“So… do you think they’ve forgotten about us?”
Leon shook his head. He and Stephen had both been rooted to the same chairs for almost two hours, waiting for somebody, anybody, to come by and give them instructions. It was all beginning to feel like an initiation prank.
Beyond the waiting room in which they’d been plunked and subsequently forgotten, the radio station still buzzed with the faint signs of life. His History of Broadcast class had talked up how busy these places used to be thirty years ago, before they’d been gutted by automation and corporate consolidation. Long before Leon’s time, of course – like ten years before he was born – but even he could tell that the place had seen better days.
And if he didn’t need the internship in order to get his degree, he’d have spent that time studying for the Communication Studies exam that had been at the back of his mind for the last week.
“Somebody’s got to come,” he muttered, as much to himself as his housemate.
Stephen shrugged and leaned back, the chair squeaking under his weight. Nothing seemed to shake the burly exchange student. Imminent deadline? Bad test scores? The Russians were coming? Liegīz vie’d sizāl kivāmstiz, as he liked to say, whatever that meant.
Leon was the one who was all nervous energy, his cornrows jittering across his scalp with each tiny movement. God, but he was pent up. He knew he should have jerked it before he’d left their house that morning. At his age he knew that he had to find a better way to relieve stress, but why mess with something that worked? Maybe there was a bathroom in the nearby hallway. Nobody should be surprised if he told them that he had to piss after being left for so long—
“Hey! You two!”
He perked up at the sound of the girl’s voice. Probably a station page or a receptionist, but either way someone had finally noticed them. Thank fuck.
Leon looked up, and the urge in his shorts that he’d almost tamed came roaring back.
It was no “girl” that was standing there. She looked to be only a few years older than Leon, but that athletic figure couldn’t belong to anything other than a woman. In spite of her casual stance, there was no mistaking the power beneath those limbs. Her arms, straining at the sleeves of her Promotions t-shirt, were thicker and more toned than his own legs. He opened his mouth, but only a squeak came out.
He supposed it was only a little slicker than “Yes, Mommy?”
She looked down the two young men in the seats before her, yanking her sandy-blond hair back into a tight braid. She sighed, “They just sent two of you?”
Leon shrugged. There’d been a girl with them back when he and Stephen had arrived, but she’d taken off after twenty minutes. Maybe she’d had the right idea.
“Okay, dudes,” the woman grumbled. “This is as much of an orientation as you’re going to get. All that stuff they’re teaching you in Comm-Sci or whatever – forget it. The Street Team does setup and takedown. We get the shit hours and the shit jobs, and when the party finally starts we’re the ones facing the other direction, handing out bumper stickers with the station’s logo on them. Unless you pull van duty. You don’t see anything pulling van duty.
“In the meantime, you’re not being paid for any of this, and the people who actually draw a paycheck from this place will treat you like idiot children no matter how semesters you work here. And since the school coordinator only counts the time you spend at events toward your required hours, you’re going to be here for a while.” She let the words sink in, but then smiled. “On the other hand, you get to work with this bitch here… and I promise, I’m more fun than I look.”
Leon hadn’t ever heard a white girl call herself a “bitch” like that before… and she sounded like she meant it. Her gaze landed on him, and he gulped.
“So, what’s wrong with your friend?”
He looked over to Stephen, rigid in his seat, eyes fixed on the confused Olympian. A dribble of spit escaped the side of his mouth.
“He’s, um, from the old country,” Leon explained, subtly delivering a nudge to his oblivious housemate. “It gets cold up there. His mind kind of cooks in the heat.”
“Then I hope it hasn’t melted completely. It’s supposed to get up to twenty-nine degrees today, and the AC in the van’s broken.” She lifted up the hem of her tight shirt, fanning her flat stomach with the loose fabric.
Maybe it was a trick of the fluorescent lights, but Leon could swear for a second he caught a flash of lightly tanned underboob. And that meant…
He was really starting to regret not jerking off that morning.
