Twelve Months – May

Katey’s Cootchie

Twelve Months: Saturday, May 1

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“If I wrote a book, would you buy it?”

“Shrimp? Could you at least let me get in the door, and get my coat off, before you bombard me with crazy questions?”

Katey was not put off by the remark from her boyfriend and resumed preparing the spaghetti she had planned for dinner. The side salad was already made, both salad dressings he liked were on the table, as were the plates and silverware and wine glasses and a bottle of red. She was trying so hard to make it perfect for him, and now she regretted not having started boiling the water for the pasta sooner, because she could have used the time while it was heating up to do these other preparations. Oh well, she thought, live and don’t learn – that was the dismissive way he often phrased it to her.

Mitch eventually made his way into the spatial kitchen, after a quick visit to the bathroom and then a look at the day’s mail Katey had placed on the tray for him by the front door. “Dinner running late?” he asked evenly.

“Sorry. Almost ready.”

He approached her at the center island, as she stood in the last of the seasonings the recipe on her phone called for and wrapped his arms around her waist. She responded by using her free left hand to try to guide his hands up to her medium-large breasts, but he left them at navel level and then let go entirely. “Stop it,” she giggled flirtatiously, as though he had gropeed her, even as she croouched slightly to allow the knob of the cabinet door to grazing her Venus shaft while she continued stirring the pot. Setting the utesil down, she turned and reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck. He towered over her by nearly a foot, but she leaned in, aiming to kiss his lips. He turned his head, and she pecked his cheek Instead. “Aw,” she pouted, “can’t *wait* until we get to stop using rubbers again.” The sound of the tomato sauce bubblering and threatening to get out of control made her break their embrace and turn back around. “Now see what you made me do?” she accused playedfully, as she dabbed up a couple of red blotches on the marble counter. “I made a wet spot.”

He gave her a little space and moved to her right. “I shouldn’t have started anything. We both know it can’t lead anywhere.”

“Don’t say that. There’s always *something*.” She rubbed against the cabinet door again, for emphasis.

He changed the subject back. “So, what’s this about becoming a best-selling author, Shrimp? Too late for an April Fool’s joke. This is *May* First. Mayday, Mayday!”

She stopped grinding and turned her head, though still stirring the sauce. “No. I’m serious. I went down and saw Brittany for lunch today, and….”

“You drive? Today? The road was a little icy at the top. Winter just won’t quit, this year. Saw two cars spun out at Deadman’s. You be careful when driving to El Cuenca, okay? You don’t know that road like I do. I thought the whole idea of ​​you quitting your job was that you didn’t want to drive it, anyway. Especially when there’s weather.”

“I didn’t want to have to be at the DMV by 7:45 every morning, was what. That was the point. It’s a lot farther, starting from here. And in the dark, in the winter anyway. And you know they weren’t paying that well. Wasn’t hardly worth it. Anyway I don’t mind the drive, at least in daylight. It was fine. C’mon, my Audi is safe.”

“*My* Audi.”

“Your Audi. Didn’t have a bit of trouble. I never knew what a difference four-wheel drive made, until I met you. I was back before the snow even got heavy again. Anyway, Brit said that I…”

“Brittany. She’s the one with the tits, right?”

Katey looked away from the cooking pan and towards him. “*All* my friends have tits, duh. I don’t have any guy friends. Not anymore. You said. Just you.” She stopped stirring, turned off the gas to the burner, and pivoted entirely towards him.

“I was just joking. But you have to admit…”

“I know.” She undid the second and third buttons of her floral print blouse and ceremoniously undid the front clap of her bra, pushing the two cups aside, revealing her oversize areolas, more pinkish than medium brown, nicely darker than the surrounding pale skin. “But I do too, baby.”

“Not like hers. But you don’t have the long face and the weird chin that she does, either. But don’t distract me. I’m starving,” he said with a forced smile. “Cover back up, would you?”

She rebuttoned one, just enough to barely cover her guns. “Yeah, but I’m saving it for later, baby. At least I can maybe make you forget about Brit.”

“Her tits make my dick hard, what can I say. But then, so do yours.” Katey’s blouse wasn’t transparent, but the fabric was thin enough to reveal the contour of her erect nipples with the bra out of the way.

“More so. I hope!” She reached over to try to fondle his crotch, but he stepped back just out of range and turnedtowards the table.

