What a lovely sight. A half-dozen pink spandex bottoms on full display, providing more than adequate compensation for being forced to attend my daughter's ballet lesson. I don't usually ogle little girls like this, but even the staunchest protester of their virtues would find himself hard-pressed to ignore such an inviting sight. What's more, I can stare all I like since the area where friends and family sit to observe is quite large, and the other parents would rather scroll through their phones rather than watch the six lovely princesses practicing their pirouettes. Well, we haven't gotten to pirouettes yet, but the barre exercises are just as enjoyable. I believe they're currently having the girls perform battements as part of their warm-up. Seeing each ballerina-in-training hold herself in place with one hand while she lifts her left leg conjures an image of what other activities one could undertake with a little girl in such a position. Shaking away such inappropriate ideas, I content myself with continuing to appreciate the show these innocent dancers are giving me.
Dressed in pink leotards and white tights, complete with their pink pointe shoes, these girls are far too erotic—even my own daughter doesn't look unattractive to me in such an outfit. Noticing me watching, she gives a little wave—completely oblivious to the way I'm looking at her fellow ballerinas. They really are beautiful; their occasionally clumsy movements overshadowed by an almost ethereal grace that trails every action. The way that some of the girls stretch causes the leotards' tight fabric to bunch around their crotches and—well, leaves little to the imagination as to what lies beneath that light pink cloth.
Before I know it, the lesson is over, and what felt like my own personal performance comes to a close. "Daddy, Daddy! Did you see me?" my daughter calls out, her small voice alight with excitement.
"I did, Alice, you were great!"
"The instructor says we're gonna start doing stuff without the barre soon, too!" Calming down after a moment, Alice takes my hand and gives me a look she only uses when she wants something. "Hey, Dad?" she begins, intertwining her fingers with mine and attempting to make herself look innocent and cute.
"Yes, Alice?" I respond, trying my best not to fall under her spell.
"Can Anna drive back with us and stay for a sleepover?" Again with the fluttering eyes and calculated pout; my daughter has gotten far too good at manipulating me.
"Oh, alright, but since your mother's away, we're getting pizza."
"Yay! Thank you, Daddy!" Alice exclaims, wrapping her arms around my neck and giving me a quick peck on the cheek. Humming happily to herself, she heads across the studio to where her friend is awaiting my decision. After a minute of hushed discussion, the two girls come skipping back to me, both beaming up at me.
"Thanks for letting me stay over, Mr. Hill," Anna says, giving me another dazzling smile before returning to her friend's side and heading towards the studio exit. I follow the pair out to my car, finding my attention drawn to Anna's tight rear which is still clad in her form-fitting pink leotard. I shouldn't be looking—I know that—but I've always found Anna to be the most attractive of all my daughter's friends.
We pile into the car without further delay, and set off for my house.
***
Sitting in my bedroom with a book and a glass of whiskey, I'm trying my absolute hardest to ignore the innocent and enchanting giggles emanating from the next room over. I have no idea what exactly it is they're doing, but hearing the muffled sound of two tween girls playing is driving me insane. Finally, having had enough, I get out of bed and open my door with the intent to tell them to quiet down. Instead, I'm met with the sight of Anna standing outside of my doorway with a slight flush on her cheeks. "Hi, Mr. Hill..." she whispers, looking up at me with an expression that a middle-schooler shouldn't be able to make.
Anna's still wearing her leotard even though the girls should have changed into their pajamas hours ago; not only that, but she's wearing only her leotard, without its usual accompanying tights. Her bare thighs look delicious in the low light, and the way her leotard clings to her curves is almost too much to handle. Beyond her delectable appearance, there's something about her demeanor that makes me deeply uncomfortable. "H-Hi, Anna, is there something I can do for you?"
"I dunno, maaaaybe..." she responds, and the way she draws out the third word sends shivers down my spine. I take a step back into my bedroom which Anna matches. "You smell like alcohol, Mr. Hill. Have you been drinking?" she continues, following me deeper into the room, until I'm up against the back wall. "Y'know, I'm not wearing any underwear right now? If you were to push my leotard aside, you could see it..." Now I'm panicking; this is beyond dangerous. This slutty little child shouldn't be anywhere near me when I'm inebriated. I glance through the open door and down the hallway to my daughter's room—her door is also ajar. "It's okay, Alice knows that I like you, and she said it was okay if I wanted to try and, um..." Anna trails off, her cheeks reddening again.
Oh God, my daughter's in on it. She and her best friend are plotting to get me to commit a felony. "...To try and seduce me," I finish for her, taking the time her pause gave me to regain some of my senses.
"Are you seduced?" Anna asks with a giggle, the heat in her cheeks somehow elevating her beauty even further. "I know you're a little drunk, so if you wanna touch me, it's okay," she continues, running a finger down her thigh, making it a point to show me where I should place my own hands. I know that I have to stop, but my lesser brain is telling me how much I need to know what kind of positions a preteen ballerina can do it in.
"Anna, leave this instant and I won't tell your parents about the things you just said!" I try to make my voice sound stern and demanding, but it's clear the young girl can see through my facade.
"Just a little kissing can't hurt, right? I saw you checking me out during ballet practice today, so you better not try and say you don't want to." Shit. Apparently I was too obvious with my staring earlier; there's no getting out of this now, Anna knows that I'm interested in girls far younger than I should be. "C'mon, just for a bit!" Anna insists, grabbing my hand and tugging me towards my bed.
At this point I'm too stupified to do anything but weakly ask her to close the door first. "What? No, I promised Alice I'd leave it open, so she can listen!" The implications of this casual sentence are frightening—not only is Anna implying there will soon be something for Alice to listen to, she's saying that my innocent little daughter wants to hear me doing that kind of thing with her best friend? This feels like a fever dream. Yet I can't help but allow myself to be pulled to a seated position on my bed, the young girl clambering happily onto my lap. "Just a little kissing," she reaffirms, the sparkling mischief in her eyes making it clear to me that she has far more on her mind than just kissing.
"Just a little," I croak back, gingerly grasping at the child's waist.