Mr. Shut Up and Kiss Me

Cat began moaning, timidly, then with a halting rasp. Her fingernails traced lines upon his back muscles. The tracing changed to scratching as she opened her mouth and kissed him violently. She forced herself against Owen, almost as if she wanted to merge into his body. The intensity of her embrace drove Owen mad with desire.

"We can take it slowly, you know."

She pulled him close and tumbled onto the bed. "It's past time. I haven't been properly fecked in a donkey's years. Come to me, boy."

He plunged into her while she thrashed beneath him. Each thrust of his hips was met by an equal thrust of her body. She lifted her ass off the bed, prolonging the contact. Their "fecking" was athletic, erotic, and sweaty. When they both had finished, they lay gasping shoulder to shoulder in Owen's bed.

Cat stood, her body glistening from the exertion. She stepped to the drapes and sliding glass door that led to the small balcony. Heedless of her own nudity, she threw open the drapes, then the door. She strode haughtily onto the balcony, her chin up, her shoulders back, and let the chill wind muss her dark hair and dimple her brown nipples. She took deep breaths, raised her arms like she was embracing the evening or calling the spirits of the night.

"Cat?" Owen called to her.

She turned and faced him. Her arms beckoned him to join her. Behind her, the Irish moon was slipping past the horizon. Owen tried to focus on her body, but found her bone china patina almost transparent before the full moon. He took a long gulp, then joined her on the cold balcony. The perspiration on his body quickly evaporated. Cat pulled him close. To his surprise, she was feverish in her embrace, burning in his arms. They tumbled back into the bedroom and onto the bed.

As Cat and Owen rolled across the sheets of the bed, a hissing startled him. He looked around for a small animal that might be making this noise. He saw the shadows against the wall of two small felines, slinking.

"Hsss!"

"Nmmnow!"

He tried to sit up, but Cat pinned him beneath her.

"Don't you hear that?"

"Ssss-Hsss!"

"Nmmnow!"

The shadows twined together in the moonlight, circling the bed. They grew larger, from cat-sized, to the size of a wolf, then an elk, then the shape of nude women. Two nude women. The shadows carried leather books with them, one golden, the other rose-tinted.

Cat held the back of his head while they kissed. Her other hand fluttered across his abdomen. He jumped when he felt the bite of nails on his legs, slowly scratching their way to his knee. Another set of claws found his arms, tracing contrails against his muscles.

"Sssspeak hisss name, now!"

The hissing and yowling finally made sense. The phrase was repeated, softly but insistently. Cat ignored their imprecations, preferring to snuggle and paw at her lover.

Owen felt the shadows pressing on his body. That was impossible, his rational mind told him. Shadows have no weight, no substance. Whatever was shredding his legs and caressing his balls had substance, though. Warm, cuddling, provocative substance. He panted as he was aroused again by the multiple hands that were caressing every inch of his body. The two shadow figures never stopped yowling, but Cat didn't answer them directly.

How long they tussled and coupled Owen couldn't say. When it was that he fell asleep among the squirming mass of bodies he never determined. His sexual exhaustion was complete, however. He didn't awake until the maid knocked at this door.

After his shower, Owen dressed and checked the schedule for the Bar Association Meetings. Nothing seemed as important to him as trying to find the woman who had spent the night with him. He checked his wallet. All his money was still there. If Cat was a hooker, she was not a very successful one. He had been so out of it that she could have, she should have, wiped him out. He fired up his laptop to check his bank balance, afraid that he might have divulged his pin. The way she had him going last night, he would have divulged government secrets and whispers in the confessional.

His bank balance was unchanged. It was diminished by his ex-wife but no one else.

So, his assets were still intact. He searched his hotel room for some note from her--a phone number, an email address, a napkin with her DNA--but there was nothing. He began to doubt that he had spent time with her. And he doubted even more that her friends had been in the room with them. He hadn't seen them clearly, but he had the soft swellings of their bodies, the taste of their pussies, the bite of their names, and the hiss of their whispered commands burned into his muscle memory.

He would have thought the entire thing was a dream. Perhaps Liam and Neal were still breathing, lusting, and buying liquor for the house downstairs. He was just disoriented by the leap over multiple time zones and the Atlantic Ocean. Then he caught sight of the three notebooks--one rose-tinted, one golden blond, and one deep black. Each of them in turn reminded him of the women he had seen in his dream, or memory, or imagination or whatever it was. He checked the last written page of the black leather book. His name was written in the book.

