by Ellee Hill
“Uh, no hair, I guess.”
“Well.” He sat up. “If you can last for another day or two, your hair will be just long enough to get a Brazilian. I go to this place… you could come with me.”
I drew a blank. “A Brazilian? What’s that?”
“You get your balls waxed. The hair gets… ehm… removed by a professional and the area stays smooth for weeks. And the regrowth is gradual and soft, not like this stuff.”
This stuff being the hedgehogs, who by now had won their fight for first blood.
“I hate you.”
“Don’t be like that, Ricky.” His eyes got a soft, puppy dog look. I sighed.
“So… does that Brazilian of yours hurt?”
Just about everything KATE PAVELLE writes is colored by her life experiences, whether the book in your hand is romance, mystery, or adventure. Kate grew up under a totalitarian regime behind the Iron Curtain. In her life, she has been a hungry refugee and a hopeful immigrant, a crime victim and a force of lawful vengeance, a humble employee and a business owner, an unemployed freelancer and a corporate executive, a scientist and an artist, a storyteller volunteering for her local storytelling guild, a martial artist, and a triathlete. Kate’s frequent travels imbue her stories with local color from places both exotic and mundane.
Kate is encouraged in her writing by her husband, children, and pets, and tries not to kill her extensive garden in her free time. Out of the five and a half languages she speaks, English is her favorite comfort zone.
GORDON’S CAT
Aundrea Singer
“SERIOUSLY, Gordon, your cat’s staring at me,” Mitch said.
Gordon spit out Mitch’s zipper and looked up at him. “My cat is not staring at you.”
“He is! He totally—oh, wow……” Mitch faded into incoherence as Gordon just used his fingers instead, freeing his cock from his jeans. Mitch tipped his head back with a happy groan, barely wincing as his skull connected with the door he was standing against. Normally Mitch would’ve preferred a bed, but Gordon apparently had other plans and that was fine. That was great, really, especially when he did that thing with his hands that made Mitch gasp and then that other thing with his tongue that was just—
The cat hissed.
Mitch’s eyes flew open.
The cat was standing next to his right foot, glaring up at him. It was a gray-and-white cat, with a cute white tuxedo chest, a white splash over its pink button nose, and a pink mouth full of razor-sharp fangs.
“Gordon!” Mitch tried to whisper urgently but ended up kind of moaning as Gordon did that thing with his tongue again.
“Mmm?” Gordon grunted. His mouth was a little too full to say anything. He glanced at Mitch’s face through his long, blond eyelashes, which made him look like a pornographic cherub.
“Gordon!” Mitch tried again, since he at least had Gordon’s attention. “Now your cat is hissing at me!”
He saw Gordon shift his eyes sideways and make a little “a” grunt when he noticed the cat. Gordon started petting the cat, not even pausing in the wonderfully rhythmic bobbing of his head.
Mitch was impressed with Gordon’s multitasking, but the cat didn’t seem mollified by its owner’s attention. It started growling. And Mitch didn’t know much about cats, but he was sure the constant thrashing of its adorably white-tipped tail was a bad sign.
Unfortunately, it was hard to keep up interest in Gordon’s multitasking with the cat so obviously plotting Mitch’s slow death within leaping distance of his balls. Gordon looked puzzled and then pulled away from Mitch’s dick, which flopped wetly against his sac. “What’s the matter?”
“Your cat hates me,” Mitch said. He yanked up his underwear, ignoring Gordon’s sad whimper as Mitch quickly sealed his crotch behind the protection of his jeans. “Look at him!” He pointed at the cat, which was still growling despite how Gordon was still petting it. Its tail thrashed like a decapitated snake.
Gordon frowned at his cat, then at Mitch. “She’s a female. And she’s just a little jealous, that’s all. She’ll calm down in a minute.”
“Before or after she rips my dick off?” Mitch asked, still eying the cat.
“All right, fine,” Gordon said. He picked up the cat and cradled her against his wide chest, holding her gently with his large hands. He grimaced his way to his feet then shook out each of his legs, still holding the cat. “We can go to my bedroom and close the door. That way you won’t be scared by the itty-bitty puddy-tat, okay?”
