Short Story: Nice Kitty

Jake sat in his pajama bottoms staring into the coffee cup on the kitchen table. The steaming coffee smelled good, but he left it alone. He knew he’d puke at the first swallow. Why in the hell had he insisted on all those tequila shots? His head pounded.

Jake’s cat Motor pawed at his pajama leg. “Knock it off Motor,” Jake said and flicked his foot towards the cat. Motor dodged the brushoff with ease. Unfazed, he jumped onto the table, and claimed squatter’s rights on the newspaper in front of Jake. Motor locked eyes with Jake.

Jake didn’t even notice. He put his head in his hands. He was thinking about going back to bed when he heard a thin nasally voice say, “Snap out of it you twit!”

“What the fuck?” Jake asked, lifting his head. He looked at Motor.

“You heard me twit, Snap out of it.”

Jake stared at the cat with his mouth open. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. By all counts it seemed like Motor had spoken. His mouth moved and even matched the words. That’s nuts, cats don’t talk, Jake thought. He looked around the room to see who was punking him. The room was empty except for Motor and Jake.

“Don’t pretend you can’t hear me Jake. You know we’re alone, at least that is if you don’t count that blonde bimbo in the bedroom. And after all the booze and “gymnastics” last night, I imagine she’ll be sleeping it off for a while. That just leaves the two of us. Face it dude, I AM talking and you CAN hear me,” Motor said.

Jake struggled to think through the post-alcohol fuzz. “If you can talk, then why in the hell haven’t you done it until now? We’ve been together forever for god’s sake. Why now?” Jake asked.

“Let me break it down for you Jakey. It’s all about reincarnation my human friend… past lives and all. That shit’s real. I’m proof. I haven’t always been a cat you know. Mind you the cat thing hasn’t been so bad, I mean you can lick your balls for god’s sake. And jump? You wouldn’t believe what that feels like… but I digress. I was a human before, and I want to go back. Correct that, I AM going back,” Motor said.

“What makes you so certain?” Jake asked.

“Once you’ve been through the process, you get to know how it works. There are only two rules; first, you have to spend at least five years in your new body, that is unless you’re dying, which lets you out of that one. Check that one off Jakey, I just celebrated my fifth birthday. And second, you need to knock off two to get one fresh body to move into. The universe loses two, you get to take one, so to speak. We need to talk about that one Jakey,” Motor said. His eyes again locked on Jake, unmoving except for the pupils that were dilating in and out. Motor shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then became still.

Jake was about to speak when Motor lunged. He was no match for the cat’s reflexes. Motor was on Jake’s neck before he could even flinch, claws sunk deep, teeth searching for Jake’s jugular. Motor’s head twisted from side to side as blood spurted from Jake’s neck. Jake panicked. He grabbed at Motor’s body to pull the cat from his neck, but only managed to sink the claws deeper into his own flesh. Jake was bleeding out. He could feel it. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

Jake’s left leg twitched as the last of his life’s breath whispered out of his body. Blood formed a spreading pool from the puncture marks in his neck. Motor stepped back, and looked toward the bedroom. He could hear nothing from the blonde. Clearly the tough night of tequila fueled sex had left her oblivious to “the dance” that had just played out between him and Jake.

Motor walked towards the bedroom, instinctively flicking his paws with each step, trying to shake off the blood he’d picked up from the dark pool next to Jake’s body. With each step he left a tiny cat print in the tan carpet. By the time he reached Jake’s bed he looked like he was wearing red socks with white bottoms.

He paused, senses in full hunter mode, taking in the room. Nothing but the blonde, who had now begun to snore, still very much asleep. Motor leapt onto the foot of the bed. He paused again to check for movement. Nothing. All good. He crept towards the blonde’s head with all of his cat-senses on high alert.

Motor was on her with one short pounce, his mouth latched to hers, claws sunk deep into her cheeks. He was in this for keeps. The blonde jolted awake, startled and confused. Both of her hands clawed instinctively at Motor’s fur trying to free him from her face. She wanted to breathe… bad. No luck.

Motor sucked hard trying to pull in the energy that made her soul. He could feel the blonde’s life force leaving her and entering his body. Her eyes widened as she realized just how oh-shit bad this was. It dawned on her that if she didn’t double down and overpower the cat, her life would be over. She sucked harder, pulling against the cat’s force.

