AmericasDarlings (16 page)

It wasn’t.

Despondent, I dropped onto the bench and sat with my head in my hands. I’d been so sure! I’d convinced myself it would be there, even though I didn’t remember leaving it. I took a deep breath, glad that the powers that be had thought it necessary to place a lamp in this secluded place. Sighing, I stood up. Time to get back. I was taking one last look—maybe I’d missed the black bag in the dark shadows under the bench—when I heard someone coming down the path. Benson—he’d found me!

“It’s not here!” I called out, before he even made an appearance.

“No? Is not? But youare…”

I froze. I stopped breathing. This wasn’t Benson, this was
Dmitri
.

Here. At my bench.

I spun around to face him. “What are
you
doing here
?
Did you follow me?”

“I saw you, my little American baby, and I think you are lost. You are lost?”

“I’m not lost! I’m leaving.” I made to move around him.

He held out his arms toward me. “Why you do that, Leah? Why you leave? I have fun with you again! We play gorilla game again?”

“Fun? You had fun?”

His mouth dropped open, making him look like a child. “Of course! You did not?”

I turned on him, glaring. If my eyes could throw sparks, he’d have been reduced to cinders. “What do you think?”

“I think…yes?”

“No! No! I didn’t! You bruised me! You tried to disqualify me! You
hurt
me and you did it on purpose!”

He spread his arms. “I not do that! Never!”

“You
did
. You and your friends. You tried to get me out of the competition—”

“No!”

“And you almost succeeded. But I’m still here! You failed. You failed, Dmitri!”

“I am not trying anything! I only want to couple with you!”

“Did you plan it from the beginning?”

He half fell, half sat down on the bench and looked up at me. Hurt clouded Dmitri’s features, making his eyes seem even darker than usual.

“Did you?”

“No. I did not.”

I stared at him, not knowing what to think. Would Dmitri be this offended, this horrified by my words if he were guilty? Could he fake that? I didn’t know. I couldn’t rely on my own judgment. As I’d heard from several people today, I was a horrible judge of character.

To make it even harder, this was my sweet, funny Dmitri I was trying to judge!

“Leah the Darling! I liketo couple with you. You have very beautiful body. You are very nice woman—very superb woman! Why be so angry? I like you. You do not like me? Why? You like me in Moscow. You like me yesterday. Me and Alexi. You were
matryoshka
doll, remember?”

I remembered.

God
damn
it!

I wanted to like him. Even now, even after what he’d done to me.

Maybe he wasn’t guilty.

What if Coach Bob was wrong? And Benson and Coach Debbie too? What if Dmitri was innocent and my injuries were only the unfortunate by-products of a wild night of sex?

Was it possible?

I bit my lip. Dmitri pushed his hair from his face and smiled tentatively at me.

I looked away.

“Leah?”

“Be quiet. I’m thinking.”

I paced back and forth in front of the bench.

I liked Dmitri, I couldn’t help it. But I had to think this through. I couldn’t let my soft spot for him cloud my evaluation of what had happened between us.

Truth. I was a poor judge of character.

Another truth. I had bruises and injuries. Proof that
something
had happened.

And another. Dmitri would never do to a teammate what he’d done to me. I believed that with all my heart.

His eyes followed me as I paced in front of him. Would he be here, would he have followed me down the path to this secluded bench—my bench!—if he’d done the things I’d accused him of?

Would he be that determined, that calculated?

The voice in my head was clear.
Yes, if he were trying to finish the job.

He stood up, stretching his long body. Then he ran a sensual finger down my arm. “Leah? We couple again? Right here? What you think?”

“Don’t touch me!” I slapped his hand away but I couldn’t stop myself from remembering what that very same touch had done to me the day before, the places it had taken me. I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest. “No, we’re not coupling! You’re full of shit, Dmitri. I’m leaving now. Let me pass.”

“You do not like me anymore?”

“No!”

His face fell.

How is it possible, dear God, that I still like him, that I still want to couple with him?

Because I do.

“Leah…my very good friend? What are you saying?”

“You were never my friend!” I pointed a long, accusing finger at him. “A friend would never do what you did!”

“But I did not do anything!”

“You want to win pretty badly, don’t you?”

He looked confused. “But you also want to win!”

I ignored that. “You must have been annoyed that I was still around today! I bet you were pissed off that you didn’t do the job properly! Isn’t that right? Isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer.

Then I saw it. A quick
something
flickered across his face and then was gone. In that instant—even to me—he looked guilty. In that split second he had committed every last thing I’d accused him of. It was enough.

My voice turned cold. “Stay away from me. I mean it.”