“I’m not scared of the cat,” Mitch grumbled, keeping a wide distance between himself and the angry cat in Gordon’s arms. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“The door on your right,” Gordon said. He shot Mitch a quick leer. “Why don’t you go and make yourself comfortable while I feed Chelsea. I’ll join you in a minute. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he crooned to the cat. “Let’s fill your little tum-tum with yummies while Mitchell hides in the bedroom.”
“I’m not hiding!” Mitch yelled through the closed door. “‘Fill your little tum-tum with yummies’?” he muttered to himself as he yanked his shirt off. “‘Tum-tum’? Seriously?” He shook his head as he toed out of his sneakers then quickly shucked his socks and kicked his jeans and underwear into a pile next to them. Then he flopped on the bed and waited.
And waited.
The slam of the bedroom door woke him up.
“Sorry!” Gordon winced. “I didn’t mean to take that long. Chelsea was kind of agitated. I had to calm her down.”
“S’okay,” Mitch said. He yawned and then blinked as the cat’s name registered. “You call your cat ‘Chelsea’?”
“Yeah….” Gordon took off his shirt, which was black and covered in cat hair. He looked puzzled. “It’s a nice name. So?”
“So she’s a cat, not a prom date,” Mitch said. “And ‘tum-tum’? Seriously?”
Gordon’s eyes narrowed, kind of like his cat’s. “Cats respond to the tone of your voice. I was trying to calm her.”
“With baby talk?”
“Look.” Gordon glowered exactly like his cat. “Do you want to discuss how I talk to my cat, or do you want to get laid?”
“Get laid,” Mitch said, nodding vigorously. “Definitely.”
“That’s more like it.” Gordon was all smiles again as he finished getting naked. He climbed on the bed and straddled Mitch’s hips. “You’re really cute when you’ve just woken up.”
“Um, thanks,” Mitch said. He had a feeling that Gordon would look a lot like a big, golden lion, only with bedhead. And Mitch really had to stop it with the cat metaphors. “That’s a new one. Mostly I’ve been told I look like a stunned orangutan.”
Gordon chuckled. “I’d say more like a lion tamarin. They’re cuter and have more hair.”
Mitch wanted to ask why the hell Gordon knew anything about lion tamarins, but Gordon leaned down and kissed him and then Mitch didn’t care anymore. Mitch already knew from their first couple of dates that Gordon was a fantastic kisser, but he was awesome at multitasking. He effortlessly shifted so there was enough room between them for him to slide his hand down Mitch’s abdomen until he could wrap it around Mitch’s cock, which had regained its previous enthusiasm. Gordon began jacking him off, and Mitch was groping around trying to find Gordon’s dick to return the favor when someone started throwing cannonballs at the closed bedroom door.
“Jesus Christ!” Mitch yelled. He would’ve launched himself into the headboard if Gordon wasn’t effectively weighing him down. “What the hell was that?”
“Chelsea,” Gordon said. He looked over his shoulder at the door, where the cat had apparently traded up to a machine gun. “She, uh, isn’t used to the bedroom door being closed.”
“What the hell is she doing? Jackhammering through the plywood?” Mitch wiggled carefully until Gordon let go of him and he could sit up without losing any of his anatomy. He stared at the door, which was vibrating on its hinges under the onslaught. And now he could hear
Chelsea’s anguished wailing between pawbeats, like her little heart was going to explode in grief if Gordon didn’t let her in.
“Don’t worry about it. We can just ignore her,” Gordon said. He leaned in to restart the kissing, but Mitch put his hand on his face and held him back.
“It might be a little hard when I can barely hear you over the noise,” Mitch said.
Gordon shook Mitch’s hand off. “What?”
“I said I can barely hear you over the noise!” Mitch repeated more loudly.
“What?”
“Never mind!” Mitch gently pushed Gordon away so he could swing his legs around to get off the bed. He grabbed his underwear from the floor.
“I can put her in the bathroom!” Gordon hollered. He looked desperately hopeful.
Mitch just shook his head. The bathroom was right across from the bedroom, and Mitch was sure that even closing both doors wouldn’t make the din bearable. “Rain check, okay?” he yelled, and then kissed Gordon to show there were no hard feelings. There was no hard anything on Mitch at the moment, actually; somehow a wailing cat trying to beat the door down managed to spoil the mood.
