha sooner or later. But Marsha just _had_ to see them dance, right away.

God, how Helen could melt her heart with a single glance! Her look of anguish had been fleeting, and directed only at Marsha. It was an incredible moment of bonding between them; that they could communicate with a tiny glance. Later, Marsha had prevailed on Helen to dance, and Helen had agreed!

In the dramatic lighting, the bodies of the two women almost hurt, in their perfection. What art there was, even to just walking on stage! Suddenly, Helen was a goddess, or a young god, a gloriously emasculated deity, every limb perfect, at once strung as tight as a bow, and as loose as a breeze. Jessica was excited and vivacious, provocative, flirtatious, animated, eager. Helen was controlled passion, rejoicing in her power. The androgynous quality of Helen that Marsha had always sensed, which attracted her so much, was here manifested in a very visible, direct, immediate way. The hair was only shoulder-length, dark and streaky, pulled back and tied low on the neck. Somehow it wasn't Helen, and yet it was. It wasn't a man, and it almost seemed as though it was. It wasn't feminine, but, oh god, it was the essence of femininity. Marsha thought she would go mad. Her eyes filled with tears, and she was angry, because she wanted to see every moment, every movement. Hungrily she devoured the dance, searching for clues, trying to read what depravity the dance hinted at. Did it speak of lust? Of desire? Of abandonment?

Yes; there was the unmistakable signs of the kind of intimacy that only came with sexual involvement. It once could have been a scorcher of a dance. But there was just a little dullness to it that made Marsha smile inside. It was a tale of a spent affair.

But how beautiful it was. Marsha wondered if she could ever feel the same for Helen again. This was a goddess that she could hardly approach. Marsha forgot that she was a celebrity; Helen made her feel so humble. _Oh to touch her, Marsha thought. Just to touch her once._

And then it was over, and Marsha could have wept. Like a premature ejaculation, it was over too soon. Marsha could hardly bear to smile and cheer, joining in the standing ovation the audience granted the performance. Marsha clapped furiously, and Helen looked right into her eyes and smiled that secret smile, and Marsha swooned. Nobody but Helen could make love to another woman on stage like that, and then turn and smile at Marsha. And she's mine, Marsha thought. Or was she?

While she had been dancing, all the way to the end, it had been effortless, as though Helen had incredible strength, and Jessica was a mere flower. But now Marsha's keen eyes saw Helen's lungs working hard for air, and a slight flush on her face, as the girls turned brighter lights on the dancers. Helen stood close to receive the applause, a little away to the left of the beaming Jessica, and slightly behind. Now Jessica motioned her forward, and then pulled her forward with her. Marsha thought she could see that Jessica's manner towards Helen betrayed an affection that went very deep. But it also seemed as though, now, they were a lot less intimate than they may have been even days ago. But Marsha could see that Jessica adored Helen. People were going to adore Helen, and there was nothing Marsha could do. And she liked it a lot less today than she had a year ago.

"Isn't she beautiful?!" asked Margaret, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Yes, they're both just magnificent," Marsha agreed with a smile.

"Oh, yes, both of them... Jessica is brilliant; I've known that for years. But that Tiffany, oh god... she's just so, I don't know how to say it!" They had sat down, and Helen and Jessica had finally backed out behind the curtains. "This whole camp has been like a dream, ..."

Margaret began to try to explain to Marsha how Helen had simply _reinvented_ the camp. Marsha patiently listened, occasionally putting in a word or two. She told Margaret how she had liked the dancing of Dena and Cara so much, she was inclined to offer them some kind of reward; and had almost decided to offer them a scholarship to next year's camp, as well as some money.

Margaret gasped and her face lit up with pleasure, and she said that Jessica would love that idea, and that they should definitely discuss it.

The remaining dances were all good, especially the last chorus number, basically a classic scene from _The_ _Nutcracker_. Most of the camp members danced, except Margaret and Stephanie and a couple of other girls.

It was all very hard on Marsha. She had never felt so left-out; she longed to join in the dancing. But unlike many Hollywood actresses, Marsha had taken only the barest minimum of ballet, for all her natural grace.

Finally it was over, and Jessica addressed the audience, and thanked everyone, especially Tiffany and Marsha, to much applause. Margaret motioned for Jessica to come forward, and quickly explained what Marsha had told her, and Marsha nodded.

"I have just been told," said Jessica, "that three of our girls have been selected by Miss Moore to receive special prizes!" There was a hush. "The prizes are a full scholarship for next year's camp, except for the travel costs! And the recipients are Cara Campbell, Dena Holland, and Hunter Young!"

The girls cheered, because Hunter was quite popular with everyone. Cara and Dena were well-liked, too, if not popular in the same way. And that was the beginning of the closing down ceremonies of the camp.

