Cat and Mouse

I slid down her front, placing my nose to her crotch. I quickly unfastened her jeans and licked the first pubic hairs to emerge. As fine as those hairs were, they still ground roughly against my soft tongue, but I pressed harder against them until an ache moved into my jaw, and I slid my stiff tongue down, continuing with the same intense pressure, feeling each hair dig into the raw flesh and groove it, while its forceful movement also pulled her hairs slightly and caused her thighs to shudder. I worked her jeans from her hips, squeezing them over her well-rounded ass, and when the cheeks were freed they appeared so solidly shaped that I imagined them made out of finely sanded wood. Returning my mouth to her April garden, I pulled her pants from her feet and tossed them onto her cowboy boots, which allowed her legs to move apart and for me to kiss the folds of skin that appeared between them. The moisture came quickly as I curled my tongue upwards and inside, and juice glazed over my chin. She began to whimper each time I gently circled her pussy, as if I was safe cracking her inner sanctum, and wrenching loose a more visceral passion that lives way up inside a woman. A few minutes more and she pulled her crotch away and breathed deeply, blowing out through pursed lips. It seemed she was giving herself to me all over again, succumbing to my touches as if I was a handsome, persuasive stranger nibbling away at her flimsy inhibitions, and it appeared to be almost too much for her.

She pulled me up to standing, and then it was she who dropped to her knees and unfastened my jeans. Mine required no effort at all to remove, and just fell straight to my ankles, boxers and all. I stepped out and kicked them onto hers, completely burying them. With the pants gone, she found a very erect Alikabobi and met him with a smile. And when I say erect, I mean he was like a horsebacked statue in Central Park, and then he disappeared beyond her plump supple lips, where her tongue carried out some captivating torture. Things were getting really good and hot just as the teapot started to whistle. She kept going, but it grew louder, and it was not a sexy sound. She stopped, looked up at me, smiling, and then stood as she said, "Sorry, but the teapot blew first."

It was funny, I had to admit.

While she went to the kitchen I noticed some of the bits of paper had been tussled about, and one of them had flipped over to reveal writing on the back. It read, "I've never known a guy so into playing cat and mouse, and that's what got to me, I'm sure of it. And so then one day, the cat didn't come after the mouse, but that's just fine." I flipped over the next page and it continued, "Maybe fucking John was a good thing, because Pete isn't any different than any of my old boyfriends. They're only happy if I'm two steps ahead. If they ever catch me, they can't stand it. They hate me. I'm almost sure it had nothing to do with Toni and John, or Pete and his stupid threesome. I just needed to pit the cat with another cat so the mouse could get away." I flipped over the next piece and then the next, "They're all afraid of really seeing into a woman, and too impatient to figure out what makes me tick. They'd all piss themselves if they ever felt a woman's real passion. And I just know I'm done playing cat and mouse, and so desperately need a real man."

The next piece of paper started a new thought about outfits for the cast, and I stopped reading. In fact, I stopped doing anything and stared into space. Was I really that simple? Did I really lose interest after conquering a chick and only gain it back with the fear of losing her again? Was she really capable of knowing more about me than I did? I wasn't too sure what she kept 'inside' that she imagined would frighten me, but if it was real passion, well fuck, I would've loved to have known it.

She came back into the room with two cups of coffee. We were both still bottomless, but I'd lost my erection. She set the cups on the island counter and said they'd probably need to cool, then stood in front of me and threw her arms around my neck, and said, "Now where were we?"

I looked questioningly into her eyes, trying to see as deep as I could. I painfully realized my notion of seducing her out of her inhibitions was actually an invitation to compromise her passion, not surrender to it. Her pupils seemed glazed, maybe the hangover. I tried to think of the brightest they'd ever been, which had to be the time I'd watched her in an earlier local production of A Streetcar Named Desire, and she, as Blanche Dubois, looked wildly out over the audience with enough blazing passion to take on the whole lot of us. But in my arms, her pupils were nothing like Blanche Dubois', instead they sealed off that ocean like a vault door.

