The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever

by Jennifer Tate

  She wasted a smile on the darkness. "And I could go with a plastic bag over yours. Now I don't have to look at you. With the plastic bag, soon I wouldn't have to listen to you either."

  "Touché, vindictive Cat." He trailed his fingertips lightly over her damp, naked body, and explained. "I want to touch, smell, and taste you without those senses being overpowered by your beauty. It's imagery. It brings into play, senses other than sight."

  Imagery might be fun, she thought. "So you've decided to practice your imagery nonsense on me?"

  "Right." He took the gold wafer that hung between Fun and More Fun, and trailed it across her polka dots. Their response to the cool, smooth gold was immediate. Then his fingertips moved downward over her belly before they descended lower. "You should enjoy this. Women are more sensitive than guys to touch, smell, and taste."

  She allowed the caress of Brad's voice to soothe her. "I do love the way you taste and smell—kind of woodsy."

  "Then this is your chance to go native in the forest, while your wonderful Tawny Cat taste and aroma beckon me."

  She stiffened when the gold wafer again teased the tips of her breasts, but soon she had relaxed and was smelling, tasting, and touching her lover all over. "I could grow fond of night school," she said.

  The sensations, as they mingled with the velvet and leather of her lover's voice, were exquisite. She kissed her way across his chest, and down across his hard, salty-tasting stomach. Then she lingered between his legs, breathing in his earthy aroma; it was a time of the month when the scent of her lover was especially arousing.

  Brad took over again. Against the blackness he gently stroked, caressed, and traced her contours.

  "I can tell from feel alone that the bounce in Fun and More Fun could only have come from granola bars." His demanding mouth roamed over her, filling the darkness with unimaginable delights. Her entire body was poised—tingling and alive, aware and yearning. She felt a tenderness, a lightheadedness, and a desire to be touched and tasted all over by a lover that she couldn't get enough of.

  Finally, he shifted over her, eased into her, and then lay quietly.

  There, safe in her lover's arms, the filled to overflowing sensation was paradise. She reveled in the euphoria she felt whenever he was part of her. But this time it was different; this time he was making the euphoria last, seemingly forever.

  * * *

  Brad was uncertain where he had first heard about Karezza—the Hindu practice of a man staying awake in his lover for hours at a time. "Chinese mandarins are reputed to have carried on their business dealings while inside their concubines," he said with a grin, that only the darkness could see. "A fun bunch of guys, those mandarins."

  "You could be a fun guy too, if you could afford a concubine."

  She'll never go for this. "Tawny Cat, you could be my concubine. But you'd have to work for minimum wage because Karezza can last for hours."

  "You think that having your very own concubine would enhance your rep?"

  "Couldn't hurt it. I'd be the only guy on the block who had one. And besides, why should those Chinese mandarins get all the concubines?"

  "You do have a point. Okay, I'll be your Tawny Concubine, but on a trial basis only. And I want time-and-a-half for anything over four hours."

  "Sounds like a pretty slack workday to me."

  "Anything over three hours."

  "Done!" He turned on the light. "Don't go away while I'm putting on my suit."

  "You're wearing a suit?"

  "That's what we mandarins wear when we're working."

  "What do I wear?"

  He grinned. "What you have on now, your choker and your gold wafer."

  "You're planning to get your money's worth, aren't you?"

  "Hope so."

  "All right, Mr. Mandarin. It's you who's paying. But wear your Hugo Boss, the other one itches."

  "Luckily for you, I'm a considerate mandarin."

  "And don't invite any clients over."

  Mandarin Brad kissed his new concubine. "If all concubines are as free with their advice as you, it's amazing that any of 'em are still working."

  Brad's Tawny Concubine lay on his desk, her legs resting on the arms of his swivel chair which had been cranked up as far as it would go. He—looking Hugo Bossish respectable—was nestled deep inside her, and smiling like a happy face. She smiled right back. For a while he fiddled on his computer with his 'Saint Joan' essay, but then he became more serious. He turned on Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata', with its muted piano passage—the tranquil mood that Karezza seemed to require. Then the brand new mandarin asked Johann Pachelbel's 'Cannon' to bring on some serious grinning, as violins soared above a repeating base. He liked Pachelbel's 'Cannon'. It dwelled in his memory long after the last note had faded. For the finale he was saving Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons: Spring', with its thunderstorm.