Gordon looked unhappy. His feelings were still very hard, which Mitch found flattering and depressing as hell, since he was no longer in any frame of mind to enjoy it. “I’m sorry—you’re the first guy I’ve had over in a while!”
That was even more flattering, and Mitch kissed Gordon again to let him know how flattered he was about that. He grabbed his shirt and put it on, then got his socks.
“Okay, rain check,” Gordon bellowed sadly. He went to the door and opened it. “It’s all right, sweetheart, daddy’s—”
The cat raced in and launched herself at Mitch, who was sitting on the bed pulling up his socks. Unfortunately he had his left leg stretched out, which made his groin the most easily accessible target.
Things didn’t go so well after that.
“WE can just go to your place, I don’t mind,” Gordon said a week later, when Mitch could finally walk normally. He was in the entrance of Mitch’s cubicle, all but wringing his hands. “I mean, I’ll have to go home to check on Chelsea first, because she’s not used to being alone in the evenings, but that’ll only take a few minutes.” He looked sweetly pained. “But I don’t think I could stay the night.”
Mitch thought about falling asleep in the car while he waited for Gordon to feel sanguine enough to leave Chelsea. Then he thought about his crappy little bachelor’s apartment that didn’t have Gordon’s nice living room or nice bed and worst of all wouldn’t have Gordon to wake up with in the morning, because he’d be back at his place cooing to his psychotic cat.
Mitch sighed. “No, that’s fine,” he said. “I’m sure Chelsea will be more used to me this time.”
Mitch had looked up lion tamarins on Wikipedia. Apparently they were tiny, red-headed monkeys. He hoped his completely fake smile didn’t make him look like one.
“WHAT do I do to make a cat not hate me?” Mitch asked.
The salesclerk looked like he wasn’t sure what a cat was. “Um, I’m new here, but… catnip?” He scratched the back of his head. “Cats are supposed to like that. Like, a lot. It makes them high and stuff.”
Mitch stared at him. “Cats can get high?”
The salesclerk shrugged. “I guess? I dunno. I’m more into ferrets.”
“Ferrets,” Mitch said. “Right.”
“Um, maybe Denise could help,” the salesclerk said. He looked around vaguely. “She’s like, the cat person. I think she’s on break, though. Do you have time to wait for her?”
Mitch glanced at his watch; he most definitely did not have time to wait for Denise the cat person. “No, thanks,” he said. “Just show me where I can get the catnip.”
“HEY, you smell good.” Gordon grinned before he kissed him. “All minty.”
Mitch grinned back. “I always smell good.” He looked around but didn’t spot any gray-furred ball of rage. “Where’s Chelsea?”
“Sleeping.” Gordon kissed Mitch under his ear, then nuzzled. “I figure we should take advantage.”
“Yes. Yes, absolutely,” Mitch said. He knew where the bedroom was now, so he grabbed Gordon’s hand and practically dragged him there, kicking off his shoes in the hallway.
Two minutes later they were both on Gordon’s bed and naked, and Gordon was doing his best to make up for the cat-aborted blowjob of the week before. “Mmm.” He nosed the thick curls surrounding Mitch’s penis. “You do always smell good, but I love this mint stuff.” Gordon took an experimental lap of the shaft and Mitch managed not to concuss him with his hipbones when he gasped and arched off the bed. “Are you wearing it all over?”
“Y-yes,” Mitch stuttered as Gordon licked him again. He hadn’t really meant to do that, but he wasn’t sure how strong the stuff in the spray bottle was, so he’d just kept spritzing. It must’ve dripped down to his legs while he was driving.
“Cool. I like it,” Gordon said. He lifted up enough so that his next lick hit just under the cap of Mitch’s cock.
“Great. Great. So glad. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please,” Mitch panted. He widened his bent legs, trying to give Gordon as much unfettered access as possible. “God, you’re so good at that.” He had his eyes closed, so he reached blindly for whatever part of Gordon was nearest and was surprised and touched when Gordon gave Mitch his hand and entwined their fingers.
Then a thin bar of wet sandpaper rasped over a rib.
