>>CHAPTER FOUR::

Aruis Ex

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

x

We had a small bathroom attached to the master bedroom. That's where she spent most of her time. I watched her from the bed as she examined herself in the mirror. She would check her hair and then her eyes and then her teeth and on down as I lied naked on my stomach with the sheets below me. She runs her hands across her white-furred cheeks, her slim neck and shoulders while I watch, silent and marveling because I can't understand how any of it ended up like this.

Gloria. She leaves the counter overpopulated with beauty products. I thousand perfumes and a thousand shades of blush and eye liners and conditioners and scissors and tweezers.

"Leon," she shouts, knocking the tall and short bottles around, a few of them tumbling down onto the bathroom floor beneath her. "Have you seen my masking creme?"

And masking creme. She has masking creme.

I ask her why she needs it and she just turns and frowns at me, which always makes me smile because it seems impossible for her to appear any less beautiful than when she's happy.

"I found this...this blemish or whatever. I just want to patch it up before I forget."

You're not a fucking pair of slacks, I tell her. You don't need to "patch yourself up".

"But it's a big one," she pouts. " A big nasty one and it'll show when I'm wearing my new dress."

I tell her I love her blemishes. I love all of the nasty shit that appears on her body. She rolls her eyes and shuts the light off in the bathroom, tying her crimson robe across her body before she lies down on her side of the bed. I shuffle my way over there and drape one hand onto her petit little stomach, her tiny vixen waist and she shifts her large flowing tail so that it's not brushing up against my manhood.

"Don't you ever put on pants?"

I inch closer and rest my head in the nook of her shoulder, tracing circles over her waist and stomach with my fingers. By now her perfume has worn off and her natural smell begins to emerge. She smells like vanilla except it's bitter in the back of the throat when you inhale it too deeply.

She shivers and tells me my fingers are like ice as I slip them in under her robe, running them across the short, smooth fur of her stomach. The fur turns white at the base of her neck and it's like a sheet of ice that runs down between her breasts and down to her groin. The rest of her is a light brown, maybe a cinnamon with a hint of red that offsets her bright green eyes. I wrap my arm across her waist and pull her close to me, the warmth she gives loosening my blood and exciting my senses. She sighs and starts to loosen the belt on her robe.

"I swear. It's as if all you think about is sex."

The robe drapes off to her sides and she spreads her legs. My body must be cold because I can feel the warmth emanating off of her. It hits my face and my chest and my legs like a soft caress and the closer I get to her warmth the better it feels. I'm already hard and I press myself into her slowly and she starts to quiver, twisting her waist until she becomes more comfortable with my size.

"Just let me know when you're done, okay?"

I pull myself out until just the head is inside of her and then I thrust my waist into hers. There's a short burst of a breath that escapes from between her lips. It's all the encouragement I need.

I love the way your legs are small but not too small. They're the perfect size. I told myself that when I met you, when you sat down next to me and you asked me what I was reading. Bukowski, I told you, and you said how sad and depressed that man always made you feel, and how you couldn't stand him. That he was rubbish. I only laughed and I told myself that it shouldn't be too difficult to find something like that about you. And for the next six months I tried. I tried to hard to find something about you that made me want to write like him. Something that could make me feel hollow and miserable so I could pen up a damning poem about you and how you're a spider, a roach, a stray cat with mange and I would title it "Gloria."

But there was nothing. Because every time I thought of you all I saw were your legs, your brown hair that rolls so lightly across your shoulders, your white chest fur and your breasts that shook ever so slightly as I made love to you.

"Just let me know when you're done, okay?"