When Leroy finally loosened his grip on me, I reached out my finger and touched it to his sweat-soaked body, then drew it back to my lips and licked my tongue along its length, long and slow. He shook his head in surprise, almost moved to tears. Then I wrapped my arms around the thick trunk of his neck, and pulling him close, I ran the tip of my tongue slowly around the edges of his nostrils.
“Help me up,” I whispered.
My hot breath caressed his nose, and Leroy screwed up his face like a small animal just before it sneezes. He looked so funny I burst out laughing.
We hurriedly dressed each other, and headed straight for his apartment, leaving my silk stockings and Leroy s book of matches behind in the grass. The stockings were covered with sperm stains and the matches had both our fingerprints on them, so it was only a matter of time before everyone would know about us.
After we got back to his place, we made love over and over, and each time after I came, I fell into a light sleep. But as I dozed, I pulled on his chest hair so Leroy really had no chance to sleep himself. Then suddenly my eyes would open and I would see him quietly watching over me, protecting me. And I felt so happy to know he was there, guarding me—so happy that I wanted him to make love to me all over again.
It was easy to get used to. All the pleasure and all the protection, for me alone.
The next day everyone knew about us, thanks to my friends at the party we’d run out on the night before. And everyone referred to Leroy as “poor Leroy, Ruiko’s new toy.” I had never really used anyone before, but they seemed to have seen through my fa-cade and caught sight of the real me underneath.
But to be honest, I didn’t care what they said. I just loved being with Leroy.
We stayed at his place the whole next day.
I didn’t like going out with him much because we looked like such an odd couple. First, people would look at me admiringly, and then they’d look over at Leroy and their expression would change to one of surprise, and it made me feel impatient with him. The problem was that he just didn’t look sophisticated enough to be with me. I had always been able to turn heads, but not like this, so whenever we went out together I felt so uncomfortable, I’d break out in a cold sweat. Fortunately, he usually seemed to notice and took me home so that we could be alone together.
After we’d been out, 1 was always in a bad mood, so I’d kick my shoes down the length of the hallway to his apartment, then order him to go and pick them up. I would wait for him to go and get them, leaning my head back against the wall with my chin stuck out, and like a loyal hound, Leroy would fetch them. Then, stretching out my legs one at a time, I would imperiously wait for him to put them back on.
After that I would usually feel a little better, and we’d start looking for the key to the door, and as soon as we were inside and alone together, Leroy could relax again. And because we were alone I was able to love him again.
That sort of thing happened a lot, so after a while we came to the conclusion that we preferred to stay in the apartment.
One day we were drinking pina coladas and watching soap operas on TV. Leroy was sitting cross-legged on the floor and I sat leaning against him, using him as a couch, but each time I moved, my elbows dug into him and he jumped—sometimes when we were together he behaved just like a little kid. He seemed to have no experience with women at all.
One thing was for sure, he had certainly never come across a woman like me before.
I knew he wanted me—Leroy always wanted me—but I just ignored him and kept watching the TV. Then I sensed something strange and suddenly I turned around to see what he was doing—he had some of my hair in his hand and he was kissing it. He saw me staring at him and looked down, embarrassed. And I knew how much he truly loved me.
I loved certain parts of Leroy. Like the Leroy I knew in bed. I loved the thought of his tough, shiny black body drowning in my pussy. And I loved the miserable expression on his face when he was jealous. Of course, his eyes and his mouth were the same eyes and mouth in the photograph on his driver’s license, but when Leroy was unhappy, a mask of sadness dropped down over his face, and his bright eyes became dull and his breathing got shallow and jerky. After a while I learned how to recognize how he was feeling from even the tiniest changes in his expression.
Leroy treated me like a princess, and I loved feeling like that. To him I was fragile and precious, something to be treasured, and more than anything, that was what I wanted.
He was always so gentle with me, and when we made love he was careful to lean his weight on his elbows so as not to crush me—there was always a gap between my body and his. The gap was a very warm, comfortable space that enveloped my body. It was a quiet, relaxed place where I could rest, and I felt safe there, perfectly protected from the world outside by Leroy’s body.
He worshiped me. It was so easy to control him. Somehow he managed to get some rest while I was sleeping, but I’m sure that if I had stuck false eyes on my pussy and laid there with my legs apart, he would never have been able to get any sleep.
I really used Leroy. I suppose he might have mistaken that for love, but the truth was that whenever I saw him I was consumed with a passionate rage, the same sort of feeling I had when I came across something beautiful that I could make my own: my first reaction was to destroy it. I used to smash my beautiful crystal perfume bottles on the floor. And one day I threw my rabbit-fur muffler in the bath. But when it came to my beautiful, black cat, I could never really have hurt him—I was afraid of what he might do to me in return. Maybe he would wreak some horrible revenge on me like the cat in the Edgar Allen Poe story.
I poured my glass of pina colada on the floor. It was a large glass, full to the brim, so the floor was awash with the milky-white liquid, which lay in a thick, wet pool on the shiny wooden boards. I stood up and began taking off my clothes.
The room was filled with the heady aroma of coconuts. Leroy was already drunk. I sat down, naked, on the freshly poured cool, white sheet. A sliver of ice touched my hot skin. It felt good. I looked over at Leroy. He was kneeling down, staring at me, completely fascinated. He knew what I wanted. I felt as though my skin were soaking up the sweet alcohol like blotting paper.
“Hurry, or my pussy will be full!”
Leroy clambered over to where I lay and dived headfirst into my pussy to stop her from drinking too much. I writhed on the floor, wrapping my body in the sheet, a thin, white film covering my skin, but by then I was beginning to feel drunk myself and my arms and legs felt heavy. My hair spread out on the floor around me like the long tendrils of a plant on the seabed, swaying in a warm ocean current.
Leroy must have been thirsty. He lapped at me like a dog, slurping at my skin deliciously, flicking the tip of his tongue over my electrified body, gorging himself on every last drop of the sweet, sticky liquid that covered me.
The hot afternoon sun shone down through the open window, bathing my face in its warm glow. The powerful scent of the r u m was overwhelming, and I closed my eyes and let it wash over me in waves.
Looking down at Leroy, my eyes half open, I could just see his forehead bobbing gently between my legs. Like an old alcoholic, my eyes filled with tears as I watched him.
Leroy stopped licking and looked up at me questioningly, his eyes begging for permission to go further. 1 shook my head slowly from side to side: permission denied. His tongue returned to work.
Beyond his forehead 1 could see his firm, round ass and it gave me a warm feeling inside. 1 felt as though Leroy had been put on earth solely to make me feel good. And the only reason he had been given a tongue was so that he could lick my body like this. But while I refused to let him go any further than that, I did show him some compassion: I allowed him to start jacking himself off.