The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (17 page)

He wrapped her in his arms. "What is your
bear's name, my American Princess?"

A fairytale princess in her lovers arms, she
spoke from her heart, "I Love Only You Bad Brad.... Please ask me
my bear's name again."

"Tell me your bear's name three more times,"
he said.

"I Love Only You, I Love Only You, I Love
Only You, I Love Only You, I..."

* * *

The last thing Brad remembered thinking was,
why me? I'm loony as a lemming in love with a princess who can't
count.

Betty-Jo looked delectable, and Brad pinched
himself to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. She was where he had
left her three hours earlier, sprawled half across his chest, and
half on PussCat's side of the bed.

I'd better build a bed-in-a-box for the
furball, or I'll find myself in the middle of another cat fight. It
seemed unlikely that B-J would settle for a box, now that she was
his roommate, and he'd have to buy a satin sheet for PussCat's new
bed. The females and felines in his life quickly became partial to
satin sheets, and then refused to part with them.

Good thing I'm not paranoid, he thought. It
would be easy to conclude that my main attraction is my sheets.

He basked in Betty-Jo's splendor before he
tried to slip out from under her, but she must have felt him
moving, because she opened her eyes and grabbed him. He was already
interested.

"See, Bad Brad," she said drowsily, but with
a twinkle in her eyes, "you miss me already."

"What's better than chocolate covered
almonds?" he asked.

"Your Joystick?"

He grinned at her. "Besides that."

"I give up."

"Awakening in the arms of Betty-Jo Chance,
the morning after a night of primeval fellowship."

"Primeval it was, fellowship it wasn't. Mixed
sex coupling definitely happened." Then, still clutching him, she
stretched like a cat: one arm raised above her head, her toes
pointed, her muscles tensed. The hand that held him squeezed until
he was in pain.

As he watched her stretch, with the sun's
first rays of morning flitting about in the yellowish tan of her
hair, he had the impression that he'd awakened a sensuous tawny
cat.

"You look like PussCat when you stretch—you
look like a big beguiling tawny cat. Do you always stretch that
way?"

"Every morning. Most people need a cup of
coffee to start their day, I need to stretch."

"Promise me, Tawny Cat, that in the morning,
before you stretch, you'll wake me. That's the sexiest thing I've
ever seen."

"Right. Stretch, and then sweep."

He grinned. "Better yet, stretch, sweep, and
then make love with me."

She raised her arms above her head, and
stretched for his enjoyment: her breasts jutting upward, her toes
pointing, and her legs parted. He rolled onto his side, and ran his
hand over his tawny animal, mesmerized by her taut, exquisite
splendor.

With the dawn embracing the night, Brad
embraced his tawny cat. Then they made slow, sensuous, passionate
love, until he slipped back to sleep, still awake inside her.

When he awoke a second time, he phoned
Cynthia's Lingerie. "That sounds like you, Cynthia."

"Brad! How are you? And how are your satin
sheets treating you?"

"Better than ever, because now I have someone
to share them with. But I have to buy her some lingerie, and I've
no idea what I'm doing."

"Does she know that?"

"No.... This is embarrassing. She thinks I'm
an authority on women's underwear."

"'Oh what a tangled web we weave.
When...'"

"I know, deceiving, and all that. I didn't
say I was proud of myself."

"Come on in. I'll help you out—this
time."

"I owe you, Cynthia. See you in a couple of
hours." His call complete, he warmed a couple of croissants, and
hand squeezed some oranges for breakfast. Then he wrote a poem.

In Love With Tawny Cat—Forever

My love sprang from my heart,

With your touch and your kiss.

It was the dawn of a love,

That will dwell in my soul—

Forever

* * *

Betty-Jo found Brad's poem on her pillow. As
she read it, her tears flowed. What he said in his poem, was what
her heart was telling her. How does he know, she asked herself. My
lover must be reading my heart.

When she had finished dressing—or in the case
of her panties, not dressing—she hurried to Brad, and pulled
herself against him.

"I can't believe I slept with you on our
first date."

"That's only one of the many reasons why I
love you."

"I thought men didn't respect women who slept
with them first time out."

