The Outskirts

I have four cats. And since I know what’s right, I also have four identical food bowls. At feeding time, I leave enough space between the bowls, so each cat can circle unhindered and freely decide in which direction it wants to hunker down and eat. I place equal amounts of Meow Mix in each of the four bowls. I’m very careful about that. And yet, we still have arguments over the food.

There are no loud or overtly aggressive displays, my cats are too cultured for alley cat behavior. Claws remain sheathed and rarely a sound is heard from a feline throat. But they all have an unlimited arsenal of indignant stares.

My cats are fairly democratic. Any one of them may rule on any given day and size is not always a factor. I don’t have any intact toms; everyone within the pride pads on equal footing. Dominance is only for the moment and they may sleep peacefully after dinner, only inches apart in the sunshine.

Human territorial behavior is less harmonious. While pleasantries are initially exchanged, once a group settles into its dynamics, the struggle for power begins. Human social order is rigid and permanent. It is based on the majority principle and enforces strict norms and standards. Like pack behavior, it celebrates the typical and predictable. And it has very little tolerance for the extraordinary.

The people who live with us, work with us, or go to school or church with us display various levels of social skill, determined by how well they understand and adhere to these standards. Those who move within them easily, find each other almost by instinct and form powerful cliques. The rest of us are expected to hover at the outskirts and beg for crumbs.

I know the outskirts. I’ve lived there most of my life. But I’m creative and resourceful enough, I have no need for leftovers. There is more room here, away from the cliques. Wide expanses beckon and tempt my sense of adventure. And the outskirts are populated by some of the most fascinating, impressive, and unusual individuals.

In a cat world, I would be floating in and out of power circles, but in a cat world it’s all about food. As a human, I understand the finer points of hierarchy, but I ignore them. I care little for scraps of tolerance handed out by the ‘in’ crowd. Although I understand cliques, I don’t need them and I have no desire to join. I enjoy living away from tightly knit circles. I feel comfortable here and I continue to meet the remarkable folks who have courageously carved their personal path into the fabric of society.

So, don’t pity us, clique dwellers. We from the outskirts live and dream in a rich world. We don’t require handouts. We don’t depend on your benevolence. And we really have more clout than you think!

Latent Fire

I admire the gentle slope of your broad shoulders. Your long ebony hair curls around your ears and tumbles down your back like water spilling over a rugged rock. Strong jaw line defines a clean shaven chin and cheek, Café-au-Lait skin with golden over tones.

Stand tall! Your chest is miles wide, inviting me to throw myself against it, seeking shelter from the cold. I raise my eyes. Your lips, slightly parted and more brown than red, accentuate your exotic good looks. Heavy brow ridges, distinctive of your racial heritage, overshadow dark, expressive eyes. Your eyelids slightly lowered, you study me under thick, black lashes.

Do not reach for me yet! Let the moment linger. There is no rush, I am already captivated. With my finger, I trace the smooth swell of muscles on your bare, brown arms. I feel you shiver slightly, but otherwise, you remain still.

You breathe warmly against me. So very near you, I lose my resoluteness. I see it in your eyes that you want me, but you make no move. The merest hint of a smile embellishes your face, giving your eyes a deeper glow.

Do not drop your eyes! Do not break the magic to steal a look at my breasts. There is ample time for that later. Keep me captive and listen how my breath catches in my throat, as my legs weaken. Burn your gaze into mine with that latent fire, which softens and bends my will and entices me to yield. Let me sense your desire and drink in the silent promise, until I believe you will fulfill it.

Your arms reach around me and your warm hands touch lightly against the goosebumps on my skin. You know you have me yearning now. You run your hands over me with a feathery touch, pausing briefly to put gentle pressure against my spine. Right above my belt, you find a smidgen of bare flesh and you rake your nails across it, making me gasp.

My vision blurs and my knees are about to buckle. Aware of your effect on me, yet still surprised by its magnitude, you bend to kiss me, ever so tenderly. Your tongue probes my mouth and your hands bury in my hair. I moan as you gently bite my bottom lip. You stop and our eyes lock, fire against fire, as we reveal our passion. I can no longer resist. I must surrender.

Like a master musician, you play me. You tremble with want, but you restrain yourself and with your self-control, you set me ablaze. Heat and fear tumble together in my belly and spread a dangerous ache through my shivering body. I hold out just a little longer, just one more delicious, autonomous moment before I yield. Now I am yours and I will bear the pain and the joy without reservation.

You move with purpose now, knowing you will have me, knowing I am powerless to refuse. For as long as the fire burns, as long as the momentum carries us, I am weak and you may own me. For as long as my enchantment lasts, I will accommodate you, unresisting, passionately, willingly, in complete submission.