‘I know. I like to see it; on the stage… it can be very beautiful.’

‘Does being naked add anything to the piece he wants you to dance, or is he just being outrageous?’

‘I think, from the way he described it, it has to be without clothes… and I’d love to do it. I just need to get more comfortable with being naked, but I don’t know how.’

‘In your rooms, at home, do you walk around without clothes?’

‘It’s been too cold, this winter!’

They both laughed.

‘Do you like to swim? Maybe you could join a naturist swimming club.’

‘I wouldn’t know where to look… for a naturist swimming club I mean, I’ve got no problems seeing other people without clothes.’

‘Are you… shy?’ Elgan quizzed, wagging his little finger.

Fridolin looked blank for a moment. Elgan dropped his hand to his crotch, still wagging his little finger.

‘Oh…’ Fridolin giggled. ‘I’m… average, I think. Maybe even bigger than average… I don’t know… I haven’t had much experience.’ He bit his lip. ‘Yes, I am shy, I think, and… what if I get hard, that would be so embarrassing.’

‘I think you’d probably be concentrating so much on the dance, there’d be little chance of that happening.’

Fridolin’s face twisted and he sighed. ‘If I say no he’ll look for someone else and think I’m… Ach, I don’t know the English word for prüde.’

‘Prudish… I guess. But you can only agree to do it if it feels right. Have you talked to any of the other students? Maybe some of them have already done it and–.’

‘I talked to a couple of my girlfriends, but they’re not sure they’re ready either.’

‘And what about talking to your teachers about it, they may have all sorts of ideas about how you decide to take that step.’

‘I guess I don’t want to be the one to ask because that draws attention to me.’

‘You know, Frido, perhaps most of the first year students feel exactly the same way and are just desperate for someone to ask the question.’

‘Well… maybe you’re right.’

‘Maybe, if you talk to the choreographer, he’d understand. Surely you’d have some weeks of rehearsal… and that would be enough time to either get comfortable… or get out.’

‘That might be a solution,’ Fridolin said, and kissed Elgan on the cheek.

On Old Compton Street, the gayest street in Soho, they ate an over-priced salad in an over-crowded restaurant staffed by over-exercised, intimidatingly beautiful young men. At the next table, three ancient and raucous queens who’d just returned from turning their backs on the Baroness, were discussing Margaret Thatcher’s legacy, their camp affectation causing both amusement and consternation amongst the other diners. Fridolin picked up on ‘pretended family relationships’ and ‘that fucking Section 28’.