CAT CAPERS

Premise: John Smith, age 40, small animal vet, average height/build, grey hair/brown eyes, widowed 5 years ago, 2 teenage children, funny, smart, lonely.
Clare O'Malley, 35, 5'0", 140 pounds, curvaceous pixie, auburn haired/ green eyed, single, wicked sense of humor, teacher at the local High School.
A Siamese cat. A county seat in the midwest, Contemporary

 Sheba, the cat, took a good long look at the house, thinking it seemed more or less acceptable.

"What do you mean, acceptable?" The elf nudged her with a sharp elbow. "Well maintained, good neighborhood, lonely occupant. You won't have any trouble. This one should be a piece of cake."

The cat yawned and curled her tail round her paws. It was never a good idea to make things look too easy. If Mama Claus ever began to think these assignments of hers every Christmas were simple, heaven only knew what she'd expect.

Sheba saw the elf shiver. It was the end of November and getting pretty cold in the Midwest. He sniffed the air. "Snow tonight, I think." He rubbed his hands together. "Perfect. Couldn't be better. Let's get you ready, she'll be back from rehearsal soon."

He nudged her again, and she squeaked in protest. "Get yourself wet and bedraggled," he said. "Suck in your stomach and look hungry."

The golden oldie finished on the car radio as Clare O'Malley approached the "downtown" area.

"And now at the top of the hour, on this Friday night, stay tuned for the nine pm news and weather update. Hope you all have a great weekend shaping up."

Yeah, right! The announcer had one of those velvet smooth voices that some radio stations think induce female listeners to fantasize about log fires, warm blankets and strong arms. Clare switched stations and found some soft classics. At least it was a change from The Wizard. The tunes went through her head day and night, she'd heard them so often in the last few weeks.

She slowed down along the main drag, just to check if a new movie was coming to town. Nope. "It's a Wonderful Life " would hold sway until New Years. No thank you. She and Dave had watched it every Christmas without fail. If she were Queen of the World, as the kids said, she would burn every copy in existence.

She dragged her mind back to concentrate on the road. A fine drizzle had started and the wipers were having trouble as the moisture began to freeze. She'd wanted something completely different when she'd moved to the Midwest from Florida and different was what she had. She fiddled with the controls of the heater and looked up just in time to slam on the brakes, stalling the engine. The hood of her car was no more than four feet from a man crossing the road, carrying two big flat boxes from the takeout pizza place.

Great! She could see the headlines. "New English teacher kills local pedestrian. Interviewed at the police station, she claims to have been overtired due to spending every evening rehearsing for Beacon High's winter extravaganza, the Wizard of Oz."

She lowered her forehead to the wheel as the adrenaline rush subsided. After a few moments she raised her head, to see the man juggling the boxes as they began to slide. She held her breath as a couple of slices appeared under the flap, but he tucked them back in just in time. When he'd rebalanced them to his satisfaction, he looked up and caught her watching, smiled, and she smiled back. He held her eye. Briefly, but long enough for her to know that he'd noticed her and maybe liked what he saw. He lifted a hand to her as if to say "I'm okay," then walked on. Clare stared after him. The faded blue jeans and a red ski jacket, open over a blue sweater, couldn't hide an athlete's physique, tall, broad and powerful looking. She caught herself thinking of long, muscular legs, tight buns and--

He went over to a waiting car, and stood for a moment, obviously explaining to someone how supper had nearly finished up beneath the wheels of her Toyota. She saw him throw back his dark head and laugh loudly.

Opening the car door, he passed the pizza boxes to someone inside. Under the interior light she caught a glimpse of a couple of the kids who'd been at rehearsal. A dad. She wondered why she hadn't seen him in the line of waiting parents before, then she knew why: because their mom usually did it. He was married with a couple of kids. She turned the key in the ignition and drove toward home.

The heater must have been working well for once because she grew uncomfortably warm. Plus her heart was still pounding from the near miss. Maybe she'd imagined that look of sexual awareness. More likely he was just making sure he would know her again and give her a wide berth if he ever saw her behind the wheel of a car.

What exactly had he seen as he stared at her? She stripped off her gloves and took a peek at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks glowed pink, but no more than could be explained by the blast of warm air from the heater. Her eyes sparkled a bit, but there was something else too. Something stirring within her, sending color to her cheeks and a light to her eye. It entered her somewhere around her toes and swept through her from her belly to her tingling breasts in a great wave. Although she wished fervently to be wrong, she recognized it as raw sexual attraction.

