AmericasDarlings (15 page)

My God.

It had never felt like this.

I took one hand and held my own breast, rolling the nipple in my fingers.

“Stop! Stop what you’re doing right now!”

Benson froze.

I tried to freeze but didn’t quite succeed. Crap! The voice wanted us to stop, to do something else. But I was enjoying this! I was so close to coming! I tried to hold still but my butt still squirmed on the bench. My innermost parts still trembled. My breasts still quivered. My chest still rose and fell with a rapid, shallow breathing I couldn’t control.

This was turning out to be much more fun than I’d anticipated.

“Now take her from behind.”

Benson tugged me off the bench. The spotlight snapped off.

I turned around, knelt on the floor and presented my butt. Benson came behind me, kneeling also, and reached around my middle to cup my breasts. I spread my knees and leaned over as far as I could. His cock entered my wet, wet,
wet
place and it slipped right into me as if I were greased, right up to the end of his shaft. I could even feel his balls.

He moaned.

“Now fuck the
hell
out of her!”

And Benson did.

We bounced against the bench as he thrust into me, harder and harder, faster and faster. Our breaths came in tandem, bursts of air forced from us by our wild lovemaking. The car went on its merry way, turning corners, making us lean one way or the other, bouncing over speed bumps, oblivious to our passion.

But our audience wasn’t oblivious. Not at all.

An ear-splitting shriek came over the loudspeaker. “Ah… Ah…
Oh
…my…God!
”

Oh my
.

Our invisible friend just had the loudest VO I’d ever heard.

Then Benson and I, as if on cue, exploded in orgasms of our own. Benson clutched at me, his thighs knotted with muscle, his chest slapping against my back. “Leah! Leah!
Leah!
” he moaned. My name had never sounded better.

I gasped.

Wow! Wow!
Wow!

I closed my eyes, rocking back and forth on my knees as my vagina spasmed around his cock. It went on and on and on, this otherworldly climax, first spreading down my legs, then up my belly and finally lingering in my nipples, shattering me, knocking me senseless, making my head spin. Absolutely, positively, without a doubt the best orgasm I’d ever had.

But I say that every time, don’t I?

I can’t help it if it’s true.

The taxi turned a corner then slowed. It stopped.

Benson lay unmoving on my back, breathing so fast I was afraid he’d pass out.

“Are we there, Taxi?” I asked after a minute, trying to look out of the window.

“Um. Ah…” A long pause. “Yes, we’re at the village.”

Benson nuzzled the back of my neck. Then we separated our beautifully aching bodies. We sat up and tried to get ourselves together, moving none too quickly. I heard a deep
ka-thump
of a noise somewhere in the distance. Probably fireworks. The Mexicans presented a fireworks show every evening at dusk. It was dusk.

I leaned forward and kissed Benson. “Wow,” I whispered, my nose only an inch from his. “That was…amazing.”

“Wow yourself, you little hussy. You do like an audience, don’t you?”

“You do too!”

He didn’t deny it.

I laughed. “I bet Mexico City brings in a lot of revenue like this!”

“These taxis were probably designedfor it.”

Our friend the voice didn’t deny it.

Finally I roused myself enough to scrounge our clothes from the far corner and we tugged them on. I ran my hands over Benson’s head—his hair was a mess. He did the same for me.

We kissed one last time.

“Thank you for the show, Leah and Benson.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“I wish you the best of luck tomorrow. I’ll never forget what you did for me. America’s Darlings have a fan for life.”

“Thank you,” said Benson as he pushed the button to make the windows transparent again. “I don’t expect we’ll forget this either!”

We stepped out of the cab.

We had to find out about Jim.

We headed away from the taxi, holding hands, watching the end of the firework show. It was perhaps the finest evening yet, mild and calm and smelling of gardenia blossoms. We headed toward our dormitory, flushed and warm from our adventure in the taxi.

“Wait,” I whispered, tugging on Benson’s arm. “Look. Coach Debbie.”

She was outside the Oostif, carefully brushing her long hair. It was wet. She must have just worked out and showered. A shaft of light from above the door spotlighted her, making her tall figure glow in the gathering darkness. She didn’t see us.

