AmericasDarlings (12 page)

“My mother…” I said, tugging on his arm, almost losing my blueberry muffin, “Coach Debbie said she’s here somewhere.”

“She can wait.”

Benson and I went back to our private bench. We sat next to each other, not touching.

“What the hell, Leah?”

“I know. I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.” He stood up and paced back and forth on the gravelly area in front of the bench. “Did you stop to think about me? About what would happen to me? We’re partners!”

“I didn’t think. That’s the problem.”

“You almost got disqualified! Leah! You would have disqualified me too!”

“I know.” I picked a leaf from a shrub behind the bench. I turned it over and traced the veins with my index finger.

“We’re in this together!”

“I know,” I said again.

“You might be the prima donna here, but I’m your partner! I deserve better!”

I couldn’t look at him.

He stalked back and forth in front of me, kicking up tiny pebbles with each step. “I’m not supposed to be doing this! I’m supposed to be helping you! Calming you down!”

I shrank back, feeling anything but calmed down.

“But it’s
so
hard, Leah. I have feelings too!” He whacked a branch out of his way then snapped it off completely on his next pass. Still holding it, he whirled around to face me. “I deserve better!”

I just looked at him, so full of hurt on his behalf that I couldn’t respond.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

I gulped. “I’m so sorry, Benson. You do deserve better.”

“You take me for granted!”

“No! I don’t.”

“You do! You take me for granted, but everything I do depends on you!”

“No, Benson! It’s the other way around! I depend on you! Don’t you see? I’d be lost without you. And…I truly am sorry about last night. I am!”

He tossed the branch away and sat down again. Gazed into my eyes.

I did my best not to look away.

He plucked the leaf from my hand and tossed it to the ground. “Okay. I believe you. You’re sorry. You don’t take me for granted. But I have to be able to trust you. Leah, Look at me.”

I looked at him, trembling.

“Can I trust you?”

“Yes,” I whispered, “you can trust me. You can trust me to do the best I can.”

After a while he nodded. “Good. That’s good enough. For now. We’ll discuss it again later. When we’re not just about to perform in the goddamn Olympics.”

“I won’t risk our partnership again.”

“I know. You didn’t mean to this time.”

“I didn’t.”

“You got in over your head with those asshole Russians.” He slid closer to me then patted the bench. “I need to help you relax now, don’t I? And here I am, making you even more upset.” He sighed. “C’mere. You’re still my Leah. You’re still my best friend. You’re still my partner.”

I leaned into him, afraid to speak. Too numb to speak.

He put his arm around me and we sat on our bench for a long while, watching the breeze shuffle the leaves. I closed my eyes. Forty-five minutes until we had to be at the arena. Just enough time to get my equilibrium back. Maybe. If I were lucky. Thank goodness for Benson. I didn’t take him for granted! If only he know how much I depended on him. He understood me like no one else. He could make me feel better no matter what was happening in my screwed-up head. He knew how.

He always did.

He turned to me. “I want you.”

“We can’t.”

“I don’t care. I want to couple with you so bad it hurts. When you took your shirt off in there, when Coach Bob scrubbed that stuff off your back, when I saw you were injured…I almost threw up! I wanted to go to you, to touch you, to make you better.” He searched my eyes. “Please, let me. We can do it right here. We can be quick. I’ll be so gentle you won’t even notice me sticking it in you, I promise.”

I put my hand on his thigh. “Oh, I
always
notice you, Benson. But we can’t. We’re forbidden. You’re not supposed to touch me—remember?”

“That just makes me want you more.”

“Coach Bob said I need to rest.”

He put his forehead to mine. “But I know you better than he does. I think you need a type of rest that involves
two
people. I think you need
me
.”

I stared at him. “I do. You’re right. Kiss me.”

He did. The most gentle kiss ever. Like a butterfly’s wings. No…like a falling feather. I felt his lips on mine, tasting me, hovering, a touch that almost wasn’t touching.

“Fuck me,” I whispered.

He looked amused, my Benson. When had I ever used that word with him? He laid me down on the bench and slowly pulled my shorts to my knees. “I’ll fuck you. And I’ll be so careful you’ll barely notice me.”

“I
want
to notice you.”

He pulled down his own shorts. Then he gently lay down on top of me. He kissed me again. His cock pressed into my groin, but it wasn’t digging at me as Dmitri’s had. It wasn’t insistent or demanding or selfish. It was patient. It was loving.