“I’m Amy, by the way. I’m going to find you some shirts – grab your shit and meet me in the garage in five.”
She didn’t include directions. And it wasn’t a request.
***
The shirts didn’t fit.
The labels indicated they were both Large, but the same bright yellow tee that stretched tight against Stephen’s husky waist covered Leon like a blanket. They’d tried to swap shirts and encountered the same problem. No other sizes were available.
Amy had stood by watching the entire time, giggling each time the younger men had stripped. It was enough to make Leon feel self-conscious – he wasn’t a big guy (Big where it counted, he’d fire back), but the way Amy looked at him, he felt positively tiny. A light snack. It wasn’t even as if Amy was any taller than him, even, she was just…
“Look boys, either kiss or tuck ‘em in. Time’s a-wasting!”
…Damn, why did she have to be that way?
Amy didn’t seem to take any notice of their discomfort, and pointed them toward their ride, a white van with an unmistakable satellite dish jutting from its body. “We’ve got a half-hour before call, so get a move on. Does either one of you have your license?”
Leon knew for a fact that Stephen didn’t – the big guy was still trying to replace a bunch of documents that had been left behind in Riga. Hesitantly he raised his hand. Amy nodded and turned to Stephen.
“He looks the brawnier of the two of you anyway. Okay, Brawn is going to be in the back with the gear, he’s going to be responsible for unloading when we get to the site. I’ve had to drive for the last month, so Brains here gets the wheel this time.” Opening the passenger door, she pointed an accusatory finger at Leon. “Hey, kid. Drive it like it’s your grandma’s station wagon, you’re not insured.”
“Sure,” said Leon defensively.
He hopped into the driver’s seat, quickly familiarizing himself with the layout. It was a bigger vehicle than he was used to, but he spared a silent prayer of thanks to his momma for teaching him how to drive stick.
His eyes caught a flash of skin in his periphery, and he realized only then that Amy was wearing shorts. Even in the wide cab, she suddenly felt too close for comfort.
Amy buckled in and shot him a look. “Giddyup, boy. Miles to go and all.”
“Look, I ain’t—I’m not your boy, okay?”
That got a reaction. Nothing more than a raised eyebrow, a shift in her seat – but he’d finally made some kind of impression on her.
“That was insensitive of me,” said Amy carefully. “I like to keep it light around here, but you’re right, and I’m sorry. You’re not my ‘boy’.”
She laid a hand on his thigh. A peace offering, Leon thought at first. And then she squeezed. There was no mistaking that gesture.
“Unless you want to be.”
The van roared to life, and Amy loosened her grip so that he could reach the gearshift.
Leon wasn’t sure where he was going – he’d spent two hours waiting for instructions, after all, but Amy seemed to know her way around. Keeping her eyes on the road, she doled out morsels of direction. Watch for this street. Turn here. The van groaned as he drove like it was hauling lumber, but they were still on schedule.
As if she’d forgotten what she’d said to him earlier, Amy spent the time chatting about herself. How she’d gone to the same university as Leon and Stephen, and graduated four years earlier. How the job market sucked for Communications majors, and how she’d returned to the same place where she’d done her own internship.
Not having to drive let her relax. She propped one foot up on the dashboard, the move pulling back the cuff of her shorts, exposing precious inches of bronzed thigh.
“Yeah, seems like it’s a good job and all,” Leon coughed, her earlier introduction still in mind, “but I would have thought you’d go into, like, coaching or personal training or something. I mean, look at you.”
Amy laughed. “Why, Leon! Is my body the only thing about me that you’ve noticed?”
He really needed Stephen in the cab with him. Not even as a wingman, just as a distraction. He shook his head and fixed his eyes on the road in front of him. To her credit, Amy had enough mercy to let him stew in silence until they arrived at a parking lot where a half-dozen other vans and trucks were already setting up. Pulling into an empty spot, he passed a sign advertising the Rivershed Automotive Show.
