It’s a drizzly Sunday morning as I meet Cat Lady at my station and walk her back to my apartment. I have no plan and no idea how today will turn out. If it wasn’t rainy we could go for a lengthy walk in the countryside but it looks like today is going to be an indoor day. Oh dear, how shall we spend the time? Cat Lady is chatty and all that she says of my place is, “It’s a typical bachelor’s pad. It needs a woman’s touch.”
I set about making a barbecue on my balcony and she keeps me company as I tend to the kangaroo, zebra and ostrich meat. As compatriot South Africans we like our meat exotic and perfectly cooked. I start sweating from not just the heat of the fire but also from a self-induced pressure to get the meat just right. Once we sit down to eat she starts telling me all about her love of cats. It’s clearly her favourite topic and she goes on and on about cats. I become bored of this and become naughty in my mind.
“I just love cats. They’re such good company and very low-maintenance,” she says.
Good company, huh? I wonder what your cat would say about you if it could talk?
“How many cats do you have?” I ask.
“Just, the one for now, but I want another one soon” she answers.
“So how many cats would like to have if money and space wasn’t a factor?” I ask, trying to sound interested.
“Oh, I’d have as many as my home could allow,” she answers.
“Don’t you think that you run the risk of becoming a crazy cat lady then?” I jest.
“No, not at all,” she says with a smile.
“Do you let your cat sleep on your bed?” I ask, thinking that I already know the answer.
“Of course I do!” she exclaims.
Bingo. I can just see what sleeping in her bed would be like.
“So, do you talk to your cat?”
“Of course,” she says indignantly.
I’ve always been a ‘dog person’ because as a kid we had dogs; bull mastiffs and fox terriers. The latter dug holes and the former filled them with drool. I’ve not spent much time with cats and they don’t really appeal to me. I could see that if Cat Lady and I were to have a relationship that things would become, er, complicated.
There’s nothing wrong with her being a fan of cats, that’s her ‘thing’. There’s nothing wrong with someone being a cat-lover. A lot of famous people have had cats.
It’s just that I’m pretty clueless when it comes to cats.
Then I remember that a couple of other women whom I’ve dated were also fans of cats. Teacher Gal had two cats, the Wild Animal Tickler had three and the best pussy of them all, Krazy Girl, had one.
What is it about single woman with cats being eccentric characters?
Well, at least I know what to get Cat Lady for Christmas or her next birthday…
Before I say something to offend her, I switch on my television and start showing her ‘Californication’. We sit side by side on my sofa, transfixed by the shenanigans on the screen. Cat Lady laughs out loud at the funny bits and doesn’t seem phased by the naughty bits. By the end of the second episode other women have found themselves juicy and open to persuasion of the sexy kind. I’m somewhat aroused. I wonder if she’s getting turned on by all this; only one way to find out.
“I did a massage course last year. Would you like a massage?” is all I have to say for her eyes to light up.
“Ooh, I love massages,” she gasps.
I have yet to meet a woman who doesn’t.
“We need to go to the bedroom. There isn’t enough space here,” I say, trying to sound as professional as possible.
She’s almost as tall as me and this sofa isn’t conducive to a decent massage. Without a word Cat Lady gets up and starts walking to my bedroom; I follow her.
Why am I doing this? Do I want to have sex with her? I wouldn’t mind. Would that complicate things between us? Hell, yeah. Do I want to have a relationship with her? I’m not sure.
I stand in the doorway behind her as Cat Lady takes her top off and then, to my surprise, she takes her bra off too before lying face down on my bed. I catch a side glance view of a boobicle and it’s of a respectable size. I guesstimate that they’re at least C-cups. She’s certainly no prude; this could get interesting.
Once my hands are lathered up in massage oil I get to work on Cat Lady’s back which is riddled with knots. It’s obviously been a long time since she was last massaged. I wonder if she’s tried to train her cat to walk on her back? After almost half an hour I finish and lie down next to her. I’m happy for her to lie there, enjoying whatever she’s feeling, not having to talk to me.
Cat Lady comes to life almost instantly and rolls onto her side, deliberately fully exposing her breasts to me, which are indeed of a decent size, but I try not to stare and just give a polite peek that makes her smile.
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask.
“Yes, very much. Thank you,” she answers.
“What do you feel like doing now?” I ask, trying to see if she’s interested in sex or wants to retreat to safer ground. My ambivalence towards sex surprises me. Pretty much any other guy on the planet would be trying to push his luck with her, perhaps her mind works in different ways. Mine certainly is at the moment.
We lie facing each other, making small talk, the entire time she’s still topless and her nipples remain very erect. They’re of more a redder tinge than most woman’s, but it might be because she’s quite turned on now, I start to realize. If I don’t try something with her she might be offended and I’ll never see her again because she now equates that negative emotion with me.
I slowly raise a hand and gently cup her breast, which is cold and she hunches her shoulders from what must be the pleasurable warmth of my hand. She smiles broadly which I take to mean that she wants to go all the way with me. It would be rude not to at this point; no turning back now.
Her breast fills my hand and I squeeze it gently. For a woman in her mid-forties her breasts are remarkably firm. They’re not fake because I know what those look and feel like from my nights in strip clubs in Prague little more than a year ago.
Cat Lady says nothing, keeping a straight face that gives nothing away, except for a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Words often lie but actions never do, so her actions, or rather her inaction, tell me it’s permissible to continue. I’m not entirely sure where this is going as I lower my mouth towards her breast. She closes her eyes and tilts her head slightly back, all in anticipation of my mouth making contact with her smooth, flawless skin.