Her stomach rumbled as she turned into the street of well- kept single family homes where she was renting a small two bedroom. Too late it occurred to her she could have picked up pizza too. She wondered if the man in the red parka stopped off regularly to grab a quick meal. Maybe he was divorced, or his wife had died in a tragic accident and he had to bring up his teenagers alone.

She geared down just before her driveway and told herself to shape up. This isn't Jane Eyre or Rebecca, she told herself. Get a grip. She would reheat the soup she'd made last weekend. The rehearsals were going pretty well, but she'd need to add another one next week. And the mothers sewing the costumes needed a bit of a push to finish. Only three weeks to the Christmas break. Pardon me. The winter celebration. She could hear the principal's careful insistence. Between the demands of the church choirs, the 4-H meetings and the temperamental music teacher, it was an uphill battle to schedule enough rehearsal time. Of course she could enlist the help of Gable, the principal, but she was damned if she was going to crawl to him for assistance. She'd do it alone, or die in the attempt.

Tired and grumpy, she parked the car in the short driveway and fished her key out of her purse. She nearly trod on the Siamese cat lying on the mat before the front door.

The animal gave a plaintive cry but didn't move. Any ordinary cat would have been out of there like a shot. It must be sick or hurt. She knelt down and looked more closely. It was a lovely seal point, but its fur was wet and dirty, almost hiding the markings on its ears and nose.

Its mouth was partly open, its eyes almost closed, and she saw frail ribs barely rising and falling with the tiny breaths.

Only the tip of the dark tail twitched a little as she put a tentative finger on its head.

"Oh, you poor thing," she whispered. "Where have you come from?"

She opened her front door and then picked up the mat, cat and all. Maybe it had been run over and there were internal injuries.

She went through to the kitchen and laid her burden in the corner. There was no blood, but that didn't prove anything. The cat hadn't moved. Suppose it was dying?

The thought of waking up to a dead cat in her kitchen made her reach for the phone.

The one animal clinic open for emergencies was about five miles out of town. The recorded message said the vet would be in attendance until 10 pm. Thirty-five minutes. She could just make it. She found an old sweater and wrapped it around the cat and the mat and trudged back to her car, laying the comatose bundle on the passenger seat beside her.

At ten minutes to ten she pushed open the door to the clinic with one hand, carrying the cat like a baby in her other arm. Its face peeked out of the sweater, but its eyes were still shut and its upper lip had curled to show a couple of sharp, white teeth. She couldn't tell if it was still breathing.

The door to an inner office opened. "Be right with you," a man's voice called. "Have a seat."

She pushed the outer door closed, but remained standing. Whoever the vet was, he had a nice voice. Not as deep as the radio announcer, but mellow and pleasant.

A moment later she wished she were sitting down. Standing in the doorway, smiling a lovely, sexy, tigerish smile that made his face crease up and his eyes slant was the man with the pizza that she'd nearly bowled over short while before.

He put out his hand. "John Smith," he said. He'd discarded the parka and the blue sweater; now a white coat swung open over gray slacks and an open necked shirt. She caught a glimpse of warm skin and a curl of chest hair.

"Clare O'Malley," she squeaked, then cleared her throat and made a big effort to breathe.

"Just hold on two shakes," he said. "You'll be my last client." He brushed past her and she caught a waft of spicy aftershave, mingled with the sharp, clean smell of soap. In double quick time he locked the door to the street, pulling down all the blinds.

Locked in. No one else in the building. She took a deep breath, horrified at the wave of lust that swept through her. Overtired, too long celibate, that was her trouble.

"Now what have we here?" He reached out and she let him take the cat from her helpless embrace. His fingers brushed hers, and her heart rate went up another notch. He was maybe five years or so older than she, with dark hair, a wisp of elegant silver dusting the temples. Nice smoky eyes, a head taller, just the right height for her to snuggle into the curve of his neck--

He moved into the examining room and she followed, unable to take her eyes from him. He laid the animal on the table and she watched his hands work deftly, unwrapping the sweater, feeling behind its ears, around its chest. She swallowed, imagining his fingers touching the nape of her neck, trailing down her throat--What a pity to waste them on a cat.

It was sweltering in here. She removed her gloves and loosened her coat. He looked at her over the cat's body.

"Take it off," he said, "if you're too warm." He flashed the same smile at her and she felt something melt inside. God, she was wet and ready for him. If he made the slightest move she'd be flat on her back on the examining table--

Maybe she'd feel better if she stepped away. She shrugged out of the coat and laid it over a stool in the corner, remembering too late her leggings and a baggy sweatshirt that had been through too many wash cycles. This man made her think of sexy lingerie that would slither down her body and fall to the floor in a whisper of silk.

