Tail for Two

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A woman falls in love.
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writelove
writelove
23 Followers

The gray cat huddled beside the front door of my house while the wind lifted the fur of her scruffy coat, now covered with snow crystals. The children named her Vamp when she was a kitten, and she had lived up to her name. What went through her mind as she nestled in the door frame was something we would never know. What we did know was that whenever we opened the door, she streaked inside, setting off squeals and laughter because once again we had been duped by what was supposed to be a dumb animal.

Vamp dashed inside, raced up the stairs and found the most inaccessible corner to hide, away from hands eager to toss her back into the cold. Her hiding place was beneath my daughter's bed, behind stuffed animals and other toys. I lay on the floor and slid beneath the bed to find green eyes glittering back at me. The cat's head and face peered out among all the other critters that surrounded her, an image that always brought to mind E.T. hiding in Elliot's toy filled closet.

I reached for the cat and she pulled back, trying to escape my grasp, but my hands curled around her fluffy, resisting body. I felt a touch of guilt when I realized she was purring, yet I knew the damage she did to my carpet because she wouldn't use the litter box. With firm resolve, I pulled her from her hiding place and held her close to my chest, hoping to send the message that I did love her.

She purred contentedly in my arms as I took her downstairs, continued to purr as I tossed her back into the cold. She stood there looking at me as I shut her out, then resumed her vigil by the front door.

I touched my cheeks. They felt warm and I noticed my breasts rising and falling much faster than normal. Time to take a break. As I eased down into the soft embrace of my leather chair, I smiled. That cat would give me all the exercise I needed. And she did need love, like I needed love. I had needed love for a long time. Sometimes the pain was almost more than I could handle. It was as if I was lying on the floor and some heavy weight pressed in against my chest. I had a hard time breathing then. I wanted to tear open the back door and go running through the snow, screaming until the pain disappeared.

But, I knew the pain wouldn't fade that easily. It was my only companion now other than the children of course. The children were wonderful company. I loved them both. But, I wanted more. I wanted someone, that special someone to lean on and to share with. I wanted someone that felt warm and strong against me on the cold mornings. I imagined turning to him and feeling his strong arms around me.

I shook my head as I pulled myself up from the softness of the chair. Such a life was nice in dreams, I thought. Dreams and imagination had a way of being perfect. I wished I could stay in my dreams and never leave. But, my world was real, too real. A divorced single-parent knew reality in a way that few others did -- bills to pay, children to dress for school, snow to shovel, oil to change. I had even learned to fix the odd little things that kept breaking around the house. Last summer, I had replaced a few broken shingles on the roof. Yes, I knew the real world.

The next hour was mine. I had claimed it two month ago. I would let nothing interfere with my hour. Anna and Christopher wouldn't be home for a couple more hours and the house was clean. The freedom of a whole hour to myself was intoxicating. A couple weeks ago I started spending it at a bagel shop about a half mile down the road. The exercise was good and I might meet someone interesting. Magic was in the air as I headed down the road.

I slouched against one of the walls of the bagel shop when a man I had never seen before pushed open the glass door. As he held the door open for a blond woman, he plucked at his brown mustache. It was the same color as his carefully manicured hair. The woman slid by him toward the counter and he matched her carefully measured strides. As he walked, his soft gray turtle neck stretched across broad shoulders that accentuated his deep chest and tapered waist. He was no thoughtless dresser. Even his brown Dockers were so obviously casual and relaxed as to be intentional.

The man touched the blond woman's elbow. She didn't respond, but continued staring at the counter. Eventually, they gave their order and retired to a formica-topped table to eat their bagels.

When the man left for the restroom, the blond woman unfolded the Sunday edition of the Denver Post. She laid various sections neatly on the table and with minimal motion began reading. As she turned the pages, her scarlet and lavender fingernails caught the light shining through the glass windows. Her lips formed a pucker of concentration, revealing little lines radiating from them into the rest of her face. Her face had so little movement it could have been a stone statue. Her cheeks were touched with pink and a splash of blue rimmed her eyelids.

Finally she moved. She raised her eyelids revealing blue-green eyes. Then she lowered them again and continued reading. She was immaculately dressed with a gray and white checked suit. She was perfect in every way -- beautiful, slim, flawlessly dressed -- like glass.

