Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Weighing the Cat: A Story of Procrastination

What he dreaded was not so much what was on the other side of the bathroom door, but rather in his underwear. It lay there like a dog, one that would not wake or answer when called. On the other side of the bathroom door what he dreaded lay also, stretched on the huge bed in black lace lingerie. Linda was still a beautiful and well-formed woman with those strong soccer mom thighs, righteous breasts, and fecund hips she was the kind of woman politicians sucked up to. And he dreaded her.

She did not deserve to be dreaded. She had done nothing to hurt him, and in fact this room in the Home Harbor Bed and Breakfast was her idea of a love nest to fan the flames that had clearly begun to die.

What could hold a marriage together, what had held theirs was a time tested mix of lust, laughter and loyalty. The lust had solidly faded and with it the laughter. They were running on loyalty.

“Come to bed, darling,” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“Wait,” he called.

He pulled down his briefs, took it out and played with it but nothing doing. He couldn’t seem to find his Happy Thought.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking a leak,” he called.

“Is it your prostate again?”

Jesus on a bicycle. It was that kind of thing, that condescending, well meaning, castrating kind of question that had forever unmanned him two months ago and counting.

She had been in bed. She had given the little signs of a veteran wife in the mood, asking softly for a back rub before bed, maybe don’t watch TV tonight. Head on the shoulder, how was your day? And he had responded with the low burning tension in the loins of a man who knows he has been chosen without trying very hard, his vanity fully aroused. She had been lying well placed on the top of the comforter. She looked over the top of the Cosmo magazine she had been studying when he stood beside her and confidently peeled off his t shirt and dropped his underwear so expose himself with firm, jaunty springiness. She looked at it quizzically and said “Why did you ever get it circumcised?”

It was the sound, the tone, the air of dissatisfaction that hung in the air like a fart. “Huh? I don’t know. When you’re a baby nobody asks you, they just do it. I guess.”

She flipped a page back on the Cosmo and then looked back at his dick. “The male foreskin is exactly the right shape and size to provide pressure against the G spot. They fit together. Women are more sexual with a foreskin pressing the G spot. Maybe that’s the real reason patriarchal religions do it. Put women out of business.”

He had never heard her speak this way before.  Talking about sex?
It put him out of business. On the spot. His boner bowed its head in shame, hid itself crying and never came back.

“You coming to bed or what?” she called.

If I stay here long enough, if I just wait it out, the mood will pass. She’ll fall asleep or turn on the TV or something.  I can still get out of this.

“Are you okay? You need help with anything?”

Yes, he thought, seeing you on your knees giving me a blow job might help. But he didn’t know how to ask for that. Had never asked for that. She had never offered it, so he always assumed it must be distasteful to her. It was like that all around. And to say it out loud, asking for sex. No dear, no blow jobs for you, you’re so circumcised. No, no, no. They never talked about sex, ever. It was never a part of their conversation.

It lay there bereft pointing down at the rug.

“For god sakes, Ron."
“No, wait.” he called back.  Jesus, when will she go to sleep?

He looked under the sink and found a bathroom scale there and lifted it out. He wondered if he had gained weight. Maybe it was a testosterone problem. Gaining weight could be a sign of that. He set it up and stepped on top of it. His belly hung out some so that he had to look over it. He’d gained a little.

There was a scratching at the door. Fritz the cat, she had insisted on bringing him along since her sister wouldn’t take him for the weekend. Fritz’s litter box was by the shower. He cracked the door and the cat ambled in.

Through the door he had a glance of her for an instant. She was lying on the bed allright. The back lace was undone and her thighs displayed. For little old him.

He closed the door. If I just stay in here long enough the whole thing will go away.

Fritz tapped his nose at the edge of the scale, smelling the several pairs of feet that had stood there.

How much does he weigh?

The thought invaded him, drove itself like a spike into his skull.

I have to know how much Fritz weighs. It’s something to do. “Come here Fritz.”

Fritz looked up and seemed to sense something suspicious. He hissed and fluffed his tail. “Come here, fat boy. What do you weigh?” He reached for him and the cat jumped away. “Come here you sneaky bastard.” The cat ran to the edge of the door, looked back at him and meowed. “Come here, buddy. Come here.” The cat wauled louder.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Nothing.” He tried to pick up the big cat and Fritz jumped and made a swipe at his leg.

“Whatever are you doing?”

“Getting circumcised.”

All the world said no to him, all of life refused to give him what he wanted. But this he would have. He would weigh this cat. He would master of something, of someone.  He would weigh this animal.  He shuffled forward but the big orange Tabby scooted between his feet and pressed itself against the wall, wailing.

“What are you doing to my cat?”

“He’s trying to shit on the floor.”

“He never shits on the floor!”
I will have this cat. I will weigh this cat. I will win. I will win at something, goddamnit. Then whatever.

Fritz ran for the door and scratched at it, looked back at him accusing. He grabbed it around the waist and lifted it but the animal twisted in his hands and clamped down hard with needle predator teeth until he dropped it, sucking his wounded thumb.

The door burst open.

“Ron! What the fuck?”

Fritz hunched low, ran into the bedroom and zipped under the bed. His eyes followed the cat and then looked back on his woman as he sucked his thumb.

“What were you doing in here, getting yourself off?” She was smiling. “Or getting inspired?”

He looked down and discovered it standing as proud as youth. The hound dog was wide awake. It had only needed a pussy to chase.


  1. Whoa-

    What maze of emotion you led us through, Garce. A terrifying but witty range of metaphors lends this a depth of dark reality. Sad, mystical and effectively so. You should consider this a real triumph, and we're quite lucky to get a glimpse.

    Ber well,
    Daddy X

  2. Lust, laughter and loyalty. I'll have to remember that. Thanks. I've always told my kids that a solid relationship needs passion, respect and friendship. That way age can only affect one of the 3, not 2 as in your phrase.

    It is indeed sad in our country that a man can feel that his essence boils down to that tiny (proportionally to his entire body, I mean) physical part of himself. The only female equivalent I can think of is tits, but there are surgical ways to enhance those, even to the point of grossness.

    But a man is so much more than a hard cock. Loving a man means you love everything about him. It means that you love him because of his faults, without which he wouldn't be the man you love. It means you want to please each other, and there are more ways to do that than the conventional missionary position...and not all need a hard cock.

    So sad to think that some married folks don't even talk about their sexuality with each other, or allow themselves to be vulnerable to each other, secure in the knowledge that it won't cause any harm because this is the one person in the entire world who won't ever hurt you.

    As for the story about chasing pussy, cute ending to a clever vignette. See what procrastination can do for your creativity? Nothing like having your balls in a vise to get the old juices flowing...(grin.)

  3. Mature, real, sexy, funny. Great story. Thanks for helping me through the mid week hump...
    Cheers, handsome.

  4. Hi Daddy X!

    It's going to be fun welcoming all the new faces here. Thanks for reading my stuff. I wish it could have been better, this is a rough draft with a spell check because I had no idea what to write.


  5. Hi Fiona!

    God I envy your husband. You embody so many good things. I myself am not that far away from the character in the story.


  6. Goddess!

    Thanks for coming by and reading stuff. It's been a while between posts. Reading your stuff too.


  7. Hey Garce,

    I'm BACK! And this (with a bit of editing, I admit) is fantastic. I didn't see the punch line coming at all.

    Do men really think this way, though? I find that terribly sad. Though I will admit that I've gotten to the point in marriage where I sometimes feel that sex is just too much work... (and those of you who are young enough to not need gobs of grateful!)