The kids were splashing and shouting at the far end of the pool, the music was bubbling, and the smell of meat four different ways wasn't enough to stop me from wondering if there was somewhere I could have been this morning.  Besides, that is, at home with a beer in hand and waiting for a fireworks show from the city that had rained out three years running.  It was too damned hot so far this summer to think of doing much of anything outdoors that didn't involve the water; there hadn't been any rain for week across the whole state, and at some point later in the month or next there would a serious heatwave to sweep over the coast.  But today marked the start of the long Fourth of July weekend, Thursday the Third to be exact.  And even though I had stuck with the not-broke-don't-fix classic of a beer in hand it was only my second since arriving at the house Theresa's parents had just a few blocks from the beach.  She'd invited me and a few others from the office that didn't have extended family in the area, and the mayhem of over half a dozen kids sounded like most of my summer holidays when I was that age.
  It quickly reminded me I wasn't that age anymore.
  Theresa's husband and uncle were arguing over the barbecue, her father was sitting on the edge of the pool providing a grandfatherly aura to the kids that needed a break, and almost all the women were sipping on wine or wine coolers.  And a couple were making good pace to needing another couple gallons of wine.  They were trying to be soft spoken in their sodden ramblings, but they'd lost enough civility and sense.
  "Just look at that, Clara.  Playing with her like an overgrown house-cat, and she's letting them."  Neither of them were young, insulated wine glasses in hand and gesturing.  One little girl stroked her tail as it tried to escape, and a smaller boy bobbled on her lap reaching up to touch a nose unlike his.  Another kid splashed nearby as she watched with legs dangling in the pool.  "I know Val and Rhea knew her mother way back, but that doesn't mean they had to turn a family gathering into a orphanage for lonely souls and every stray off the street."
  "Now, now, Doris, as long as she's keeping the kids occupied we don't have to make small talk.  She isn't even drinking, and how do you talk with someone that wants to be sober except wait for them to start staring down their nose at you."  Old women and wine, the perfect recipe for gossiping.
  "I've been watching those documentaries.  Look at her, that color; all tan and yellow.  Bet you she's one of those African ones, and I sure don't care for snooty people that think they can ruin the Fourth by talking politics and other things that don't matter."  Doris' leap of logic was near insane, and the other mocked shock that anyone could hate the Fourth of July.
  "Well I'm not quite as judgmental as you, but she's a guest in this house and better know her place, wherever she's from.  Bad enough that Valerie had to take the cats next door for the day."
  They'd been going on since she'd arrived.  She was too skinny for a real woman, her bikini too revealing for a family outing, They were too drunk to be really racist, and they'd deny it once sober, but I'd always followed the principle my mom taught me.  Judge a person on their actions and character, and allow them space to reform themselves.  I'd hated people judging me in college even though I was the common straight guy.  If you were going to dislike someone, don't do it to the ones that actually get up and have a job, educated or not.
  The cooks whistled everyone to the long tables that had been set up on the patio when the last of the food was ready.
  "By your aunt.  Chris, you and ahhh..."
  "Tia."
  "Well, if you'll excuse me for being bad with remembering names in my old age, and worse when I've had a few beers."
  She smiled and sat down next to you.  Theresa's father, hell, I couldn't remember his name and only cracking beer number three open.  His wife, Valerie, and their daughter Theresa were quietly ignoring things instead of escalating.
  "Let's all link hands, and bow our heads.  Lord, we want to thank you on this really hot day for all the things you provide.  Family and friends, food and drink to nourish us, a roof over us and rest from our labors.  But on this day we give thanks for the beautiful country we have been given the grace to live in, and we ask that you never forget those that protect us and defend this country; remember that we can argue and be petty to each other but you gave some very good advice to some smart men and from that comes this nation of many families, many peoples, and many ideas.  At least, many ideas that aren't from a bunch of commies.  So give us the chance to live up to that, and we'll settle the small stuff on the playing field and shake hands after.  Amen, let's eat."

  "Now, Tia, where did you say you were from?"  Abigail was leaning forward slightly a nibbling on a veggie kebab.  "Valerie and Theresa seem to know so many interesting people."
  I could feel her shift a bit on the bench before answering.  Her ears turned a fraction, and yellow gold eyes looked down the line of people across us at the table.
