“I thought it was part of his act.”
“Not usually.”
“Don’t worry. He’s doing a great job.”
That produced a smile. “He sure is, isn’t he?”
They watched Derrick totally embarrassing the young woman as he slowly lowered her to the ground. As he did, Justine noticed the rippling muscles in his back accentuated by the black and white paint and how his muscled arms constricted, showing off pure power! His bare feet stood sturdy on the lumpy dirt, his legs straining even though he tossed her body around as though she were a rag doll.
In the midst of the frolicking, his tasseled hat fell to the ground; again, Darrius’s grip on her tightened. She knew why. The night the girl died, his hat had fallen, too.
He quickly retrieved the hat, replaced it, returned the girl safely to the audience and continued his prancing.
Derrick moved closer to her side, teasing the audience, egging them on as they dared him. There was nothing the guard kachinas could do to stop him because he was, at that point, sheer energy. Justine could feel the heat in her shirt and panties just watching him. Why would he have to be Derrick?
Justine cringed when Koshari moved closer to her side of the arena. She did not want to be pulled into the action, no matter what she may have thought just minutes ago.
Her back was pressed against Darrius’s chest, inching away, yet he failed to hide her. He pushed her forward. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked Koshari?”
“I—do, but he’s coming closer. He’s a little too up close and personal.”
“So what?”
Not a typical response from her lover. “What? What are you saying?”
“He’s not going to hurt you, Justine. Get up close; take a good look at the legend you have wanted to see since childhood. You did say that, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
Koshari was now before her, smelling of watermelon, sticky from heat and a combination of sticky-sweet delights. His eyes focused on her, his chest heaving.
Ahote, a hunter kachina, came to her rescue, but Koshari pushed him aside as if tossing a bag of feathers away. That’s how strong and how determined Koshari was to obtain his ultimate kill. His ultimate thrill.
Justine pushed her shivering body against Darrius’s for whatever protection she could get. Just as she thought she saw a way out around Darrius, Koshari grabbed her arm, pulling her mercilessly into the crowd and into his muscled, fruit-tainted lair.
She reached back for Darrius to save her, but all he did was stand there smiling, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. It was as if he wanted her to be tossed into the air and humiliated. Though the dancer was Derrick and not Darrius, couldn’t the same thing happen to his brother—to any dancer? She was in the clutches of a purposeful maniac. It was his job to be insane, crazy, intimidating, silly. Then why did she like the Koshari so much? Because, despite his aggressive and unscrupulous behavior, he excited her.
Something about a wild and aggressive man had always tempted her, and this time he was hidden behind a façade, something she would like to look at hard to see his distinct features. She did not plan to get close enough to Derrick to see anything. Wouldn’t that make Darrius jealous? Sure. The way he was acting, standing there on the sidelines laughing as his apparent girlfriend getting humiliated; he needed to be jealous. Jerk!
But was it really important enough to have her body twisted and conforming to the body of another just to make Darius jealous? Again, sure! The only thing, she’d have to get rid of her nervousness and let this man, this brother of her lover, touch and caress her body much the same way a lover would, only on an exhibitionism-type scale. Would her nerves allow it? She was soon to find out, because Derrick’s strong arms were lifting her to the stars as others laughed.
Before she realized anything, she was face to face with the stars, up so high in the man’s arms that the ground was a world away. Fear was her first reaction, but then she remembered what she wanted to do—make Darrius jealous, and prove to him that she could relax in the arms of another man. The trick was how to do it. Her heart rate soared and she could hear the laughter of the audience; she assumed Darrius’s laugh was mixed in somewhere. The silver bracelet resting partially against her and partially dangling felt like it weighed a ton, as did her precious squash necklace. She couldn’t do it, she was too scared and had decided to give in to Darrius—let him win, in a way.
Her body seemed to relax, suddenly just as limp as a rag doll. Her mind had relaxed due to over stimulation. There was too much going on and shutdown was the only recourse.
With her eyes now staring at the sky, her body felt relaxed, and the ground seemed so far away. Koshari slowly lowered her to his midsection, and she felt the power of his erection practically bursting through the covered jockstrap. At that moment, not a thought was given to the scores of people watching them.
There was utter attraction between them heightened by Derrick squeezing and manipulating her to his pleasure. She could hear the audience cheering for this barbarian, this utter heathen, and her loins were now ablaze.
With his knee now between her thighs, she could feel him pressing hard, felt that tremendously muscular thigh edging itself closer to her sex. His body rocked hers back and forth, causing sensations to rush through her that she didn’t want to have with Derrick. What on earth was he doing to her? Was he even conscious of what he was doing to her in front of so many people? Surely, his mind had been stolen by the dance. By that moment in time, however, her mind’s eye saw him as Darrius.
Nothing mattered now, she was in this hooligan’s arms and there was nothing she could do about it. She continued to relax against him, knowing he would never hurt her.
The very shirt made in his image was now soaked with sweat, both his and hers, and traces of watermelon were pressed firmly against them both. The outline of her erect nipples poked through the fabric for any and all to see. Only one set of eyes truly saw—the Koshari’s! It was both embarrassing and exhilarating.
Not caring who saw what at this point, the Koshari’s hands touched and rubbed her breasts, making the hardened buds reach to him. Fingers of one hand moved towards her heated core. His thigh inched closer as well, feeling her fire, thirsting for it—wanting to mate with the thick, liquid center and have it drip all over him. He didn’t care who she was, or who she belonged to now. Darrius was but a mere obstacle in the way of attaining pure sexual relief.
Their eyes met again, and only then did she have the common sense to look squarely into the face of the giver. Eyes circled with black paint looked, for some reason, lighter in hue than Derrick’s darker eye color. Was it her imagination, or was she seeing who she really wanted manipulating her? Mind tricks. She glanced to the audience and saw Darrius looking amused.
Casting her attention back to Koshari, she saw tiny laugh lines most unnoticed on Derrick. His full mouth encircled with heavy black paint, but with rosy, full lips aching for the touch of other human skin—hers. His jet hair flowed down his back and across his shoulders in tangled, wet masses, yet illuminated by the arena spotlights. In the thick of dust, heat, wetness and paint, this Koshari managed to look like the epitome of sexual exertion. Justine loved it; she was no longer afraid of being so close to the action.
Those perfect rosy male lips brushed against her cheek as he bent over her, moving in a frenzied dance of copulation, and her limp body followed his rugged, full-body strokes up and down.
He was truly her Darrius. At first, she thought her mind had gone—seeing a man in her arms who was supposed to be in the audience. That explained why he had acted so strange next to her, not wanting to kiss her. Now, the right man definitely wanted to; his jig was up.
The heat of his lips against her cheek and lips fumed her. His sweat-tainted fragrance fueled her, making her thighs part wider for his access. They both wanted it, and in front of everyone. That was the very sad part. She wasn’t into exhibitionism, but with this particular clown, she would do anything to please him—even be made a fool of.
* * *
Koshari stood erect, looked at the crowd and saw their flushed faces. They were all waiting for the next act, the live sex show. But it wasn’t that kind of party, and he was overcome with embarrassment. He lowered Justine to her feet and stared at her. Their bodies were still touching, still emitting a combination of heat, seduction and everything associated with sexuality. His thick manhood tented the garment. His well-contoured chest heaved up and down, expanding muscles and the painted black flowers around his nipples. He asked in a hushed voice, “Are you still afraid, Justine?”
“No,” she replied, her voice low.
“Tell me why?”
“Because I know you.”
“Then who am I?”
