PC 76 A Short Tale

For all sorts of reasons my latest scribble is taking longer than normal. For those of you who like the regularity of my musings I post this little tale, written many years ago; you may have read it before. Enjoy?

It was a gloriously hot and sunny day in early July. The roses were at their best, the garden alive with colour. She sat quietly on the grass, soaking up the sun, enjoying watching the birds whirling through the sky. “Lunch!” I called through the open kitchen window; her ears pricked up at the sound of my voice and, lazily raising her body upright, she strolled across the lawn and into the coolness of the flat. I took my own lunch outside to the bench, to read the newspaper and enjoy the sun. Sometime later I walked back into the flat, put my dirty plates in the dishwasher and walked into the bedroom.

The sun streamed in through the open window, casting shadows across the blue and white counterpane that covered the large double bed; a gentle breeze ruffled the white curtains. She lay across the bed, eyes closed, legs curled up close to her body; to all outside observation, she was asleep. Every now and again the rib cage expanded, as air entered the lungs, and contracted as it was expelled. The movement seemed so perfectly natural, reflecting the rhythms of life itself. Slight twitches of her body suggested her imagination was working overtime in some dream, a movement of the shoulder here, a curl of the toes there.

She made no outward sign that she had sensed my entrance, but I knew her too well. Nothing would have been missed; it might have been the creak of the floorboard, the squeak of the door hinge or even the sound of my own breathing that alerted her, but her senses would have switched from passive to active mode. I walked slowly, quietly, towards the bed and stood over her, looking down at her ‘sleeping’ form. An eye half-opened, not in fright but inquisitively, as if to ask: “Yes?”

She felt me lowering my body onto the bed, quite close to her, but not so close as to touch her. This was familiar to her, this preamble of pleasure to come. The weight of my body moved the bed, altered the duvet cover, causing her to roll ever so slightly towards me; she looked at me directly, now with both eyes fully open, expectantly. I raised my hand, reached out towards her; she uttered a sound, the sound of anticipation. How long this moment lasted is hard to tell, this anticipation.

My hand touched her back, at first so gently as to hardly touch, but enough to convey the vaguest hint. A light brush along the line of the back, starting at the nape of the neck, one finger tracing the curvature of the vertebrae, down to the coccyx and beyond. She raised her head, arching to establish a firmer contact; my finger withdrew, teasing her to move. Her head began to turn, her eyes wanting to tell me how she felt. At the renewed contact of my finger, she returned to looking, through half-open eyes, out of the window. My hand touched. Light pressure down the spine, wider than before, more confident of its effect, down to the hips. I brought the other hand up to join the first, and began a hand-over-hand stroking, sometimes so feather light you could feel her body rise urgently to maintain the contact and the sensation, at times so firm and dominant that all she could do was make sounds of pure pleasure.

The sun caught the glistening body, highlighting the delicate shape and form that made up this sensuous creature. I massaged her neck, letting my fingers drift around the side of her face to caress her ears. I massaged her shoulders and was rewarded for my efforts by moans of delight. At some point, I was not quite sure when, she began to salivate with pleasure; Oh! such pleasure. She forced her belly into the duvet, allowing my hands to roam freely over the length and breadth of her body, but wary of any movement towards the extremely sensitive area of her tummy; maybe she is ticklish, I thought.

One could sense that she was happy for this massaging to continue ad infinitum, as with each caress she squirmed more, moving her body to meet the hands, and with each passage of the hands over her body emitting sounds of ecstasy, which seemed to rise and fall in pitch according to the pressure of the hands. But one might say nothing lasts for ever!! Eventually, beginning to tire of the exercise, she moved away, sat upright, teased some dirt from between her back paws with her tongue and jumped through the open window. Muffin was a fine looking cat.

 

So there you have it, a little tale for a mid-August weekend.

Richard 13th August 2016