"Funny thing, 'In Love With Tawny Cat—Forever', says exactly what I feel, but it's as if I didn't write it. Maybe Venus gave it to me."
"Why would she do that?"
"I think she watches over me. It was Venus who gave me our secret kiss."
"What? I don't believe that! Venus knows our secret kiss?"
"Yes," he suddenly looked concerned, "but she's on our side."
"On our side! She could give our kiss to any dork, and I'd have to sleep with him!"
"You worry too much," he said, but he looked even more concerned.
"Maybe I do. But I'm still thanking you for the poem, the secret kiss, breakfast, and most of all,"—her eyes had a decidedly naughty look—"for last night and this morning." She kissed him hungrily. "I'm mad that not wearing panties for you, makes me feel wicked. Do you think I'm wicked?"
"If it makes you feel better, D. H. Lawrence believes that 'unless a woman has a tiny streak of harlot in her, she's a dry stick.'"
"That does make me feel better, but what do you think?"
"No problem, if all you have is a tiny streak of harlot, but I'm afraid you're well past tiny. It's doubtful that even immersion in a tub of holy water could save you now." He smoothed her hair, and grinned at her.
"I knew it! I am oversexed!"
"If you are, that's yet another reason for me to love you. But if you're still concerned about your sexual appetite, there's a place in Columbia called Love and Sex Addicts Anonymous. For a small fee they'll take care of your problem."
"How?"
"They'll sell you a vibrator." He looked amused.
"So you think I need a vibrator?"
"Nope. You already have a vibrator, and you can use whenever you want. I'll show you where it's kept." He put her hand down the front of his pants—a mistake, because she got a firm grip on his joystick, and then refused to let it go. He was forced to follow her back to the bedroom where a problem named PussCat had reclaimed her side of the bed.
"Brad, you can't undress me with that cat staring at me."
"Just ignore her." He took off her skirt.
"I'm trying to, but I can't."
He grinned at her. "I was speaking to PussCat. ...Ow!"
She grinned back at him. "That'll teach you to make fun of someone who's holding your thing."
Minutes later, with PussCat removed, they were frolicking once again. At least they were frolicking until PussCat jumped back onto the bed, and peed on Brad.
Betty-Jo laughed gleefully at him. "I don't believe it. That feline of yours is no lady."
Brad moved PussCat onto the floor. "Perhaps not. But she's a feline that loves me."
"Am I the only one here who thinks she has a strange way of showing it?"
"PussCat was marking me. Telling you that I belong to her, like she told you last night, when she attacked you. By now she probably thinks you're hearing impaired."
"I'll be darned! Well she can't have you. If I pee on you too, would that get it through her furry head that you now belong to the big tawny cat?"
He tossed her his grin again. "I haven't known you long enough to be certain, but there's a distinct possibility that you are one very sick puppy."
***
As Betty-Jo and Brad drove east to a mall near the Intracoastal Waterway, she rubbed against him. "How can it be, that yesterday I barely knew you, and today I'm tits-over-toes in love with you?"
"If you believe Plato, what you have is a grave mental disease."
"Plato may be right, I don't feel at all sane. I'm living beyond love. I've lost my virginity, and I've lost my heart."
"Be careful," Brad cautioned. "Losing your virginity might be considered unlucky, but if you've also lost your heart, that's starting to look like carelessness."
She hit him. "So you think that before long, I'll have to keep my soap on a rope?"
"Don't feel too badly about what's happened to you. As one wit put it: 'Every maiden's weak and willin', when she meets the proper villain.'"
"Maybe your wit guy's right. Maybe women do automatically believe that they're in love with the scoundrel who first separates them from their panties."
"While it's too late for you to make a U-turn to reclaim your virginity, perhaps it's not too late for you to reclaim your heart. Take two Advil, and get a good night's sleep. If you're still in love with me in the morning, we'll hire an exorcist."
She frowned. "Be serious. I'm afraid that I love you too much."