  * * *

  "Have I told you how much I love having you in me like this?" Betty-Jo said.

  "Have I told you how much I love being there?" he replied.

  "Professional concubine is an occupation I'm growing to love. It feels as if we've flowed together. I can't tell where I end and where you begin."

  After about half an hour, with Tawny Cat's scent wafting about them, Brad said, "You have no idea how much I love your aroused, Tawny Cat aroma. I can't get enough of it."

  Soon heavy breathing was emanating from Brad's Tawny Concubine, followed shortly thereafter by low pitched moans.

  "Could it be that my concubine is arriving without permission?" he asked.

  "Please, Mr. Mandarin," Betty-Jo pleaded, "I can't stop it!". Then the waves of pleasure were radiating outward, and they would not stop—they just kept coming.

  "Why would I go to church when I can participate in the rapture here with you?" he said, before he also lost control. His body stiffened, and he grabbed her head with both hands and probed her eyes.

  Betty-Jo knew that he loved to look into her eyes when she peaked, so she tried to keep them open for him.

  "Why do you like to have me while you're looking into my eyes?" she asked.

  "When you peak, your pupils become large, glazed, and out-of-focus—it's then that I can merge with your soul."

  And she knew that he could. Because in those moments—when he brought her to her crest, and then controlled her as she came—she gave herself to him fully.

  "So much for a Karezza record with you," he said.

  "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. I tried to hold back."

  He laughed. "Not to worry. You're the finest concubine ever. If you hadn't arrived when you did, I would have."

  She smiled in her lover's embrace. "Then you'd have had to pay me time-and-a-half."

  "When what a mandarin needs, after a hard days work, is love and understanding, what does he get—a mercurial cat."

  She brushed her mandarin's lips with hers. "A Tawny Concubine has to make her way in this world as best she can."

  "Just as long as you don't make it with anybody but me."

  "I'll only be unfaithful with you," she said. "But how can I be sure that you won't start looking around for a concubine with more staying power?"

  "Let's face it, neither of us is physically, or emotionally, made to set Karezza endurance records—but so what? I love to chat with you when we're together like that. The Karezza frequency record is as good as ours."

  She hugged her mandarin. "Mmm," she said, "Karezza with you is beyond amazing. I just wish you could be in me all the time." And although she already knew the answer, because he couldn't stop grinning, she asked anyway. "So how was it for you, Mr. Mandarin?"

  "I'm giving my concubine bonus pay, big bonus pay!"

  "You're too late. I've already decided to be your full time concubine, and best of all for you, there'll be no charge."

  "Cause our loving only needs a clamp?"

  She kissed her mandarin. "With you, the loving's so good it doesn't even need that. That's why you get your very own concubine
for free."

  "I've found another Mother Teresa."

  "Even better. Mother Teresa wouldn't do what I do for you."

  "With my savings I'll buy you dinner."

  "McDonald's, here we come."

  "Not tonight, smart-assed Tawny Cat. Tonight we're going back to the Lover's Place for our six month anniversary."

  "You remembered!" She was all over her mandarin. "You're the best mandarin ever," she said, when she had finished molesting him. "I can't believe how lucky you're going to get tonight come dessert time.

  He grinned at her. "What kind of dessert do you have in mind?"

  "You should be thinking Tawny Cat surprise."

  -38-

  THE DUNG BEETLE

  Revenge

  "PussCat," Brad said, "you've become an affectionate furball. You've gone from being an independent cuss, to leaping onto my lap for stroking, whenever I sit down. But I guess I can understand that, because since Tawny Cat moved in, I've become hopelessly dependant on her for affection." He was pleased that PussCat and Tawny Cat had become fast friends, although perhaps a trace of feline rivalry still remained. Tawny Cat had, after all, commandeered PussCat's side of the bed.

