Living with Katrina Ch. 01

"Fine then. I'm following your lead this one time," he said to a theatrical burst of applause from Katrina. He added, "And what happens if I get fired?"

"Oh don't worry," she said nonchalantly, "I'll blow your boss and make him take you back."

"Yeah right," he chuckled, putting on his coat.

"I'm serious. I'm really good at it. Wanna see?" she said, rising off her chair with a wicked glint in her eye.

Sensing this conversation was heading in an uncomfortable direction, he said, "No thanks" and rushed out the door, leaving Katrina to her own devices.

"Devices" meaning her rather large array of sex toys. She had a couple of impressions to finish by the end of day. Enough time for her to crank out a few orgasms from her battery-operated boyfriend.

She opened her drawer of depravity and took out an eight-inch, ribbed vibrator with a an elongated spur to pleasure her clit while she slid it in. Kat lifted it to her face, letting her familiar gaze run over every groove and ridge.

"At least you won't leave me," she muttered, kissing the bulbous head of her toy.

"Nice and easy."

She flipped the switch and the toy whirred to life. The ridges were arranged in bands along the length of the toy. Alternate bands moved clockwise while the rest moved anti-clockwise. The spur also vibrated in unison.

Kat held the toy against her clit. Years of having others suck it had made half an inch in length. Her toy wedged neatly, so that the top half was pleasured by one row, and the bottom half was rubbed in the opposite direction.

Once she got over the initial jolt, she moved her toy back and forth on her clit, rubbing it against her clit earnestly. Her nub sparked to life, sending a rush of wetness to her pussy. Her walls were soon moist and her lips raging with arousal.

Sensing her acute arousal, she slowly began inserting the vibrating head into her opening. The head was inside, stirring up her sensual fluids. Taking a deep breath, she pushed further. The toy was halfway inside her, her legs turning to mush and her toes curling in anticipation of a shattering orgasm.

She slid the rest of her toy in, rubbing the spur against her clit. A guttural moan of raw pleasure escaped her throat as her climax drew closer. Pulling it out, she thrust it back inside her needy sex, feeling the rotating head against her G-spot.

Her pussy was saturated with her liquids and she could feel her climax overwhelming her. Instinctively, she yanked her toy out. Her eyes clamped shut, swimming in a kaleidoscope of vivid colours as a jet of liquid flew out of her orifice. It gracefully arched in the air, splattering on the foot of the bed.

It took a few heavy breaths for her body to readjust to the present. Her sopping wet toy lay beside her, still whirring, and there was a wet streak going from the foot of her bed to the floor below.

"You stay faithful to me all right?" she said to the toy, laughing to herself.

After some more time spent idly chatting with her battery boyfriend, she got off the bed to clean up the evidence of her masturbation.

"Till next time," she smirked, putting the toy back in the drawer.

With this, she headed to her studio. A small private gallery had agreed to host an exhibition of her pieces in a few days. She hoped that it would get her some much-needed money.

Rent was due soon.

She stood in front of an empty canvas, paintbrush in either hand. She closed her eyes, recalling the rush of colour that had fleetingly flashed before her eyes. It was a psychedelic collage of blurry shapes and indistinct silhouettes. Immediately, she knew what to paint.

For the next hour, she furiously splashed colour onto her brush and threw it across her easel with vivid bold strokes. At the end of it, she was covered in splotches of paint. A small trickle of green went down from her lip to her chin as she smiled at her latest creation.

To the untrained eye, it was just haphazard shades randomly put on a canvas. But the same could be said of her idol Jackson Pollock. It was only when one, suitably trained, stood in front of the splatter, that the chaos disappeared. Then they appreciated the discipline, the order and the beauty.

* *

"Well?" questioned Kat, peering at him expectantly.

"Well..." he said, pausing for suspense, "I have a date on Saturday."

"Oh my God, oh my God," she said, jumping up and down and clapping like an excited kid at Christmas. "My roommate finally has a date."

"No need to get so worked up."

"I'm so proud of you Jake. I could kiss you right now," she squealed, planting a firm peck on his cheek.

"Yeah, well don't get your hopes up. Emma might just dump me after this one date."

"The girl finally has a name. Tell me about Emma. What is she like?" she inquired, stirring some Texan chilli stew for an early dinner.