Sheba  lay still under the vet's hands. He did have a nice touch, she thought, and just stopped herself from purring. She could pick up the vibrations already between the nice vet and this lonely woman. This shouldn't take long at all.

John Smith frowned. There didn't seem to be much wrong with the cat, and yet it wasn't responding as he would expect. He glanced again at the woman who'd brought it in. She was the same one who'd nearly run him down earlier and maybe that was why she seemed so nervous. As soon as he'd finished his examination he'd talk to her, let her know he wasn't mad. Far from it. When he'd met her eyes across the street he'd felt a stirring in his groin that had surprised him by its intensity.

He forced himself to concentrate on the animal, but he couldn't deny that Ms. O'Malley  interested him greatly. With her dark auburn hair and sea green eyes, she was a striking woman. Not rail thin like so many, and not what you'd call pretty in the conventional sense of the word. She was more than pretty. He'd never met her, but his kids had talked about the new English teacher. She made them laugh with great impersonations.

All the time he worked he was conscious of her closeness, of the way that faded old sweatshirt rose and fell, intimating a pair of nice sized breasts. He snuck a look at her legs, encased in tight leggings. He succeeded in turning a groan of appreciation into a small cough as his eye travelled up to her shapely thighs. She moved easily and naturally, suggesting a certain sensuous muscularity. He'd take bets she'd be lithe and agile in bed. His cock started to rise and he felt a tightening in his balls. Get a grip, Johnny-boy, he told himself, she's a teacher, for God's sake. Probably unavailable.

He cleared his throat and straightened up, turning away, pretending to look for something on the counter behind him while he counted to twenty and thought of cold showers.

It took a longer count than twenty before he felt it safe enough to turn around without the urge to fling her onto the examination table and jump her bones. She wasn't wearing a ring. Hadn't brought a husband or significant other with her.

"I'm afraid I don't know what's the matter with your cat, Ms. O'Malley. I think I'm going to have to recommend that I keep her here overnight. My night attendant will check on her every hour. Maybe by tomorrow I'll know if I need to run any tests."

"Thank you. That might be best. I was so afraid she might die." She gave him a smile that sent the blood to his groin yet again. Oblivious to her effect on him, she went on. "But in fact, it's not my cat. I found it on the doorstep when I came home. I was wondering if maybe it belongs to someone in the neighborhood. Have you ever treated her before by any chance?"

She had a lovely voice, soft and yet clear. She could recite a grocery list to him and he could lose himself in the cadences, imagining she was whispering to him all the things she'd like him to do to her–

"Dr. Smith?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. O'Malley. No, I don't recognize the cat. Maybe one of the other vets in town could help you." As he spoke, he picked up the cat and took it through the doorway into the holding area and slid it expertly into a cage on the back wall. The animal seemed to perk up a little and sat up, looking around. It gave a pitiful cry.

He filled in the forms for the night attendant, checked there was fresh water. "I owe you one, little buddy," he said. "Sleep well."

The cat sniffed at the bars of the cage in disgust. This wasn't what she'd expected. She had a tendency to over act and she'd done it again. She'd fully intended to go home with that nice Ms. O'Malley and snuggle up to her in a warm bed. She looked like the kind of woman who might have a can of salmon around the house too–

Clare stared at the door through which he'd taken the cat. There was something about this man that had sent all her nerves to sparking and her insides to clenching. She'd seen him twice in her life, spoken no more than a hundred words to him, and she was horny as hell.

She ran her hands lightly over her aching breasts and felt the nipples harden. Marvellous little items, she thought wildly; brilliantly useful, exquisitely responsive to both physical and emotional stimuli-not to mention cold drafts. She didn't know what she preferred–the thrill in her breasts or the sweet ache and wetness between her legs. Why not both? She stifled a giggle. John Smith would think she was totally nuts laughing all by herself in his examining room.

Her hands wandered down to the curve of her belly. Not as flat as it used to be of course.  Still, she was thirty-five and had held up pretty well, all things considered. Physical appearance had never been that important to her, but then she supposed she was more fortunate than most in that department. In the end it didn't seem to matter much; she hadn't exactly been lucky in love. Not that she'd had much opportunity to experience anything that called itself love  in the last few months.

But maybe tonight was different. This little oasis of an office felt cut off from the real world, as if none of the rules applied in here. Believe in dreams, that's what she told her students. She reached for her purse. Somewhere in its depths was a wrapped condom, abandoned many months ago. She opened the package and tucked it under a piece of paper. She would slip it on him when they were ready. If things went that far.