  "My grandmother was from Congo originally.  They moved here after my mother was born, but we moved back when my father wanted to make our fortunes there."
  "Do you think you'd ever move back?  Every documentary I've seen make places in Africa and Australia look so beautiful."
  Theresa quips in, "I think that's their job.  It's like a commercial saying, `Visit here, eat something that isn't McDonalds, and spend a bunch of money.`"
  Tia looked a bit embarrassed by the attention.
  "I've lived in several countries, and had the chance to visit more.  It is a big place; you can't tie that up in a few words, no matter how many languages."
  "Oh.  I know enough Spanish to make my way when we take a cruise, bit from other trips."
  "French, German, Swahili, a bit of some of the regional languages.  It helped a lot when I was applying for jobs after graduating.  I'm just glad I didn't get stuck in an international company that just wanted a translator and ignored my degree.  Besides, I'm too much a red-blooded American girl.  I love my heritage and I'll never forget camping in the Serengeti just before we moved back here, but give me fast food and a cold soda any day."
  Doris managed to roll her eyes without falling backwards.  "So you liked running around doing those Indian-like dances and stuff but not enough to leave a few-"
  Clara clapped her hand over the other's mouth and could have toppled the both if they'd each had more wine.  Tia smiled weakly at the faux pas.
  "She's thinking of the American Siruean tribes.  I'm Catholic, even if I'm not quite as devout as the padre would have liked me to turn out, with bruised knuckles from the nuns and all.  But the tribal dances are so much fun.  You feel so free and close to the land, and that's closer to God, and never the same twice."  Her eyes rolled up wistfully.  "Uhh, I'm stuffed."
  Theresa's father jabbed playfully.  "Catholic, you say?  Well, like the book says, nobody's perfect."  Some people laughed, some didn't, and the focus of the humor moved to someone else.
  After lunch, kids splashed in the shallow end and the alcohol was dialed back.  They started cheering when Theresa gave the go-ahead to resume playing, and louder still when she suggested Tia and I play along.
  A couple hours later, we were both beat.  She'd toweled off, but her short fur was still damp enough that she remarked she'd feel a cool breeze for the next hour or so.  By that point I could see at least one other family ready to leave, and a couple more gathering stuff.
  "How about a short walk?  Along the beach and back to the hotel?"
  She got her bag together, made goodbyes, and found shoes.  Half a block away she started.
  "I really needed that."
  "Huh?  A good cookout and pool?"
  She smiled and shrunk in a hair.  "No.  The kids.  Playing."
  "Well, it was fun but it's reminding me I'm not as young as I was in college.  And one day I might get called old."
  "That's not what I was talking about.  I couldn't have done that if I was with my family."  She sniffed at that thought and crinkled her nose.
  "Why not?"
  "To start, I'd have to field every question of why I wasn't married yet, or better yet pregnant."
  I nearly stopped dead.
  "She wants grandchildren, and her and my aunts on both sides are going to hound me until they have some."
  "So, the more kids the more you'd get the what-when-where-why-how?"
  "I figure I've got a couple more years until they start signing me up for dating websites and other services.  You're a bit luckier than me on that."
  "I'm not so sure.  I've gotten the grandkids speech more than once.  And the `She's a nice girl` introduction.  And the `Smart young men should have plenty of choices` speech."
  "But you're not going to have them drag you to a salon utterly convinced that the reason you don't have a man is your coat isn't clipped right, and you aren't dressing nice enough, and taking notes on your friends to see if they're helping you find a man, and heaven forbid they start in about advice on sex because everyone is having sex before marriage but no one is doing it right.  Oh, and Catholic, so you know you should be waiting anyways."
  "I think that's a little more than I tend to deal with.  Last time I was home my dad and his friends dragged me out to a strip club in the middle of the day, and after my mother smacked him for that and a few extra for taking me."
  "She probably had a date lined up for you that afternoon."
  "She'd do it.  By the way, if you're up for it we can catch dinner downstairs unless you're driving back this evening."
  "Well, it would be a good way for me to cover the white lie so I don't have to say I'm at home and still not pregnant.  Dinner sounds like I'm working on the husband plan.  And that's the smoothest I've been asked out in a while."
  "I'm afraid to ask.  It's a miracle some of the guys I knew in college ever got a date much less laid."