“You guys pulled an easy one for your first time out,” announced Amy, hopping out of the van and reaching for the bay door. “No complicated wiring or sound checks with this one. Just a little light construction.”
Leon nodded. “Sounds good—“
The door opened to reveal Stephen pressed as far as he could against the wall of the van. Strapped down alongside him, rising nearly to his chest, was an ominously rattling stack of scaffolding.
“So we have to get this over two blocks and assembled before Dan and Mike get here to man the booth. Six of us can usually do it in forty minutes, but I’ll take you out for beers if the three of us can get it done in forty-five.”
Leon stared wide-eyed at the pile. There were hundreds of pounds of metal in there, and he hadn’t so much as been to the gym since Frosh Week. Not that he was about to admit that to Amy.
“And if we can’t?”
She picked up a heavy transom, her arms straining. “You want some incentive? Okay. If you slow me down, you have to lick out my sweaty snatch afterward.”
It was a joke, Leon told himself. It had to be. She was keeping things casual, like she said she did. He had to keep his mind clear, concentrate on the job—
He almost missed the tube she passed to him. It caught him in the stomach, barely missing the half-chub that he could only wish she hadn’t noticed.
“Hope you’re thirsty,” she whispered.
***
Leon awoke to a kind of full-body ache like he’d never felt before. His shoulders and calves were in agony, and he’d lost all feeling in his arms and – for a reason he couldn’t remember – his tongue.
In his faint memory he could still see her, slick with sweat, the corded steel of her athletic body pushing against the metal skeleton of the booth. The tensing of her tight buns as that metal gave way, bent into the shape of her design. She’d looked back at him and smiled.
Or she’d told him to unglue his eyes from her ass and help her. He was a little fuzzy on the details. He pulled back the sheets and saw he was still wearing the ill-fitting Street Team shirt, though nothing else. He recognized the bed he found himself in, but it seemed at the same time unfamiliar.
It wasn’t his bed.
He was too sore to sit up, but he managed to roll over onto his side, where he faced a massive wall of pasty flesh, hair sprouting across its surface like lichen.
“Labrīt,” groaned Stephen. “You slept well?”
Leon’s mind raced. “Did I black out last night?”
“That could be said.”
“Bro, I’m going to need a little more than that.”
Stephen sighed, and the wall trembled. “It was hot. You wanted very much to impress Miss Amy, and you worked very hard.”
“And? That doesn’t explain why I’m pantsless in bed with you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You are much too skinny, I like my dates with a little more meat on their bones—“
“Bro! Details!”
“You worked very hard.”
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to—“
“Too hard.”
Then the memory came back. Less than hour in the hot sun, he’d been exhausted, thirsty, dripping with sweat. So tired he could… he might have…
“Oh, nah. I fainted, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Also you pissed yourself.” He stretched over one flabby arm and pointed. “You need to hydrate. I have two bottles on that side of the bed. The one that smells like strawberries – don’t drink that one. It is lube.”
Leon staggered out of the bed. Water wouldn’t be enough, he needed something solid. Maybe a granola bar. He should probably call the station and make sure that they hadn’t fired him. And before any of that… he needed some undies.
Pulling the hem of his shirt down as far as he could manage, he scampered over to the room across the hall. Thankfully it was just the two of them in the small house, and there was nobody else to see him in his condition.
He opened the door and froze.
Framed by the light through the window, she stood gloriously nude, shoulders locked behind her. The sunset brought out the warm golden hue of her skin, unmarked by any suggestion of tan lines. Amy stretched out with a grunt, released, and glanced over her shoulder.
God, her butt had dimples.
“You’re, um….” he gulped. “You’re…”
“Sorry to put you out, but it was late and we were all wiped. I hope you don’t mind that I asked if Stephen would look after you until you woke up—“
“You’re naked. Why does everybody here have to be naked?”