The man with the brown mustache returned and sat down. He bit into his bagel and sipped at the vanilla hazelnut coffee. Abruptly, the woman stood up. Her chair slid backwards and hit another table with a soft clink. The man looked up and the woman swung her chin toward the glass door.

The man's eyebrows curled and he gazed down at his unfinished bagel. "I'm not done."

The woman grabbed his chin in her hand and pulled. Her lips were like a pencil mark on a marble statue. "Yes, you are! Now get going!"

She glanced briefly in my direction. For a moment our eyes locked, then she looked away. I felt as if cold fingers touched my shoulders and slid toward my neck. I arched my back and shivered. My hands were shaking.

The man slowly rose and gathered his bagel and coffee cup. His shoulders sagged as he dumped them into the trash bin.

I hardly noticed what the man was doing for something far more interesting had pulled my attention. As the woman turned to leave, I saw the back of her gray coat for the first time. Directly in the center of the back were several large white spots. It looked as though a bottle of bleach had been accidentally dumped on the coat. The perfect woman had a flaw. I felt like whistling or singing a tune. And that is what I did a few minutes later with swinging arms as I strode home. Snow had started falling and as I sang, I tried to catch the falling flakes on my tongue. Some of the notes must have sounded awful, but I didn't care.

When I finally reached my house, I was a little tired, but otherwise feeling quite wonderful. The friendly gray cat was perched by the doorway, waiting. I leaned down to run my fingers through the animal's soft fur. As she purred, I noticed the white snow on her gray coat. I thought briefly how familiar the white on the gray appeared. Then the cat sat down and stared at me before licking her paws and wiping them against her face.

I was careful not to let Vamp into the house.

*********************

The next day I slumped over a cup of French Roast, my thoughts in the clouds, when the glass lady walked in. She was alone this time and seemed different. Perhaps, it was just exhaustion, but she seemed older, more brittle. Watching her sit upright at a nearby table, I noticed small lines radiating from her eyes. Once, as she sipped her coffee, her hand trembled. At first I thought I was mistaken, but it happened again, just a small tremor, yet surprised me since she had seemed so self-assured the previous day.

Sipping my coffee, I wondered what had happened to her companion -- the man with the brown mustache. He had seemed so strong and handsome, and yet something had been wrong. It was as though he was afraid. I wished I had talked to him. Perhaps, I could have said something simple, a comment on the weather or a discussion about skiing. But, I had frozen and now my chance was gone. That was the way it was with me. I always missed those magic moments when I could choose to change my life forever. I always did nothing and that was a choice too.

Glancing up, I noticed the glass lady staring at me and turned my own beacons on her as well. Neither of us moved for several seconds.

"Where's your friend?" I asked breaking the strained silence.

She didn't answer at first and then a smile slipped over her face. It was the first time I'd seen her smile and I wondered if her face would crack apart. At the thought, my lips turned up as well. I had no reason to dislike her and yet almost instinctively I did. Perhaps I was jealous for I had certainly liked the man with the mustache.

"We parted ways," she said.

"Maybe he didn't like the way you pushed him around?"

"What do you mean by that?" Her voice was sharp as her smile fell, replaced with a granite expression. Her brows pushed forward to form a hood around her eyes.

"Yesterday, you jerked him out of here before he even finished his bagel." I hated confrontations like this, didn't know why I kept pushing at her. It was like an inner compulsion.

She leaned back, her hands lightly tapping the formica table. "You liked him didn't you? Was he handsome?" Without even allowing me to respond, she continued. "Have you been having fantasies about him? I'm sure you want someone to take you from your loneliness."

My lips trembled. How did she know my situation? Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I was certain she was just guessing for in all outward appearances I was like a mountain. No one could tell how weak I actually was. With practiced calm I smiled and flicked away a piece of imaginary dust.

"You got it -- loneliness -- that's my middle name. What's yours -- hunger?"

I don't know why I used that word, hunger. It just popped out, but I must have struck a nerve, because for a second, just the briefest second, her face changed. It was as though a mask fell and with mouth twisted, her eyes blazed. Almost immediately, her face became granite again. It happened so fast, at first I thought my imagination was working overtime. But as I considered it, a long pink tongue pushed from her mouth to slide over tight thin lips. Then I knew I hadn't been seeing things.