Marsha and Lorraine were taken down the hill to their hotel, the girls went upstairs to pack, as their planes were leaving early the following afternoon.

Again, Helen found herself flying in the company of Jessica and the other leaders. Saying goodbye to Cara, Dena, and Hunter had been hard. They had all taken with them the directory Hunter had put together of everyone's e-mail addresses and phone numbers, and sworn to keep in touch. Cara had made a big impression on Helen, and she wondered whether she would meet Cara again, somehow. As they walked out of the doorway of the gate, Helen looked back one last time, and she had a clear impression of Cara gazing at her, as if uncertain how to deal with this parting. Clearly, parting from friends was not part of Cara's experience!

There was the usual confusion, and then they were airborne. Helen sat alone, thinking about the last few days. There had been moments of intense pleasure that left her filled with guilt. Then there had been moments of quieter satisfaction. When she had been physically intimate with any of the girls or women, there had always been complications. The memory of the feel of the bodies of Cara and Dena aroused Helen, and she closed her eyes, savoring the feeling. Her whole body felt alive. But she could only hurt them; they needed to find a comfortable equilibrium together, and Helen could be no part of that.

Jessica came by and asked her to come with her to sit in First Class, and Helen followed her, knowing that this would be their final showdown. They got to the two empty seats at the back, and sat down, and Jessica turned to her.

"Tiffany!" she murmured, taking obvious pleasure in saying the name. Then she sighed, and they looked at each other with that rueful smile that spoke volumes. "It's been a wonderful dream."

"Yes," agreed Helen, looking at her hands, thoughtfully. "It's going to be hard to get off the plane. I got way too fond of many of these people."

Jessica took her hand. "This set of girls has really bonded. They're _all_ very close. I have never seen that happen. Normally they split up into little cliques." Helen smiled and shrugged. "It's all your work," Jessica continued.

"Oh, Jessica, you know that's not true. There's no reason girls shouldn't get close when they dance together as much as these have been doing."

"Yes, that's it; I think that's the secret: they've never danced so much in past years." Helen nodded agreement.

Jessica was absently massaging her hand, and Helen scanned the aisle with the corner of her eye, making sure that they weren't being observed. Jessica noticed her anxious look. "You're embarrassed," said Jessica, smiling.

"Oh, no, not at all," Helen protested, weakly. Jessica sat forward, keeping hold of Helen's hand, and shook her head slowly, gazing into Helen's eyes. Helen could see her eyes shining too brightly, and the full force of Jessica's presence hit her. Somehow she smiled pleasantly, not succumbing to the emotional pressure. "Why?" she asked, as if she didn't understand Jessica's meaning.

"Because you're going to ..." Jessica swallowed hard, as some obstruction in her throat made it hard to speak, "... walk off this plane and out of my life," her voice had sunk very low.

"I have someone, Jessica."

"I really don't care. I can make you happier than he can. Or _she_ can." There was a desperate intensity in her voice, though she kept it low so that only she and Helen could hear.

What can I say, wondered Helen, that wouldn't hurt her? "Yes, ... you could. You're a wonderful person, Jessica, and ... you know how I feel about you!"

"No I don't. Tell me."

Helen shook her head, smiling at Jessica. Then she blushed and looked down at her hand still held in Jessica's. "Let's not go there. I want to be your friend."

"But not my lover." It was barely a whisper.

Helen shook her head, suddenly unwilling to talk about it.

There was a long silence, and Helen finally looked up at Jessica's face, and saw that a large tear had rolled down Jessica's face, and hung on her chin. But Jessica was still smiling.

"Tell me about her?"

Helen shook her head. "Please don't make this hard for me, Jessica; it's hard enough already."

"Okay," said Jessica, and let go of Helen's hand. Jessica sat back, and her tears flowed silently, and she mopped at her face with tissues for some minutes, while Helen watched her, her own eyes filled with tears. But they both smiled the whole time, determined to keep up the appearance of pleasantness. As time went on, Helen was more and more certain that she had done the right thing.

After a while Jessica got up, and smiling at Helen murmured something and left to wash up in the little toilet. When she came back, they only talked about the camp, and plans for the future.

The plane landed, and they all hugged each other, and began to file out of the aircraft. They went through customs and immigration, and there, in the crowd of people waiting to pick up the tired campers was a nondescript, puffy-cheeked woman with dirty-blonde hair, and Helen's heart gave a little leap. It was "Sandy". No one recognized the woman who came to pick Helen up at the airport as the actress who had been their guest of honor just hours before. Helen fell into her arms, aware that Jessica was watching them intently. Marsha murmured that Helen was trembling, but so was Marsha.

In minutes they were in the ancient Cadillac that Marsha had brought, heading for the house.

The End