It was Benson.

“Leah …” he said so quietly, so quietly.

I kissed him.

“I couldn’t bear to see you hurt,” he said, lifting his head and gazing at me.

I lifted a blond curl from his eye and tucked it behind his ear. “I’m okay. Really I am.”

“I saw your bruise and I wanted to explode, I was so mad.”

I kissed him again. “I thought you wanted to touch me and make everything better.”

“I wanted both things! How could someone hurt a treasure like you?”

I put my hands on his butt.

He took a shuddering breath then smiled at me. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey.” I smiled back.

And, just like that, the world was right again.

He moved on top of me until his cock found my wet, warm place. Slowly, delicately, taking all the time in the world, it inched its way into me. He stared into my eyes the entire time, never blinking.

And it was the loveliest thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

“I love you,” he said.

“Me too.”

“Leah. Listen to what I’m saying.
I
…
love…you
.” His cock moved in me, a delicate, sweet thing. “I love you!” He buried his head in the place under my chin and when he spoke, his voice was muffled. “Remember when Ryan Markham asked if you had a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“I want to be your boyfriend.” His hips rose and fell gently on top of me. “I want you to be my girlfriend, Leah.”

I took his hands in my own, interlaced my fingers with his. I breathed deeply. His cock probed my depths—but tenderly, so very tenderly. Exactly what I needed. You’d think a declaration of love would be too much for me to handle after the past couple of hours, right before the biggest performance of my life, but you’d be wrong. Dead wrong.

It was wonderful.

Like I said, I don’t operate like everyone else.

“I love you too, Benson,” I whispered. “I love you like I’ve never loved anyone. I
want
you to be my boyfriend…”

His eyes caught mine. He looked alarmed. “But? Do I hear a ‘but’ there?”

“But you know how I am!”

“Yes. I do. You’re soft. You’re warm. You fit me like a glove.”

He kissed me.

How is it possible to
relax
during sex?

“You know that’s not what I meant,” I said, smiling at him with my entire body, feeling like a puddle of chocolate pudding, the good kind, the homemade kind, with fresh cream and real cocoa powder and whole milk, the kind my mother used to make for me on the first snowy day of winter when I was little.

I kissed him back.

His teeny nipples brushed mine. “Then please elaborate.”

“Mmm…” I closed my eyes, feeling his pubic bone rub oh so softly against mine, causing my clit all sorts of intriguing sensations. “Well. I’m…needy. Right? Everyone tells me I can be…unpredictable. And I just proved I can’t tell friend from foe. You know. Stuff like that.”

He laughed gently. “I know all that!” He pulled his cock out of me then thrust it back in playfully. “But Leah, that’s not all of you! There’s more to you, much more! You’re fun. You’re unique. You’re kindhearted. You’re passionate. Not to mention you’re the world’s sexiest woman.” He arched his neck, leaned down and sucked at my breast, the good one.

I shuddered, squirmed and squeezed his cock with my Kegel muscles. “Propaganda,” I gasped. “An invention by our good friend Ryan Markham.”

“It’s true.”

Right then, with Benson coupling with me, sucking me, holding my hands, playing footsy with me, his clean, apple-scented hair in my face and tickling my nostrils, I felt like it could be true. All of it.

He gave my nipple a final lick. “I love you,” he said again.

The sun shone down on us. I heard laughter from far away, a woman’s shrill voice, the low bark of a dog. I sighed, content. Benson’s weight on me and his slow rhythmic movements were the most delicious thing in the world. In that moment, they
were
the world. I didn’t ever want to get up from our lovely bench. I didn’t ever want to let his cock leave my body. I kissed his nose. “I won’t be able to change though. I can’t change! I can’t take anything for my…issues. Not if I want to keep performing.”

“I don’t want you to. You’re perfect just as you are.”

We moved together, blissfully, slowly. He kissed my eyelid, then the tip of my nose, then sucked gently on my bottom lip.

“Mmm…” I said.

His cock massaged me deep inside, his balls rubbed against the skin below my vagina in a most enticing manner. I wiggled my butt on the bench, spreading my legs a bit more in the narrow space, trying to get the full effect. I squeezed his hands and arched my back.

“Oh, Benson! That’s
really
nice…”

“Good. It’s supposed to be.”

I closed my eyes, letting myself feel the beauty of our coupling, letting myself enjoy the moment—something I didn’t do often enough in practice. Then I smiled. “We’ll have so much fun! Won’t we? You. Me. Together.”

