1 - Absolutely Cuckooby40DayDream©
OK, so this is number two in my 69 Love Stories series. That is my audacious and insane plan to write a story inspired by each song on the Magnetic Fields' brilliant 69 Love Songs album. These are going to be a little short and a little rough. Longer, more elaborate, stories are in the works.
This particular one is an attempt at the old Manic Pixie Dream Girl theme. As such, it should be a little more light hearted. As always, it's a fairly slow build. I like my characters to wait for their chitty chitty bang bang.
Oh, one last note. The story is written from Rick's perspective but the paragraphs in brackets are Kitty's editorial comments. I hope you enjoy!
All rights reserved.
So the first time I saw her was in a stripclub.
That didn't come out right. You see, I don't usually go to stripclubs. I was just having a bad day. Well, work had been good, but I got a nasty shock in my bathroom.
That didn't come out right, either. OK, I'll just keep going. By some miracle of angles and doors I had managed to accidentally line the mirrors up perfectly so that I had a view of the back of my head that afternoon. It was traumatizing. Only men who have gone bald (and women too, I suppose) can understand this feeling, but it was the first time that I saw my bald spot. Suddenly, I had to face the truth that everyone I knew had been lying to me: my barber, my family members, my mom...
I wasn't starting to thin a little, like they claimed. I was bald. It was a shock. The only thing left to do was to pull out the electric razor I had bought in preparation. So I shaved my head.
After I finished that chore, I was feeling a little down. Which is why I decided to go to the stripclub. The two most masculine things that I could think of to do were go to a stripclub or become a lumberjack. The stripclub would be less likely to result in loss of limbs, so that's the one I chose.
I awkwardly sauntered into the local club (I think it was named Sweet Lips or something), and found a seat near the stage. The first two dancers weren't particularly encouraging for the overall experience. The first one looked bored and unhappy. It's the body language you'll see in a gas station clerk working the graveyard shift. The second girl had a large caesarian scar and stretch marks. There isn't anything wrong with women that have either of those things, but relationships with them usually need to start with more conversation and less glitter and g-strings.
By that time, I was just about ready to leave. It had not been the testosterone fueled experience that I was hoping for to boost my spirits.
That's when she came on stage. The DJ (I think his name was Dirty Pete) announced a first time dancer: Ja-ja-ja-jasmine. The girl that wobbled out on stage didn't seem much like a Jasmine to me; she was five feet tall, slim, and very, very blond. I say she wobbled because that's what she did. She was definitely walking unsteadily.
After a few awkward turns on the pole, Ja-ja-ja-jasmine pulled off her rhinestone bejewelled bra to reveal a lovely pair of champagne glass breasts. (That means they were small, just a tiny bit cone-shaped, and very firm. Please don't get them confused with champagne flute breasts which would be something entirely different.) My thought was that they looked delightfully squeezable.
Once the bra was off, she made another spin or two and then headed out towards the edge of the stage in my general direction. One of her feet slipped and suddenly she was flying headfirst at me.
I managed to catch most of her but one of her hands hit the chair next to me and I heard a crack. Surprisingly, all that she did was give a quick 'Ouch!' and then started to get up.
I didn't know what to do, so I offered to drive her to the hospital.
She took me up on it, which I still can't believe.
As a public service announcement, let me say that if you get hurt working in a stripclub and a stranger offers to take you to the hospital just say no!
Luckily, I am not a serial killer, although Kitty had no way of knowing it at the time.
[Ok, so Rick is always bad at telling stories. I will try to fill in a little bit. My name is Katherine, but everyone shortens it to Kitty. I was in my Junior year of an art program when I lost my job at Starbucks because of a couple of incidents involving customers who I slightly burned with hot coffee. It seemed to make sense to try stripping. I loved to dance around and I thought it might be empowering or whatever. So anyways, there I am on stage for the first time and yes, I was having a little difficulty with the heels. To be honest, it was my first time in super high heels but the other girls had made it look so easy. I'm short so I usually go for cute over glamorous, but whatever. I take my bra off and the cute guy (Rick) in the front row is the only one in the room doing that thing where he's trying to stare into my eyes even though he really, really wants to look at my tits. It was kind of adorable. That's when I headed over towards Rick to do something special for him, and then I fell.]
