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09 April 2007 @ 07:15 pm
Everyone Argues with Their Cat--  
Place: Thorsten’s Studio/Apartment in Ginza
Date: Sunday August 20th

Hadn’t wanted to get up, and laying down in his shower, on his belly, hands resting on his crossed arms while the water beat down on his back—still didn’t want to be awake. Being awake meant dealing with—

(Your whoredom?)

--the damn cat who seemed far too amused by this turn of events. And smug, like he had some paw in this. Not that far fetched, really, consider he was having a conversation with the cat, to think the cat could just sneak himself right into Thorsten’s brain and play with it.

“ ‘m not a whore,” Thorsten mumbled back. “I’m a slut; if I was a whore I’d be rich.”

(Might want to look into a career change, then. This art thing doesn’t seem to be paying off.) Damn cat was curled up on his clothes again, that tip of his tail flicking back and forth lazily. Head down, eyes all but closed, watching him shower. (How’d the straight boy turn out—try to grab your tits?)

“Hard to do considering I don’t have any.” Didn’t want to argue with the damn furball. Didn’t want to think about the straight boy and his unending bizarreness. (Couldn’t be sure that he was exactly as straight as he claimed to be either. Didn’t seem to have too much of a problem with the fucking aside from a marked disinterest cock.) Just wanted to watch the water pooling in front of his arms, wondering how much would have to gather there for him to drown himself.

(And why exactly did you go for the straight boy? Got tired of all the gay boys and felt the need for a change? Going to go for a girl next?)

Thorsten lifted his head, felt the water running down against his chest, along the sides of his belly, draining away from the pool that had been building up. “Maybe I’ll go the furry route and develop a taste for cute kitty ass.”

(You shouted his name. Was he that good? He seemed to lack a certain finesse of technique.)

His name? Hadn’t shouted his name—didn’t remember doing it. Dragged him to the bedroom, kissed him, stripped him, sucked him, pulled him on the bed, kissed him more—turned over—fucked—strange that.

(My mistake.)

Kudo. Remembered that. Hadn’t shouted it, groaned it, somewhere near the end, half biting his own hand at the time—had wanted to shout it, didn’t know why. Didn’t even know who’s name it was.

(Gets sad when you can’t even remember who belongs to the name you shout when you’re getting fucked)

“Well you know, so many names to remember. Maybe I should just pick one and stick with it.” Lowered his head back down, chin blocking the flow of the water leaking out from under his arms, going back to watching it pool up.

(Maybe you should stop being an indiscriminate whore.)

“Maybe you should remember you’re just a fucking cat!” Sitting up now, wet hair dragging on his shoulders, water going over the side of the tube and the cat was just sitting there, cool and unconcerned as before. Licked his little nose.

(Maybe you should go practice your secondary profession and actually paint something.) Then the cat jumped down, not even a passing glare and was out of the door.