“I thought she’d be at the hospital,” said Benson.

“Maybe a coach has to stay in the village with us peons?”

“Right. I forgot. The Olympics. I bet their archaic rules haven’t changed in a hundred years.”

I squeezed Benson’s hand and pulled him off the path, where she couldn’t spot us. We watched Coach Debbie draw the brush in long, slow swipes through her hair. She stood with her legs slightly separated, her back straight, her shoulders and arms moving in a graceful rhythm.

“She’s beautiful,” I whispered.

“Yes.”

We ignored the people walking past us, the small groups of athletes on their way to eat or to party or—let’s be honest—to find someone to have sex with. I smiled. How many of them knew about the Mexico City taxi system? I recognized three men from the Israeli sexual gymnastics team, one of whom had made it through to the final round. They entered the Oostif, giving Coach Debbie a long, admiring look. Much as we were doing.

“She doesn’t know how pretty she is. No idea.”

“None.”

“C’mon,” I said, heading toward her. “She’s putting the brush away.”

Coach Debbie saw us and broke into a wide grin. “My darlings!”

I didn’t mind when she called us that. It made me tingle in my nether regions.

We quickly closed the distance between us. “How’s Jim?”

Her smile faded. “Still in the hospital. He’s awake. Feeling somewhat better. They don’t want anyone to visit except family. He’s on intravenous fluids. And other stuff.”

“What was it?” I asked. “What happened?”

She frowned. “Severe dehydration. With involvement of his heart, from what I understand. Lazy valve syndrome or something like that. His kidneys weren’t happy either. All I know is what Bob told me. They’re running tests.”

“God
damn
,” said Benson.

I hugged myself, shivering even though it wasn’t cold out. “Will he be okay?”

“They say so. He’s stable. For now. Until he gets home and sees the specialists.”

We left unasked the obvious.
Will he ever compete again?

I leaned in to Benson. He put his arm around me. “Where’s Soraya?”

“Hospital. They’re considering her part of the family.”

“I have to call her.”

“You can’t. She can’t use her phone in the hospital. You’ll have to wait for her to call you.”

I frowned. I didn’t want to wait.

People passed us by, entering and leaving the Oostif. Some gave us curious glances. Some gave us pitying looks. Some whispered to each other. A woman from the Russian team—had she been at the party?—greeted me by name, a smirk on her pretty face. Or maybe I was only imagining it. A man from the Argentinean team waved shyly and wished us luck tomorrow. “How’s your teammate?” he asked, hesitating just inside the door.

“Better, thank you,” said Coach Debbie.

The man left.

The three of us stared at each other. Without my having noticed we had shifted and now we were standing so close that we were almost touching, an entity unto ourselves.

Coach Debbie reached out and touched Benson’s cheek. “There’s something different about you,” she said slowly, softly, pooching out her lips and frowning just a little. “Both of you. But I don’t know what it is.” She shook her head as if that would help her to figure it out.

Benson rubbed his cheek on her hand. “You’re right. There
is
something different.”

She looked from one of us to the other.

“We’re together,” I said, blushing. Why wasn’t she touching my cheek too?

Coach Debbie yelped and clapped her hands. “Finally!”

I laughed. “Was everyone sitting around waiting for us to discover each other? My mother said the same thing.”

“So did my mother,” said Benson.

I looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

“I called her from the restaurant. When I went to the bathroom.”

“Well, it suits you. I bet it’ll make your performances even better! And other things too.” Her eyes twinkled.

“Yes,” I said, “it will!”

“Absolutely,” said Benson.

Coach Debbie grinned. “Good for you. Good for
me
.” She hooked her arms through ours and herded us down the path. “Let’s take a walk. Like the other day. Remember our nice little bench? Of course you do.” She held us close. “I just love the evening here, don’t you? Moping around being worried about Jim isn’t going to help him. We might as well enjoy ourselves.”

Oh my.

Benson caught my eye.
Again? So soon?

I shrugged.
Hey. We’re sexual athletes. We have to practice, right?

He laughed out loud.