He still didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes.

“Stay away from me. Don’t even look at me!”

Finally he nodded.

We stared at each other. Dmitri dropped his eyes.

Then I left.

* * * * *

“Holy
shit
,” breathed Benson, “that must have been wild.”

I leaned into him. “It was.”

I’d found Benson outside our dormitory, searching for me. Now we were back in my room. He held me tight and kissed me on the sweet spot on the bridge of my nose. “I wish I’d been there—you should have waited for me. But I’m so proud of you! Dmitri won’t come after you again. I bet you were amazing.”

“You think?”

“I bet you handled him like Coach Bob would have. But gentler.”

“Really?”

He brushed his hand down my head, playing with my hair. “And I bet it was sexy.”

“You think everything I do is sexy.”

“You’d be right. I take it your knitting wasn’t there?”

I’d forgotten about the knitting. “No! I’ll never get to sleep. Too much excitement.”

“We’ll see about that. I can work miracles, you know. I’m a Leah expert!”

And he proved his expertise by giving me the world’s best backrub. He had me lay down on my bed then he sat beside me. “Take off your shirt. Turn onto your stomach.”

I did. I threw the shirt into the corner to join the pile of shoes. Then I took off everything else for good measure.

I closed my eyes.

His strong hands roamed over my back, on my shoulders, down my rib cage. He worked his knuckles on either side of my spine. He pressed his fingertips into the tender space under my shoulder blades then made his way down to the small of my back. His touch grew lighter, skimming over my bruise. One by one my tight muscles started to unclench.

Then he massaged my tight, aching neck. I moaned in pleasure and gratitude.

“Benson?”

“Mmm?”

“I think I’m going to miss him…” I shifted around, trying to look up at him. He gently pushed me down again. “Am I crazy? Is that okay?”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you think I should have turned him in?”

Benson’s hands were motionless for a long moment. Then he placed them gently on either side of my head. “I don’t know. He didn’t admit to anything, did he?”

“No. But it’s weird. I don’t know if I would have turned him in even if he had confessed.”

“Oh? Why? I thought you were pissed at him.”

“I am. I am! But I still like him. Kind of. What would you have done?”

His fingers pressed gently into my scalp. “It doesn’t matter what I would have done. You did what was right for you. You’re kindhearted. You didn’t want to ruin his career.”

Kindhearted.

I digested his words as his hands left my scalp and roamed over my body. I was kindhearted? Hadn’t Soraya said something similar? Maybe I was kindhearted! Could they be right about me? For the first time in my life, I believed—I truly believed—that it might be true. That I might have admirable qualities as well as my crazies.

And it felt good.

His hands moved over my shoulders. “Like that?”

“Mmm. Yes. I do.”

“I can feel your muscles relaxing. Give me your arms.” He pulled my right arm gently to my side then the left. He moved on top of me. I felt his weight settle on my butt, his knees slide into place on either side of me.

He was sitting on me.

I liked it. A lot.

He knew. He always knew. He patted my butt. “The better to reach you, my dear.”

His hands went back to work. He massaged one arm then the other then worked on my shoulders again. I didn’t know which I liked more, him sitting on me or the massage. I liked it all. I liked it so much that I almost forgot about my missing knitting bag and about the Russian hitman who had failed to hit me hard enough.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered.

“Hey.”

“Do you want it?”

He knew I did, and badly. I nodded anyway, my face mashed into my pillow.

“How much do you want it?”

I squirmed, which was no easy thing with him sitting on me.

“Your mom told me we ought to practice more,” he said, sliding back to sit on my thighs so he could knead my ass. His palms pressed into my butt cheeks, mashing them together then spreading them apart. Then his fingers slowly worked their way around my hips, my waist. They wriggled their way underneath me, getting nearer and nearer to the places that ached so badly for his touch.

“She told me that too,” I whispered, breathless.

“I think she’s right.”

“I think my mom should stay out of our bedroom.”

He laughed. His hands left me. His weight shifted. I heard a
plop
of something hitting the floor—His underwear? His pants?—then he was sitting on me again and his hands were on me again.

“Spread your legs,” he said quietly, “but only a little.”

I did. Only a little.

“Lift up your ass. But only a little.”

Still sitting on my legs, he spread my butt cheeks. I felt cool air on my womanly parts. Was he blowing on me? I let out a long breath that was almost a moan. Then his cock, his sweet, beautiful cock, was resting between my butt cheeks, looking for home, looking for the place it knew so well.

Still massaging my back, he entered me slowly.

I gasped.