He grinned. “Damn straight we will.”

“And others too! We’ll invite others to join us. Like Coach Debbie.”

“We’ll have a blast.”

“We’ll have so many lovers they’ll write books about us.”

“Ha! As if anyone reads anymore.”

“And we’ll couple with anyone we want to.”

“Of course we will! We’re sexual gymnasts—we have to keep in shape. Fifteen times a day! Twenty times a day! With me or without me, I don’t care.
I love you
, Leah.” He held my hands in the air, both of them, squeezing like there was no tomorrow. “I just want you to love me back. Be my girlfriend.
Love me
, Leah. Like I love you.”

Our bodies moved together, a choreography made in heaven. “I do! I love you. I always have
.
Since the day I met you.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yes, girlfriend. Boyfriend?”

“Yes, yes,
yes
!”

We kissed and kissed.

Our slow movements took on a power I’d never felt before. An ocean of feeling rose in us, between us, filling us.

He moaned softly.

I gasped.

“Leah!” he said in a throaty voice, his face a study of orgasmic bliss.

I tilted over the edge and joined him.

And, yes, the world was good again. Very good.

“You don’t have to watch,” said Benson.

He sat with his arm around my shoulders, ready to shield me from something I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. We were in the arena, suited up, limbered up, ready to go, ready to earn our place on the giant overhead scoreboard with the seven other finalists who would compete tomorrow in the final round—the medal round. We were one of only three teams left to compete and we knew that we could make it into the final. That we would. If things went well. Which they would.

“It’s okay. I’ll watch.”

Two roving cameras were on us, broadcasting our every move.

My various blemishes had been covered by Coach Debbie’s miracle concealer, but before we could take our turn we had to wait for the team directly ahead of us. The Russians. More to the point, it was Dmitri and his partner Nina out there performing, doing their best to make it through to the final round.

Dmitri.

Had he really done what Coach Bob said he had? Was I really such a poor judge of character? I’d have to think about that later. I watched Dmitri pose, I watched him prepare for the mount, his shock of black hair shining in the spotlights, the muscles of his shoulders standing out in full relief, his cock erect and long and beautiful. I turned away, blinking. When I looked back again, his hips and buttocks were rising and falling and his hair was swaying over Nina’s body and I felt heat in my belly. Whatever he’d done or not done, he still had the power to make me want him. Even when I was as pissed as hell.

The music rose in volume.

The crowd cheered. Dmitri and Nina were coupling as if their lives depended on it.

“They’re good,” I said, frowning. I had an idea just how good they were. Also an idea how much they wanted to win.

“We’re better.” Benson jiggled his knee. Nerves.

I swallowed and swallowed again. Also nerves. “Yes. We
are
better.”

“Absolutely.”

Another roving camera joined us, pushing its way past the other two and almost into our faces, zooming in close. This camera came with its own newscaster. She motioned for us to do something—anything—for her to capture on live TV
. Olympic Network News
read the pass around her neck. Benson waved into the camera lens. I grinned and pecked him on the cheek. Then I gave the camera a V for victory with both hands.

“What do you think of the holographic poster over the entrance?” asked the newscaster.

“It’s…big,” I said.

“Take a look.” She held out a handheld screen and flicked it with her finger. “You’re on it!”

Benson and I leaned toward her and peered at her screen. It showed a fifty times larger than life image of me and Benson performing our dismount at yesterday’s competition. Benson in a round-off backflip with his cock still very erect, me in a mirror image position, my hairy, dark bush looking
very
hairy and dark indeed. Words scrolled beneath. “America’s Darlings…America’s Hope”. How could I have missed it?

Benson whistled. “Wow. It’s big.”

“Yes!
You’re
big! America is counting on you two. Everyone loves you!”

“We appreciate the support,” I said, “thank you.”

Cheering. We looked up.

Dmitri and Nina had just performed their dismount. They bowed to the judges. They pranced off the mat. I held my breath then frowned when their score was posted. It was high. Too high for comfort. They’d just received the best score—so far—of the round. Their score shot them up to the top of the board.

But not for long. Benson and I intended to knock them down a peg.

Almost time. Two-minute warning.

We followed Agatha, our escort. The newscaster and camerawoman followed us.

I turned and waved at the team.

“You can do it!” yelled Soraya.

“Show the bastards they didn’t stop you!” screamed Coach Debbie.