"She is the assistant accounts supervisor in my section. We handle the accounts for the Eastern division. She acts as a liaison between us and the trading firms who give us their...."

"Oh shut up!" she groaned. "I meant her, not her job. You need my help much more than you realize."

She held her spatula menacingly, fully intending to smack him with it if he said something as stupid again.

"She is thirty, Irish, and a little chubby. About five and a half feet tall. Black hair."

"Good. Good," said Katrina, making mental notes. "What does she like wearing?"

"I've only seen her in stuffy formal clothes. Shirts, coats, trousers - the whole office wardrobe. She never seems interested in anything beyond the narrow confines of her work. Boring, so perfect for me."

"Sometimes the ones that look boring and prudish on the outside turn out to be really wild in bed," she said, affectionately ruffling his hair. "What are you going to wear?"

"I was thinking I'll break out the Yankees tee and that faded jeans I buried somewhere in my closet," he declared smugly.

"That's perfect," she said, turning down the heat on her pot. "Perfect for your seventh birthday, dumbass."

Jake looked crestfallen at her reaction.

"Argh! What am I going to do with you?" she cried in exasperation, clutching her hair. "Put on your jacket and grab your wallet."

"Where are we going?" he said, completely bewildered by her mood.

"Macy's. Now hurry." she shot back, grabbing a scarf and wrapping it around her neck.

Half an hour later, he was on an alien planet. It was surrounded by rows upon rows of shirts, ties, shoes and coats. He gazed at the expanse of expensive fabric with a look of silent wonder on his face.

"What do you think?" she said, grinning at him.

"Why do people need so many clothes?" Jake said, slack-jawed with awe.

"To impress people on dates, silly," she said, patting his head, adding softly. "So that they can get into their pants at the end of the night."

"Shut up," he retorted, blushing slightly. "This is just a date. No sex at the end of it. I'll have you know that Emma is very intelligent and the conversation will be enough for me."

"But can you cum in her intelligence? Can her intelligence wrap its tongue around your hard cock?" she whispered softly. "Can you feel her intelligence squirming and writhing around your erection?"

"Jeez. Don't you ever think of anything else?"

"What? Girls can't be sexually open?"

"That's not what I meant," said Jake, backing away from the raised eyebrow.

"Relax. I'm not having another of my episodes in here," she smiled and clutched his arm.

They walked up to a young, sprightly salesgirl. Her badge said CANDACE.

"Candace. Could you show us some clothes for this handsome hunk over here?" said Katrina, dragging him by his wrist.

"Mmmm," said Candace, eyeing the reluctant shopper lustily, "You weren't kidding when you said handsome."

"Thanks for the compliment, Candace, but he has been taken. In fact, this trip here is to pick out something for his first date."

"Aww," said Candace, pouting, "No one is single any more. I think I have just the stuff you need. Right this way please."

He had long since given up any resistance. His penance for listening to Kat's advice that morning was this shopping ordeal.

"I hope Emma is worth the trouble I am going through here," he muttered under his breath.

He was imprisoned in the changing room, while garment after garment was tossed in. He heard a heated discussion between the two ladies over which set of clothes was fit for his body. Once every few minutes, he was asked to wear something and come out.

He strode out each time and stood at attention while two pairs of eyes scrutinized every square inch of his clothed body. Invariably he was told to go back inside while something else was picked out from the seemingly never-ending supply of male clothing.

A full hour passed with little progress. Empty hangers littered the changing room as he tried on yet another set of clothes. His two tormentors had long since spun off into a deeply neurotic fugue of rejection.

Finally, Candace extracted a suede Italian coat and pants to go with a fine silk shirt and velvet tie. It looked all the same to him, but it made them gape. They could scarcely imagine such a sartorial triumph.

"We did it," said Katrina, hi-fiving Candace. "We made a man out of this man-child."

"Yummy," said Candace, unable to tear her eyes off the spectacle encased in fabric, "Tell you what. If your date doesn't go so well, drop by my place. I'll give you my number. Come over and I'll have the pleasure of taking these clothes off your body."

"May I join the two of you? I'll just watch, I promise," said Kat, crossing her fingers.

They traded sexual innuendos back and forth for a while, each causing poor Jake to turn a deeper shade of red. Kat looked at him and burst out laughing.

"Just look at the poor guy," she said between laughs, "He looks like he could melt any moment."