He sucked in air through his teeth. “Oh my God. It’s so tight! There’s barely room for me. It’s good like this…”

I raised my butt and pressed against him, helping his cock to find its way in. He was right. It
was
good like this.

“Now close your legs again. Squeeze me with your thighs… Oh! That’s
sweet
!”

I caught his cock between my legs, like a prisoner. It wasn’t very far inside me in this position, maybe two inches, maybe three, but still, it felt wonderful. We lay on the bed, hardly moving. Just tiny advances and retreats, minute joinings and separatings of cock and pussy—delightful shifts amplified by a delicious position. So relaxing! Even more so than when we’d coupled on the bench earlier that morning, and I’d thought that was the most relaxing, most beautiful coupling ever.

I let out a deep, cleansing breath.

Benson moved on me, slowly, sweetly, making my eyes heavier with each gentle thrust. He slowly shifted his weight until he was lying full-length on top of me, like the talented gymnast he was, and this time we suffered no sexual malfunction. He brushed my cheek with his lips then whispered into my ear, “Now go to sleep, babe.”

“What? Like this?”

“Like this.”

He found my hands and held them in his own as if there were no tomorrow. But there
was
a tomorrow and it would be the most important day of our lives. We moved together on my bed, my boyfriend and me, practicing and practicing and practicing…until first he, then I, fell asleep.

Together.

And finally it was our big day, the final round at the Olympics. And amazingly we were still there.

We were still there!

It was minutes before our turn.

Minutes.

We would be the last team to perform and we would have our work cut out for us. The Israelis had just stunned the crowd with a creative, vivacious performance. The judges loved them. The Israelis had become the team to beat.

Not so the Russians.

Dmitri and Nina’s unfortunate score had relegated them to the middling wastelands where no medal has ever seen the light of day.

What a shame.

We were warmed up, suited up, ready to go. My concealer was applied, my hair pulled back, my bush combed into submission, my fingernails trimmed. Benson, standing at my side, was confident and handsome. There was nothing he could do that would hurt me. If he had any lingering doubts about my health, last night’s wonderful little taxi ride must surely have dispelled them. We stood on the side of the central performance mat in the arena, holding hands, waiting for our moment to shine. I experienced things in sharp little snippets.

Crowds cheering.

Cameras circling.

Reporters hovering.

Coach Bob shouting. Debbie gripping the edge of her seat. My mom clapping her hands. Benson’s fifteen family members in seats all in a row, wearing identical
Benson
shirts, stomping their feet. And—amazingly—Soraya, yelling from the sidelines. She was here, supporting us, because she categorically refused to leave Mexico until after we performed. My eyes flickered from thing to thing, trying to take it all in at once.

I glanced at the big screen. Benson and me, as big as houses, our smiles pasted on.

I glanced at the scoreboard. Took note of the score we needed to beat.

I glanced at the judges, at that horrible woman judge who laughed at me yesterday, the one who thought my cannon blast was so funny. “Forget her,” Debbie had said only a few minutes ago. “She doesn’t matter.”

I swallowed, almost believing it.

Benson’s hand felt sweaty in my own.

There was a throwing-up sort of feeling in my throat.

I heard Benson’s ragged breaths at my side.

An announcement came over the loudspeakers. Announcing
us
. The time had come.

I stood up straight, thrust my breasts out. Benson did the same, his chest manly and strong and somehow bigger than it was three seconds ago. We shared a look. We were ready. We were more than ready! Everything in our lives had led to this point. Everything in Mexico City had led to this point. Marion Lewis and that appalling interview—where had she gone off to, anyway? Mom and Coach Bob screwing each other and then telling me about it. The Russians and their games. Meeting Baby Luke then losing his darling little sweater—which, by the way, I wasn’t over, but I must not, I
would
not dwell on it. Jim collapsing and scaring us all to death. Coach Debbie becoming Debbie, our lover. And, most of all, infusing every moment, my boyfriend, the love of my life—
Benson
.

It had all led to this very moment.

And I was filled with fire.

I was an athlete! I was full of life! I stood next to my love in the final round of the Olympic Games, doing what I did best.

But our performance has begun without me. My man is no longer a man.

He is a jaguar.

He stalks to the center of the mat, and, snarling and hissing, takes a pose.

And suddenly I am Xocha, the Amazon Queen.

I am woman personified! I am more female than female! I am Xocha the Proud, Xocha the Strong. I am killer of anacondas, tamer of jaguars, protector of my people! I, Xocha the Proud, take my pose. I carry a spear and a shield. My face and my flanks carry the blood of the sacrificial peccary and I am on the hunt. I hold my weapons over my head, my buttocks as hard as rocks, my breasts strong and sure, their nipples standing erect like sentinels on duty.

