February 27, 2010; My Porn

Skeeter was typing away at the computer except he was typing like mad—faster than I had ever seen him type. Boo-boo was away for the afternoon at work and we weren't cuddling, so I felt I had a license to find out what was going on.

"Whatcherdoin'?" I asked

"Writing. Shut up."

"What are you writing?"

"Shut up."

"I'm booooooooooooored. What are you writing?!!!"

He sighed angrily, turned in his chair and gave me that look he normally saves for Boo-boo when he has the nerve to interrupt him. "If you must fucking know everything, I'm writing porn."

"For who?"

"For me," he said and went back to it.

"Ha!" I said. "Why?"

The sigh was angrier this time and he didn't turn to me. "Because it loosens up my writing, it helps me work out sexual questions, and it allows me to go to places and with people I can't in real life."

"Like celebrities?"

He stared at me like I was a retard. "No. It works better if it's about people you know."

"Hm," I said. "Well, go ahead. You seem to have a head of steam going...so to speak."

He went back to his writing and I was immediately struck by three thoughts: what were his sexual issues; that it was a good idea; and that I'd have to open that file later to see who he was writing about.

In my porn, I'd be footloose and fancy-free. In my porn, I'd have my balls. Hell...

MY PORN

Skeeter let me go out by myself for my late-night ramble. "Scratch when you want back in," he said and closed the door.

The night smelled good; full of possibilities. I toddled along the street, pissing on this tree, sniffing that one, taking my own sweet time. Along the way I ran into Ginger and she said, "What are you doing out?" "Hmph...wouldn't you like to know, you little tease," I said. She sniffed and walked on with her mistress. Benjie was also out and he snerfed under his breath: "Go get 'em, Tiger!" "I will!" I assured him.

I decided to have a snack and went to the alley behind my place. Sure enough, the garbage men had been their usual sloppy selves and had left bits and pieces of food strewn all over the place. I was gnawing on a pork chop bone when, off in the distance, just visible under a car, I saw those eyes.

Eyes bright and piercing. Hypnotizing. Eyes which drew me, drew me, drew me.

I slowly went to them and as slowly as I advanced, she pulled herself from under the car, stretching every one of her muscles taut and lithe and perfect. The last thing to come out was that long, long, perfectly long tail.

Suddenly the air was full of her—her scent, her eyes, her beauty—and I could no more resist going to her than I could resist a chicken bone lying on the sidewalk.

"I thought you'd never come!" she said in a voice that mingled disinterest and urgency.

"I thought you wouldn't wait!" I said.

I moved towards her. Her face, first, my nose tracing down her long sleek body, my nose going to her tail—first to its tip and then back, again, to the base. She breathed deeply, as did I, smelling each other as we breathed. Our breath becoming just our scent. Nothing else. Nothing else.

"This is wrong," she purred.

"But oh-so-right!" I said in a desperate whisper, praying she would not leave.

"If anyone found out—" she said and stopped.

"We'd be destroyed!" I said.

And then we were as one. As I mounted her, her head flung back in ecstasy and she took my ears and then my nose in her sharp teeth. Her rough tongue whipped about my face as we moved together—one beast, one thing. I grabbed her whiskers in my teeth as I held her tight and we thrashed about in the alley, trying to be quiet but still making far too much noise. Hers were the yowls of a cat crazed with lust and mine were the yodels of a small dog who was seeing heaven.

When we were done we lazed: lying across each other's bodies. "This is wrong," Cleo said again. "No one would understand."

"It doesn't matter," I said. "As long as we do."

Hm.

Looking over it now, I realize it's less like porn and more like those books that have Fabio on the cover.

Maybe I'm not a writer. But I sure as hell have a hard-on.