When It Snows Ch. 01

No, that fucking cat only went and rolled over on its fucking back like a baby cradled in her arms, closing its eyes for Shirley to tickle its tummy and ... it fucking purred. That fucking cat never fucking purred for me. I fed the fucking thing prime fucking tuna and all it fucking did for me was scratch, bite and piddle or shit in the fucking corner of my flat when it needed to point out to me my particular shortcomings as a fucking pet owner, when I was never even a fucking pet owner in the first fucking place.

It must've been an automatic reaction, I dunno what made me do it, I just reached out with a tentative digit to tickle his furry lickle tummy with my finger. But then Piddles opened one eye, just the one, like the ever-watchful predator that he was, tempting the patience of a tasty vulture. Piddles glared at me, daring me to tickle him for the first time ever in our tempestuous acquaintance, we both knowing full well that he would lacerate my hand into lean red mincemeat the very second I was within claw-reach. I nodded to him, I could see it in his narrowed eye that he recognised the submissive gesture on my part as I moved my hand up, nowhere near ad seamlessly as I would like to project, to remove my furry fucking hat from my head instead.

Having tickled Piddles until he was purring louder than her blessed Merc had on the drive over, Shirley dropped him gently on one end of my saggy sofa and urged to me that I sit myself down at the other end. Shirley took off her coat and scarf, momentarily looking around for somewhere to put them, before draping them carefully over the back of the sofa, which was covered in fucking cat hairs. With a hand on each of my knees she lowered her slim athletic body onto her own knees right in front of me.

Before I could stop her she picked up a tissue from where it rested on the arm of the sofa and lifted it to those delicious red lips. She licked the end languorously, maintaining eye contact with me all the while, knowing she could turn a statue to mush and certain parts of a mush into solid rock.

Then she stopped, recognising some remotely recalled taste from her memory banks, sniffed tentatively at that used tissue, before smiling knowingly at me.

I groaned. I know what I did in that fucking tissue. She knew what I had done in that fucking tissue. More importantly she knew I fucking knew she knew. Shit!

She dropped the tissue on the floor, next to a couple or maybe seven other crumpled evidences of my lonely depravity. The opened DVD box entitled "Mature Lesbos in Furry Handcuffs" that I had plugged into the player two nights ago screamed "Fucking Pervert!" to any guest, whether they were invited or otherwise into my extremely humble and embarrassingly shitty abode.

"For fuck's sake, Shirl," I groaned once more, "It's agony, just seeing you, having you here like this as well is, well, torture."

She spotted the box of tissues tucked on the floor by the end of the sofa and tugged out a fresh tissue or two. Still smiling, she dabbed them on the tantalisingly moist tip of her hot wet tongue and wiped my nose for me like a snotty kid who had fallen off the swings yet again, the clumsy sod.

"Like 'mature lesbians', then, do we honey?" she enquired softly, moving her head nearer as she examined my face for any blood stains that had escaped her initial ministrations with the dampened tissue. "Or do the 'furry handcuffs' do it for you?"

"No, I, er, oh sh-sugar!" I said, "If you must know, I delivered some pizza to a bunch of hard-up students the other night and they gave me that thing in lieu of a proper tip."

"Any good?" she glanced around the floor, unconsciously totting-up. Yes, seven tissues in one sitting. I could imagine her wondering, did that rate a porn flick as two stars or three?

"No, it was absolute sh-crap," I stuttered, "Bugger all else to watch on the box, as I don't have cable any more."

"Well at least you can still get it ... up," she whispered, moving her lovely head and delicious lips even closer, so close I was becoming aware of her subtle scent, like a meadow full of summer wild blooms, a freshness which eclipsed even the stench of my humble hermit's hovel.

To be continued.