On the drive over to the hospital neither of us said much. She seemed to be in pain. I was trying not to think about what was under the coat that she had quickly pulled on as we headed out of the club.
Once we got to the urgent care facility, she checked in and they informed us that it would probably be an hour. She told me to leave, but I insisted on staying with her. It was only partially due to chivalry, after all this was also the cutest girl I had been near in months. I didn't want to go.
By the time we took a seat, she seemed to have a gotten a little bit of a handle on the pain, and so we started to talk. I honestly cannot remember everything that we discussed. The conversation definitely covered an outrageous range of topics, from her most recent painting to what is was like backstage of a stripclub. At one point she reached up to rub my head (she told me later that it looked so soft). If you've ever shaved your head, you know that it's really sensitive right after you've shaved it for the first time. When she stroked my head with her hand, I just about started purring.
An hour later, they called her in. I waited while they put a cast on her and did the rest of those medical type things with her. When she came out, I drove her home. We didn't talk because the pain pills had already kicked in. Once we reached her apartment, I helped her in the door (she was really fading quickly). In the bedroom, Kitty dropped the coat. The last image I had of her was of that incredible ass in the g-string as she belly flopped onto the bed. I locked the front door and slipped the key under her doormat. I didn't expect to hear from her again.
The second time that I met Kitty she gave me a concussion.
[Oh wait! That is so unfair! It sounds like I did something intentional. OK, I'm going to give you the quick version of what actually happened and then he can give you the slow boring edition. It took me like two hours on the phone with the hospital before they finally gave me Rick's name and number. Luckily, he had signed some of my admission forms. So I gave him a call and invited him to my upcoming exhibition. When I saw him there, I was so excited. He had been so sweet to me that night but I was afraid he wouldn't come. So, I ran up to Rick to give him a hug and I just forgot that my hand was in a cast. That's all.]
So Kitty called me out of the blue a few days later. I was distracted at the time so it ended up being sort of a weird conversation.
"Oh my god, I got the right number!" There was a lot of enthusiasm coming through the phone.
"Are you sure? Who is this?"
A long pause followed. You see, I was trying to remember meeting a Kitty. In the stripclub she had been Jasmine (sorry, I meant Ja-ja-ja-jasmine). When we checked her into urgent care, she had been Katherine. I don't think she even mentioned that everyone called her Kitty.
"From the other night?"
"What other night? Like from Olive Garden?"
"Unless one of the strippers at Olive Garden did a faceplant into your lap, than no." She was starting to sound a little frustrated.
"Oh, right! So, how's your hand?"
"Good, so you want to meet sometime maybe?" OK, that's what she said but it came out like, "Good, soyouwantomeetsometimemaybe?"
[Hey, when I'm nervous I start to talk a little bit fast. Big deal. Anyway, he's not much of a phone conversationalist and I was afraid Rick would hang up before he ever got around to asking me out.]
I was definitely agreeable. Like I said, this girl was cute. She invited me to her exhibition and so I agreed to come.
It took me an hour to get ready. I realized that I had no idea whether this was a casual thing or a tuxedo. Finally, in desperation, I decided to go with the suit plus converse sneakers. Make it look like I was indie or something, instead of just ignorant.
When I got to the exhibition, I realized that I shouldn't have worried. Apparently this shindig was a clothing optional deal. Just inside the door was a six foot tall photo of a topless Kitty playing jump rope. I think it was supposed to be artistic because she was perfectly in focus but the rope was all blurred like it was moving really fast.
I will never understand art, but this kind I think I could start to enjoy.
[Wow, I really sound like a harlot don't I? The truth of the matter was that Rick somehow caught me my first and only time at a stripclub and saw my first nude photo. Eventually, Rick would get to see some of my other firsts, but we'll get there. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.]
I had just managed to recombobulate when I heard somebody call my name. I turn to see Kitty running at me to give me a hug with a big grin on her face. And when she got to me she did give me a huge hug. She also brained me with that club on her hand.
I saw stars.
