by Barbara Hill
This story first appeared in the zine "Buns and Roses."
Click. Click. Click, click, click . . .
Catherine gripped the edge of the kitchen sink to keep from screaming out loud. The sound of someone talking filtered softly into the kitchen, and she sighed with relief. Maybe he found something that struck his fancy. Maybe . . .
No such luck. Wishing fervently that she'd never taught him how to use the television's remote control, Catherine resisted the urge to throw the glass she held in her hand against the wall. Finishing up the last of the supper dishes, she hurried to join him, wondering if she could possibly sneak the batteries out of that stupid little black box.
It really was beginning to drive her crazy. For the past several days, her usually ardent and more than willing lover, seemed more interested in the television — or more specifically the little black contraption that could control it from across the room without moving an inch. He never watched anything, he just flipped through the stations. One after the other. Constantly. It fascinated him.
At first, Catherine had found it funny and endearing. He was like a child with a new toy. Lately, though, it had become just plain annoying. She was getting tired of competing for his attention with the 'boob tube.' By the time she could lure him away from it, she was almost too tired and sleepy to enjoy their love making. Well, almost too tired.
Actually, her biggest complaint was that their physical relationship seemed to have taken a back seat to his sudden interest in the joys of a remote control and the five-hundred cable channels it put at his elegant fingertips. Okay, maybe it wasn't five-hundred channels, but it sure seemed like it at times when he started zapping through them.
Click. Click. Click. Click . . .
Catherine gritted her teeth and forced herself to think pleasant thoughts — about the first nights they'd spent in each other's arms, their hunger for each other unquenchable. Once they'd gotten past all the hurdles, Vincent had proven to be a wonderfully gentle and surprisingly demanding lover.
They had spent the better part of the past six months in bed willing and eager to learn all the joys of pleasing one another. Vincent would visit her on the pretext of having dinner with her — dinner was usually extremely late. He would come to take her for a visit Below — most of the time they never made it any further than her bedroom. She would go Below for some sight seeing — the only sight they generally saw was whatever guest chamber was available. Their desire for each other was insatiable those first few months and, damn it, Catherine missed it.
Catherine looked at the sink full of dishes she'd just finished. For the third time this week he had come for dinner and they had actually eaten dinner at a normal hour. Giving him food seemed to be the only way she could get his complete attention. But he'd eaten, then pounced on the television instead of her. Something had to be done. Fast! Catherine was horny, and it was time her big, cuddly lover got his priorities straight.
Catherine stood in the doorway watching him as he aimed the little black box directly at the set and pressed his finger to one of the buttons. He waited about three or four seconds and pressed another button.
She was sure he was never aware of what was on; he didn't stick to any one station long enough to know. Catherine had kept count once. Ten seconds between clicks was about his limit. That was the most frustrating part about it. Vincent didn't watch anything. He just played with all those silly buttons.
She watched him in amazement — the way he held the box, the way he pushed the buttons. Vincent did everything differently, even to flicking through the stations on a television set. Most people held the thing flat in the palm of their hand, using their thumb to control the buttons, but not Vincent. He held the remote so that his palm covered the top of it, using his index finger to push the buttons.
She watched as his nimble fingers moved swiftly, surely over the remote control and fantasized about other places he could be moving them. Catherine shivered with instant arousal, and Vincent just sat there switching stations. Normally all she had to do was think erotic thoughts around him and she'd find herself flat on her back, blanketed by his powerful body, and staring into a storm of blue thunder. Usually he could 'feel' her need for him from Below and he would come running. Now, she was little more than ten feet away from him and he couldn't sense her needs. Was it possible for remote control waves to block the connection that bound them together, she wondered?
Something was definitely blocking their signals. Maybe it was time for her to find a remote control of her own. Catherine walked to stand behind him where he sat on the couch and leaned down to kiss the top of his golden mane. She nuzzled his cheek and wrapped her arms around his neck, hoping to glimmer some of the attention he gave the television set for herself — no luck.
One furry hand patted hers where it lay on his chest while the other one again played with the buttons on the remote. Catherine stifled the slight twinge of jealousy she felt — not that he would notice. But she sure didn't want him to know that she was jealous of a box for pity's sake. Besides, if the day ever came that she couldn't get his attention away from anything, let alone an inanimate object, she'd hang up her title of woman!
Vincent may very well be fascinated by all those little buttons at his fingertips, but Catherine had a few buttons of her own that he seemed to enjoy playing with. Perhaps it was just a matter of reminding him.