Amy chuckled. “I can’t speak for you guys, but all of my stuff’s in your dryer. I didn’t think to pack a change of clothes before I had to drag your ass back here.”
“Right.” He winced and tried to avert his eyes. “Sorry about that. I just don’t work outside all that often. Or, you know, at all. If you give me another shot, I promise—“
“Leon. Look at me.”
He did.
“I do squats. I do lifts. I’m up at five in the morning most days for a run. It takes a lot of work to look this good, and I don’t mind you enjoying it.” Her gaze dropped down. “And I know that you do.”
Too late, Leon noticed the tent protruding from beneath his waist. He tried to cover it, stopped, and then let his hands rest at his sides. There didn’t seem much point in hiding his arousal any more. Amy relaxed her shoulders and plopped down on the nearby bed.
“Good. Now, I assume you’re here to make it up to me?”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“It took an hour and a half to get the booth set up without you, Leon. Dan and Mike had to pitch in. And the station manager got called – don’t even get me started on him. I’m not kicking you off the Street Team, but you did let me down. And now you have to go down.”
She spread one toned leg, then the other. Leon couldn’t do much more than stare. She couldn’t be serious, could she?
Her glistening bush looked pretty serious.
“I never—“ he started, before stopping himself. That wasn’t exactly true, was it? There had been his ex, Larissa. He’d eaten her out before, once. And that Dominican baddie from the residence party last year, what was her name?
Of course, Larissa had gotten grossed out and told him that real men didn’t do that kind of shit – that had been the end of their relationship then and there. And the sexy Dominicana had gotten bored after five minutes and left without even taking back her panties.
But Amy didn’t look to be interested in any of that. “Come on, Leon. I’m told that nobody’s better than black guys at eating pussy.”
Well, that claim had made his choice for him. He had to defend the reputation of his people, after all. He approached the bed, expecting her to lie back so that he could join her on the mattress, but she shook her head.
One word. “Kneel.”
He hesitated. And then he knelt at the foot of the bed, his head between her thighs. Her scent overwhelmed him, and he almost gagged.
“Oh, you thought I was going to shower first? Besides, it tastes best when seasoned.”
Leon doubted that, but he’d already come too far to back down. He took a deep breath, stuck out his tongue and gave a tentative lick. It was warm. Salty. A little bitter. But that was only the surface. Pointing his tongue like a spear, he probed deep into her slit until he could taste her, her sweet juices mingling with his saliva.
And once the two tastes became one, he flicked his tongue upward.
Amy giggled. Maybe she enjoyed it, maybe she was laughing at his technique. But Leon’s momma hadn’t raised a quitter. He stroked between her folds, pressing them aside in turn until he uncovered the keystone tucked between. He reached out – lightly – and pressed it until it swelled to his touch.
“Ah…”
He took it as encouragement. He lapped eagerly, each pass of his tongue releasing another sigh, another squeal. The sweat burned at his eyes, at his throat, but he was committed. He changed his approach, broadening his strokes, her sweet nectar dripping down his chin.
Even with the saltiness mixed in, she tasted amazing.
He dared a glance upward, past her flushed breasts, her nipples hardened into knifepoints. Her breathing had gotten heavier, more uneven. She needed this, Leon realized. And he was only too glad to oblige.
He traced a cautious finger down her thighs toward her opening, but she slapped it away.
“No. Just your mouth.”
Leon groaned, but kept up the pace. The pace was important, he reminded himself. Once her hips started to move in time with his tongue, she would be close. Or so he’d heard. Right now he was liking the sounds she was making, but her hips hadn’t gotten into any of that action. Yet.
Hopefully he’d get there before his tongue got tired.
“Suck it,” she murmured, leaning down. “Suck it like it’s Stephen’s cock.”
A drop of bile loomed at the back of Leon’s throat. He swallowed the drop and the image that inspired it, and cupped his tongue around Amy’s clit. He drew back slowly, increasing the pressure the further he pulled away from her pussy.