He carried the three notebooks with him down to the hotel lobby, leaving a placard on his room door that the room could now be freshened. Attorneys crowded the lobby since there was a break between presentations. Time to get some food and a drink. Owen entered the bar, looking for his elderly friends. Liam and Neal were nowhere to be seen. On the counter of the bar were two printed obituaries, one for each man, alerting the other attorneys that two of their members had passed away in the night. Their remains would be flown back to America later that day. There was no question, then. They had died. Owen hoped it had been with smiles on their faces, as rumored. Given the activities of the women in his room, it was easy to believe that each man had had his wildest sexual fantasy satisfied.

He didn't see her enter the bar, but Cat appeared next to him and looped her arm through his. Owen was surprised, then pleased to see her so soon.

"Oh, good," she said. "You kept the notebooks."

"You left them in my room. And you hurt my feelings, leaving without saying goodbye."

She shook her dark hair and lowered her head. Her dress was more casual in keeping with the afternoon. Long silken patches draped her body haphazardly.

"Aren't you cold? I can practically see right through your dress."

"Mr. Shut-up-and-kiss-me is complaining?" She leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were warm and restless beneath his own. He could feel the heat radiating from her. When they broke their embrace, Owen had to sit down.

"Do you want to go back to my room?"

Cat laughed her head-back throaty laugh, and shook her head again.

"No. We have to bury those books before Róisín and Gráinne find them. Okay?"

"Sure, Cat. But why? And what's my name doing in your book?"

"You saw that your friends Liam and Neal had their names in the books, didn't you?"

Owen hesitated to answer.

"And by now you've learned your friends are dead."

"So, are you telling me you killed them? That's crazy. That's just sick. What is going on?"

"Of course not. They would have died last night anyway."

"My name was in your book."

"I know," she said. "I wrote it there."

A chill ran down Owen's spine and he shivered in the warm, dark bar.

"Was I supposed to die last night?"

She trained her neon green eyes on him, her lips a thin straight line. Suddenly he was no longer titillated by the transparency of her garment. Despite the warmth coming from her, he saw her as cold, implacable.

She nodded her head.

"You've got to leave. Immediately. Before Róisín and Gráinne find those books. Promise me?"

He studied her. After the intimacy they had shared, how could she be so clinical in her instructions?

"No. I don't think I'll leave. Why should I? I'm dead now anyway, right?"

"No, you aren't dead! You're still alive. I've bought you time! But you must leave now. Please."

Owen paced in the bar, unsure of his response. He occasionally looked at Cat. He had never seen such a whimsical, magical woman. He had never experienced complete interplay of emotions while making love with anyone before. She was beautiful in a classic way. In an everlasting way. In an inhuman way.

"Who are you, Cat? I mean, what are you, Cat?"

Cat anguished over her answer before speaking.

"I am a banshee. Róisín and Gráinne are banshees as well. We don't kill, but we herald the advent of a person's death."

Owen thought back to the sounds Liam, Neal, and he had heard on the way to Scruffy Duffy's. The wailing, the keening, the shrieking like a steam whistle.

"Why didn't you kill me?"

She shook her head again. "Banshee do no kill. We make you aware of your imminent demise."

"Why didn't I die?"

"Come on. We'll bury those books first, then I'll tell you."

Cat led Onen out of the hotel into the cloudy Irish afternoon. The wind swirled around them, making discussion difficult. It frustrated Owen. They walked north, the way they had walked the night before.

"Where are we headed?" Owen shouted to be heard.

Cat leaned toward his ear. "To the abandoned graveyard."

They walked in silence. Owen had never been afraid for his life before this but after talking with Cat, he was now. Cat kept watching the daylight shadows, her attention captured by movement no matter how small.

"Shouldn't we wait until night?" Owen asked.

"That may be too late, I'm afraid."

Owen checked his phone for service. There was not even a tiny bar. He tried to open his browser and search for air flights between Dublin and Chicago. Nothing. Then, heremembered his own flight time later in the week. There was an eight hour and forty minute Aer Lingus flight departing at 4:00 pm arriving in Chicago at 7:40pm. He guessed that would still be the case today. That gave them three hours to reach the airport and escape.