  * * *

  Richard Whittle dreamed of putting Betty-Jo in a cage, and keeping her there until she fell in love with him, and begged him to forgive her. I came so close to having the Stud Plaything, he thought for the umpteenth time. If only O'Hara hadn't interfered, she'd have learned that I'm much more interesting than gingivitis.

  Richard was bitter, because nothing in his life was working for him. Everyone at Coastal Carolina called him Dungie, the nickname Betty-Jo had given him. It lingered on like his acne, which even the wonder cream advertised on late night TV had been unable to remedy. And then there was the size of his penis. It was dinky, and he was terrified that it might never get bigger. But then, in the depths of his despair, a voice came out of nowhere, and handed him his Stud Plaything on a silver platter.

  "What you want most in life is to do the Stud Plaything, right?" Mercury said. Venus had given him a new assignment.

  "Right," replied an incredulous Richard.

  "Not a problem. All you have to do is kiss her the way I tell you to. Your Stud Plaything is sworn to sleep with anyone who lays the secret kiss on her. Use it, and before you can say 'let the good times roll,' they will be."

  Hey, if God is talking to me, maybe I'm a prophet or something. Yeah, that's it, a prophet who gets to screw the Stud Plaything.

  It was mid-April when he followed Betty-Jo and her boyfriend off campus to their cottage. He was looking for an opportunity to get her alone, so he could kiss her. He even made up a little ditty. Richard Whittle, the prophet guru, kissed the girls and made them screw. I'll be more famous than Georgie Porgie. All Georgie ever did was 'kiss the girls and [make] them cry'.

  He had only been waiting outside the cottage a short while, when he heard Betty-Jo call her cat, but he didn't think much about it until the voice gave him an idea.

  "Everyone loves her pet," the voice said, "and that includes your Stud Plaything. Terminating her cat would pay her back for the way she humiliated you, and you can off the cat with almost no risk of being caught."

  Preparations to do in the cat took less than an hour. A few catnip coated shrimp, a large gunnysack, a plastic garbage bag, and a hatchet were all he needed. But Betty-Jo had to be told who'd done in her animal, or why bother, and she had to be told in a way that wouldn't allow her to prove he'd done it. He was pleased when he came up with a plan to accomplish that.

  Once the Stud Plaything knows it was me who killed her cat, Richard thought, she'll wish she'd put out for me when she had the chance.

  Richard staked out the cottage again the next day—waited for Betty-Jo and her boyfriend to leave—then let himself into the back yard where PussCat was sunning herself on the deck. When he tossed her a catnip coated shrimp she stood up, stretched, and moseyed over to investigate. After she had devoured the first shrimp, it was easy. He spread out the gunnysack, showed her another shrimp, and placed it in the middle of the sack.

  "Here puss, puss, puss," he said.

  The shrimp-loving feline never even paused as she bounded over. When she licked at the shrimp, he lifted the sides of the gunny.

  Bagging PussCat was easier than anticipated, but what happened after that was unexpected. The gunny erupted, and a shrill hissing came from it. He hammered at the sack with his hatchet, but was unable to land a fatal blow, and the noise from inside the sack became louder, and more pitiful. In desperation, he picked up the sack, and slammed it against the brick wall of the cottage. PussCat hit with a sickening thud, and a heartrending yowl. He swung the gunny again. There was another sickening thud—then silence. Quickly, he shoved the gunny into the plastic garbage bag, and knotted it at the top. If the bloody cat isn't dead already, he thought, it soon will be. He chucked the bag onto the sundeck, and got out of there.

  -39-

  BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN

  Goodbye PussCat

  Betty-Jo discovered the garbage bag when she went to call PussCat for dinner. She untied the knot at the top of the bag, but when she saw blood on the gunny, she called Brad. Horrified, she watched as he opened the sack, and removed PussCat's broken body. Even before Brad discovered the large, dead black beetle, at the bottom of the garbage bag, she had guessed the identity of PussCat's slayer.

  Brad looked deathlike, and she felt violated—her body pained all over, from the inside out. She and PussCat were long past the animosity of their initial encounters. They had become more than friends—they were family. I have to be strong for Brad, she thought, but try as she might, she couldn't be.