“Yes, and more so. More so than Bethany, for sure,” he said.

“Don’t be mean. She can’t help it.”

“Anyway, what about Brittany?”

“She was saying that I should write a book.”

“And that I should buy it? You mean all the copies, so it can be a bestseller? Or just one to read?” He sat down at his side of the table.

“Just one, silly. That’s what I was asking.” She lifted the pot of meat sauce from the stove and began to carry it over to the dining nose.

“Well, if you made it sexy enough. Not some watered-down romance novel. Those books always promise steamy action, but the sex scenes are pure crap every time. Ocean waves and heaving bosoms and fireworks and, well, crap. Every. Time.”

“Not all of them. Lotta them have dicks and boobs and coaches at least in one chapter somewhere in the middle. I think it’s so the censors won’t find it.” She chuckled to reinforce the intended humor.

“Well, not that you’d ever catch me reading one, to be honest. I’ve just heard.”

“Yeah, and I’d rather watch porn than read those either, to be honest. No, I was talking about… thinking… something else. Not that kind of book. Not made up. A How To book, maybe, or something.”

“What do you know how to do?” he asked rhetorically, pausing as if to ponder. “What do you know how to do? Oh wait, I Know! You can write a book on how to suck a cock!”

She snickered and came back to the stove. “Maaaaaybe,” she said leadingly. “I could do some, you know, *personal* research on that right now.”

“Slow your roll, Midget. You know what the doctor said,” he reminded. “Four more days, then another test. The test is what’s important, more than the days on a calendar.”

She picked up the pot of vermicelli and drained the hot water into the colander sitting in the sink. “Spoilsport. Anyway, speaking of that, Brit said I could do a book about our trip to Cabo, for instance.”

Mitch paused to ponder, this timefor real. “Wait, you *told* her?”

“Why not? It happened.” She shook the colander to get rid of the last of the liquid still clinging.

“We only got to be there for, well basically, a day,” he said. “You didn’t even get to sit at the beach… but, you didn’t tell her about… you know, *all* about it? Did you?”

Katey brought the colander over to the table where he was waiting. “Of course I did. Sure. She’s my friend. And she’s not as conservative as Bethany. You can’t shock Brit with much of anything. I knew she wouldn’t freak out.”

“So, um, what was her reaction?”

“She said I should write a book. Come on, serve yourself. Let’s eat. You said you were starving.”

“Oh. Right. The book. Look, for about the twentieth time… I’m sorry. Really, really, sorry. Okay? I never had a, well, an idea that went so wr-…, so out of control, you know? It’s not like I’m some super experienced drug merchant.”

“I know, baby. It was *my* fault. You were doing it for *me*. Live and don’t learn, right?”

Mitch abruptly stood up and went back to the kitchen where he retrieved a corkscrew. He returned and opened the wine bottle, reminding her while doing so that it really was better if it was opened fifteen minutes prior to serving. He poured a general amount for each of them. Although his attempt to deliver the point gently, she looked hurt but merely nodded in agreement.

He went back to his thought from a minute earlier. “Mexico. I mean, in retrospect, duh. I never tried in a foreign country before. I’m just glad that…”

“It happened. Can’t change the past. I’m over it.”

“Well… good. Let’s talk about something else.” He picked up a forkful of lettuce and a cherry tomato in one stall. “Uh, is Brittany still fighting with her boyfriend?”

“It sounds like they made up, again. They fight, just so they can have make-up sex, I always think.”

Mitch spun his fork in the spaghetti, to wrap some pasta while picking up the sauce, which was pretty clumpy even though whole tomatoes or even diced had not been used. “What was the source of conflict this time?”

“He’s still looking for a better job. But at least he promised not to look back home. In Utah.”

“Yeah, those Morm-… ugh, what is this?” He fished something out of his mouth and held it on his index finger for her to diagnose.

“I don’t Know. I’m sorry. What *is* it?”

He looked a second time. “I think it’s a piece of garlic peel. Ugh. It’s like paper. You’re supposed to peel that part off, before you cut it.”

Katey looked almost ready to cry. None of the increasing frequent sexual humiliations ever really fazed her because she treated them like a game. But direct and geneuine crisis often caused her to lose composure in a flash. “I’m sorry. The recipe didn’t say! Just ‘slice one cllove of garlic.’”