A tiny sliver of her emotions must have broken through his preoccupation. Catherine seemed upset about something. Leaning back to look up at her, he smiled tenderly, whispering softly, "Is something wrong, Catherine?" and promptly turned back to stare at the television before she could give him an answer.
Catherine was livid! And he barely noticed! ‘Enough is enough!’ she thought to herself. She'd heard about this happening, but never dreamed it could possibly happen to him. He was so intellectual, so deep, so . . . above all this.
Catherine patted his broad shoulders. "No, Vincent. Everything is fine. I think I'll slip into something comfortable." 'Like your arms,' she thought silently to herself. She watched to see if he would rise to the bait. No response. This was really getting bad.
"You wait here, Vincent." 'Like I could get you away from the television with anything less than a stick of dynamite,' she thought to herself. "I'll only be a moment."
Vincent mumbled something incoherent and continued flipping through the channels. Catherine left him to his buttons and went to find something that would help get his mind off the cold, hard box he held and unto something just as responsive, but softer and warmer — herself.
Catherine's closet was filled with light, frilly night wear bought for the sole purpose of driving this gorgeous blond hunk sitting in her living room completely crazy with lust, but this situation called for something really special. Something that could make Vincent forget a two by four inch black box and the television it controlled.
She pulled out a cream colored gown. Perfect! She hadn't tried this one on him yet. She was saving it for a special occasion, but now was as good a time as any to see if it was worth the price she’d paid for it.
Catherine had been attracted to this gown from the moment she saw it. It was ankle length with long sleeves and a tight fitting bodice that fell from a lacy ruffle around the neck. It covered her from her shoulders to her feet. All in all, the gown was very demure looking, except for the fact that it was sheerer than the curtains hanging on her terrace doors. You could see straight through it!
Holding the gown up to the light, Catherine smiled in smug satisfaction. If this didn't work, nothing would. She went into the bathroom, emerging several minutes later, face freshly scrubbed, hair brushed to a shiny brilliance and wearing nothing but the gown and a very sexy smile.
Taking a moment to check herself in the mirror, Catherine added just the tiniest spritz of Vincent's favorite perfume before storming to the living room, ready to do battle.
"Vincent?" Her voice was soft, husky. It was the voice she used when she was 'in the mood' which seem to be all the time whenever he was around. There was no immediate response. Catherine watched the television set for a moment, catching him between channels. "Vincent?"
He spared her a brief glance over his shoulder, murmuring, "Yes, Catherine?" before turning just as quickly back to the television. Catherine watched as his shoulders straightened and he turned slowly to look at her again; really look at her this time. She definitely had his attention.
Vincent stared wide-eyed at the vision of beauty before him. Catherine stood framed in the doorway. The light from the bedroom filtered through the sheer gown she wore, affording him a good look at her soft curves.
Catherine stifled the urge to rush into his arms, and instead waited several moments to allow the situation to truly sink into his head. Besides, she really did like the way he looked at her.
Her skin tingled deliciously as his eyes traveled the full length of her body from head to toe and back again, their sapphire depths flashing blue fire. Their bond opened fully and Catherine trembled as she felt his desire reach out to engulf her.
Vincent's gaze remained riveted to her slender body as she walked slowly toward him. Moving around to the front of the couch, she stood directly in front of the television, determined to keep his attention. She needn't have worried. Vincent had eyes only for his Catherine.
Her creamy skin blended with the pale gown, her silhouette was outlined perfectly against the glow from the television. Vincent's eyes lingered enviously on the bodice of the gown gently caressing her firm breasts. Their darkened tips poked enticingly through the thin fabric, hard and inviting. The scent of her arousal invaded his senses, and his eyes clouded with barely controlled passion.
Catherine reached for Vincent's hand — the one holding the remote control. Pulling him to his feet, she wrapped her free arm around his waist, whispering softly, "Why don't you turn it off, Vincent."
Without taking his eyes off of her, Vincent aimed the box in the vague direction of the television set and pushed the off button.
Still holding his hand, Catherine led him toward the bedroom. At the door, she stopped long enough to lean up on tiptoes and kiss him.
Vincent shuddered in her embrace as her tongue invaded his mouth, probing and tasting his thoroughly. Catherine molded her tiny frame tightly against his as her mouth continued its gentle attack.
Vincent's arms came up to wrap around her, pulling her closer. Strong hands caressed her back through the sheer fabric and Catherine was suddenly aware that he was still holding the remote control.
Pulling back slightly, she reached for the box.
"Why don't you let me have this, Vincent." He relinquished his treasure willingly. Catherine brought his hand to her lips, placing a kiss on the rough palm. "I'm sure we can find something else for your hands to play with." She kissed him again.