The vet came back into the room and tucked his glasses into the top pocket of his white coat. "Don't worry, she'll be fine. Her heartbeat is strong. "

Well the cat's heartbeat might be strong, Clare thought, but hers needed some attention

"I'd like to get a phone number from you–" he began and then stopped. He met her eyes and something passed between them, something elemental and raw.

He came a step closer and she felt the warmth radiating from him. She backed up against the table.

"No, I don't give a damn about your phone number right now." His voice was husky and his eyes heavy with desire. She could recognize lust when she saw it.

He feasted on her with his hot gaze, refusing to let her look away, and the room seemed full of the scent of danger. "You can feel it too, can't you?" he murmured.

She nodded, unable to make any kind of sound that resembled a word.

"I want to fuck you here and now. Up against the wall would be good. On the table would be better." He held out his hands. As if mesmerized she stretched out hers, and he took them, enfolding them between his palms. "I wanted to fuck you when I saw you in that car tonight."

He raised her hands to his mouth and kissed each finger, one by one, slowly, sensually as he spoke and turned her hand over to kiss her palm and the fluttering pulse on her wrist. Oh, my God! She'd had no idea that sort of thing happened in real life. She felt ready to faint.

"Are you shocked?"

She licked her lips and shook her head wordlessly.

"Just to reassure you, I don't have a wife, and I've never done this with a stranger in my life before."

"Nor have I," she gasped.

"I want to undress you and look at you, touch you all over and have sex with you. I think I'd have enough fortitude to let you go if you say no right now. Otherwise it might be too late. It might almost kill me, but I could unlock the door."

He waited for a long heartbeat then suddenly his arms were around her and the breath left her body. He rained kisses on her mouth, her throat, back up to her mouth. Should she refuse? Protest? His lips were warm and demanding. Oh hell, it was so delicious she couldn't resist kissing him back and he had his answer. The next moment she found herself lifted up and sitting on the table where the cat had lain.

"Don't move," he said.

She couldn't have moved if her life depended on it. She felt boneless, powerless, waiting for the next wonder in the magic journey. He left her to switch off the remaining lights in the reception area, then closed the door to the examining room, creating a silent, impermeable coccoon.

He came back and dimmed the overhead lights. One red ceiling fixture glowed still and she felt the heat from it, directed onto the place where she sat.

 Her heart, her blood, her whole being shimmered in willing collaboration with this powerful man, this force of nature, who physically and emotionally was overpowering her, and offering her what she so desperately wanted.

He stood between her legs and kissed her again. She linked her arms round his neck and pulled his face closer, opening her lips to him, feeling his tongue thrust inside, stroking, teasing. She sucked his tongue into her mouth. She wanted him inside her, deep, deep.

 The room whirled as he slid his hands under her shirt and lightly touched her ribs. "Oh yes" he whispered as a tremor went through her. The tips of his fingers trailed fire around her ribs and up to her breasts. He hesitated when he discovered she was naked under the soft sweater, and she smiled against his mouth.

He felt her breasts like a blind man, weighing them, cupping them in his palms His fingers circled each one and found her nipples.

Suddenly he moved fast and hard, ripping her shirt over her head. She caught the fever from him and raised her hips, tugging down her leggings and panties. He tore off his shirt and slacks, kicking them away while his mouth sought her breasts. In a quick movement she seized the hidden condom and slipped it over his spike hard cock, then his hands were hard on her thighs, pulling her legs open wider and she put her hands around his neck to support herself against his onslaught.  His cock nudged against her wetness, and she moaned deep in her throat, an animal sound of primeval lust.

His mouth nipped at her throat, devoured her breasts, sucked on her nipples. She threw her head back, gasping for air. The room filled with the feral scent of arousal. He wound her legs around his waist, holding her ready for him.

She felt his fingers between her legs, sliding between the folds, finding the sensitive nub of her clit, stroking, teasing. "Please, oh please," she heard herself murmur. "I can't wait–"

Before she could finish, he rammed himself into her and she shrieked as the hot tip of his cock drove home to the far wall of her vagina. The wave had already started from her engorged clit. It spread delicious, irresistible tremors through her cunt, her belly, until her whole body shook and trembled with the force of it.

She felt his release at the same time, intensifying and prolonging her own orgasm. His arms were so tight around her she lost her breath again, and he raised her hips from the table with the force of his embrace.

Afterwards he sagged against her, his face resting on her shoulder as they each drew in a long breath. They clung together like two shipwrecked survivors. At last he stirred and kissed her lips gently. "I've never met anyone like you, Ms. O'Malley."

She gave a small laugh. "I think you could call me Clare. Do you still want that phone number?"

"I do, oh, I most certainly do. You and I are going to see a lot of each other."