"Cat, forget about the books. Why don't we take a flight to America? You can live with me in Chicago."

Cat stopped walking and looked about her. "You want me to leave my life, my home, my history, and follow you to a place I've never been? In America?"

"I do, Cat. I do."

"It won't do any good. I don't think that the Good Folk can leave this Isle. I've never heard of it happening before.

"We need to escape. That's one way to do it."

She looked at him sadly. "You realize that I'm just a herald, a harbinger of your impending doom. Just because you leave Ireland is no guarantee that you'll be safe."

He took her hand in his. "What have I got to lose? Nothing. But if we are successful, I'll have the most beautiful lass I've ever met living with me."

She smiled and averted her eyes playfully. "You're awfully presumptuous, Mr. Shut-up-and-Kiss-me."

So they diverted from the old part of the town. As they got closer to Owen's hotel, the internet service bars fired up. Owen called Aer Lingus and booked two seats on the 4:00pm flight to Chicago's O'Hare Airport.

"Do you have anyone you wish to see before you leave?" he asked.

"No. I canna speak to anyone. I'm afraid that they will never let me go if they know. I have a thousand years of memories with the Good Folk." She cuddled closer to Owen. "Now I want to start makin' new memories with you."

"Let's go straight to the airport then. I can have the hotel ship my stuff back to Chicago. Do you have anything you wish to bring?"

She shook her head. He kissed her again and she enjoyed it. However, he noticed that she was carrying all three notebooks under her arm.

At the airport, Owen discovered that Cat could not leave Ireland without a passport or an ESTA (Electronic System for Travel Authorization) visa waiver. The ESTA had to be applied for at least seventy-two hours before leaving.

"We have to wait three days before we can leave, Cat."

She shook her head. "We can't wait that long. You'll be dead before nightfall."

"What about you? What will happen to you?"

"Not much worse, I should say. Most people think the Good Folk are as good as the Dead. Does that scare you?"

Owen shrugged. "A little, I guess."

Cat smirked. "You're getting cold feet?"

"If we both don't get out of here, I'll be developing cold everything."

Cat paced as she thought. She shook her head once or twice, then finally stopped with her hand on the top of her head.

"I just need a visa, right? I think I may have one." She rummaged in her bag for about a half minute and produced a gnarled folder. Up to that moment, Owen hadn't noticed that she even carried a bag. She held it out to Owen.

Owen opened it up. It had definitely been used. He could not read the date stamps, which were smudged. The picture, though, was not Cat. A wizened old witch stared back at him.

"Gaaah!" Owen almost dropped the document when he saw the photo. Cat took it from him, rubbed her fingers over the photo, and handed it back to him.

This time the photo was clearly Cat, radiantly beautiful, smiling her sensuous smile. At the counter, there was no problem with Cat's visa or with Owen's visa. Their seats were first class and they were the only occupants at this time. In fact, the plane itself was lightly populated. Owen placed the three leather notebooks under his seat for safe-keeping.

"You watch," Owen said. "The airline will cancel this flight if they can't pack passengers like cattle."

Cat looked back at the rows of empty seats. "It'll fill up."

Owen nervously checked the seats in business class and economy. Every time he checked the seats, they were more and more occupied though he didn't notice that number of passengers boarding.

"See?" Cat said. "It'll be alright."

She leaned over and kissed him. He was unused to public displays of affection, but he couldn't refuse such a beautiful woman. She seemed to relax all her inhibitions as they kissed.

The external door was secured shut. The plane pushed from the gate. Owen and Cat settled back in their seats, fastening their lap belts. Cat and Owen were the only passengers in first class. Owen took a look back at the rest of the plane. It was filled to capacity. About mid-way back, Owen saw Liam and Neal, smiling broadly and waving to him.

"Hey! My friends are back there. I guess that maid got her stories mixed up. I should go back and say hello. They'll get a charge out of the stories that are being told about them."

"Seat belt sign is on. You can talk with them later."

Cat pulled the curtain shut that divided first class from the rest of the cabin. Then, she began to remove her clothes, slowly and sensuously.

"My God! Are you crazy? Someone might see you. We can't afford to get booted off this plane."