"Don't be. 'Cause when it comes to you loving me, too much still isn't enough. I'm one of those people who believes that 'love is the only gold.'"
"'Love is the only gold.'" She thought for a moment. "That's nice, because like gold, I know my love for you is insoluble—it isn't going to dissolve away."
"Have you tried salt and soda water."
"That works on red wine spills, but you know that it won't work on what you've done to my heart. How did I ever become so in love with you so quickly?"
"Maybe it's only lust."
"It's that as well. It must be some kind of love-lust, because I love you best when we're making love."
He ran his fingers through her hair. "I hesitate to tell you this, but you've been tricked into loving me."
She undid a button on his shirt, and ran her hand over his chest. "And who did the tricking? You?"
"Who else?"
"And now you're going to tell me how you made me fall for you."
"Aren't you insightful this morning. First I tried prayer."
"So I'm the answer to your prayers?"
He braked Old-yellow to avoid a crazed kid on a skateboard. "For sure. But you might also be the answer to my affirmations."
"Your affirmations?"
"Don't you use affirmations in your tennis training?"
"No."
He parked Old-yellow. "Don't tell me I'm going to have to be responsible for your tennis instruction as well as your sex education?"
"Maybe, I do love your sex lessons."
"Back to affirmations. If you repeat a phrase over and over, it becomes part of your subconscious beliefs. The subconscious mind is stupid. It can't distinguish between reality and fantasy, so it will believe whatever you tell it. That's why people are dismayed about violence on TV. If violence is seen often enough, the subconscious accepts it as fact, not fiction."
"So I'm in love with you because of violence on TV?"
"More likely because of this." He slid his fingertips along her inner thigh. "I'll give you an example of an affirmation that's closer to your sandbox. Let's say that a virtuous virgin is made to say, over and over, 'I love only you, Brad'. In reality, this Brad person irritates our virtuous virgin, but her subconscious mind believes what she's telling it. So it looks for reasons to love the guy, and then feeds those reasons back to her conscious mind. Before long she's in love with him."
"At least now, our virtuous virgin has something to blame her idiocy on."
"Just as well, because the next thing she knows, she's in his bed, and a short time later, she's no longer virtuous or virgin. If it's any consolation for you, I do feel guilty about using affirmations to make you fall for me—but I needed you, and I will always need you—badly!"
"I should have suspected. And here I thought I loved you because of your broad shoulders, slim hips, dimples, rugged good looks, and enchanting grin. Nor should I forget your charm, noble character, and cleverly disguised intellect."
Brad laughed. "Nope—it's the affirmations. What's your bear's name?"
An amused Betty-Jo smiled. "Now what's that hand of yours up to?" she asked. It had been playing with her pussy.
"It's just checking."
"Checking? Checking for what?"
"Well, it knows that you've lost your cherry, but it wants to make sure that 'you still have the box that your cherry came in.'"
Betty-Jo laughed. "Idiot," she said....
When Betty-Jo and Chad walked arm-in-arm into Cynthia's Lingerie, an attractive saleslady came over. "Brad, h
ow nice to see you again."
"Even better seeing you, Cynthia. You look fabulous." They traded smiles. "Cynthia France, Betty-Jo Chance."
Cynthia smiled politely at her, and she smiled politely back.
"What are you looking for today?" Cynthia said.
"I need bras, panties and garter belts for B-J, and a satin sheet for my pussycat."
"Why don't we take care of B-J first," Cynthia said, while maintaining eye contact with Brad. "She has a thirty-six inch chest with a double D cup, a twenty-four inch waist, and thirty-seven inch hips, so a size five panty. Of course you know where everything is. The bras are here. We have a good selection of deep-plunge and demi-cup bras, with or without lace trim. The panty size you want is in the next isle over, and the garter belts are across from the panties. Try a few items on your friend—see how she looks. When you have her looking the way you want her, give me a call, and I'll double check the fit."
Betty-Jo had decided that she didn't much care for Cynthia salesperson.
