LeRoy Zoltan, that's my name. A monarch by both monikers, twice-over. Manhattan, Kansas wasn't quite big enough for the likes of royalty, so the day I graduated high school I said "Hi, ho" to the old folks, crammed a couple of changes of clothes into a backpack and hit Route 24 with my pride intact and my thumb in the air.
Rode into Manhattan, New York, on a royal chariot, a Greyhound bus to be exact, with all of $50 in my pocket. Port Authority Terminal has got to be one of the most depressing shitholes on this ball of mud. Row upon row of dented, flaking gray-painted steel lockers, travelers and transients with backpacks and suitcases rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, pimps and hustlers, and miscellaneous whackos muttering to themselves about the end of the world, with only an occasional scared-looking cop walking by. Up and outta that place. Up the cement staircase to the street. It was only a short stroll to Times Square, the imperial asshole of the world.
I had a Plan. I'm nothing, if not resourceful. The store sign read "Novelties and Souvenirs." Told the clerk I wanted a custom imprinted t-shirt. Invested $25 of my stash and got a form-fitting shirt reading: "1001 Variations." It showed off my pecs real good.
Ambled uptown into rich folks' country. Upper East Side. The Casbah itself. The accumulated wisdom of half a dozen TV shows said that singles bars were a good place to score lonely women. I made my grand entrance into Rudy's Rutabaga, strutted my stuff, and grabbed a vacant chair. I was a sharp-looking dude and it didn't take long to hit the jackpot. Sherry Zahd, her name was, account exec for the Forty Weaves textile design firm, jet-setter, woman of the world. A real princess. An older gal, maybe twice my age, but good looking. She would do. Took me home in a taxi. What a ride. Those New York cabbies drive like they were in the bumper cars at Whingding Amusement Park.
Eagleton Courts. Luxury condo. Doorman. Marble lobby. Old-fashioned brass cage elevator. I had a place to lay my head for the night. Not quite a palace, but close enough.
Silk hangings and velvet and jewels and cut-glass perfume atomizers. Waterford crystal and musk-scented talc. She claimed me as soon as we walked into her quarters. Grabbed my ass and stuck her tongue into my mouth.
Good old missionary position last night, with a little pussy licking to sweeten things up. We only did it once, seeing as I was worn out from riding the bus. Sherry was understanding.
She woke me at 6:00 a.m. sharp, fed me a peppery green onion omelet and hashbrowns breakfast, then dropped me off with a kiss on the cheek a couple of blocks away.
"Have to entertain a client at the shop all day. Come back after dark if you can stand it, stud. The doorman will let you in; we have a special arrangement. Show this horny old gal another way to do it tonight."
I spent a few hours just strolling around the neighborhood. Had a bite at a Greek joint. Discovered the joys of souvlaki. When I dug into my pocket to pay, I saw I was back up to fifty bucks. Sherry had a classy way of expressing her appreciation.
Plenty of time to go looking for a job, and I didn't have the funds to even think of a place of my own. Anyhow, I had a warm bed and a warm bod waiting for me.
She was on top last night. Rode me hard, pumping up and down while I attended to her clit. Leaned over forward toward my face so I could suck her nipples. I was good for three rounds of that. Good food and good rest do marvels for a man.
Then she told me what the deal was. "1001 variations, eh? We'll see about that. As long as you perform, you have a bed and breakfast. If you ever repeat yourself, lover, it's the end. I'll toss you out on your royal ass so hard you'll bounce. Understood?"
Understood. I'm on my best behavior. Gotta do a different number every night or I'm out on the street. The cold, cold street. Might as well be the executioner's axe.
Out walking the streets again. Gotta find a job. Sherry gave me another twenty-five, and that'll keep me eating for the day, but not much more than that. As soon as I can scrounge up work, I'll start putting gelt aside toward an apartment. Meanwhile, I have a place to sleep as long as I can keep amusing that crazy broad with inventive ways of connecting.
Doggie position. Sherry has a plush, bouncy ass. Nice for me to rebound from. Three rounds again, and she came each time (G-spot magic). I'm getting a little worn out. My dick is sore. Friction burns. And why does she have to keep playing that damned repetitious Rimsky-Korsakov tune in the background, though? Sheh-harem something or other.
Got a job finally. I'm a bicycle messenger. Seven bucks per delivery, plus tips. If I hustle, I can make seventy or eighty a day. Not too shabby for a Kansas shitkicker with pretentions.
Head-to-toe. Did the 69, then, with a little help from her hand, inserted into her just like that. She had pillows under her ass, and still had to arch her back some. Locked my legs around her waist. Interesting friction, completely different from missionary position. Sucked on her toes with groins interlocked. She came twice. I wrenched my back.
Couldn't even swing my leg over my bike. No work, no pay. Sat on a bench in Washington Square most of the day, then hustled $5 at the chess tables. I knew my time in the chess club after school would come in handy some day.
Flat on my back last night. Luckily we hadn't yet tried doing it so she straddles me, but faces my toes. I got to hold on to her ass cheeks as she bounced up and down. Nice view. Bent my dick at a weird angle, but didn't snap it off. It felt pretty good.
Another day of staggering around and park bench sitting.
Modified spoon position. Nice for cuddling, not too much strain.
.... There is more of this story ...