This time, at least, we were able to reverse things. (I believe in equality in relationships.) She drove me to the hospital. While we were waiting in urgent care, we finally had a chance to talk.
"Rick, I'm so sorry for hitting you with my cast! It's just that you're so much taller than me, I thought that I would need to jump to hug you or something."
"It's alright, I'm fline."
"I'll be otay. Don't worry."
"You're talking funny."
"You're mispronouncing words."
"Wait, where are we?"
Now, I don't remember any of the rest of it but Kitty tells me that we had an interesting conversation after that during which I more than once called her Pussy and repeatedly asked to pet her kitty. I honestly don't know if I can believe her.
I woke up the next morning with a terrible headache. After a few minutes of struggling, I remembered the day before. Kitty was a fun girl, to be sure, but she seemed a little dangerous. My boss had just informed me that I was on the management track and would be moving up if I showed results, so I was putting in sixty-plus hour weeks. I had a feeling that someone like Kitty could make that very difficult for any number of reasons.
[I have to say that I did make it hard. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.]
Shaking the sleep out of my head, I stood up and headed into the kitchen to make some coffee. Once I had a cup, the energy to make breakfast arrived.
I was just carrying my plate of food over to the table, when...
HOLY CRAP! Who was that!
Kitty was sitting up on the couch (apparently she had been lying down until just then), grinning at me. I, on the other hand, was trying to bring my heart rate down out of the red zone. She had scared the ever righteous shite right out of me.
"So, you made breakfast?"
Then I noticed that her grin had widened as she started to giggle. I followed her gaze down to my groin and....
Oh yeah, I was naked. Typically there's nobody lurking in my house to cause a ruckus if I sleep au naturel.
"Just a sec." I scurried back to the bedroom and pulled some clothes on. When I came back into the living room, Kitty was at the table eating off my plate.
She looked up and waved me over with the fork. "You never wished me good morning."
"I wasn't... uh... expecting...
"You're eating my breakfast?" I meant it as a reproach but somehow it came out as question.
"It's OK. We can share." She grinned and tried to hand me the fork. I hadn't noticed it until then, but she had a deep dimple that appeared in her right cheek when she smiled. I didn't take the fork.
"So what are you doing here?" Trying to keep any anger out of my voice.
"The doctor told us that you shouldn't be alone for the first twelve hours. Just to make sure that nothing happens, you know. I slept on the couch and was the perfect gentleman."
"I woke up naked."
"Well... I was a pretty good gentleman, at least. After all, it was only fair after you saw me at the stripclub."
She was continuing to eat, smiling up at me as she did. She had big grey eyes that always seemed to be smiling. In fact, I don't think I had seen her anything but happy even when she was hurt.
"You know, I quit the stripclub."
That was intriguing. "Oh? Why did you do that?"
She was getting up from the table. "I realized that I wouldn't be able to meet the kind of guys I wanted while I worked there."
That was too bad...
"What kind of guy is that?" I was sick of the conversation but it seemed like the thing to say.
Kitty leaned in close and kissed me on the cheek. "Guys like you, of course. Feel better, OK?"
A second later she was gone.
I was so dazed, I didn't realize until later that I had a piece of paper in my hand with her name and number in those big curvy letters.
She had smelled like oranges. It was incredible.
I waited three days to call Kitty back. Why three days? Because a sitcom character told me to, that's why.
"Hey, Kit..." I didn't even have a chance to finish saying her name.
"Rick, I'm so glad you called! I was wondering when you would. I mean aren't you supposed to call after a girl spends the night?"
Of course, I didn't catch all of that because what I heard was, "Rickimsogladyoucalled!!! Iwaswonderingwhenyouwould... Imeanarentyousupposedtocall after a girl spends the night?"
[OK, I get excited and I talk a little fast. It's not that bad and I manage to calm down after a little bit. It's adorable, dammit.]
I was still trying to catch up.
"Why didn't you call earlier?"
"I thought I was supposed to wait three days."
"Yes, you are... if this were a TV show." (Damn!)
"So, what are you doing?"
"Painting, you want to come over and keep me company?" Of course, it was more like, "Painting, youwanttocomeoverandkeepmecompany?" I managed to keep up that time, though.
