“Can dogs pick out one emotional scent from others if
there are a lot of them together?” I wondered aloud.
“
Sure, especially when you add in body
language,”
Red told me.
“I can smell you were happier when
you started to sip your coffee. You leaned forward over your cup
and held it like you didn't want someone to take it from you, and
you spent a lot of time breathing in the scent.”
I smiled and
told my friends about Red's observation.
“
Janey likes Ken’s scent, because when he walks
close to her, she smells really, really happy and her body leans
toward him like she's trying to rub up against him. And Ken...”
I was smiling over Red's perspective and still deciding if I was
going to translate Janey's interest in Ken to the room in general,
when I felt Red's body shift to alertness.
“Ken likes Janey too.
He sniffed her as he poured her more coffee. He likes her
scent.”
“Ken's gay,” I countered absently. “Gay men prefer to
be intimate with other men.” At my comment, Ken stopped where he
was standing. His stillness was reminiscent of the proverbial deer
caught in headlights, and I felt heaviness in his silence. My face
turned in his direction, my brain processing Red’s running
commentary intermingled with my own new ideas.
“
I'm not really sure what you mean by 'intimate
with other men,’ but Ken definitely likes Janey's scent.”
“What?” Janey demanded, clearly confused by the
silence.
“Busted,” I replied, turning to face Janey. “It
appears Ken isn't batting for the other team after all.”
“Crap,” Ken cursed, under his breath.
****************
“Are you really 24?” Janey asked, carelessly
acknowledging to the room, her priorities were seriously screwed
up.
“Focus, Janey,” I interrupted, forcefully. “I'm more
interested in the fact this manly-man has seen me naked.”
“Arrrgggg!” Ken interjected to the conversation. “Is
it any wonder why I lied? I had been trying to get a job for months
before you offered me the position. Everyone seemed to discount me
because, stereotypically, personal assistants are women. I have a
gay brother who came up with the idea of pretending to be
homosexual so I could secure this job. More importantly, you needed
some possible medical care, and I
do
have a degree in
nursing, so I was a better fit for you.”
His voice took on a cajoling lilt, “Except for
misrepresenting my sexual preference, I’ve never lied to you. I
would never disrespect you and, don't take this the wrong way, but
you aren't my type. Yes, I
am
24, and sure, I've seen you in
various states of undress. But Teresa, you're my boss. I'm not
interested in you that way—no matter what the dog may or may not
have said.” In a rush, he concluded, “I really like this job. I'm
good at it, and I think we get along very well together. I want to
continue working for you.”
“Actually, Red seems to believe you and Janey have
the hots for each other. Did you really sniff her hair when you
poured her coffee?” I asked with a knowing grin. Janey cleared her
throat, but there was no other noise from her side of table. I was
forced to imagine the eye contact and nonverbal communication going
on. Deviously, I made a mental note to ask Red later. Red’s
potential cast a new twist on my previously dark reality. A full
smile, feeling much like a sunrise, dawned across my face.
“Since you’re no longer one of the girls, it may mean
we re-work some of the ground rules, but I think this relationship
works for us, Ken. I can't imagine opening my home to anyone else.”
I paused to think about our situation, “I will tell you though, the
idea you helped me pick out my bras is freaking me out a bit.”
New house rules were pretty simple and consisted of:
knock and wait for “Come in,” before entering rooms with a
closed-door. Once the new rule was in place, we discussed taking
Red to get a shampoo while Ken went shopping for pet supplies.
Ken gathered up the coffee cups and told us we needed
to get going. Subtle? Not.
While I glared daggers at his retreating form (I was
pretty sure there had still been a swallow or two of coffee
remaining in my mug), Janey ran down the day’s itinerary which
consisted of dropping Red at the groomer's, dropping me off at her
house while she stopped by her pharmacy and the library. Then she
would come back to her place and we would make lunch together.
Optimistic, I got up to grab my coat. Maybe we could
stop for coffee while we were en route?