"Don't worry. No one can see me like this but you. I'm yours, you see." She slipped off all her clothing and sat completely naked in the seat, twisted slightly so he could appreciate her figure better. Owen gulped when he saw her perfect thatch of dark hair covering her pubis. Her hip bones were tilted slightly in her seat. She kept her legs together. They stretched lithely to her knees and then to her ankles. Her nipples were taut with excitement on top of soft mounds of her breast.

Owen leaned forward and kissed the tips of her boobs while she mussed the hair on the back of his head.

"You're sure no one can see you like this?"

"Only you, lover."

Owen nuzzled her neck while his fingers sought her hidden warmth. She was already moist and it took no effort to slip into her. As he did, she moaned.

"How did I get so lucky?" he said.

"Well, I was the lucky one. I found someone who was unafraid. For the first time in forever, a man was willing to kiss me. That man was you. And you are a wonderful kisser, although I don't really have much experience in that regard."

"You will, darling, you will."

"So, I never spoke you name. I called you Mr. Shut Up and Kiss Me. As long as I never speak your name, you will be safe. At least from me."

Owen sat up straighter. "But I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife and bear my children. I want to grow old with you."

"I'm already old, dear. Let's enjoy this time as long as it lasts."

Two flight attendants appeared to instruct the passengers in the safety procedures for the flight. With a shock, Owen recognized them as Róisín and Gráinne. He elbowed Cat and nodded his head in their direction.

"Hello, Cat," they both said. Cat turned stone cold when she saw them.

The flight attendants began their spiel, but with a twist. As they spoke, they began to remove their uniforms, but with big smiles as if nothing were the matter.

"My God! What are they doing?"

"Only you can see them, dear. They know that. Once you've made love to one of the Good Folk, you can see them as they are in nature. But only one who has loved them can see them nude."

"So when you stepped on the balcony last night, no one could see you but me?"

Cat smiled. "No one could see me. But everyone could see you."

Owen flushed crimson with embarrassment remembering how they embraced on the balcony.

The two women continued to strip until they were as nude as Cat. Rose's body was flushed as though she had a fever. Her hair was fiery red between her legs. Her nipples were more peach colored than brown. Grace's body was golden with tan. Her blond hair momentarily covered her pale breasts, but she swung her hair behind her so that Owen could see her completely. She knelt down in front of him, and tried to unzip his trousers.

"Stop it!" Owen was not drunk like the first night. He wanted only Cat. He leaned into her. She put her arms around him and pulled him close.

Grace stood up, pushing her ass toward Owen's face. She was trying to distract him, but he noticed that Grace had pulled from beneath the seats all three leather notebooks. She gave the rose-tinted one to Róisín and kept the golden one for herself. They both checked the black book and wrote something from it into their own books.

"Don't. Please!" Cat pleaded, her arms raised toward them. They only laughed at her.

"If you won't complete your duty, we have to clean up after you," Grace said.

Rose pushed Grace aside and leaned into Owen's face. Her ample breasts swung slightly as she spoke to him.

"What's your name?" Rose demanded.

"We know his name," Grace said. "Speak it, man!"

Owen looked at Cat, whose eyes were filled with tears. She shook her head and hid her face from him.

"I'm Mr. Shut Up and Kiss Me!"

Grace and Rose laughed a wicked, cackling, crowing sound. They began to transform before his eyes, evolving into ever-older versions of themselves.

"Do you want to see what a two-thousand year old woman looks like? Well, here I am, dearie. This is what you have to embrace for the rest of your days."

Their breasts drooped. The skin around their necks creased and cracked and developed wattles. Sloppy pouches slung on their bellies. The hair covering their vaginas turned gray and white and fell away until it was only strands of hair covering a wrinkled purse. Their eyes were baggy with excess folds.

They laughed at Owen's disgust. "This is what your woman looks like without her makeup, without her magic. How do you enjoy that, Mr. Shut Up and Kiss Me?"

The plane was off the ground and circling to head out over the Irish Sea. Eight hours to Chicago, Owen thought. He didn't know if he could stand eight hours of these two hags.

As the plane moved closer to international waters, his image of Cat began to fade. She was still as lovely as ever, but he was able to see right through her. She was disappearing before his eyes.

"What's going on, Cat?"

Tears poured across her cheeks. She kissed him as hard as she could, but he felt only a slight breeze on his lips. Rose and Grace were also fading, but still laughing. Rose shook a gnarled bony finger at him.