But we didn’t go to our little bench in the woods. We found ourselves in the central plaza of the village—the Wagon Wheel. “Let’s take a better look,” said Coach Debbie, steering us toward it and away from the bench. I’d often walked past the Wagon Wheel. I’d seen it from the reception room of the Olympic Broadcasting Center, but I hadn’t yet wandered into its garden-themed outer area and inner grassy circle, or taken a good look at the sculpture in the very center. We walked a full circuit around the outer pathway then started around again. Paths radiated in eight directions like the spokes of a wheel, like the slices of a pie.

In the middle of the grassy lawn was the official sculpture of the games, the one that appeared in almost every poster where Benson and I didn’t. It reached for the sky, the highest thing around. Enormous figures carved of—What? Marble? Concrete? Resin?—erupted from the main tower, caught in various poses of Olympic sports. We plopped ourselves down on the grass underneath the sculpture, joining perhaps fifteen or twenty other people scattered about, many of whom were locked in amorous embraces.

The sculpture hovered over us, either menacing or whimsical—I couldn’t make up my mind. Maybe it was both.

“What do you think?” asked Coach Debbie.

“Hmm,” I said, biting my lip. “I like the sexual gymnasts. The sculptor got the mount correct. How about that?”

“It’s the
Snarling Dragon
position,” said Benson, squinting. “I like the
Snarling Dragon
position.”

I swatted at him. “You like every position!”

“So do you.”

I studied the sculpture again. “It’s the exact moment when the guy’s cock goes into the girl—you can see it on their faces, can’t you? But check out that platform diver leaping into the air above them! He looks like he’s going to smash into their heads! What’s thatall about?”

“Weird, isn’t it?” said Coach Debbie.

The more we looked, the more we saw.

“It’s the dressage woman who bothers me,” said Benson. “I think her horse is going to trample the gymnast on the parallel bars. Ouch.”

I laughed.

Coach Debbie pointed. “Take a look at the archer. He’s gorgeous. But doesn’t it look like he’s going to shoot the horse?”

“I never noticed that!” said Benson, snorting.

I pointed to the other side of the horse. “And that girl with the rifle. See her? Is she aiming at me? I think she is.”

The sculpture was a grotesque, monstrous thing, lit by strong white lights, but I decided I liked it. I liked it a lot. To me, I understood in that very moment, the thing represented the games themselves—the good, the bad, the horrendous, the wonderful. All of it, in one brilliant statue.

I lay back on the grass, still looking up at it.

Coach Debbie lay down and put her head on my stomach. Benson scootched over beside her, spooning with her, still holding my hand. His free hand rested lightly on her hip. I played with Coach Debbie’s hair, running the long strands through my fingers and spreading them over my shirt, over my breasts. Then I ran my index finger along her eyebrow, down the slope of her nose, over the contours of her lips. Her lips moved, kissing the tip of my finger. I traced the lines of her smile. Her lips opened, just the tiniest bit.

“Coach Debbie,” I said.

“Debbie. Call me Debbie.”

“Okay…Debbie.” I hesitated, gazing at the archer figure above us. His eyes were locked on something in the distance. “What do you think? About tomorrow?”

She lifted her arm. “Hold my hand, Leah.”

I grasped it. I loved how firm yet delicate her hand was, how different from Benson’s. I pulled it to my mouth and kissed it.

“Benson, you too.”

He took her other hand.

“Leah. Benson. You two are the best. You have magic and the audience loves you. You have the ability to go all the way. Believe me. I don’t care a whit if you had a malfunction—you are the best. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Yes,” echoed Benson.

“You will win tomorrow.”

“Yes,” we repeated, “we will.”

“And when you win”—her voice became quiet and intense—“I will couple with you until your brains fall out. That’s a promise! But hear this. I am going to make you wait. No making love with Debbie tonight. No such luck. Forbidden territory. You have to win a medal first. And when you do, I will get a room in Mexico City’s best hotel—the penthouse even, I don’t care how much it costs—and the three of us will fuck like goddamn bunnies!”

I just about had a fit, I laughed so hard.

Benson rolled on top of her and kissed her. She pushed him off, laughing.

