To be safe, he added two more pieces, and then a another one around his waist, as a belt, to help hold everything in place.Ken had also found a sports bra in Sarah's duffle bag, which held his false breasts in place. Thusly taped up and strapped in, he slid on the black tights and pink leotard (both of which felt wonderful sliding on, he had to admit) and, on shaky legs, went to join the rest of the class.And the class had been wonderful! Sure, the constant pulling at his crotch had been painful, but learning all of the different positions, learning how to move with graceful motions, learning simply how to walk across the stage, all that had been a dream come true. Ken was surrounded by women and girls, everyone accepting him as just another dancer, all of them working intently on the new production which was now just a month and a half away. And Ken, in his borrowed pink ballet shoes, had walked along side them, stood in line, and attempted some of the easier steps at Sarah's. “The gala was very nice, and well put on. There were maybe two or three hundred people there throughout the evening, milling around and saying mostly nice things about my work. I was on a high, and suddenly I was being introduced to this nerdy looking guy who was an electrical engineering professor with a tweed jacket, pens in his shirt pocket, and a cowlick in his hair.“Doug was what I call a sleeper. I shook hands as I’d already done a hundred times that evening, but after that every time I turned around it seemed like we were bumping into each other. He swore he wasn’t stalking me. He offered up witty and insightful critiques of my work at one point, using some words and vocabulary I’d never heard used about art. They were engineering terms – congruence, rotational axes, polynomial curves, and things like that. After that, I stuck with him the rest of the gala. We had a special resonance that I felt on several levels.“At one point Doug introduced me to his wife Jo. She also was.
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