Just as she reached the tipping point of death, Motor relaxed, letting the energy flow reverse. As he did, he could feel it flowing out past his lips in a tangible stream back into her body. The taste of the stream began to change from citrus to a metallic taste as Motor forced his energy into the stream. Now the stream was all his as it flowed back into the blonde, filling her body and into her soul.

The blonde’s eyes bulged, her body tensing at the sudden pulse of energy. There was an electric snap as the connection broke between Motor and the blonde. The cat’s body went limp and fell lifeless to the sheets next to the blonde. The blonde gasped, her chest heaving as she coughed, struggling to breathe. The next breath was deep and welcome. She felt good.

Her body visibly relaxed with each breath. She smiled ever so slightly as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and hurried to the bathroom mirror. Once there, she cupped her breasts, admired her newfound body. “Oh my blonde friend, thank you for this wonderful body. I promise I will use it the fullest,” Motor said and laughed.

Life is good, Motor thought. Now to make the most of it. He walked over to the chair by the bed where he’d seen the blonde’s clothes. “It looks like I’m going to be doing the walk of shame this morning,” Motor said as he picked up the silky little black dress. He pulled the dress over his head and tugged it down but it still barely covered his cheeks. He slipped on the black heels and reached for the small black purse on the floor near the chair. “Now, let’s find out where I live,” he said, opening the purse for the cell phone. The screen powered up with a touch and no security code. Lucky me, he thought. Checking the phone, he found two messages, from ‘Sis’, both left last night.

He pressed to hear the first message and put it on speaker. “Hi Brenda, this is your sister. I talked to Mom just now. She said she’d promised you she wouldn’t tell me, but she just had to. She said she couldn’t keep something like this from me. Why didn’t you tell me Brenda?” She sniffed. “I want to be there for you. Call me back. Okay?”

Wonder what that’s all about, he thought and pressed to hear the second message. “Brenda, why aren’t you calling back? I didn’t want to do this on the phone, but Mom told me about the cancer.” Sis was crying in full-blown sobs now. “I know how bad it is. At a time like this, you need to be with family. Mom said Dr. Raj told her it was a matter of hours or perhaps a few days, but no more. I want to see you now! Please call me Brenda. It can’t end like this,” and the call went silent.

Motor’s stomach turned over forming a knot. His head throbbed behind his eyeballs. Had that been there before and he hadn’t noticed with all the adrenaline? “Just my luck. All I wanted was a hot chick for a shot at my next life and I end up in a walking time bomb and a short fuse,” he said. Time’s a wasting bucko, you know what you have to do, he thought, and headed for the door.

Poem: Tribute to My Father

As the oldest boy
Life started out hard
No money, no toys
Life dealt him bad cards

Big family, rented land
Too many, too poor
Grew their food by hand
Their mother the core

Meal times the toughest
Eight children, all small
Hunger the roughest
Potatoes, that’s all?

His own Dad beat him
It seems out of spite
A belt to his limbs
Best safe out of sight

They sent him away
With an uncle to work
For free meals, no pay
He learned not to shirk

Rage became power
He relished its feel
Though turning him sour
As part of the deal

Years passed and he aged
But still coped this way
Powerful, enraged
Thought he was okay

Now bent and older
His wife in the ground
Passion’s grown colder
Few friends to be found

Aware now, awakened
Just what had he lost?
Faith in rage shaken
He counted the cost

The anger he’d used
And nourished so well
Entrenched and infused
He’d made his own Hell

There isn’t a rewind
There’s no second chance
To undo the time,
Add love and romance

His future was cast
He’s lived out life’s plan
Forgive him his past
And just love the man.

Why Does This Site Exist …

Have you ever wanted a place to drop your thoughts, those that are too private or politically incorrect for work, those that are too perverse or lengthy for Facebook?  This is my place for that.

In the posts below you will find bits taken from my life, chewed up, analyzed and written here so that I can move on.  I have always benefited from the catharsis of writing.  The more troubled or crazed my life becomes, the more I feel the pull to write.

You may enjoy them, you may not.  Regardless, I hope you find them interesting.