He kissed her lips softly. "Only the stupid
ones," he said.

She moved against him, and wiped her tears on
his shoulder. ..."Speaking of love, I love your poem. I'll cherish
it always."

"Funny thing, 'In Love With Tawny
Cat—Forever', says exactly what I feel, but it's as if I didn't
write it. Maybe Venus gave it to me."

"Why would she do that?"

"I think she watches over me. It was Venus
who gave me our secret kiss."

"What? I don't believe that! Venus knows our
secret kiss?"

"Yes," he suddenly looked concerned, "but
she's on our side."

"On our side! She could give our kiss to any
dork, and I'd have to sleep with him!"

"You worry too much," he said, but he looked
even more concerned.

"Maybe I do. But I'm still thanking you for
the poem, the secret kiss, breakfast, and most of all,"—her eyes
had a decidedly naughty look—"for last night and this morning." She
kissed him hungrily. "I'm mad that not wearing panties for you,
makes me feel wicked. Do you think I'm wicked?"

"If it makes you feel better, D. H. Lawrence
believes that 'unless a woman has a tiny streak of harlot in her,
she's a dry stick.'"

"That does make me feel better, but what do
you think?"

"No problem, if all you have is a tiny streak
of harlot, but I'm afraid you're well past tiny. It's doubtful that
even immersion in a tub of holy water could save you now." He
smoothed her hair, and grinned at her.

"I knew it! I am oversexed!"

"If you are, that's yet another reason for me
to love you. But if you're still concerned about your sexual
appetite, there's a place in Columbia called Love and Sex Addicts
Anonymous. For a small fee they'll take care of your problem."

"How?"

"They'll sell you a vibrator." He looked
amused.

"So you think I need a vibrator?"

"Nope. You already have a vibrator, and you
can use whenever you want. I'll show you where it's kept." He put
her hand down the front of his pants—a mistake, because she got a
firm grip on his joystick, and then refused to let it go. He was
forced to follow her back to the bedroom where a problem named
PussCat had reclaimed her side of the bed.

"Brad, you can't undress me with that cat
staring at me."

"Just ignore her." He took off her skirt.

"I'm trying to, but I can't."

He grinned at her. "I was speaking to
PussCat. ...Ow!"

She grinned back at him. "That'll teach you
to make fun of someone who's holding your thing."

Minutes later, with PussCat removed, they
were frolicking once again. At least they were frolicking until
PussCat jumped back onto the bed, and peed on Brad.

Betty-Jo laughed gleefully at him. "I don't
believe it. That feline of yours is no lady."

Brad moved PussCat onto the floor. "Perhaps
not. But she's a feline that loves me."

"Am I the only one here who thinks she has a
strange way of showing it?"

"PussCat was marking me. Telling you that I
belong to her, like she told you last night, when she attacked you.
By now she probably thinks you're hearing impaired."

"I'll be darned! Well she can't have you. If
I pee on you too, would that get it through her furry head that you
now belong to the big tawny cat?"

He tossed her his grin again. "I haven't
known you long enough to be certain, but there's a distinct
possibility that you are one very sick puppy."

***

As Betty-Jo and Brad drove east to a mall
near the Intracoastal Waterway, she rubbed against him. "How can it
be, that yesterday I barely knew you, and today I'm tits-over-toes
in love with you?"

"If you believe Plato, what you have is a
grave mental disease."

"Plato may be right, I don't feel at all
sane. I'm living beyond love. I've lost my virginity, and I've lost
my heart."

"Be careful," Brad cautioned. "Losing your
virginity might be considered unlucky, but if you've also lost your
heart, that's starting to look like carelessness."

She hit him. "So you think that before long,
I'll have to keep my soap on a rope?"

"Don't feel too badly about what's happened
to you. As one wit put it: 'Every maiden's weak and willin', when
she meets the proper villain.'"

"Maybe your wit guy's right. Maybe women do
automatically believe that they're in love with the scoundrel who
first separates them from their panties."

"While it's too late for you to make a U-turn
to reclaim your virginity, perhaps it's not too late for you to
reclaim your heart. Take two Advil, and get a good night's sleep.
If you're still in love with me in the morning, we'll hire an
exorcist."