I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket before I hung
my jacket on the peg in the entryway, casually tossing my purse and
Janey's house keys on the small table by the front door. Doing my
usual zombie imitation, I shuffled my way to the living room, and
placed my cell phone and sunglasses on the coffee table, before
reclining into Janey's couch. I rested against the back, leaning my
face sideways enjoying the butter-soft fabric.
We had shopped together for the couch set, and I
smiled at the remembrance of her dragging me from store to store to
find the exact shade of chocolate-brown she envisioned. Janey took
the shopping experience very seriously, insisting that, with every
piece, we snuggle back to test the height of the couches for
comfort. Then we bounced on cushions to make sure they weren't too
hard or too soft—you might imagine the teasing Goldilocks jokes I
came up with.
I was the one who spotted the pale golden brown
cluster of furniture at the fourth store we visited, and instantly
fell in love with it. The fabric was some type of soft microfiber
which tempted me to run my hands over the high-backed recliner.
Janey was mildly disappointed the set didn't come in the dark
chocolate she had been imagining, but as soon as she sank into the
couch’s plush embrace, she decided she could live with the lighter
color.
In my mind's eye, I was able to see the matching
loveseat arranged directly across from me, on the other side of a
low coffee table, and the rocker-recliner sat in the corner of the
room, by the fireplace, under the graceful arch of a Tiffany floor
lamp. It was a beautiful room; my favorite space in Janey's
house.
It only took a small roll of my head and I was
basking in the warmth of the sun streaming through one of the
living room’s large-paned windows. Inhaling deeply before a content
sigh, I detected the lemon scent of furniture polish, and a light
undertone of sandalwood against my cheek. I grinned; Janey was
caught up in the aromatherapy craze. She was always spritzing her
bed sheets with fragrances which, she insisted, would promote
better sleep. Therefore, it came as no surprise she had begun
spraying the furniture with scents too. It was a nice aroma, with
maybe a hint of lime, and some spice I didn't recognize.
Refreshing. Nothing like the cloying floral scents carried in most
chain stores.
I drew in a deeper breath—nope, still didn't
recognize it, but the fragrance was pleasant and I decided I would
like to get some for spraying on my window seat cushions. I could
think of nothing better than having the soothing scent of lime and
fragrant woods, encompassing me in my haven, as I listened to an
evening storm.
A light brush against my foot was my first indication
I was not alone in the large room. The touch was closely followed
by a rumbling purr and the weight of a small body hopping up on the
couch next to me. “Hey, Cat,” I greeted. Yep, her name was Cat.
Never let it be said Janey wasted precious time naming her pets—it
was a habit I hoped wouldn’t persist when she had children. I can
hear it now—
“I'd like to introduce you to my son, Boy.”
Poor
kid.
Purrs grew louder as the furball jumped onto the back
of the couch to run her face against my cheek before she settled
herself next to my head, pinning me down by my hair. Silly cat.
“And, where’d you come from? I would have thought you’d already
claimed in this spot, absorbing rays.” As I ruffled her fur
amiably, her spine lifted into my touch.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the quiet of the
room, disturbed only by the rumble of Cat’s mini-motor. Perhaps it
was the absence of Red’s chatter in my head, but I was startled to
realize how lonely I had become in the past year. Janey, Ken, and
now Red, were the extent of my contact with sentient beings.
“Hey Cat, wanna go bar hopping with me?” I smiled at
my absurdity, but continued, “I’ve suddenly realized, I haven't
been laid in almost three years now. I think it’s about time to
find Lover Number Three. What are your thoughts on this
matter?”
The gentle head-butt reinforced my own opinion.
“Yeah, maybe bar hopping is not the best option—it
never was before the accident, and there's no reason being blind
would improve the venture.” I ruffled her fur again to reward her
sage advice.
A random thought crossed my mind and I straightened
suddenly swinging my feet to the floor, yanking my hair out from
under Cat’s curled up body. The mini-motor cut abruptly, no doubt
in ruffled protest. “Holy crap, Cat! My assistant is a man!” I
could feel a flush of mortification heat my cheeks as I thought of
the things he does for me daily. I buried my face in my hands for a
moment. He has been puttering around in my house for over four
months now, putting away my clothes, and everything.