"Sure. Text me the address?"
"OK!" She hung up. I guess the conversation was over.
I was able to find her studio on campus. When I knocked, Kitty opened the door almost immediately. She was a sight. And it wasn't because of her old t-shirt or short shorts. Kitty had her hair pulled back in a ponytail and she was almost covered in paint. There was a streak of green on her forehead, road on her cheek, and yellow on her chin. The back of her right hand was covered in those colors and more, and she immediately used it (the paint covered hand) to grab me and pull me into the studio to look at her new painting. She had a gigantic smile on her face.
"I was just finishing it. Do you like it?"
The painting was unique, to say the least. It comprised of nine boxes, each of which contained the black silhouette of seated person. Around the person, inside the boxes, were swirls of colors. Each box contained different colors with different patterns, but they all seemed dynamic and alive.
"Wow. What's it called?"
"I called it Rick."
"What?" I was confused.
"Well, I thought of you and me, then this is what I painted."
I didn't know what to say.
[OK, so I explained the painting to Rick later and he apparently has forgotten it, so I will cover his mistake up for him and enlighten you. I can be a little... well, polite people call it 'high strung' while the less polite use various terms, which all include the word 'batshit'. Every time that I had met Rick, he seemed so calm and accepting, like somehow it was normal and acceptable for us to repeatedly visit urgent care. I was trying not to tell him too soon, but I was already nuts for him.]
"It's astonishing! I can't believe you painted that in three days." I turned towards her. "Where are you going to exhibit it?"
She shrugged. "Your house."
"Now let's get going, those reservations aren't going to wait for us too long. I need to shower and change."
She was already pulling me towards the door. "What reservations?"
"The ones for dinner, of course!"
I took one last look at the painting and then left the studio.
After that we had a few weeks of conventional dating. There really isn't too much to say. I was learning more about Kitty all the time. She was hyper, also very smart. In addition to participating in a prestigious painting program, she was also part of the honors college. I told her about my job as a civil engineer and my hobbies. None of my hobbies are particularly exciting, so I won't go into it.
Kitty didn't seem to have any hobbies. Instead she told outrageous stories of adventures she was always having. One particular story involved a stuffed moose head and a NRA meeting. I'm not supposed to tell you anymore about it.
We survived the time better than could be expected. All that was suffered was a sprained ankle (me) and a black eye (her).
[Geez, he makes it sound like we were beating each other. They were both little accidents. One was due to a bar stool and the other to a pitching cage. It could happen to anyone.]
Eventually I found the courage to tell her that I really liked her and wanted a long-term relationship. The way that she reacted, you would have thought that I told her I had just cured cancer and I wanted to name the wonder drug after her. We spent that date cuddling and kissing.
You might wonder why I would go out with someone who was so dangerous to be around. (I had more doctor visits in the few weeks I had known her than the three years before that.) The truth was that I was having more fun than I ever thought I could. I sort of considered myself a boring person, but around her I was always laughing and enjoying myself. She was always doing really considerate things for me, like that painting.
It also didn't hurt that she was gorgeous.
[That's so sweet of him. I would write a longer comment, but I'm going to go jump his bones.]
So, I watched this music video once where the lead singer (a woman) was staring at the camera with this big smile on her face and crazy eyes. At the time I thought, "That girl would either murder you in your sleep or make you the happiest man alive." And that's how I felt about Kitty. It was possible that I would someday die when a piano accidentally dropped on my head, cartoon style, but until that happened it would be a hell of a ride.
I had no idea.
The first time we made love was a few days afterwards. I had just gotten home from a long day at work but when I opened the door I could smell Italian food.
Kitty was standing in the kitchen, naked, with a pan of homemade lasagna (my favorite). She, of course, had that huge smile on her face, with the dimple showing.
I quickly learned the rules; I could look, but not touch, until I had finished my dinner. I was also supposed to stay fully clothed during dinner, because I was 'brought up with manners'.
I couldn't tell you what she was doing in the kitchen, because I don't remember another dish being finished, but she spent the whole time that I was eating either reaching for things on the high shelves or bending over to get stuff from the bottom shelf.