“Remember to tuck in your elbow!” shouted Coach Bob.

We were set to perform
Wood Nymph
, of course, the one we’d practiced in so much detail in the Oostif two days before, the one Coach Debbie had altered for us only a few hours ago. Benson took my hand and held it high as we were introduced. A roar shook the arena, a roar so loud I felt it under my breastbone.

Only I could feel the trembling of his hand.

I looked at him.

He tried to smile, a ghastly thing.

Are you okay?
I asked silently, with a look that only he could read.

I don’t want to hurt you
, his eyes replied.
I’m afraid.

You won’t
.

Are you sure? Absolutely sure?

Yes! I am! We fixed the problem! Remember? You have to believe me.

All right then.

I took a deep breath. I squeezed his hand and let it go, waved to the audience and moved into position to take my pose.

He did too. His face lost the mockery of a smile that had so unnerved me a moment before. He looked ready, whether or not he truly was.

The arena quieted.

The music started.

And then everything went wrong.

Well, not at first. At first everything was fine. More than fine. We moved through the opening sequences with verve and energy, with almost no effort at all, bringing the audience roaring right along with us. The tease was just about perfect—Coach would be proud. We
nailed
the mount. Benson said the magic words to me, I answered and we shared our bodies with each other. Yes, I admit it—I loved that mount! I loved the exquisite moment when Benson’s cock drilled into me, like a homing missile to its target. I gasped and gasped again as I thrust my hips to meet his. The audience responded, the noise level growing as the first people began, I was sure, to have their VOs. And Benson! So confident and sure and handsome. It was as if we’d never exchanged those worried looks.

We felt good, both of us. We could
do
this!

The nerves were gone, vanquished, excised and I didn’t feel tired at all. My back didn’t ache, my nipple didn’t hurt. As Benson’s cock probed my depths, as I responded to his movements and felt my fear recede, I let myself believe that my night out partying wouldn’t affect our performance after all.

It was, of course, premature.

We moved on to the difficult part of the routine. We aced the first acrobatic position. The second as well. The crowd was into us and we were into each other. Then the third and the fourth. We felt the burn! The passion! The excitement! The joy of sex. We performed the fifth and sixth and seventh positions, sharing our personal interpretation of making love—because, for the first time in public, America’s Darlings were making love as girlfriend and boyfriend.

My boyfriend smiled at me.

And that precise moment was when it all came crashing down. When we transitioned from the seventh position—
Raging Volcano
—to the eighth position—
Courtesan Treat
—it happened.

That horrible thing every sexual gymnast dreads. Benson’s cock slipped out of me.

We fell off the balance beam.

We lost
ten points
.

We were stunned, poleaxed, stupefied. How could this have happened? We’d practiced this move!

We’d nailed it in the bathroom twelve times in a row. Thirteen if you counted the first time. Our sexual malfunction had happened so fast I wasn’t even sure which of us was at fault. I’d followed the new choreography to the letter. Hadn’t I? Had Benson? We shared a horrified glance then—what else could we do?—we got back on the balance beam. But it was worse than a simple malfunction. Much worse. Oh, the horror of it. The utter humiliation of it. The malfunction had occurred at the exact worst time! We were tangled up in such an unlikely position-between-positions that we were forced to do the unthinkable.

We had to use our hands to get his cock back into me.

Like teenagers. Like the untrained masses.

Ten more points for using hands.

We stumbled through the seventh position and into the eighth, our performance neither brilliant nor awful. Things were bad but not beyond salvaging. Then, adding insult to injury—I must admit to this even though it’s exquisitely embarrassing—I produced an earsplitting cannon blast.

Benson and I froze.

If you must know, “cannon blast” is insider jargon for
pussy fart
.

Soraya told me later that one of the judges had hidden her mouth behind her hand and giggled.

She’d giggled.

If I thought I’d been embarrassed at breakfast, that had been nothing compared to this.

Nothing.

And it cost us seven points for a total of twenty-seven points lost.

Benson and I finished the routine to a hushed crowd. We completed the dismount without a single misstep, landing squarely on our feet, our poses perfect. If it even mattered. White-faced, we bowed for the judges. There was no wild clapping from the audience. No cheering. No chanting or foot-stomping. Only shocked silence, a solitary clap here and there. Probably from my mother.

How different from yesterday.

We hurried off the mat. We staggered to the nearest seats ringing the mat, stunned.