The music starts.

Jungle drums! Animal shrieks! Ancient voices chanting ancient spells! The jungle sounds grow, surrounding me, surrounding the heedless jaguar, surrounding every living being, bringing us all together in the primeval jungle.

I, Xocha the Proud, look for a jaguar to tame.

I, Xocha the Proud, will find a jaguar to tame.

I stalk through the jungle, my every stride shaking the ground, the movement of my legs a thing of beauty, my breasts heaving in time with my mighty footfalls. I, Xocha the Proud, possess the most beautiful breasts of all women! See them and weep! Other breasts shrivel away to nothing when compared with mine!

I own the jungle. Let none forget it.

The trees, the vines, the sharp sticker bushes and the razor-edged grasses—they all belong to me. I pause, posing, to take in the view of the mighty Amazon River. Scarlet macaws screech in a nearby tree. Mine. All mine.

Then I see him.

I see the jaguar.

He is sunning himself on a rock above the bank of the river. His mighty claws, as long as fingers, drape over the rock almost to the water’s edge, his spotted coat shines in the dappled jungle light. He’s a magnificent male specimen, this jungle cat, and he’s mine. Like everything else in the jungle, I own him.

He sees me.

His snarl fills the jungle. The birds fall silent.

He rises to his feet, his fangs bared. Oh, but he’s beautiful!

My loins clench with desire.

I come nearer. I move through the razor grass, their sharp edges glancing harmlessly from my steely legs. The jaguar follows my every move with his slanted yellow eyes. I come nearer still and a low growl comes from my prey.

I fall still.

The jaguar’s tail flicks.

Then, suddenly, the jaguar rises to his back feet, pawing the air, screaming with animal rage. Why do you invade my territory, woman?

I scream back. I am Xocha the Proud! You do not frighten me, jaguar!

The jaguar leaps from the rock, lands but two paces from me.

I jump to the side, avoiding his killing claws. I hurl the ancient words at him, the words that will change jungle cat into jaguar-man. Hear me, oh jaguar! Hear me, oh jungle dwellers! Xocha broadcasts her intention to mate with her captive!

Before my eyes, my jaguar rises to his feet and becomes a man.

He stands tall, my beautiful jaguar-man. He is proud, my jaguar-man. His cock is long and strong like a spear! His mighty cock extends toward me, his queen, because I am Xocha, Tamer of Jaguars!

I will have this magnificent creature! I will tame him.

I step closer. I lay down my spear, my shield. I offer my breasts.

The jaguar-man sheaths his claws and offers me his cock.

We circle one another, coming closer with each pass. My breasts brush his chest. His cock tickles my mound.

“Hey, babe,” whispers the jaguar-man.

“Hey,” answers Xocha the Proud.

Then I claim him. Our bodies cleave together, rocking the Amazon Basin. Our cat-calls fill the jungle. Our passion makes my people grab one another and rut like wild animals under the thorn bushes! His cock drives into me, fills me, and I am driven to places high above the jungle where only the gods dwell. We are mad for each other, my jaguar-man and I! We twist and contort ourselves as only an Amazon Queen and a jaguar-man can.

We sinuous creatures!

We masterful lovers!

We employ ever more wonderful ways to bring each other to the brink of madness.

Eight times we do this for each other.

Eight times we shriek and cry out and tear at the fabric of the world.

Eight times we demonstrate our passion for all to see.

Then, almost satiated, knowing the end is near, my jaguar-man bestows upon me all of his cock, the full length of it—and I give him all of me. Together we ride the clouds to the palaces above the jungle. Madness! Wonder! The entire jungle celebrates! Wild creatures roar! My jaguar-man moves me to a thundering climax the likes of which the jungle has never known.

I scream with the power of all the Amazon Queens who have come before me! I scream!

Then he leaps away from me.

He flips in the air—once, twice—and lands on all fours, snarling in triumph. For he’s a jaguar again, my lover.

I stand, panting and proud, for I am full of his seed!

I am Xocha, Tamer of Jaguars, and once again I have fulfilled my holy duty. I have secured the well-being of my people. I will bear his child.

We pose, my lover and I, and accept the adulation of the crowds.

The roars! The screams! The cheers!

From far away, as if underwater, chanting. “Lee-ah! Ben-son!”

Clap-clap!

Thump!

“Lee-ah! Ben-son!”

Clap-clap!

Thump!

We look at each other.

Time stands still.