She frowned. "Be serious. I'm afraid that I
love you too much."

"Don't be. 'Cause when it comes to you loving
me, too much still isn't enough. I'm one of those people who
believes that 'love is the only gold.'"

"'Love is the only gold.'" She thought for a
moment. "That's nice, because like gold, I know my love for you is
insoluble—it isn't going to dissolve away."

"Have you tried salt and soda water."

"That works on red wine spills, but you know
that it won't work on what you've done to my heart. How did I ever
become so in love with you so quickly?"

"Maybe it's only lust."

"It's that as well. It must be some kind of
love-lust, because I love you best when we're making love."

He ran his fingers through her hair. "I
hesitate to tell you this, but you've been tricked into loving
me."

She undid a button on his shirt, and ran her
hand over his chest. "And who did the tricking? You?"

"Who else?"

"And now you're going to tell me how you made
me fall for you."

"Aren't you insightful this morning. First I
tried prayer."

"So I'm the answer to your prayers?"

He braked Old-yellow to avoid a crazed kid on
a skateboard. "For sure. But you might also be the answer to my
affirmations."

"Your affirmations?"

"Don't you use affirmations in your tennis
training?"

"No."

He parked Old-yellow. "Don't tell me I'm
going to have to be responsible for your tennis instruction as well
as your sex education?"

"Maybe, I do love your sex lessons."

"Back to affirmations. If you repeat a phrase
over and over, it becomes part of your subconscious beliefs. The
subconscious mind is stupid. It can't distinguish between reality
and fantasy, so it will believe whatever you tell it. That's why
people are dismayed about violence on TV. If violence is seen often
enough, the subconscious accepts it as fact, not fiction."

"So I'm in love with you because of violence
on TV?"

"More likely because of this." He slid his
fingertips along her inner thigh. "I'll give you an example of an
affirmation that's closer to your sandbox. Let's say that a
virtuous virgin is made to say, over and over, 'I love only you,
Brad'. In reality, this Brad person irritates our virtuous virgin,
but her subconscious mind believes what she's telling it. So it
looks for reasons to love the guy, and then feeds those reasons
back to her conscious mind. Before long she's in love with
him."

"At least now, our virtuous virgin has
something to blame her idiocy on."

"Just as well, because the next thing she
knows, she's in his bed, and a short time later, she's no longer
virtuous or virgin. If it's any consolation for you, I do feel
guilty about using affirmations to make you fall for me—but I
needed you, and I will always need you—badly!"

"I should have suspected. And here I thought
I loved you because of your broad shoulders, slim hips, dimples,
rugged good looks, and enchanting grin. Nor should I forget your
charm, noble character, and cleverly disguised intellect."

Brad laughed. "Nope—it's the affirmations.
What's your bear's name?"

An amused Betty-Jo smiled. "Now what's that
hand of yours up to?" she asked. It had been playing with her
pussy.

"It's just checking."

"Checking? Checking for what?"

"Well, it knows that you've lost your cherry,
but it wants to make sure that 'you still have the box that your
cherry came in.'"

Betty-Jo laughed. "Idiot," she said....

When Betty-Jo and Chad walked arm-in-arm into
Cynthia's Lingerie, an attractive saleslady came over. "Brad, how
nice to see you again."

"Even better seeing you, Cynthia. You look
fabulous." They traded smiles. "Cynthia France, Betty-Jo
Chance."

Cynthia smiled politely at her, and she
smiled politely back.

"What are you looking for today?" Cynthia
said.

"I need bras, panties and garter belts for
B-J, and a satin sheet for my pussycat."

"Why don't we take care of B-J first,"
Cynthia said, while maintaining eye contact with Brad. "She has a
thirty-six inch chest with a double D cup, a twenty-four inch
waist, and thirty-seven inch hips, so a size five panty. Of course
you know where everything is. The bras are here. We have a good
selection of deep-plunge and demi-cup bras, with or without lace
trim. The panty size you want is in the next isle over, and the
garter belts are across from the panties. Try a few items on your
friend—see how she looks. When you have her looking the way you
want her, give me a call, and I'll double check the fit."