"He sure does. Now take these over to that cashier over there," Candace pointed, "Oh and Jake, your ass looks good enough to eat."

The last sentence was met with a pinch of his butt. If possible, he went even redder and scurried away from her. Katrina led him to the counter.

"Holy crap! That is a lot to pay for a set of clothes," he said as the sum total flashed on the screen in front of him.

"It'll be worth it. Trust me."

Grumbling incessantly, he gave his credit card and saw his balance rise by considerable amount. The roommates made their way back to their flat.

"Take notes, Jakey boy," said Kat in an authoritative tone. "Be on time. Nothing is as bad a turn off as being late."

"I'll be on time."

"Where are you going?"

"Pierre's. It's close to both of our places," Jake declared, proud of his planning.

"No. Your first date is not going to be in a cheap French bistro."

"But I already made reservations," he whined, deflated.

"Then cancel them," was the simple reply. "I'll get you reservations at Davide."

"Davide? That's really high end. How will you get...." he spluttered.

"Let's just say the Davide Jr and I did a few things in their large kitchen once."

"That's too much information," he yelled. "Is there any man in New York you have not slept with?"

"Well," said Kat, putting on a brooding look. "There is this one stubborn accountant who I have been trying to get in the sack for years now. No luck yet."

"No luck ever," he corrected.

"Girl can dream. Anyway, your reservations are just a phone call away."

"But I still don't know how I will pay for...."

He was silenced when she pressed her finger against his lips.

"Don't worry about money. I will cover your half of the rent this month."

"No. You don't...." he began.

"Please. I insist. It's a small way of paying you back for the times you were there for me. You've bailed me out more times than I can count and I want to pay you back in whatever little way I can. Besides, big gallery exhibition coming up. Money to be made."

Jake's conscience was fighting a losing battle against her logic. He tried to dissuade her one last time.

"But."

"No buts. Go show that Irish lass a good time. And I want to hear the gory details next morning over breakfast so don't you dare be stingy."

"No sir," he shouted with a salute.

"All right. Now for the next pearl of wisdom. Do not, and I emphasize, do not talk a lot. A one-sided conversation is the first chapter of Killing Date for Dummies."

"Point taken."

Katrina was Jake's oracle in all matters pertaining to the opposite sex. He was not going to deviate even a bit from her guidelines.

"Compliment her as much as you can. Even if they are as fake as Paris Hilton's boobs. Trust me when I say we ladies love to be flattered. Her face, her dress, her jewellery, her shoes. Hit all four and you will have her panties off before the night is over."

"I told you...."

"Yeah yeah. I know...first date, no putting out, intelligent conversation. Just letting you know, you could get lucky."

"Anything else from my fountain of wisdom?" he asked, carrying the dishes to the sink.

"Yeah. One last thing. This is the most important of all. Don't be self-conscious and try and do things out of your nature. Just be yourself. She will fall in love with you, like I...."

Katrina stopped, hoping that Jake had not heard her last two words. He continued doing his dishes. The awkward situation had been averted. This was something that even she was trying to fully comprehend.

Hastily changing the topic, she started.

"Guess what? You're not the only one with a date on Saturday."

His eyes met hers from the sink.

"No way. This must be new record shortest time between guys. Who is it?"

"Trent Harmon."

The name sounded familiar enough.

"Your ex Trent Harmon? The certifiably insane, goth graphic novelist who kept a bit of hair from your head as a souvenir? You're getting back together with that head case?" he said, amazed.

"First of all, he is not insane. He is a bit eccentric, something we creative folk enjoy. I ran into him yesterday at that small bar off Newbridge Road and hit it off like old times," she stated, "Second of all, that bit of my hair he kept -- it wasn't from my head."

It was a minor miracle that Jake did not drop the dish he was holding.

* *

"Look at you. Ready for a date," she said proudly, applying the finishing touches to his shirt and tie.

"I still can't believe people pay so much for these things," he said, fiddling with his cufflinks.

Katrina suppressed a giggle. She herself was dressed up in all her regal finery. It included a plunging neckline which revealed way too much for Jake's taste. The straps were marginally thicker than spaghetti and the hem was at a level bordering on decency.

"This is ridiculous," sighed Jake, looking at himself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. "I look like a mafia don from a 70s movie."