Benson came to me from across the mat. He took my hand. We bowed to the judges. We bowed to our teammates. We bowed to each other. Then, with wild, ferocious abandon, he threw his arms around me and lifted me off my feet. He spun me in a circle, shouting with joy.

“We did it, Leah! We
did it
!”

I kissed his sweet, sweet mouth. “Benson, I love you!”

Cameras followed our every move, capturing our triumph.

I kissed him again.

It was an image—me in his arms, my feet off the floor, a kiss as emblematic as any image anywhere, at any time,
ever
—an image that would follow us for the rest of our lives, would make us into modern-day icons. America’s Darlings would soon become the Whole World’s Darlings and there was nothing we could do about it.

Not that we wanted to.

Coach Bob rushed the mat and slapped us on our naked butts—
whap, whap!
“Benson! Leah! You did it! And your elbow was
damn well perfect
this time!”

He could fuck my mom all he wanted. What, exactly, had I been so worked up about?

So, what the hell, I kissed Coach Bob too.

Debbie joined us, working her way in beside Coach Bob. There were tears in her eyes. “I
told
you!” she said, reaching for me, squeezing my breast, flicking my nipple. “You’re the best! The very best! I’ve already rented that penthouse suite!” It was too loud to hear the words, but I read her lips, oh yes—I read her lips!

I kissed Debbie’s sweet, sweet lips too.

Soon I’d be doing more.

The noise level grew and grew, swelling around my chest, making my breastbone hum.

“Look!” Benson yelled into my ear, pointing at the scoreboard.

I looked. Then I broke into a thousand pieces of pure, unadulterated joy. Well, I would have if I could have. Because that’s what it felt like.

I‘d won.

We’d
won
.

Let me tell you, winning a gold medal feels just like having an orgasm.

A moment later—time was behaving strangely, it had to be more than the ten seconds it felt like—Benson and I stood on the podium wearing our dress uniforms, gold medals draped over our chests, bouquets overflowing our arms, the
Star-Spangled Banner
rising in the arena and filling our souls.

My heart beat so fast I thought I might faint.

Benson knew. He always did.

He found my hand under all those gardenias as we tried to sing along with our national anthem. His steady presence kept me from falling apart as the song reached its rousing conclusion. He squeezed my hand, hard.

I squeezed back.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered.

“Hey,” I answered.

Another orgasm.

I barely noticed the Israeli team to our right and the Argentines to our left, but there was no way I could miss the cameras. Benson and I grinned and turned toward this reporter and that, giving the media what they wanted—even that Asshole Ryan Markham—even as my love and I talked to each other out of the sides of our mouths, giving each other what we needed.

“I love you,” Benson said.

“I love you too.”

“We did it!”

“We did.”

He kissed me. And again.

A second later—I told you time was acting strangely—we were outside the venue, drawn along in a jubilant crowd, many of whom wore
Benson
T-shirts. His fifteen family members! I lost my Benson for a while as he was passed from crying aunt to grinning cousin to ecstatic parent. My mother came out of nowhere and took my arm. She didn’t let go. Tears filled her eyes. “I guess you two practiced enough after all!”

I laughed.

She shoved her superphone in front of me. “Look! It’s when he swept you off your feet! They’re already calling it “The Kiss”!”

I blinked. There we were, Benson and I, on that famous holographic poster in Times Square. In New York.

“Wow!” I said, hugging her.

Then Benson was back and our coaches were beside us again, prouder and happier than I’d ever seen them. After a while, Coach Bob made a subtle move and went to stand by my mother. He kissed her.

And I didn’t even mind.

Probably because I was getting one hell of a kiss from Debbie.

“Hey, Leah!” said Benson. “Aren’t those your friends the rowers? They’re coming.”

I nodded then used a gardenia bloom to swab tears from my eyes. It didn’t work very well. I pulled away from my mother and Debbie and Benson—just for the moment—and let the rowers envelop me in a testosterone-laced group hug that damn well gave me another orgasm.

Winning a gold medal is nice.

Believe me.

Then the rest of the team was there, surrounding Benson and me, touching us, patting us, hugging us, kissing us, groping us. We’re a physical bunch of people, we sexual gymnasts, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Dr. Chung was there and Soraya, who was holding my knitting bag—she must have had it all along! She handed it to me then took it back when she saw my armload of flowers. She leaned in close. “He’s getting better, Leah! Jim talked to me this morning!”

I hugged her, laughing through my tears, smashing a couple of dozen flowers.

Then I turned back to my love, wondering if it were possible to die of joy.

Surrounded by people who loved us, Benson and I held each other and wept.