  "The last guy to ask me out, and this is stretching the definitions of ask and out, walked up to me in a parking lot and asked if I was down to hike."
  "Hiking doesn't sound like that strange of a first date if you're the outdoors type."
  She started to giggle and then had trouble stopping.
  "Not that kind of hiking.  Hike tail."
  I had to think for a bit and felt dense.
  "OK.  He just walked up to you, in a parking lot, and asked if you wanted to fuck."
  "In the middle of the day, on my lunch break, and then started gesturing to his car."
  "So if I'm smooth, that would have made him..."
  "...still in the shell, underground."
  "You'd like my mother.  She loved the old standards like `Don't give up if one gets away from you.  Keep casting and you'll find plenty of fish in the ocean.  Sooner of later you'll catch one.`"
  "Keep casting and you'll catch an STD."
  Neither of us could hold back the giggles.

  We decided to meet in the lobby at 7:30, and I decided to make it as nice of a place as possible on short notice.  It wasn't what she'd said but, well, I hadn't treated myself in quite a few months and I wasn't going to worry about appearances or anything else.  We'd enjoy the food and evening, or we wouldn't; simple and easy.  But by the time I was on the elevator back down to the lobby I needed surgery to remove the butterflies and wondered what I could have missed that would make me look like just another fool dancing at the end of the conga line of bad dates.  I wasn't ready, I wasn't up to it tonight, and at some point a hidden camera would pop out of the crowd to focus on us as a announcer shouted, `You're on Candid Camera!`"
  The elevator door opened onto a perfectly normal lobby with only the clerk and a person checking in late.  I sat on the out-of-date furniture around fake plants and the slanted evening sunshine.  I wasn't ready, and then I wasn't ready for her.
  She'd chosen a wrap dress in a floral knotwork pattern, all yellows and ochers and reds with just a few hints of green peeking through.  I couldn't help the full-body head-to-toe scan.  Sandals laced over her feet and up her ankles and underneath the dress, which swayed as she walked, panels overlapping and waving like flowers and long grass under the sun.
  "I hope I'm not too fancy for tonight."
  Her hair was loose and waved over her shoulders, sun soaked highlights smelling clean and natural.  Don't overthink it, don't make her feel out of place.  Take a hint.  Natural.
  "Not at all.  I picked a place nearby that's close enough to walk."  I tried keeping my breathing steady, even, and in control as we walked, her arm in mine.  I was glad it was such a short walk so we wouldn't be alone; I opened the restaurant doors and we stepped into that perfect lighting that wasn't chain restaurant bright nor so low that you needed flashlights for the romantic dinner.

  It took almost two hours to eat and head back to the hotel.  We'd started with appetizers, then a small salad, soup, ordered a bottle of wine, then finally a nice main course before dessert.  More than two hundred dollars gone and without a single regret.  It went by too fast, and I could hardly remember exactly what she or I had said.  Instead I had a infodump of everything that was her vibrating in the corner of my mind; the different countries, people, the feeling of running full speed through the grasslands as a kid and later for high school track, the years of college and the small shocks of becoming an adult and realizing all the things you've yet to learn.  We walked into the elevator together, and she leaned against me and spoke quietly.
  "Fifth floor."
  I pressed the button, and waited.  Doors closed, and doors opened.  She didn't move.
  "Are you coming with me?"
  She wasn't leading, so I took her hand and went first.
  There's always a feeling that never fades no matter how times you have it; the moment you walk into a new lover's room the world shifts its axis as you have to face the truth.  You're about to connect with someone in a way where you can't hide behind a sense of distance and isolation.  The moment draws out, and then you're alone with the same thoughts and waiting for the next breath to be the first touch of the night.
  I broke the stillness, and stepped close to place my hand along her cheek.  Through short-clipped fine fur I felt the sharp edge of anticipation and fear.  I'm not her first but I am her first; the same for me.  This time it's fresh and I can't quite remember how to use my left arm anymore.  I think, finger wrist hand arm direction careful, and distantly felt the light fabric belt of her dress and my fingers working to undo it.  My fingers remembered even if my brain raced in high gear with the clutch floored.  The belt came loose, her hands no longer chained by the moment but racing ahead; fingers pulling at buttons and my shirt while I pulled free the cloth that couldn't hide her anymore.  My shirt gone, she reached down to undo sandal straps that wound up her calves.  My belt pulled free and I dropped it to the floor, her hands reciprocated at the zipper of my pants.  We tugged at each other's underwear, losing our balance and falling backwards, and then she's on top of me - all soft and the fiery flesh of nipples pushing out of warm fur against my chest.
