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Archive for February, 2016

Feral


Nate’s first indication that something was amiss occurred at dinner, the first dinner he and Katie shared together. He had taken her to Baci, his favorite trattoria, where she had set upon her bolognese with ferocity. Smacking her lips, growling and grunting in low tones. Nate feared Katie would toss the fork and spoon aside and dig into the pasta and meat sauce with her bare hands. She didn’t look up until she had devoured the dish, had scooped the residue from the bowl with a piece of bread. The waiter, who had arrived at the table with the second bottle of Chianti per Nate’s instructions, stood gape mouthed in amazement.

After Katie had finished, Nate dabbed at her glistening mouth with his own napkin as though tending to an incorrigible child, his own dish virtually untouched. With the meal tucked neatly inside her, Katie was restored to the engaging, talkative, charming and beautiful woman he had met barely a week earlier. Nate couldn’t fully concentrate on Katie’s monologue with the spectacle he had witnessed crowding his thoughts. The waiter returned to the table on the pretense of refilling water and wine glasses that didn’t need to be filled and asked, for a second time, if the couple would like dessert, perhaps in hopes of provoking a second performance.

Nate drove Katie to her narrow, handsome home in the Riverside district, opened the car door for her and escorted her to the stoop. Her invitation to come up for coffee was the very thing he had hoped for when the evening began but he declined, saying he wasn’t feeling quite himself and needed to go home to rest. He needed to digest the evening in solitude.

At his dining room table, having poured himself a glass of wine that represented an obvious over-indulgence, Nate replayed the meal in his mind. Could Katie have possibly been that famished? She appeared to be living well at a prestigious address with nice clothes and a healthy figure. He refused to believe that such an elegant woman could be devoid of respectable table manners.

Katie called him the next morning to ask how he was feeling. Nate told her he was fine after dealing with indigestion which was, metaphorically, the truth. They agreed to meet at The Ruby Cafe on Friday night to listen to a band.

The band was The Bangers and Nate knew the members well. The Bangers played original music with a few cover tunes mixed in. Prior to the show, Nate and Katie drank  beer and worked their way through an amazing list of topics from politics to science to history and literature.

At one point The Bangers began to play a song which was familiar to Katie. A song which must have been a favorite because she began to sing along. Not in the way most people sing along by humming or soft, understated accompaniment but in a voice strong enough to challenge Telford, the band’s lead singer. Katie had a good voice but was ever so slightly off-key. She became the object of attention.

During the break between sets, at Nate’s suggestion bordering on insistence, they finished their drinks and took their leave.

When Katie had exited his car, after another shunned invitation for late night coffee with the excuse of an extremely important, early morning meeting, she bounded up the steps, turning to smile and wave before being swallowed by the brownstone.

Nate hadn’t opened the car door for Katie or walked her to her door. Instead he sat stunned, the engine continuing to run, gripping the steering wheel and staring ahead at nothing.

Perhaps she suffers an affliction like Tourette’s or epilepsy, he thought. A condition she can’t control but which might respond to treatment. But why would she not acknowledge her illness and apologize for the spontaneous outbursts? Was she unaware? Is she in an alternate world when the episodes occur? Nate finished his nightcap wine and went to bed consumed with questions and a resolve not to write her off but to find a way to talk things through.

Katie called the next morning as was her custom. She called before Nate had arrived late at the office after a fitful night. When he saw the message on his desk, his first thought was that he had been busted for his fictitious meeting but, instead, when he returned her call, Katie invited him over for a quiet evening including drinks and a movie. Nate accepted, thinking it would be the perfect opportunity to broach the topic of her errant social skills.

The evening was going well. Kate wore a flattering blouse and jeans. They ordered a pizza. They ate and drank wine while the movie played. He would wait till the end of the movie before he attempted the discussion. He didn’t want to disrupt the comfort he felt with her when she was behaving normally and it seemed a lost cause during and immediately after her fits. It was a dilemma.

There was a sexy scene, bordering on pornographic, in the movie.

Katie stood, abandoning her snuggled position beside him. She stripped to her watch and dropped to the floor on all fours. She put her face into the rug and reached around with both hands to spread herself open, whimpering and mewing with need and wiggling her ass. Nate hurriedly shed his pants and knelt behind her to do his manly duty without first asking necessary and appropriate questions.

After the act, which compared favorably to what had happened on the television screen, they retired to her bed where he continued to explore her in a more dignified and civilized fashion. Nate discovered Katie’s smooth curves and unblemished skin. Her small, firm, prominent breasts. She tasted and smelled vaguely of fresh milk. Her unshaved pubis, rather than a scraggly tangle of tumbleweed scrub, was a lush, silky soft fur carpet that he enjoyed combing with his fingers.

They attended a gathering at Gunnar’s newly rehabbed building in Near North. Nate knew most of the partiers, Katie knew not a soul other than himself despite claiming to have lived in the area for several months. With Gunnar was Maureen, tall and homely and gossipy. Maureen’s recent widowhood afforded her an element of sex appeal in the form of a substantial estate. Telford from The Bangers and Iris were there. Gunnar had invited Telford according to an uneasy truce and the absence of Nanette who had been bouncing between and on the two men’s beds for quite some time. Jeanine, a police woman on the local force was with her fiancé Spence who seemed to survive, even prosper, without a regular occupation. Dexter, an Inspector and colleague of Jeanine’s, brought Heather, a very pretty, young Hispanic woman at least two decades Dexter’s junior. Such was the character of the assemblage which milled about, chatting and drinking and munching the appetizers arrayed along a long table.

Katie was smartly dressed in a simple dress that displayed her fabulously tapered legs and ankles and hugged the tight, round bottom that Nate had trouble driving from his memory. She sipped a martini whipped together for by Iris who had extensive bar tending experience from her prior years at The Ruby. Katie munched delicately from the buffet table without incident. Nate was allowed to relax and let down his guard.

Nate was reminded of the high pitched squeal of a whoopee cushion ending with the flubbering sound of air being released from a balloon. The noise was coming from Katie. They were soon enveloped in a fetid but not entirely unpleasant cloud while the guests looked on with astonishment. Katie smiled like a baby relieved of gastronomical discomfort.

Heather, the Latina, laughed. Not a cruel life. Not a mocking laugh. An honest, good natured laugh. Katie began to laugh with her. Soon the other guests were laughing and Heather took the initiative to issue forth her own modest toot. The laughter built. Gunnar stepped forward with his drink in hand, his other hand extended toward Katie. Gunnar asked Katie to pull his finger. Gunnar’s fart rumbled like a thunderstorm and soon most of the guests had managed to join in the septic symphony.

Nate had arrived home after depositing Katie at her brownstone. He sat in his familiar place at the kitchen table and out of curiosity adjusted his posture so that he could break wind. It seems, he thought in good humor, that we are mere bags of constrained flatulence most of the time and we would be better off physically and spiritually letting nature take its course uninterrupted.

Nate arrived at Katie’s door unannounced. He was without a plan. He might tell her that it was impossible to continue the relationship, which hopefully would open the door to the discussion they desperately needed to have. Or he could ignore it all and ask her to marry him which was the stronger of the two impulses fraught with danger though it was.

Katie was not home. Nate sat on her stoop to wait and think for a moment. A black cat strolled in his direction. The cat smartly looked in both directions before crossing the street, walked to him and studied him familiarly, rubbing herself against his legs before climbing the few steps to jump on his lap. Nate kneaded the nape and ears of the appreciative animal. The cat curled into a comfortable position. Nate stroked the cat’s soft, silky fur while she flexed her paws in his crotch. And began to purr.

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