  Brad picked up PussCat, cradled her in his arms, and kissed her. Then he carried her inside to her bed in a box.

  "Goodbye my friend. I'll never forget you. You were the finest pussycat ever."

  PussCat opened her eyes, but only for a moment.

  "Merrow," she said, softly.

  Brad rubbed behind her ear. The furball tried to purr. Then she died.

  Betty-Jo watched PussCat die with an empty, horrid feeling, the likes of which she had never before experienced, and never wanted to experience again. She went to her lover, and pulled him tightly against her. He shook in her arms.

  I know his sorrow. I feel his pain. But how can I help him, when I can't even help myself?

  Brad placed PussCat's broken body gently on the satin sheet, and wrapped it around her. "I told her...I told her if she expected me to save her again, she had to pick on someone her own size. What kind of animal would do something like that to a pussycat?"

  She leaned against Brad, and sobbed. She knew the answer, but couldn't tell him—he'd kill the son-of-a-bitch....

  They buried PussCat the next day. Brad had purchased the finest casket he could find—it was white pine with a satin lining. Burned into the casket was the epithet—

  * * *

  BULL FIGHTING PUSSCAT

  —WITH ALL OUR LOVE—

  Brad Tawny Cat

  * * *

  Betty-Jo didn't know why she signed the epithet 'Tawny Cat'. It just felt right.

  "I don't think PussCat cares what her casket looks like," Brad said. "The person it matters to is me."

  She squeezed his arm. "The persons it matters to are us."

  "I'm sorry Tawny," Brad said. "I'm not thinking clearly."

  They buried PussCat in her favorite corner of the yard, under a shiny-leafed, lime-green umbrella-tree. That was where PussCat had practiced her stalking technique on mice, and the other small beasties who had tugged on her food chain.

  Brad looked dejectedly at PussCat's casket. "I was thinking about our first night together. Remember? You were seducing me, and PussCat tried to save me."

  She smiled a small smile, as the memories returned. "She almost succeeded. I was furious. I wanted to string my racquet with her. And she didn't give up. The next morning she peed on you so you'd be
unfit for my consumption."

  "I'm sure PussCat would have appreciated your eulogy. Would you also be willing to sing a hymn? I think Morning Has Broken would be nice."

  "I don't know if I can. I'll try." Her voice broke frequently, as it rose, golden in the crisp morning air.

  After the first verse, Betty-Jo stopped to pull herself together. Brad wiped away her tears with his shirtsleeve. Then she continued.

  His voice quivering, Brad thanked Betty-Jo when her song ended. "That was perfect, except, perhaps, for the part about the blackbird. I suspect PussCat would have tried to catch him."

  She tried to find a smile, but couldn't.

  "I can't stop thinking, that somehow, I should have been there for PussCat when she needed me." Brad threw a shovel-full of dirt onto the mouser's casket—then another. "Rest in peace, dear friend," he said.

  He doesn't want me to see him cry, she realized. His eyes are dry but his voice is sobbing. Why do men feel they have to be so stoical—such tough guys?

  She hugged Brad hard, and dug her nails into his back. "It's not your fault. It's one of those shit happens things. There was nothing you could have done."

  "I loved her," he said. "I loved that furball."

  "I know you did. And that's one more reason why I love you."

  He had worked to keep the tears at bay, but his sorrow was too great, his loss too deep. His grief overwhelmed him, and he cried in her arms.

  "Thank you, Tawny Cat," he said, as he held her close. "I couldn't have made it through this without you." He turned, and head lowered, walked slowly back to the cottage.

  With her hands trembling, and her tears flowing, so she could hardly see, Betty-Jo carried on with PussCat's burial.

  The Dung Beetle scares me. More than anything it's his God-forsaken, cold, black eyes. But I swear, I'll make Dungie spend the rest of his life regretting what he did to PussCat, to Brad and to me. Shit happens all right, but the next time I see Dungie, the shit will be happening to him.

  * * *

  "I'm a genius," Venus told Old Hairball, as she witnessed PussCat's death. "Having that cat terminated was an inspired touch. It brings some much needed misery into The Princess's bosomly-challenged life—before I snuff it out."