  One moment turned to the next, and she was the predator that had caught her prey; paralyzed as she moved lower down my chest, kissing and nibbling at me, at bare flesh.  Her tongue and mouth follow wetly where her hands have explored and mapped.  She rolled off, kneeling on the floor between my legs, hands sliding up my thighs.  They worked and kneaded the skin and muscle underneath, closer and closer until she gently closed her hand around the shaft of my cock.  Her eyes followed her hands as she worked one up the length of my shaft, then the other.  I propped myself on elbows to watch better; watching from a distance but feeling the now, past and future caresses as each touch bled into another.  I blinked and her eyes held mine, with her tongue out and almost upon me.  Fine fur rubbed inside of thighs.  Golden eyes set against golden fur watched as the soft pads of her fingers pulled me back and down towards her mouth.  The tip of her tongue brushed the head, breath and texture fueling sensation.
  "I promise I'll be gentle."  She ran her tonguetip against my cockhead again.  "So gentle, so sensitive."
  The next stroke was her full tongue on the length of my shaft, like rough but oiled fabric.  Twice, a third time, then she took me deep in her mouth, swirling around me and increasing the range of sensation, slow to draw out another gasp.  Her mouth moved up the shaft, then off, a long strand of precum trailing and more leaking out to run down to my thigh.  She cleaned the mess, hot breath teasing.  I let myself lay back onto the bed and felt her engulf me again, coaxing the sighs and groans from my mouth after I closed my eyes.  When it stopped, her smile waited.
  "My turn."  She crawled up, planted a kiss on my nose and guided my head with her hands.  First the shallow hollows of her shoulders, lower to her breasts, and after I'd taken each pink nipple and felt it stiffen against my tongue I moved lower.  As gentle as she was with me I kissed the almost invisible outer lips, running a finger over feather soft and felt her open and wet with anticipation.  It was her turn and a soft mewl seeped forth barely audible over the hotel AC unit.  I kept teasing her with the difference until she grabbed at my head and pulled me tighter; a unique and new feeling, tasting her and softly tracing the outline and up the length of her labia with my tongue, fingers inside, novelty pushing each breath shorter and more ragged.
  Every muscle tensed, contracting in waves, her breath gone and then back again as she finally relaxed to gasp for air.
  If my eyes had said minutes ago what hers spoke now, I didn't need to ask.  I didn't need permission, I had her and we had no need for words.
  I moved between up and between her legs, positioning myself and pushing her hips up and backwards, placing her legs on my shoulders to free my hands.  I ran my shaft against the length of her swollen labia, watching golden eyes lose focus again with each stroke.
  "Tell me what you want."  Her breathing stuttered, unable to form words and answer me.
  "Tell me what you want."  I repeated myself but did not let up the attention; I was a hazy shape from outside the cloud of her pleasures.
  "Tell me what you want."  Three times, and at last her eyes cleared enough to see the man that had done this to her.
  "Want more.  All.  Inside..."
  The last drew out as I slid backwards and pressed my cockhead inside her, pushing and then barely within, deeper again and deeper.
  It was too much for me.  I pushed her, legs all the way back, doubled up as I trapped her between my body and the bed.  Deeper, rhythmic, sweating, grasping, scratching, thrusting, together.
  After the magic spell had passed that robbed our speech I rolled us over, her on top and exhausted from the ordeal.  I felt her breathing slow, and soon she slept.  The scent and sight of her was not enough to keep me awake.

  I woke slowly in the earliest slant of sunlight, and rolled over to find her no longer there.  Her bags were gone.  The second room key laid on top of the hotel stationary, pen slanted across at the bottom.
  "I woke up and decided it would be easier this way.  I've never felt completely confident with men, with my emotions.  Last night was different.  If you can, understand that I'm afraid to say some words out loud.  Tia."
  I put on my clothes enough to go back to my room, washed myself and the claw marks I'd earned, and went to check out.  I didn't want breakfast, or the solace of other lovelorn souls on the radio as I drove home.