“There are toys in the bottom drawer of my
nightstand,” I confessed. Turning to look over my shoulder at Cat,
I added emphasis in case she underestimated the importance of my
words. “Yep,
THOSE
kinda toys.”
I let my body fall backward so my head bounced on the
couch back and screwed my eyes tightly shut as I rode the wave of
humiliation. With a dejected sigh, I tilted my head in the
direction of my new confidant, “So, you gotta be straight with me,
Cat. Is it more pathetic I am just now remembering I have a drawer
full of, most likely, dust-encrusted vibrators? Or that I am
worried, my recently not-so-gay assistant, might have been in the
drawer when he was learning where I keep my stuff?” I groaned as
another scenario came to mind. “Or, there's the third option—he's
helpfully left a package of batteries in the drawer.” Ah, man...
the more I thought this through, the more embarrassed I got.
“He's the compulsively thorough type who would have
diligently gone through the entire drawer and cataloged everything.
Vibrator? Check. Back up vibrator? Insert evil chuckle. Check.
Flavored lube? Probably unscrewed the cap and tasted it, the perv.”
I grumbled in disgust. “Life-like 8-inch dildo? Imagine raised
eyebrow. Check. Scarves and assorted 'body jewelry?’ Check, aaaaand
check.” At least he didn’t know I’d named them. No, it wasn’t a lot
of privacy, but I’m not sure I could have born the shame of
explaining Ricky, Buzz, and Oh-Henry.
“There are a few other things in that drawer you're
too young to know about, Cat, and I don't want it to be known I
corrupted you—so we won't discuss them.” Cat graced me with another
head butt and revved up the purr again. “I can imagine the
shit-eating grin on his face while he went through the drawer; he
probably even tried on the nipple clamps.”
I contemplated firing Ken.
The one-sided conversation continued with a dramatic
sigh. “Can't fire Ken, just because I will forever imagine him
tasting my personal lubricant.” Note to self, toss the banana lube
when I get home and get a bottle of Astro-Glide instead.
“Drat! If I fire him, Janey would never forgive me.”
At the momentary distraction from my angst, a bemused titter
escaped. That's one dance which could only end up in bed. I thought
it polite to warn Cat since we were bonding. “Ken is apparently not
gay. Which means those two will probably be yowling away in the
bedroom tonight, so don't be alarmed by all the heavy breathing and
smoochy noises. They will probably try to get as much sex in as
they can before Bas the Ass hits town.” Cat, predictably, had no
comment, although the purr motor did subside respectfully.
“Okay, so maybe Bastian isn't quite so bad, but let
me tell you Cat, it took me three years—three loooong years—before
I was able to gather enough courage to have sex after I saw the
size of him. Can you imagine seeing a cock that large, being used
with such vigor, when you’re a virgin? It was a huge deterrent,” I
chuckled at my unintended pun. “Only time I ever got drunk? Liquid
courage; worked up enough guts to do it for the first time with
some college guy. Average-sized equipment, thank goodness.”
A longer pause. A heavier sigh. “I'm lonely, Cat.” I
pulled her off the couch and buried my nose in her soft fur.
“Vibrators are fine and dandy if all I wanted was a quick orgasm.
But, unwinding myself with an orgasm in a couple of minutes is no
substitute for spending a quality hour or two with a man.”
Feeling foolish for my emotional display, I placed
Cat on the floor, and resumed my resting position against the
couch, eyes closed, turned toward the heat from the window. Cat,
being a cat, jumped right back up on the couch and began to
scent-mark my shirt. I gave in and placed her on my lap.
“I miss the intimacy. I miss the little shiver down
my spine when hot breath touches that sensitive spot at the nape of
my neck.” I reached up and touched the spot under discussion,
teasing the fine hairs there, imagining a warm exhalation. A
breathy hum escaped my lips; one that might have been a moan had
the touch not been imagined.