Turning away from the intensity of it all, I concentrated on my bagel and coffee. At the sound of a scraping chair, I glanced up to see the woman leave her table for the door. As she turned away, I saw the back of her coat. My bagel plopped into my cup with a splash stared open-mouthed. There was almost no gray now. The white color had spread like a fungus, or bleach perhaps, but what kind of bleach spread like that. It was more like a life form of some kind, a bacteria growing on the petri dish of her back.

At the last minute directly in front of the door, she turned toward me staring. Then, she licked the back of her hand and wiped it across her face. The movement was the oddest thing I had ever witnessed and yet seemed familiar to me. As I glanced down at my hands, I noticed them squeezing my coffee cup so hard that the amber liquid spilled all over the table. I grabbed my shaking arm to steady it.

When I arrived home, I was out of breath running so hard. I didn't care about the exercise, I just felt like running as though something were chasing me. Only I knew that wasn't true.

The cat was waiting patiently by the door when I arrived so I reached down to touch her fur, before yanking my hand back at the last moment. The dark color of the fur had changed. It was white now, the entire back of the animal was solid white like snow. Only it wasn't snowing. Paint perhaps? I bent closer to touch the fur. Not paint and yet it had a different feel from the rest of the cat, thinner perhaps, lying flat and lifeless on the poor animal.

Then, the cat leaned back to lick her paws. She raised a wet mitt into the air and rubbed her whiskers with it, sliding the paw from her wet nose back toward her ear. As I stared at the cat, something in my brain clicked like a switch on a train that tells the engineer the track ahead has been derailed. Fear gripped me and I rushed into the house.

My children would be out of school in half an hour so I dashed to the phone.

"Mom. Can you pick up the kids from school?" I couldn't understand her response.

"Mom. Are you able to drive?" I thought I heard sure but it could have been sheesh.

"How many have you had?" I couldn't understand the response, so I hung up, my mind racing. Who else could I call?

While I was thinking, the cat began to meow, but it was more of a howl though than a meow. I had never heard anything like it before, for no cat I had ever known screeched with such a mournful cry as though it was a harbinger of death crying for my soul. I thought of the nightmares I'd been having recently where a giant mouth lunged for my head. As the mouth came close, I could smell the rancid sweet aroma of decaying meat.

I couldn't bear the noise. It pierced into my heart, a knife to my soul. Finally, I got up and peered between the shades that covered the back door window. The cat stared at me with red eyes, her coat a solid white, a cat no longer, at least not any cat I'd ever seen. No, this was some kind of monster. And my children were coming along at any moment.

Grabbing the phone, I dialed the school. "I need to talk to Christopher and Anna," I told the secretary.

"They're already lining up for the buses," she said. "You want me to run outside and find them?" Her voice had this question in it as though I was crazy or something.

"Of course! This is an emergency. Important! Hurry!! Get them. Please!"

She must have believed me, because the phone went to Burt Bacharach background noise. I waited with the phone growing out my ear while the howling continued.

A few minutes later the melodies cut off and the secretary was on the line again. "I'm sorry, but the bus already left. They should be home in a few minutes."

I was in big trouble and I had no idea what to do. I couldn't call the animal control people -- not enough time. This was a problem I must solve on my own.

An idea popped into my head, and although it was risky, I felt as though I had no other choice. I had to do something before the children arrived and could think of nothing else to do. Opening a can of tuna, I placed it inside an old rabbit cage from the basement where it ended up after the death of my son's favorite pet. Slowly, I opened the back door. The cat dashed into the house straight toward me, but she slid to a stop at the last moment and with nose twitching, glanced around. Then her instincts took over and she bolted for the food. As she entered her prison, I locked the cage.

Falling into my easy chair, I sprawled legs extended staring as the animal hissed with the realization of her confinement. I had no idea what to do next. The cat's meows were even more dreadful inside the house and I thought of dragging the cage to the nearby creek to end her misery, but I simply no energy left, so I remained staring at nothing. At some point the howling stopped and as I watched the creature, its hair began to fall out. With a final screech, she fell to the floor motionless.