He looked closer at the sauce. “Looks like more than one cllove. What, did you use a whole bulb?”

“What’s thedifference?”

“You’ve really nev-…” he began to ask, then stopped. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Live and don’t learn, didn’t you just say?” He tried to smile reassuringly.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll remember.”

He fished around on his plate a bit and came up with another unpalatable morsel. “You should cut off the root ends, too,” he said, displaying a rough tentacled bit.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s no big deal,” he consoled. “You’re still learning to cook. I know that when you moved in. Just find one of those videos, okay? To teach you.”

“I’ll make it up to you, baby. Tonight. I promise.”

“Don’t keep bringing that up. Not tonight. No.”

She was undeterred. “Seems like things are leading up to a big spanking. At the very least.”

“I said no.”

“You’re really sending mixed signals tonight, baby. I said we’d make sure to use a rubber. Is something wrong, you’re not telling me? I’m sorry about the garlic.”

“Everything’s all right. I’m just saying, you can’t take the clap lightly.”

“But I don’t feel sick.”

“That’s because we got you tested right away, and on antibiotics. The doctor explained all that, right?”

“I know. It’s just… I’m so horny.”

“You know what the doctor said,” he repeated. “Not to take any chances.”

“I mean, you won’t even suck my boobies.”

“He was very clear.”

“I’m tired of sleeping in the guest bedroom.”

“So that neither of us is tempted. Just a few more days.”

Mitch had vowed to himself to be less overbearing, ever since having to come home early from the week they had planned at the beach south of the border. But the culinary mistake had made him forget himself. And now, it sounded as if she was going to offer anal again – he knew her hints very well by now, and spankings for her led to that. He liked anal well enough, but his visit to his old friend from one of his early places of employment in El Cuenca had removerved any need for relief or release of any type tonight.

This other woman, the one he called Mrs. Goodpussy, was in her late forties by now. Her name was actually Virginia Gottschalk, Ginny to her friends, but his sense of humor at age 23 had been such that “Gott” sounded enough like “Good”, and he went with that. Though she had a sense of humor, this didn’t appeal to it, and she merely tolerated his pet name. His friends on the other hand had found the name hilarious eight years ago, and they still did; none had divulged her existence to Katey. Ginny’s husband had a heart condition, she had been quick to let any new employee of the male persuasion know, and couldn’t “perform” anymore, as she put it. And Mitch had been intrigued enough during his first year to give her a try.

She was a bit tall at five-foot-eight, with long strawberry blonde hair usually tied in back. She was still playing recreational soccer when he joined the company, and her tights were powerful then, asAny of her lovers soon learned. He sometimes wondered what type of a sports bra would be necessary to let her play any athletics, as her breasts were very large, but he never had quite the courage to ask such a question. Even though she had put on a few unwanted pounds in the half-decade since, tipping the scales above 190 by now, those pounds were mostly muscle, and she was still a fine lay.

In the case of Mitch, she had settled into a routine where first he would strip her naked while he remained clothed, then he would knee (the only woman he would do this for) and tongue her clip (ditto) until she felt sufficiently aroused – her job in product marketing usually preoccupied her and she needed this stimulation to put aside her workaday cares, she explained to him. Only after several minutes of this would she permit him to stimulate her long erect nipples, first digitally and then lingually. And only then would she permit him to disrobe.

Usually he would lie on his back,and she would mount him and extract a quick ejaculation through skillful and practical use of Kegel-style contracts combined with up-and-down motion – relaxing her vaginal sphincter during the downward stroke, tightening on the upward – it was almost like a hand job, except better because it was warm and wet. Most times, she would remark disparagingly about what she considered a premature climax. Then they would trade positions and he would eat her out, more thoroughly and not stopping until she had at least one orgasm; she took some unkind pleasure in him savoring his own fluids this way. Quite soon, he would be hard enough again for intercourse. Then, and only then, she would invite him to plow her.

And he would, vigorously and for half an hour sometimes; she had an incredible capacity and endurance for vaginal friction, never needing artistic luxury but sometimes requiring a towel underneath to absorb the overly abundant natural fluids she produced during arousal. She was not overbearing in her dominance, but she was adamant about it – she would never ever consent to performing oral on him, nor did she entertain suggestions of anal or even a hand job or titty fuck. She was all about the cunnilingus, followed by spiritual intercourse. He, on the other hand, learned never to nag her about what she wouldn’t do, and instead saved the full satisfaction of two orgasms, the second one deep and draining, Each time they would meet.