  The days in the middle of summer passed in heat and rainshowers, overheard songs and congealed sweat.  The long weekend closed, work re-opened, and I lost myself in the motions.  The next weekend I tried my luck at one of the bars, but the place was half empty; everyone had escaped the city on vacation or to the mythical location on the map labeled anywhere but here.  More days passed, and I tried to remember details that slid away into the shadows of time.  Memory should be sharp, remain sharp as if it just happened, not fade and leave all the adult nightmares clear underneath the pressures of the day.
  I'd given myself fully back to routine before July passed to August, and one of those late days I walked from the grocery store under the relentless sun.  Food, the small things, and then waiting for the lights to go out and feel alone.
  I saw her the next row over.
  I remembered her story.
  I couldn't help myself.  Just from work herself, light tan summer slacks and a crisp cream blouse with her hair up in a twist.
  I walked over, step by step, waiting for the next one to break the bubble of dream and be left with baked asphalt.
  "Tia, wait."
  She stopped, keys in hand, canvas bags full.
  Her eyes went softer, then refocused.
  "Chris."
  "I didn't get a chance to say anything to you.  And Theresa said she hadn't seen you since the Fourth."
  "I've been avoiding people, yes.  Believe it or not, I don't want to listen to what others have to say about me."
  I blinked twice, confused.  "What does that matter?  They're going to say what they want."
  "You don't understand this.  What I did with you isn't normal.  All it takes is one person with gossip on their tongue and all the women, my mother and aunts, will be trying to reform and rescue me from something that steals their future grand kids."  She laughed low, the same as that night, worth the price I paid.  "I'm not getting any younger, and I got that speech again almost as soon as I was home."
  "And if you took me to see them a few months from now, they'd be the ones to have..."  I stopped myself before the last word slipped out.
  "Exactly.  And then I would, because I'd have a different suitor every night until I gave in and...no, I'm too career minded right now and that's not what they want for me."
  "They can want all they want.  Only two people get a vote on your feelings; you and the one you share them with.  And your vote breaks any tie.  If I asked you out again, that's all that matters.  You and I.  Not your family, my family, co-workers, friends, strangers; just us."  There was more inside of me, but she shook her head.
  "I come from a different sense of community than you, and I can never not be part of that; I've never had a boyfriend they didn't have an opinion on, and detailed at that."  She was back to laughing, laughing at my attempt, at her lack of bravery, at the situation.  "Sooner or later they'd find out the truth.  Are you asking me out right now?"
  "Yes."  I wasn't going to say anything other than my simplest feelings.  There wasn't any room to avoid it now.
  "I could do something else."
  "Then tomorrow night."  I'd put the thought between us.  No waiting.  Do it now, in this moment, before it walks away.  "And if not then, the night after that."
  "I could make an excuse, a real one.  I could use a thorough brushing after a long shower."
  "It's a great excuse.  Everyone wants to look their best on a date, right?"  I let the snare settle in front of her.  She didn't have to admit later that she said yes; all she had to do was step in it and lose control.  I watched the questions and thoughts play across her face, pupils dilating and expanding, nose twitching, ears slowly turning and seeking the nearby sounds as others walked by and birds tweeted and the city breathed.
  "A couple conditions."
  "Name them."
  "First, remember I'm more a burger and fries kind of girl than a fancy restaurant lady.  Second, this isn't a guarantee of a third date or anything happening later tonight, no matter whether or how much I'd take skipping dinner and going right to getting fucked senseless again by you."
  Chase big game, better be ready to catch it.  And better be ready if it turns the game on you.

  "So he's running around with his tail singed, and he's still got the all the sparklers in each hand.  Half of us are shouting at him, the rest can't stop laughing, and he's not running back onto the concrete so he can drop them.  I can't believe we didn't have the cops there yet from all his noise, and he makes a beeline from the far end of the yard to the pool right past us.  He bellyflops in, arms out, and finally drops them.  We all slowly walk up because he's probably stunned himself and hasn't moved.  I can see them still throwing sparks at the bottom of the pool, and he flips over so fast water splashes over half of us.  He couldn't get the smell of beer and burnt fur and nasty poolwater out of his coat for weeks!"  She dissolved into giggles, her ears full forward and vibrating in time with her laughter.