I kissed her, and decided I had no choice other than to pursue her, but this time I'd have to hunt deeper. I wanted to know what made her tick. I really wanted to know. I'd wouldn't stop until I found it, and then I'd let her know what a real man was made of.

I lifted her on to the table, her butt setting down on the papers, and said, "Let's write a new ending right now." I kissed her neck, then lips. I nibbled her ear and stroked her neck with my finger tip. She nibbled back and caressed my neck. I pulled her shirt from over her head and laid her backwards on the table. I kissed her belly and I reached for the small white rectangles filled with line after line of her life, and then released them over her face, letting them shower down. One stuck to her brow where her forehead had begun perspiring. It covered her eye, and I remember when she had long hair––long black thick curls that would always fall into her face. I loved when one eye would be draped in curls and hidden from me, leaving only part of her revealed. I told her she should grow her hair long again, as I scraped a piece of paper along the side of her waist, making her skin tingle and quiver. She took it to mean that I hated her short hair, and I let her know I loved it, but that her long hair was something else.

I scraped the paper over the ridge of her hip bone, and then along the top of her thigh where it met snugly with the pelvis. Her leg twitched and she was moaning and giggling at the same time, the sensation clearly arousing yet unbearable. Two levels of vulnerability were being exploited in a single touch, and she couldn't take it. It looked as if a chill raced across her spine and she sighed huskily and curled her knees up to stop me. I then began with my mouth, and ran my tongue along her inner thigh, producing almost the same result, yet this time she didn't stop me, she let me go until I was soon dancing the tip of my tongue across her labia, and then into the opening and up to the clit. With very little motion, I massaged it, tasting the thin coating of honey that made her glisten like a brandy smothered desert. In very little time at all, she was pulling me to her, and I asked what she wanted. "For you to fuck me." I devilishly voiced that her every wish was my command. This was something new, and having her beckoning me inside was so much better than trying to pin down the wild girl. I placed her hand on her own pussy, positioning it just so, and then started her fingering herself while I went to the bedroom and brought out a condom.

I entered her and she cried. She cried tears, not moans, and I asked if she was okay, as I withdrew.

"Yes, I'm just emotional right now."

"Should we wait?"

"No. No, no, please, I want you inside me."

I started again and she stopped crying.

"Hollywood is going to eat you up," I said, in a stirring voice. "You'll be the foxiest thing since Lana Turner. And we'll buy a house in Malibu, and we'll have a dining table with an ocean view, and you'll hear the waves breaking as we make love."

I slowly thrust in and out, then I pulled out, painted her thigh with a wet streak of her own nectar, teased her by letting the snake wander through the grass, and then slipped back inside. She became more fired up, her head unable to stay still on the table, and then came good and hard, her legs squeezing against my back, tighter, and moving upwards and down, like climbing a tree trunk, and her heel hit across my spine. I pulled her onto the floor, where I soon came, looking into her face, and seeing that she'd retreated into a place comprised entirely of pleasure.

We spent the afternoon napping in bed, waking up only to talk or tickle kisses out of one another, until we eventually made love a second time. Her hangover was soon gone and we were famished, so we went out to eat at a secluded little café and I told her we should never eat here again. The food was fine, but I suggested we should never eat at the same place twice. I said I'd introduce her to something new every night and I'd pamper her until she couldn't stand it anymore. She blushed and drank from her water glass, and said, "Keep that up and you just might find out where it gets you."

We actually did make it to LA, and she's already been called for two commercials. I got a job operating the lights for a playhouse, probably not much bigger than MiMi's, but everyone keeps telling me a I have a real knack for it, and I expect to be working for the studios soon enough. And the way I figure it, I'll be directing my first movie in five years. I already had my leading lady all picked out, too. Ellie's play had a received a few nibbles, but she's waiting to see if any big fish bite before making a final deal. What she really wants is to star in it herself, and I don't think she should have it any other way. So what can I say, all things considered we are doing really fucking great, and I hope you enjoyed our story