Amy gasped.
She wouldn’t let him finger her, he knew, but Leon dared to bring up his hands and set them beneath her knees, keeping her legs open. He could feel the muscle tensing, testing him. If she pushed back, she could send him sprawling on his ass. He waited for the shift in weight that would be his only warning—
But it never came. At least, not the way he’d expected, not the way he’d prepared for.
With a faint shaking, Amy’s hips started to rock back and forth.
He sucked harder. Droplets of sweat were pooling on the tips of his braids, threatening to spill into his eyes, but he didn’t need to see, didn’t need his eyes at all. He needed only a minute more. Maybe two.
“Uh…” said Amy, and he almost broke off.
It was a tremor. He continued.
“Uh…” she said again. Her movements were getting faster, more frantic.
“Mm…”
“Oh…”
“No…”
Did she not want to come?
Well, she was going to. Thinking she could order him around… she’d told him to make her come, and she was going to. Fuck seeing. Fuck breathing.
Fuck this bitch.
“Yes!”
Her legs shuddered, and Leon only barely hung on as she let out a wail that rattled the glass in the window. He didn’t stop as she rode his face like a bucking bronco, smearing herself from his nose to his chin until she finally settled.
You liked that, didn’t you? Leon thought as he rose to his feet. Well, his turn had come and the pressure in his crotch demanded release. Somehow he’d stayed hard all throughout his hot minute of pearl diving, and as he tore away his stained shirt, he started to think how he might put that grindset to good use—
Suddenly, Amy’s ankles locked around his windpipe.
“Leon, did I say you could fuck me?” she asked sweetly.
“Um…” he felt his air supply slipping away, “no?”
She squeezed. “No, I didn’t. You just assumed. And you know what assumptions make, right?”
He nodded. She bent her knees, drawing him in closer.
“I can’t hear you, little man.”
His dick tingled, and a glance downward told him that she’d positioned him so that his tip just barely brushed her pussy lips. As blood pulsed to his member, it rubbed against her tender entrance.
Amy licked her lips. She knew what she was doing to him.
He was close. He was so close. Just one thrust…
“Do you want to fuck me?”
Black spots dotted his vision. He was either going to die, or come. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore. He nodded.
“Then next time, ask. Nicely.”
She released and he tumbled to the floor, nearly smashing his throbbing dick against the hardwood. Cool air flowed back into his lungs, but each grateful breath left him all the more flaccid.
Heavy footsteps pounded toward them from across the hall, and Stephen appeared in the doorway, wearing only his boxers, his barrel chest heaving. He took in the sight before him, and his jaw dropped.
Amy stood up. “Oh, hi. Does this mean that my clothes are dry?”
“Um. Probably. Yes.” He was trying to find a safe place to fix his gaze, and coming up empty. The naked woman at the bedside was too much of a temptation, and his naked housemate’s junk on display was too distracting.
“Ah. Well guys, I’d like to thank you for having me, but one of us has to take the van back. You mind?”
With Leon stretched out on the floor, she stepped over him on the way to the door, giving him one last view for posterity. She paused at the threshold as Stephen inched away from her, then smiled and did a little curtsy.
“A—ardievu,” Stephen stammered.
“See, Leon? Stephen here knows how to treat a girl.” She patted the big kid’s hairy chest. “You’ll get your turn, too. See you both on Monday!”
With a wave of her hand, she was gone.
A moment passed in silence. Stephen smacked his lips.
“Bro. What the fuck is this?”
Leon grabbed his stained shirt and dragged himself up against the bed, his legs still unsteady. He felt as gross as he was tired. Every breath hurt. He could still feel the memory – or maybe a bruise – from her feet around his throat, and it made him want…
… more.
“My dude,” he answered weakly, “this is either the best or the worst job we’re ever gonna have.”