She knows Brad too well. And she's treating me as if I'm some kind of store window mannequin being fitted for display purposes. Well maybe I am, but she's ignorant when it comes to bra sizes.
"Actually, I wear a 37D."
"Then it's fortunate that Brad brought you here, because you're wearing a poorly fitted bra." Cynthia prodded her breast. "It doesn't fit here or here, does it?"
"Better listen to Cynthia, she knows her lingerie," Brad said, as Cynthia walked away. "Let's start with the bra. Something black and sheer that covers your polka dots, but allows them to jut into the fabric. I like the looks of this lejaby number from Paris."
"It does look hot."
"The panties should ride high on your hips, but have enough material so my imagination is given a workout. We men are a visual lot. What I want are panties that I'll enjoy watching you lounge around in—lounging panties."
"There's no such thing."
"Good. That means I can take credit for having invented them. Here. Try these on." Brad stepped into the change room with her, and watched as she did her lingerie-modeling thing. He made a few adjustments before he thrust her breasts upward, gazing in awe as they surged above the top of the sheer black fabric.
"Fantastic! Whether D or double D, you have marvelous cupcakes."
"Cupcakes?"
He nibbled her ear. "Cupcakes just occurred to me with all the talk about cup size. The word 'breast' makes your pleasure pals sound too anatomical, and tits are something you might find on a pig."
"Those are teats."
"Exactly my point. Cupcakes, on the other hand, are what you have. Trust me on this one—like Karnak the Magnificent—I can discern the difference."
"I guess they could be cupcakes." She cupped her bra-covered breasts. "But you'd better not start calling them Hostess One and Two."
The cupcake inventor laughed. "I'll get some bra and panty sets in white and gold, and some garter belts and stockings."
Betty-Jo was still annoyed at the way Cynthia salesperson had treated her, and she wasn't amused that Brad actually seemed to like the floozy. But I know how to get even with him. When he returned with his lingerie selections, she teased him unmercifully—it was in the way she moved out of her black, and into her gold lingerie. Soon he was beside himself.
"Tawny Cat, what's the name of my beauty spot?" He outlined it with his finger.
She looked at him in disbelief. Then she smiled and stretched provocatively. "Please Do Me Brad. Take your Tawny Cat's breath away."
They made awkward, sensuous love in the change room, with one of his hands clamped firmly over her mouth...
"Come again soon," Cynthia called after them as they left.
Brad grinned. "Don't worry, we will," B-J replied over her shoulder. Then she kissed Brad on the cheek, and danced him into the bright mid-day sun.
"Brad," she said as they twirled down the street, her shopping bag flying, "how many women have you...have you slept with?"
"Let me think." He stopped twirling her, and started to count with his fingers, pausing on occasion to smile. "Do you really want to know?"
Anguish engulfed her. "No," she said.
He tilted her face up, and forced her to look into his eyes. In them, she met a more serious Brad than she had previously known.
"I'll tell you all you need to know. I have loved only one woman, I love only one woman, and I will forever love only one woman. You, Tawny Cat!"
She floated on the velvet and leather caress of his words. "Because you fancy my new panties, that sadly, I'm not allowed to wear," she said.
"Because I fancy you—and don't worry, we'll find more than a few occasions when you can wear your lounging panties."
She pulled herself against him, and closed her eyes to hold back the tears. "What do you fancy most about me?"
He grinned at her. "'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.' For starters, I've never met a nympho I didn't love—they're a prerequisite for non-stop fun." She tried to hit him, but couldn't because he'd pulled her even closer to him. "But 'most of all, I love that you love me.'"
She hid her face in his shoulder, and breathed him in. "For how long will you love me?"
"The seas will dry, the stars will cry, and the earth will spin off into space, pursued by a comet, but that will only be the beginning of my love for you."
She kissed him long and hard, and then wouldn't let him go. "How do you make that stuff up?" she said at last.
"With you, it's easy. Now tell me your bear's name."
"I Love Only You Brad...."
