Tail for Two

A tiredness covered me like a heavy blanket. I grew weaker and weaker, craving sleep but couldn't indulge myself. As tired as I was, I was having orgasm after orgasm. It should have been something like heaven but was more like hell for the choice was not mine. All the power was in the hands of the cat woman. Somehow I knew I must break free.

Yet my energy was gone, my will fading fast.

"You're killing me," I cried.

A smile spread over her face, mouth hanging slack, eyes bright like blood. "You may die, but I promise you one thing. You'll die with a smile on your face. It's the reason you were born. Give me everything you've been holding back for so many years. You know exactly what I mean."

I did know what she meant. That was perhaps the most frightening thing of all. The pull was overpowering - to give in finally after all the loneliness and pain - to be complete at last. I needed to find something to distract me, anything.

"What really did happened to the man with the brown mustache?"

Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes closed for a second. Then, they opened again. "The bastard got away." Her face was rigid like stone, mouth closed, eyes blazing. "You distracted me that first day at the bagel shop. Two of you in the same room, like being in a candy shop -- too many tasty treats." She smiled with one corner of her mouth turned up. "Sometimes givers figure out how to get away. He's gone now, but I have you."

Distracted with her talking, her grip weakened. Kicking away from her, I raced over to the couch, naked, my back to the wall, eyes rotating back and forth, searching for a way to escape.

Slowly the cat-woman stood up from the floor. She shuffled across the wood floor toward me. As she shuffled her feet, I could hear the sound like sandpaper rubbing a plank smooth. I pressed my back against the couch as if I could disappear into the wall. Then she leaped at me. I struggled to push her face away.

A loud bang echoed off the walls. The woman stopped fighting me. Struggling to my knees, I saw her, lying on the floor, a pool of blood by her head. The man with the brown mustache was standing by the door, a smoking gun in his hand. I ran to him. His arms encircled me. For the first time in a long while I felt safe.

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

I never felt the years pass. Everything changed around me, but inside I stayed the same. I was like this eternal being, a mountain that was impervious to the ravages of time. My face wasn't as smooth as it once had been, but inside I was still a rock.

Paul aged poorly. His trim figure developed a paunch and his chest sagged. Long ago, he had trimmed his mustache. I didn't mind any of this. Our shells wither and die. But, the inside of a person -- it never needs to age. With Paul, it did.

I remember when he came home with the bad news. I was just as frightened as he, but I thought we could somehow overcome it. We were in love, we could face the problem together. But, it broke Paul. He was never the same after that -- he stopped exercising, popped a six pack of Bud every other night, and stayed up to all hours watching every bizarre TV show he could. No one but Paul would ever watch an entire infomercial.

That nonsense about givers and takers seemed like a dream from long ago. How bizarre, a cat-woman bloodsucker. The real world didn't have such creatures. The real world had bills to pay and more bills and still more bills. It was about survival, not sweetness and kindness.

So, I pulled out the old scrapbook and leafed through the pages. Just like every other time, the clipping leaped out at me. It was yellow with age, but the picture was clear and the words were the same. It had truly happened. The cat-woman had indeed been killed that night with police running around asking questions of everyone. It had been a time of magic and mystery. And I had found true love. I wondered, if a person could lose true love. But, how could love be true, if it was ever lost.

I stood up from my leather chair when I heard the car door slam. He was back. I stood by the door as he approached, trying to gauge how successful he had been. Not very, I surmised by the way his shoulders slumped.

After he sat in his favorite chair, I handed him a Bud. "Did we get the extension?"

He wouldn't look at me and kept staring at his beer. "No, we didn't."

"We'll just declare bankruptcy again. That'll teach 'em!" My voice rose.

"Can't do it this time," Paul said. "We did that two years ago. Can't do it again for five more years."

"But what'll we do?"

Paul drained the beer. "I have no idea." He looked at me with those brown eyes, but all I could see were the red lines on the whites. "We'll lose the house of course." Then he laughed and crushed the beer can. "We can always live out of the Villager."

I put my hands on his neck. The muscles were tight, so I gently massaged them. "We'll think of something," I said, rubbing his temples in a gentle circular motion.

"I need to find a decent job." Paul stood up and walked to the window.

"You've had jobs," I protested.

"Sure. If you call being a grocery clerk a job."

I slipped my arms around him, my face buried in his back. Tears slid down my face. The rock didn't feel like a rock. The mountain was crumbling. As I held him tight, I suddenly realized that I had never been a mountain. It was all a show for others. Inside, I was a scared rabbit.

I could feel his need, the pain of unemployment, the fear for us. I remembered the times we had visited people and they had asked him what he did for a living. His mouth would twitch and he would start his spiel about managing a meat packing plant. Of course, he never mentioned that he had done that four years ago.

"You're a hard worker and so very bright," I whispered. "You'll bounce back." I slid my hand below his belt. No response.

"When will the children get home?" His voice was low, but something of the old Paul was there somewhere.

"We have at least two hours."

We took our time.

Naked in bed, I waited for him, caressing his back, telling him how much of a man he was, how he would find a job, a boss of something. But it was taking too long.

So I wrapped my mouth around his noodle, all soft and gushy. With a sucking motion, I rolled my tongue around it, sliding my hands over his legs.

As he hardened, his hands touched me as well, over my legs, around my buttocks, inside my thighs, into my slit. His mouth became active, his tongue a lizard, flicking against the inner parts of my legs, sliding closer to the spot under my stomach, the place where my wetness started to drip.

He slurped the juices, his lizard tongue flicking against my clit. I pushed down on his face feeling his tongue enter me. My mouth continued to suck him, swirl my tongue around his growing penis. I slid my hands over the base of the shaft barely able to get them around the thing. Moving my mouth up and down, I slid my hands around the base.

He groaned pushing his pelvis into me.

"Fuck me baby," I cried.

Hard as a rock, he turned me onto my back, spread my legs and eased into my pussy. I quivered as I felt him enter me. As he pushed into me, I pushed back. Soon he could push no further. I was filled with him. It felt wonderful. All the pain and struggle of the past year somehow didn't seem quite as bad. We had each other.

He started the in-and-out motion. Every time he entered me to the fullest, his pelvis pushed against my clit. It was wonderful. I felt him puffing as he moved back and forth inside of me. My breath came in gasps. I was about to come.

"Ahh," he cried as he shot his cream into me. Soon I followed suite and shook with a powerful orgasm.

I thought of how we hadn't changed that much after all. Life was changing around us and it was so hard, but we had each other -- forever -- true love. No cat woman or darn job could take that away.