He didn’t notice her hand sneaking between my legs.

Okay. I wanted her.

We both did.

So now we had a really good incentive to win.

* * * * *

It was several hours later and disaster had struck.

I couldn’t find my knitting bag.

Benson and I had been all over looking for it, but the bag was gone. It wasn’t in my room. It wasn’t in the Oostif or the dining hall or in Benson’s room. It wasn’t in Naomi’s room or in Debbie’s room. It wasn’t in the arena or in the bathroom on the far side of the Wagon Wheel. My mom didn’t have it. It wasn’t even in the official lost-and-found, which we’d spent a good fifteen minutes pawing through.

We were back in my room, at a complete loss. “Where haven’t we searched?” I asked.

“Call the taxi company,” suggested Benson.

“I didn’t take it to dinner.”

He frowned. “You’re right. We left with your mother right after performing. You didn’t have it. I remember.”

I had no idea if or when Soraya would be back. Our things were scattered all over, clothes heaped on the beds, shoes kicked into the corner, bath towels on the floor, Olympic knickknacks, makeup and snacks littered the dresser under the window. Stuff was all over, lots of it, but not my knitting bag.

I lifted my bed’s lacy coverlet, got to my knees and looked under the mattress. There wasn’t even a dust bunny on the floor.

“Could it be in that asshole Dmitri’s room?”

“No! It was
here
.” I remembered sitting on my bed as the sun rose that morning, knitting. It seemed so long ago—before breakfast, before Soraya had seen my bruise, before everything else. I bit my lip, pushing away panic. “It was on my bed. Now it’s not. It’s Baby Luke’s
sweater
, Benson!”

“I know.”

“I can’t lose his gift, I can’t!”

“We’ll find it.”

“It’s so close to being finished!”

“I know.”

“How will I get to sleep? How? I can’t go to sleep if I’m not knitting!”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Where is it, Benson? Where?”

“Maybe someone came to get things for Soraya and took your bag by mistake?”

“Maybe.”

“Ask Soraya when she calls.”

“Yeah.”

I shoved aside two pairs of pants, a pair of shorts, a sports bra and one ankle sock. Then I flopped onto my bed, groaning. It was only ten o’clock and already I was exhausted. I’d barely slept the night before. Here I was, proving I could be a good girl, trying to get my beauty rest, but I wouldn’t be able to. I needed my knitting!

Benson went into the bathroom.

I sat up, my heart in my throat. The bench!

My special bench, where Benson and I had become girlfriend and boyfriend! We’d been there that morning, for sure, after Coach Bob had inspected my bruises. We’d had a nice long practice. Maybe my knitting bag was there! It was the one place we hadn’t looked. I didn’t rememberleaving it behind, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. I could almost see it, forgotten, slumped on its side, perhaps, or shoved under some bushes. It had to be there! It must be there! I launched myself to my feet, slipped on my shoes and was at the door in three steps. I flung it wide and yelled over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back!”

I went into the hallway.

The bathroom door banged open but Benson didn’t appear. “Wait for me!” he called, sounding panicked. “I’ll be out in a minute. Hey! Where are you going? Don’t go without me! Leah? Leah!”

I turned around. “I’ll be fine! I know where it might be! I’m going.”

“No! Leah—wait!”

But I was already halfway down the hall. Benson could catch up—he knew where I was heading. The knitting bag might be on the bench! It was where we’d become girlfriend and boyfriend! Maybe I’d had my bag with me? I had no memory of it, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have it. I darted down the hall, took the stairs two at a time, dashed through the foyer and sprinted into the night.

The village looked different in the darkness. I slowed. Lights illuminated the many pathways, throwing bizarre shadows that made me feel disoriented, made me feel anxious. I scurried down one path and then another, looking for the hidden, winding, special path that led to our bench.

Maybe I ought to have waited for Benson.

Finally I saw a tall hedge, a flowering bougainvillea—although the fuchsia blooms looked gray and colorless in the dim light—and a familiar branch hiding the entrance to a narrow trail. The path to the bench! I turned into it. So close! In a moment, I’d know whether my bag was there.