Mitch yelped and opened his eyes.
Gordon bobbed back. “What’s wrong?”
“The cat,” Mitch said, barely daring to force his voice above a whisper. Chelsea was licking his side with single-minded purpose, laving away at a steadily-growing red patch on his ribcage. It felt like someone was going to town on him with a cheese grater. “The cat! What’s she doing?”
Gordon got off the bed. Mitch immediately slapped his thighs shut for protection. “She’s licking you,” he said, like that somehow wasn’t readily apparent. He gave Mitch one of his big, beautiful smiles. “Hey, maybe she’s starting to like you!”
“You think so?” Mitch asked. The cat was rasping dangerously close to his right nipple, but Mitch didn’t dare move in case he startled her and she killed him. Chelsea had started to rub her face back and forth over Mitch’s abdomen and was making a high-pitched, whining growl noise, like an engine about to seize.
“Well, she doesn’t normally—” Gordon stopped talking as he looked from Chelsea to Mitch in growing alarm. “That minty stuff… that’s just mint, right?”
“Um,” Mitch said, right before the cat went insane.
“YOU drugged my cat!” Gordon said again. “I can’t believe you did that!” He looked at Mitch with big, hurt eyes. “How could you do that?”
“I didn’t know she’d react like that!” Mitch said. Gordon’s betrayed misery was making him feel more terrible than even the deep, red furrows that crisscrossed his chest and abdomen like a road map from hell. “She was supposed to like it! The guy at the pet supply store said catnip made them high, not homicidal!”
“Yeah, well, some cats just get aggressive,” Gordon said. “That’s why I never give it to her.” He spread yet another thick line of antibiotic ointment over another section of scratches, and Mitch tried not to flinch and whap his head on the cupboard above the toilet again. Gordon was being typically gentle, but that stuff stung. “Didn’t the clerk warn you about that?”
“He said he was more into ferrets,” Mitch muttered. Gordon had made him take a shower to get rid of the oil and clean his many, many scratches, but Mitch couldn’t get dressed because his clothes were still in the bedroom with the stoned Chelsea. Gordon was anxious about disturbing her until the catnip wore off. Except Mitch’s clothes were covered in catnip oil too, and he was likely only getting them back in bite-sized pieces. And he’d really liked that shirt, damn it.
“Ferrets aren’t anything like cats,” Gordon said.
“I kno
w,” Mitch said. He sucked in a breath as Gordon spread ointment over one final gouge just under his nipple. He’d used up half the tube. “I’m very sorry. I honestly didn’t know it was going to make her crazy. I just… wanted her to like me.”
“By dousing yourself in catnip oil?”
That part had already been well-established, but Mitch nodded anyway. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I’d hate to see one of your bad ideas,” Gordon said, but he was smiling a little so Mitch was pretty sure he was forgiven.
Gordon got up from his crouch to put the ointment away in the cupboard, which gave Mitch a wonderful close-up view of his groin. Mitch had a vague thought of taking the presented opportunity, but he knew leaning forward would hurt way too much. The smell of the ointment mixed with the remnants of catnip oil wasn’t exactly a turn-on, anyway. Mitch just stood up as well, trying to keep the scratches from pulling by not moving anything above his waist.
“Thanks for the first aid,” Mitch said.
“You’re welcome,” Gordon said. “It was really sweet of you, to try and make friends with Chelsea.” The kiss he gave Mitch almost made up for the scratches, except for how they still hurt like a bitch. He looked regretful when they broke apart. “I’d ask you to stay, but….”
“No, no, it’s cool. I get it,” Mitch said. “Rain check, right?”
He tried to give Gordon another kiss, but Gordon got distracted and turned his head at the last moment, so Mitch ended up banging his nose on Gordon’s cheekbone. “I can’t hear Chelsea anymore. I’d better make sure she’s okay.”
“Sure.” Mitch tried not to sigh. “See if you can get my clothes?”
“Hopefully,” Gordon said with disturbing sincerity. He left the bathroom and closed the door.
Mitch locked it, just in case.
“SERIOUSLY, we can go to your place,” Gordon said. He thumbed over his shoulder. “Just give me a couple minutes to get Chelsea settled.”