  "And the Aesop is that safety with fireworks prevents the best stories for your college days."  I couldn't help but chuckle a bit; it beat my story of my freshman dormmate and his improvised fireworks only because he had a much better idea what kind of disaster his bad idea was.
  She took another couple of fries from the checkerworked wicker basket between us and pointed them at me.  "It's a miracle I kept my grades up enough for my scholarship during freshman year.  And the real Aesop is that taping several dozen sparklers together is probably a bad idea no matter what."  Dipped them in the ketchup, and took the last bite on her burger.  I'd finished mine in the middle of her story so we polished off the remaining fries, the late July heat just a warm evening and whisper of a breeze wandering across the covered patio of the place.  The grill still smelled of more hotdogs and burgers cooking, the shush of conversation from other tables and couples.
  "So whatever happened to all of you.  You're making it sound like the next three years was nothing but classes and internships."
  "Pretty close.  I met Nathan through him, and thankfully he was the one of that pair with a brain.  And it's been on again off again for the last five years."  She took the last two fries.  "Mostly off recently.  I haven't talked to him in almost two months and haven't seen him in more than double that.  I don't really know if I'm over him, but I doubt I'm giving him another chance.  He's never quite grown up."  They twitched once then settled downturned and flat, her heart wired directly to the soft shape of her ears.  The rest of the comparisons were left unsaid; he doesn't make me laugh like you do, you're holding down a job unlike him, he's never made me cum like you did.  And beneath that was the kicker.  She'd felt some responsibility to keep the relationship alive no matter what, and she didn't see herself as the type that went and got fucked by someone she'd met that day.  Her eyes reflected flickering amber light against lighter gold.  Jeans and an old college t-shirt, simple American food for a simple girl; the ingenue, not the siren.
  We finished up, and got back in my car.  I tried a few times to restart the conversation, but she'd jacketed herself in thought.  The smells shifted, food and warm streets and summer green and the ghost of her body shampoo blended together by the car's AC.
  Full dark fell while we were eating, and I turned on smaller and smaller sidestreets until I reached a double row of well lived in cottages, small enough for only one or two bedrooms and cheap enough for the young professional that wanted to pay extra for a measure of privacy and a scrap of yard.  Her car was in the driveway; I parked just past and cut the engine.
  She was immediate.  "Thank you for dinner.  I shouldn't have come off so judgmental."
  "No crime, no foul.  I needed something to cheer me up too."  She looked up from her lap, at me, and for the first time tonight her ears were perfectly still, tilted slightly to me.
  "Yes."
  "Yes?"
  "You're not going to ask, and I can't say it."  Do you want to come inside?  A distant streetlight lit a few strands of her hair, the rest in shadow.
  I got out, walked around to open the passenger  door.  She stood in slow motion and leaned into me, hugging, head on my shoulder and her aroma the only thing I breathed.
  "If you can't say it now, you're going to have to say it later."
  "If you decide to chase your prize inside."  She let go, and we walked up three steps, hand in hand, the door unlocked, and there we were.
  No preamble, straight to her bedroom, and slowly pulled off shirts in between kiss after kiss after kiss, each blending into the next.  I wanted to run hands over her whole body, feeling the short fur brush rougher against my palm as I rubbed it backwards and then silk as I smoothed it down.  Our hands danced at each other's waists, unbuttoning as if we'd followed these steps thousands of nights before.  In the light, only half of them turned on, she stood in white panties and bra.  Nothing expensive, just enough lace and frills to suit her, just enough to contain the passions underneath.  We stepped away from the pile of our clothing and shoes, and I laid her back on the bed.  I gave her a second, then ran hands up to outside of her thighs and curled fingers around the band of her underwear, dragging it off and out for a full minute, her wide feet and toes so close to my face.  Pale yellow fur faded away from her sex, framed by legs, her tail tip tapping the inside of my legs and then up a bit.  I let fingers drift over sensitive toepads and between them, feeling the small muscles and tendons work under, massaging and arousing.  She tried to push up enough to reach behind and unhook her bra, but her feet were demanding her to lie back and moan in anticipation.  I let my hands down to her ankles, and she caught enough breath to unhook and throw her bra right at my face.  One strap hooked over my head and the rest of it trails down the side of my face.  I kept stroking the length of her foot between ankle and toes.
  "Next time, warn me I'm about to get a toejob!"
  "What?  I just thought you'd like a footrub first.  They were right there."