I slowly tease around her areola with the tip of my tongue, to which she exhales audibly. What I have learned over the last year is that taking my time with a woman reduces her almost literally to putty in my hands. Cat Lady is probably still relaxed from my massage, perhaps in need of a catnap after the heavy lunch I’d made, so a little physical pleasure is irresistible to her.
Sucking her entire breast into my mouth causes her to let out an “ugh” sound of satisfaction. My little trick of running my tongue around the nipple in a circular motion leads to more sounds of pleasure. I wonder if she’s amongst the small percentage of women who can an orgasms from nipple stimulation?
Cat Lady rolls away from me, a popping sound is heard as her breast detaches from my mouth, which makes us both laugh. Her other breast is now closer to me, so I make a move to repeat my trick there too.
“I think we should stop there,” she says unexpectedly.
“Oh, okay,” is all I say. I’ve learned not to force it when a woman says “stop”. That stop might just be a pause for a reason, such as her wanting to talk about something in particular or to just talk some more in general because she’s not totally comfortable yet. Some women like the foreplay so much that they break the mood so that it can begin all over again until they feel turned on enough to see it through to Nature’s desired outcome…or is that ‘out cum’?
“There’s something you need to know,” she says.
Oh jeez, now what?
“I have a rare condition in which my period lasts for two weeks at a time,” she says.
“Oh, I see,” are the lame words that fall from my surprised lips, but I quickly follow up with, “So are you on your period now?”
“Yes, I am. I’m sorry,” she replies with plaintive eyes.
“Oh, sweetie, no need to apologize. It’s just one of those things. Not the end of the world,” I say to console her. I appreciate her candour about such a sensitive topic.
To make her feel better I tell her about someone I knew who was permanently emitting light period discharges. It ruined this woman’s life in terms of physical stamina, relationship status, daily mood and obviously sexual life. Cat Lady starts to relax her face again, which pleases me. Inwardly I’ve accepted that nothing sexual is going to happen between us today and I’m okay with that.
“Tell me something, what kind of relationship are you looking for?” she asks.
“I want the works. I want to be with The One, to love her and for her to love me back. I want to share my life with someone I’m crazy about, someone I can’t imagine living without and having her feel the same about me. Stupid, huh?” I answer.
“No, not stupid. Lovely and sweet,” she says and leans over to me and kisses me on a cheek.
Her gesture is affectionate, but I’m not too sure what to make of it. Before I can ask Cat Lady gets up and starts getting dressed. Our fun is over and I’m a little disappointed because I was quite turned on. My instincts tell me that her and I would make each other feel good, very good.
Once dressed she turns and smiles at me, so I get up and we go back to the lounge to watch more episodes of Californication. It’s a strangely comfortable feeling I have sitting next to her on my sofa, like we’ve done exactly this many times before. It feels natural and good, like words aren’t necessary, like we’re the only occupants of our own private universe.
Like that we sit for hours, transfixed by the screen showing a well-intentioned man being undone by an unspoken conspiracy of cruel fate and scheming women, that which is the life of the lead character in the series I feel an affinity for. I’m starting to think that I’m living my own version of the Hank Moody reality.
As Cat Lady and I sit there, with her especially entranced by the greatest relationship crutch going, I silently gather my thoughts about her. She has a good heart and also has been let down. I feel that I can trust her and I now know just how rare that is. I respect her because she has a strength of character that is equally rare. She says what she means and means what she says, the same as me. Do I think I could love her and she me? Far too soon to know the answer to that one.
“Right, it’s getting dark and my fluffball will need feeding soon,” she says as an episode ends.
I snap out of my spell and help her get her coat on. In her haste I forget to give her a little lunch-box of leftover meats that I had made for her earlier. We walk to the station in the persistent drizzle and I keep her company on the lonely platform until her train arrives. We kiss goodbye on the lips, just a perfunctory kiss, nothing passionate.
Minutes later I’m sitting back on my sofa, thinking about what just happened. My phone lights up with a message from Cat Lady and we start swapping messages. It seems she had something on her mind too:
Cat Lady: I was quite comfortable which is nice
Grey Knight: It felt like we are a good fit, natural almost…which is more than nice.
Cat Lady: 🙂
Cat Lady: We have a good connection & great understanding, on most levels it seems
Cat Lady: But I have to warn you – I have a lot of unfinished business emotionally that I am sorting through slowly
Cat Lady: That is why I am not ready for any serious relations
Cat Lady: You look ready for a serious relationship, & I not the right partner for that
Cat Lady: That is why I ask, if you’re ok to enjoy & have some fun, all good, but if you want more than that you need to know I am not your girl right now xxxx
Cat Lady: You should please think on that – I do not want to cause any hurt xxxx
I sit staring at her message, now painfully aware that she’s definitely not The One. Yes, there is scope for a friends-with-benefits scene, but I want true love, not it’s poor in-bred cousin that might have a mystery disease. I think her to be a case of ‘Right Person at the Wrong Time’. Her previous boyfriend had done much emotional damage, had wronged her.
My brain injects thoughts of The Irish Cougar and my feelings change to ones of revenge for a sense of being misled, being wronged myself. I start to feel angry.
Just then a text message from my Exgf arrives:
“What’s a horny girl all alone at home to do?”
“Your place or mine?” I ask.
“I’ll be there in 20 mins.”
Crowded House – Private Universe