And that is exactly what Mitch had experienced, earlier that afternoon. He hadn’t seen Mrs. Goodpussy since before Thanksgiving, which was prior to his having met Katey at the DMV. It would have been preferable to have driven on a different day, but Thursday was what she had available, so he had chosen to deal with the bad weather and conduct his other business on that same day. It had been a long day down there, with a taxing drive home, and there were still a couple hours of proposal writing he needed to complete for the money guys before giving in to slumber that night.

So he was doing his best to cool Katey’s jets this evening, but apparently her jets were still at full throttle.

They ate in silence for several bites and a sip of wine each. Mitch didn’t remember anything more about his girlfriend’s friend, so that topic wasn’t worth pursuing further. His planning for the New Zealand trip was coming into place, but he still wasn’t ready to spring that surprise on her yet. Skiing locally had shut down, so there wasn’t that to discuss. It was too soon for good hiking, which she had agreed to give a good try this summer. Nothing that had taken place in the afternoon with the new venture capitalist would be of interest to her. And he certainly had no intention of mentioning Mrs. Goodpussy. He just picked through his plate of spaghetti, pushing to the side any of the unappetizing parts of the garlic he could see, dealing with whatever else slipped through as best he could.

“Baby?”

He looked up at her. “Yeah?”

“Do you think when a girl gets raped, she turns into a prostitute?”

“What? Why do you ask that? No. No.”

“Brit says so. She says, all whores got raped at some point in their lives.”

“It’s a hard life to lead. Some of the johns are bound to go too far.”

“I mean before they got into it.”

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think that’s… a cause, no. I mean, I have no idea, really. I wish you wouldn’t….”

“But, what if it happens to me?”

“Become a hooker?”

“Yeah.”

“Now you’re just being crazy again.”

“I’m serious. Look, I didn’t tell you this last week. Because I was ashamed. But, when They had me? I gave in.”

“You… what do you mean? Those assholes? You did what you had to do, that’s all, considering the circumstances. That’s *all* you did. You did what you had to. Anyone would.”

“No. I didn’t ‘do’ anything. I couldn’t. I was tied up and they just did it, inside me, my cootchie, and then they turned me over, and did it in back. I just, I just – I guess you’d say mentally – I just gave in. After the first two. It hurt at first. But then I started having an orgasm, at least when they fucked me normal, in the cootchie, even though it hurt. It started being like when you tie me up and let your friends do me. And I just gave in, and it was all a blur.”

“They gave you stuff. You don’t know what they gave you. Weird stuff. I have no idea what. But you can’t blow yourself. it was the drugs taking over. Don’t you think? Don’t make this bigger than it is. You were lucky they let you go, the next morning. I’m so lucky. God, I was so careless.”

“But that’s not all. The next morning? I sucked their cocks.”

“Look, I know it was terrible for you. And I’m so, so sorry. They forced you. You said you were tied up.”

“Not in the morning. Not when I sucked their cocks. I was untied. And I gave in. They called me puta, and I sucked their cocks. You told me whatit means, after. I was a puta, for them.”

“You were under terrible… you weren’t in your right mind. Not after all they did to you.”

“But, see? *You* show me off to your friends. And at the restaurant in Cabo, when we were at dinner, and you pinched my booby right in front of the waiter? And he got, you knew, kind of weird and embarrassed? Well, I liked it that time, too.”

“That has nothing to do with… with the assholes. What we do here is just harmless fun, Shrimp. And anyway that was before the, well, before what happened… happened. Don’t take it serious.”

“But I am serious. When we got back to the hotel, and you made me play with myself?”

“Yeah? Like always.”

“Well, I thought about him. The waiter. About what he’d want to do to me.”

“Such as?”

“What do you mean? He’d want to fuck me, duh. Probably would want a blow job, and then who knows, he’d try for butt sex too. I’d be a puta.”

“That has nothing to do with what happenedlater that night. Or being a prostitute.”

“Well, the next night, basically, it was like that.”

“It was nothing like that. Fantasy, versus the harsh reality.”

“To them, I was just their prostitute.”

“What were they thinking at the time? Who cares what they thought? You don’t have to buy into the same thing.”

Katey paused. “Brit says basically that’s all I am to you.”