  "I'm going to have to buy you a book.  Advanced Phalanx Fetishism, Fifth Edition."  I didn't want to ask if she was joking.  "Keep doing it.  You're a natural."
  I did as she asked, and let her bathe herself in the feeling as I rolled each toe in my fingers, her back arching and twisting.  I stole the chance, touching the tip of my tongue to the pad of her big toe, languidly upwards, her toes spreading further in ecstasy.  I questioned each in turn and again, varying technique as she guided me with baby mewls of pleasure.  After finishing, she had the sloppiest grin.
  "Dear Femme Felis, I never thought I'd be the one to write a letter like this, but if you want the best purr of your life just go hunt down a human male and put your feet in his face.  Then worship his cock until he won't leave you alone and you can't tell which of you is the one that got collared.  Totally About Her Toes Now Tia."
  She rolled off the bed and did exactly what she'd said.  I was trying to stay coherent, to not get washed away in the combination of textures her tongue could produce.  She took more and more of my shaft, leaving me helpless to stop from grabbing her head, guiding at first and then taking control, watching her swallow deep, yellow gold watching me back, and finally facefucking her with abandon.
  Every sensation cut out but the ones between my legs.  She didn't stop looking up at me, licking the cum off my shaft and teasing the last drops out.  I decided that any man that wouldn't move the world for this was dead or currently chained down too tight to rip free.  I picked her up, pushed her onto the bed, and ate her while I recovered.  She came a second time and we kept teasing each other, exploring and learning until we could go for another round.  It wasn't erotic or sensual or sexual or any other thing that could be defined.  It was wordless, the oldest art, more universal than music and more intimate than a dance.  I had been soft from her ministering; she wrapped her mouth around me again to tell me it was time for more.  It didn't take long for me to become rigid again.
  She rolled over and got on all fours, presenting herself and lifting her tail high, the tip swaying back and forth like a flashing open sign.  I'd cracked and peeled off the last reserve of her quiet and shy demeanor.
  "Don't keep a girl waiting when she's ready and hiking for you."
  I rubbed against soft wet flesh, no need for a bottle of lube.  She angled herself, reached behind and steadied herself as she pushed back.
  My hands moved to guide her hips.  She kept her tail raised so that I could see my shaft split her open and go deeper, her wetness coating me.  We hadn't been made for each other but our bodies, our brains, nothing cared.  Two people were all that mattered, breathing, kissing, stroking, fucking.  I filled her completely, grunting and swearing and moaning, answered in kind from her.  At some point she reached over, found her phone, and passed it back to me.  I knew what she wanted.  Picture after picture, framing her, feminine and feline, filled with my cock, staring back in the heat of the moment.  I switched to video, and thrust deeply, bed creaking but not louder than our primal sounds.  I felt myself throbbing in need, and so did she.  Soft yeses timed to each creak and thrust until they faded under everything else.  I emptied myself into her cunt, rope after rope as if I hadn't touched a woman in months instead of it being the second time tonight.  I pulled out slowly, and the camera captured it; the grip of her labia, my cockhead sliding out, the tendril of our fluids still joining us, and my cum dripping out and onto the bed as she looked back at me and the camera.
  We collapsed onto the bed, but couldn't keep our hands off each other.  We turned the TV on, laughed, held each other, and then raided her kitchen for snacks to feed each other and drinks.  The time passed and we went at it again and again, fucking each other and then relaxing after.  We could barely move after the last time, and lay there breathing deeply; I looked at the bedside clock glowing 2:05AM.  She picked up her phone, browsed through the pictures, and gasped at the video and her performance.  She pulled up a profile page on her phone.  A few clicks, and old faceless photos that showed everything else, a video titled `I Miss You` showing what she'd done in his absence, and a few posts.  Her fingers hovered for long seconds, then she continued.  I didn't say a thing as she uploaded the proof of what we'd done tonight.  The video was titled `Got What I Needed`, and her timeline updated.  She set the phone down, and then laid against me in the silence and dark, alone and together.  Our breathing slowed, and I held her.  Neither of us were falling asleep, and numbers marched on measured towards 3:00AM and more distant times.
  The phone buzzed.  She reached across, thumbed it to life.
  New message.  Nathan.
  She thumbed it off, put it down, and laid her head on my chest as we fell asleep.