Unless I did something, I was certain the cat would die. I shouldn't feel the way I did. My feelings always got me into trouble, but I couldn't help myself. I opened the cage, pulled the cat's limp body out, and fed it some milk through a medicine dropper. Slowly, she opened her eyes. I couldn't let her die no matter how dangerous. Only once before had I let something precious die within me and that had been for my very survival.

As the cat slowly came back to the world of the living, I slouched in my easy chair staring at the limp form. But, my thoughts were far away. Long before Aaron ran away, he had died to me. The pain still hurt. Nothing was so painful as the death of love. And once love dies, it's hard to get it back. I wasn't even sure if it was the love that caused the pain. It was more the raw need that awakened me at night -- a need to be close to someone, to share the dreams in my head.

I heard a groan and my eyes riveted to the white hairless form. An old woman slowly took shape on the carpet. Her pale form was white like ivory as though the sun had never touched her. Her skin hung limp and loose on her bones like white sheets over furniture in an empty house -- lifeless and shapeless.

I helped her crawl onto the couch in the corner and slipped one of my Mexican blankets around her.

"I'm hungry," she said, her voice raspy. "Do you have any meat?"

When I returned with a steak, she grabbed it from my hand and started devouring it, razor teeth biting off huge chunks, blood dripping down her chin. As she ate, she grew younger, skin tightening up, wrinkles smoothing out, even her teeth flattened.

Eventually she transformed into the young blond woman I had seen at the coffee shop. She lay her head back on the couch staring into the ceiling, naked, skin pale, legs apart, breasts firm, pink in color. She was a beautiful woman.

By this time I had returned to my easy chair studying the transformation.

"Why?" My voice sounded loud in the silent house.

She raised herself to a sitting position. "I just want to live is all."

"I don't understand. How can I help you live?"

Her eyes were beginning to change again. The blue-green was fading into pink. "Haven't you ever heard of vampires and werewolves?" Her voice was barely audible. I nodded and she continued. "Most of it's pure poppycock, but some of it is true."

A fit of coughing took hold of her for several minutes. "We feed on the energy of others, but it's not like we suck the blood. We can only take what is given freely. Of course we can be quite tempting at times. And certain people give more easily, are easy targets, have more energy."

"What does this have to do with me?"

Her eyes were red now and growing in intensity. "You're one of those that can give us the most." The woman smiled, showing her razor sharp teeth. "Your energy is like pure white light to me. I noticed it the minute you were born and have waited years now. You're like the purest and strongest food for me. We're perfect together -- you love to give and I can only take."

The woman licked her upper lip with a long pink tongue. I shuddered and clutched my arms around my chest. "Your husband, Aaron, was one of us. He tried to take too much and almost killed you. When you stopped giving, he ran off."

She stood up, her eyes glowing. "But you're strong again and I need you." She opened her arms toward me. "Come to me. You want to give and I'll be gentle with you."

"NO!!" I stood up and backed away. "You'll kill me."

"I have what you crave," she said softly. "She rubbed my back and slowly removed my blouse, then my bra. A mouth pressed against my breast, her tongue slowly licking my nipple. Meanwhile, her hands were busy unbuckling my belt, sliding off my pants. The panties were next and then I was naked.

Almost immediately, she parted my legs, sliding her head between them. A warmth slowly spread from between my legs upward, over my stomach, breasts, until I felt it on my cheeks. Soon it was as though the area between my legs was on fire. I felt the cat woman's coarse tongue slopping over my pussy, between my legs, back to my pussy. Every time she flicked my clit, I jerked in little spasms.

Part of me wanted to shove her away, but I felt captive somehow, unable to move. The feeling was just too wonderful, freezing me. At some point we ended up on the floor with her pussy in my face, mine in hers. So I started licking her just as she did me. When my spasms gripped me, I just licked harder.

Soon she was groaning, the slop from her pussy running down the sides of my face. I started to scream. It was as though I was in pain or perhaps too much pleasure. I wasn't sure. I have had many orgasms over the years, but nothing like this. The feeling was pure ecstasy shooting through me like a knife through the center of my soul. I felt like I was running along this cliff and about to fall over the side. If I could just maintain control, I would be fine, but I was slipping ever closer to the abyss.

writelove
writelove
23 Followers
12