Betty-Jo was circumspect in her selection of the lingerie that she would take to Brads'. He was observant when it came to her underwear, but then, all men seemed to find it fascinating. She hurried, as she thought about him. How can I be missing him so much when we've only been apart for an hour?
When he'd dropped her off at The Princess he'd said, "Don't worry about nightgowns, you won't be needing them, but you might consider packing a teddy or two." He'd punctuated his request with his Tom Cruise grin. I know darn well why I'm missing him. She threw her thong teddy, the black lace one with the gold embroidery, into a suitcase. This I know he'll like...
Brad was waiting for her when she drove up to his place with her three suitcases, two boxes, and Ben-Gal.
"You must be tired," he said when she flew into his arms to be spun around, "because you've been running around in my head since I left you."
"I am tired. But you must be exhausted from what you've been doing to me in mine." He laughed and handed her a gift-wrapped present. "Why, Bad Brad? It's not my birthday."
"It's to commemorate the transfer of part of you from Victor to me."
"Is that the way you see it?" She stepped away from him.
"Come here." He tried to coax her, but she held her ground and pouted. So he moved to her, and pulled her against him, toying with her resistance. "I appreciate that a part of you will always belong with Victor, but now a part of you belongs to me. It may seem unfair, but men are like that. We want playmates who are ours. We need to possess—especially beautiful fairytale princesses. If it makes you feel better, you can look at it this way: while only the naughty part of you belongs to me, all of me belongs to you."
She pressed against him. "Darn you. What am I going to do about you?" she asked. Hesitantly, she opened the satin box he'd given her. In it, lay an inch-wide, black-velvet choker, with a gold clasp. He placed it around her neck, and did up the clasp. She watched herself being transformed in the mirror. Her choker was plain, but its simplicity made her look impossibly elegant and beguiling—she marveled at how one accessory could make her feel so desirable, and fill her with so much confidence.
"I'm happy-as-a-hooker in love with you," she said.
From behind, his arms circled her waist, and hugged her. "When you wear your choker, I want you to remember that there's a part of you that only I will ever touch, a part of you that belongs to me."
"That part o
f me will always be yours," she said quietly.
"Promise?" He pulled her hair, forcing her to look back at him.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. "I promise," she said.
"You may only wear this choker when you're with me. You and your choker are a dangerous combination that will do terrible things to men. It will create uncontrollable desires in them—cravings run amuck!" He had a crazed look in his eyes as he manhandled her, while she tried to fight him off. "Of course you have an alternative to wearing your choker."
"I'm afraid to ask."
"I could brand you."
She smiled. "If I gotta brand my cattle, might as well brand my women while I'm at it, sez you."
"Don't embellish. You know I only have one woman who may need branding."
She placed her hand over her heart in a fine imitation of a love-struck southern belle. "Ah do believe you ah referrin' t' me, sir. And while brandin' does sound romantic, ah'm becomin' rathah fond of mah collah."
She continued to study herself in the mirror. "I can't believe the way my collar transforms me, the way it makes me feel so naughty.
"Nice is often not good, but there's nothing wrong with naughty—'saves Santa a trip come Christmas.'"
Betty-Jo laughed. "Seriously Brad, what if my love for you is an addiction?"
"We can only hope. But the difficulty will come in making your addiction last."
"Why will that be difficult?"
"I wish I knew. But for whatever reason, after five or six years of living together, only one in twenty couples is still deeply in love."
"You're scaring me."
"As best I can tell, it's mostly the men's fault. Men realize that they must have a woman who loves them. They instinctively understand that the only real happiness in life is to love and be loved. So they put a huge effort into finding that love."
She rubbed against him. "You didn't put much effort into finding me."
"I put more effort into finding you than you're aware of. But unlike most men, I'm going to put even more effort into keeping you. While most men are off seeking other worlds to conquer, their love dies of loneliness and neglect. Then, even if they're successful in their other endeavors, they wake up one morning, and find that their life is empty. The one thing that gave it meaning is irretrievably lost."
The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever Page 13