Benson sat next to me, away from our teammates, holding my hand. We were a black pit of misery. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Me too.”

“It was my fault. I forgot the new choreography!”

“No. I’m sorry. If not for me, there wouldn’t have been new choreography.”

“We practiced that move, Leah!”

I couldn’t look at him. “I know.” My knees jiggled so hard it made my chair wobble. “But the rest of it was okay. Wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

“We could still make it through to the final round…right? The rest of the routine had been good enough to get us in, even with all the deductions…hadn’t it?”

“Cameras,” he warned, pressing his lips into a thin line, his face white. They swarmed, surrounding us.

The ONN woman grinned, showing her big white teeth. She shoved a microphone into my face.

Goddamn.

Just
Goddamn
.

“What went wrong out there, Leah?”

I bit my lip, hid my breasts behind my arms, tried to turn away. “Everything. Everything went wrong.”

She took a step closer. “Who lost control? Was it you? Or was it Benson?”

“Both of us.”

“What made his…ah, penis fall out of you?”

I didn’t answer right away. She shoved the microphone at me, touching it to my chin. It gave me a small shock. I jumped.

“Well?”

“I don’t know, exactly.”

“Was it your fault? Did you squeeze him out of your vagina?”

“I don’t think so. It just happened.”

She shoved the microphone at Benson. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know either.”

“We’ll know soon enough! I’m sure we’ll be watching it on TV tonight. Your malfunction will be dissected with a fine-tooth comb by every expert who’ll talk to us!”

Benson looked like he would throw up. “I hope not.”

“Oh, believe me, it will! So, what caused Leah to make that awful noise? That…flatulence. Was it something you did?”

Benson stuttered a non-answer, his face white.

“Was it what you people call a cannon blast?”

He nodded, looking away. “Yes.”

“Caused because you filled her with air, right? Isn’t that something they train you not to do?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“What do you think, Benson? Will your score be too low? Will you and Leah be eliminated?”

Benson and I just looked at each other.

”Leave them alone, now!”

Thank God for Coach Bob.

He may have been screwing my mother, but he came through when it mattered. He bulldozed his way between us and the camera, blocking the lens with his hand—the same hand that had held my breast with such outrage and concern only a few hours ago, the same fingers that had greeted and comforted my pussy as I lay sobbing on his lap. Coach Bob threw the considerable force of his personality and his even more sizeable lung capacity at the reporter. “This interview is over. Go away. Leave.”

“But I have full access!”

”Leave us!”

With a reproachful look, muttering, she left.

Coach Bob didn’t say anything. He just folded our almost naked, stunned selves into a giant, protective group hug. After a minute he stood us up and turned us toward the scoreboard. “You have to know. You have to see what they gave you. It’s part of competing.”

I bit my lip.

I tried to hold back tears—
Crying for the second time today!
—but a trail of cold tears slid down my cheek and dripped off my chin anyway. I made the mistake of looking up at the big screens and saw a waterfall of a tear cascade from a cliff of a chin. Me. Crying on the big screen.

Wonderful. At least they’d moved away from my breasts.

Coach Bob put his hand on the small of my back. “The concealer is starting to rub off,” he whispered, “I’ll cover it for now with my hand, but Debbie needs to fix you up. Benson! Tell Debbie to get over here.”

It was a distraction.

As we waited for the score to come up, Coach Debbie dabbed and patted and rubbed my back then rubbed some more and patted some more, much longer than was necessary. Bless her. Her touch helped me to regain my feet. Finally she rested her hand on my shoulder. “You’re still the best,” she said calmly, looking into my eyes. “Believe me, I know.” She hugged me then Benson. “Both of you. No matter what. You’re still the best.”

I had a hard time believing her.

How could we possibly be the best if we couldn’t keep ourselves linked for long enough to finish our routine?

“Look,” Coach Debbie said, “the score is up.”

My breath froze in my chest. It was too low. Not horrible. Not catastrophic. It hovered weakly in the middle, not quite good enough to be better than half the other teams.

“We won’t make it into the final round,” whispered Benson.

Coach Debbie frowned. “There’s still a chance.”

“Not really,” I said, looking anywhere but at that scoreboard.

Our wretched score had been enough to bump us into the final eight—for now
.
For the next minute or so.But it wasn’t enough to keep us there and we knew it. There was still one team to go. Soraya and Jim hadn’t competed yet and they were sure to pass through.