Vincent smiled sheepishly. "I have neglected you tonight, haven't I, Catherine?" His eyes lowered shyly as she nodded slowly. Leaning down, he brushed her mouth delicately with his own in a feathery kiss. "And not just tonight, either. Please forgive me, Catherine." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "I'm sure I can make it up to you if you'll let me."
Wriggling against him provocatively, Catherine grinned — a decidedly wicked grin that shook Vincent to his very core. "You can count on it, Vincent."
She gripped the offending black box firmly. "I'll be right back." She kissed him lightly to quell the objection she saw in his eyes. "I'll only be a minute. Promise."
Vincent watched impatiently as she disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, a familiar sound broke through the silence. Catherine returned carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. He glanced over her shoulder at the sound still coming from the kitchen, then back at her, a look of curiosity on his face.
Catherine shrugged her small shoulders nonchalantly. "I forgot to run the trash compactor earlier. Thought I should take care of it before I forget again."
Maneuvering herself between Vincent and the light from the doorway, Catherine held up the bottle of wine. Her smile was soft, seductive, capturing his full attention. "Coming?"
Catherine's blood turned to liquid fire as Vincent's eyes once more hungrily devoured the sight of her silhouetted curves. Her body trembled with expectation, and she felt no guilt whatsoever for her little white lie.
Vincent slowly lowered his head to claim her mouth in a passionate kiss that left Catherine giddy with desire. Moaning softly, she leaned against his strong frame, her hands tugging urgently at his clothes in a sudden, desperate need to feel the velvety thick fur that covered his chest and arms.
Vincent eagerly assisted and in a matter of minutes his clothes were scattered on the floor. Catherine held her hands up over her head in blatant invitation and her silken gown quickly joined his pile of discarded clothes. As they came together, naked flesh against naked flesh, she had no more doubts. She had his undivided attention, and he hers.
Growling deep in his throat, Vincent swept Catherine up in his powerful arms. He laid her on the bed, then stepped back slightly to gaze down at the tiny form of the woman he loved beyond anything he could ever imagine. Her smile lit up her eyes and silently conveyed her own feelings to him.
Vincent looked at Catherine in awe, and wondered what his Beloved would think if she knew of his secret. Would she think him completely mad if she knew he often visited the Whispering Gallery to shout aloud his greatest joy? He would stand there among the myriad of disjointed conversations and scream at the top of his lungs the one thing that still amazed him and probably always would. Catherine loves me! Catherine wants me!
Even after six months of being lovers, Vincent could scarcely believe that Catherine truly desired him. Although he knew in his heart that he would never understand how she could love him so completely and freely, Vincent accepted her love gratefully as one of the mysteries of life that would probably never be understood.
Catherine's eyes raked his muscular body appreciatively. She reveled in his golden beauty, and in the knowledge that his naked body was a sight only she was privileged to see. Her heart soared with pride as one mutual thought flickered through the special bond they shared. Two minds with but one thought — 'Mine.'
Catherine held out her arms to him and Vincent came to her without the slightest hesitation. Their bodies melted together as one. Hands caressed and petted, lips kissed and nibbled, creating a frenzy of lust only they could create or satisfy in each other.
Vincent's strong hands stroked her body, gently kneading her breasts before sliding down to cup the patch of dark curls between her thighs. Catherine's breath caught in her throat as she waited anxiously for his touch. Her hands clutched his shoulders, her eyes pleaded for him to continue. Her voice was low, husky with emotion as she whispered, "I told you I could find something more interesting for your hands to play with."
His shaggy head nodded silently and his uniquely beautiful mouth curved slightly in a sly smile. Catherine shivered as she caught a glimpse of sharp canines that her body ached to feel against her skin.
Vincent's eyes darkened with unleashed passion as he carefully slid his fingers into her moist softness to tease the tiny nub that was the very center of her desire. Catherine whimpered, arching her body against his hand.
The growl in his chest deepened as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You always could, Catherine. You always could." All thoughts of televisions and remote controls were soon completely replaced by the passions and desires still so very new to him.
And true to his word, as always, Vincent did make it up to Catherine.
Much later, contented and sated, her head resting on Vincent's chest, Catherine listened to the sound of her own personal lullaby — the steady beating of her lover's mighty heart and the soft purring sound he made when he was happy and content. She could tell from his even breathing that Vincent was already sound asleep.
Her own eyes closed heavily, but shortly before sleep claimed her, Catherine made a mental note to dispose of the remote control for the VCR. Hopefully, the trash compactor could withstand one more onslaught of heavy duty plastic. Even if it couldn't, she would gladly replace it. She wasn't taking anymore chances.