"That's a good thing."

"If you say so. You don't look so shabby yourself."

"Thanks," she said, giving a little pirouette. "You had better get going now. Trent should be along later."

He picked up his wallet and phone. As he was about to leave, Kat spoke up again.

"This is the first time we both have dates, so I think we need to set some ground rules."

"Ground rules for what?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, there is a chance that both of us will have sex in a few hours," she chuckled, "Well, a chance for you, a certainty for me."

"I told you we are not...."

"Yeah, yeah I remember," she said, "Don't pop a vein. But just in case you get accounts-girl to come back here for some nasty specials, go straight to your room. And don't come out. I think our rooms are far enough apart so that the noise will not be a bother."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"If our respective dates want breakfast, we let them have it. Over dinner I will hear the details of your night."

"Sounds good. Now let's go."

Jake could feel his heart thudding against his ribs at the sheer improbability of it all. He was going to pick up a woman from her house and take her out to dinner. He stood on the curb, getting his thoughts together.

"Breathe, Jake, breathe. Hundreds of people do this everyday. You can do it," he said under his breath.

"I'm sure you can," said a voice behind him. A comforting arm was soon on his shoulder.

"What are you doing down here?"

"Did you think I would let you go without a kiss for good luck?" said Katrina, petulantly, planting a soft kiss on his lips. It lingered for a short time.

"You'll do just fine, Jake. I believe in you."

Katrina had a strange ability to convince Jake of anything. The last sentence soothed his erratic pulse and he drove off towards Emma.

Emma was ready and waiting in a dark violet low cut gown. It was semi-formal at best.

"I can't believe you got us reservations at Davide!" she shrieked excitedly, "I have wanted to go there forever."

"You're welcome. Let's head out."

Oozing chivalry, he held the door to his Camaro open.

"Your earrings look lovely," blurted out Jake, suddenly remembering the dating gospel he had heard.

"Why thank you," Emma blushed.

"No thank you, for the pleasure of your company for the evening."

The blush grew deeper. The traffic was surprisingly light. Reaching the parking lot, their car immediately stuck out like a sore thumb. Jake parked his Camaro between a Gallardo and a Corvette, already feeling out of place, just as his car was.

"Even the valet here looks rich."

"This is one of the finest restaurants in the city. What do you expect?" she said.

Continuing with Katrina's advice he said, "Your dress looks splendid and it goes well with those heels."

Hand in hand they went to their allotted table. An elderly waiter came by and handed them menu cards.

"These prices sure are steep," he exclaimed. "How the hell does something cost $400?"

"Listen," said Emma, biting her lip. "I appreciate the effort you have taken, but you really don't need to spend that much on food. We can have some of the starters and finish our meal elsewhere."

"Nonsense," he said, waving away her objections, "What kind of a man would I be if I couldn't show a lady a good time?"

Inwardly, he was grateful that Katrina had relieved him of the rent burden for the month.

"So tell me," said Emma, a gleam in her eyes, "What does the great Jake Gallagher do after he gets home?"

"Not much. Eat. Chat with my roommate. Listen to music. Sleep."

"Same here. Except I live alone. What about family?"

"I'd rather not go there," said Jake. "Sorry, but that is not a happy topic for me."

She took the hint and dropped the topic.

"So what shall we order?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Beef tenderloin with honey glaze? Sounds delicious. Foie gras? And maybe a choux pastry for dessert."

"Mmm, you know your food."

"Thanks. I wanted to be a chef for a while in my teens," he said, calling a waiter over to give the order.

"So... you like the Yankees?" he said, trying to initiate small talk.

Before Emma could reply, the phone in his pocket began vibrating. He apologetically excused himself and pulled it out.

KATRINA CALLING

"What could she want now?" he thought, covering his mouth as he took the call.

"JAKE! Can you fucking believe what happened? The sonofabitch stood me up. He didn't show and now he's not picking up his phone. I need to hit something."

There was a loud clang as Kat apparently threw something. Her tone was bursting with a furious rage. He thanked his lucky stars he wasn't in his flat. She was probably taking her bipolar anger out on whatever she could lay her hands on.

He had been in the line of fire before. Ended up bloody and beaten.

"I am so angry right now, Jake."

He did not have to be told twice. He could only imagine the state of the apartment with Hurricane Katrina in full flow.