Short Story: Pinch Me

beautiful_breastThis was one of those dreams I woke from and instantly wished I could go back to sleep, reset, and start the dream where it left off. I was meeting with a woman in the office who had always been flirty, but prim and proper.  Never a hint at potential beyond flirts. Well this morning was different.  As she leaned across the desk to highlight the bullet point on the PowerPoint, her blouse draped down, showing a soft pink lace bra. My eyes went to her breasts like magnets.  I could not have skipped the breast-glance regardless the consequences.

My eyes stayed a bit to long, and she busted me.  She pulled back a bit, started to say something, and then rethought it.  Instead, she leaned forward again for an instant, hesitated, and then turned towards the door to my office.  She moved quickly to shut the door and then turned the lock with a solid thunk.  As she returned to the desk, she gently took my chin in her hand and closed my mouth.  At that point I realized I had been standing there slack-jawed.

She moved her lips towards mine, while holding my chin.  I came closer to her as she came towards me. Her kisses were hot, wet, and electric in their intensity.  As we kissed she began unbuttoning her blouse, not seeming to care about where we were or who might catch us.

I unhooked her bra with a quick flick of the wrist as we kissed. She pulled away briefly to lay down on my desk.  I shoved the papers aside and began gently sucking her puffy nipples.  She moaned in return and gently grabbed my hair, pulling my face towards hers.  Our mouths met in an impassioned kiss with tongues exchanging quick charged flicks of energy.  The fire was rising from within to the point I thought it would be the end for me. I had decided to let it go, no matter how short the time, or how much disappointment I might be to her. The growing feelings inside me too strong to ignore.

Just as I was nearing the end, the door to my office rattled at the sound of a key in the lock.  I pulled myself up and reached to help her up.  She was fastening the buttons of her blouse faster than a calf roper tying up a calf.  Her fingers were a blur. She was buttoning the next to last button as the door swung open and the face of the plant lady peeked in.  She apologized for interrupting and left.  So did my friend.  That is when I woke up.  Like I said, this one bore repeating.  I wish I was asleep again to let this one play out. Dang!

Women’s Folded Arms

A Bit of Cleavage Heaven

Human breasts are a wonderful thing.  That really needs to be clarified…. a woman’s breasts are a wonderful thing.  Men’s not so much. I work in a company of mostly women, so am regaled by the sight of women’s breasts on a daily basis.  Some are more proud of them than others, but they are plentiful, come in all shapes and sizes, and fascinate me.

I especially enjoy talking to a beautiful women who is squared off, face to face, looking very serious, and focusing on her important topic, who, in mid sentence crosses her arms in front of her chest.  At that point, she inevitably gives a little clench, squeezing her arms together.  Almost magically, both of her breasts rise up ever so slightly, bulging at the top of her bra which I am acutely aware is hiding right below her blouse.  The cleavage becomes pronounced, straining to be free. A beautiful sight.

At that very moment, try as I might, I nearly always find my eyes involuntarily dart downward towards her chest.  Admittedly, it isn’t a stealthy glance, but rather an autonomic reaction like a sneeze after pepper that I can’t control.  Breasts bulge upward – eyes dart downward – no control possible on my end.

It happened again two days ago.  The woman is a petite red head, full of piss and vinegar, with nice well balanced breasts.  We were deep in conversation, she was talking with her hands to make a point.  I saw it coming, but before I could avert my gaze, she crossed her arms.  Like Pavlov’s dog, my eyes went down, knowing there would be the reward of two creamy bulging breasts trying to escape her silky brown semi-sheer blouse.  I wasn’t disappointed.  They rose magnificently and for an instant, I reveled in their freckled beauty.

I’m sure the moment hadn’t lasted long, but by the time I looked up, her eyes were locked on mine.  They were somewhat bemused, somewhat irritated.  She did not, however, uncross her arms or verbally bust me. I am sure my face betrayed how sheepish I felt. Despite that, we both carried the conversation to it’s conclusion.  But, for the life of me, I don’t recall what we talked about, only those nubile plump breast tops, yearning to be free.

Was it worth it? Damn straight.  Does she treat me weird? Not really.  In fact I think she may have a good idea what she’s doing when she’s doing it.  Perhaps it even amuses her that she has the power to make my eyes drop uncontrollably like a dog’s leg twitches when you rub it’s side.  And whether that is true or not, I’m sticking to it.  That way when it happens again, I won’t feel quite so bad for getting busted – so to speak. Because breasts are a wonderful thing….women’s breasts that is….  I absolutely love them all.