Cath, Lick, Guilt

“I can tell you about Catholic guilt,” she said.

I was intrigued. Religion has never been a source of clarity for me. I wouldn’t say I am ruling out the idea of God but I haven’t seen any proof either. What do they call people like me? Am I agnostic? I think that’s what I told her I was.

Catherine married very young.

Her husband was her high school sweetheart and both had only had sex with each other.

We had only been on a few dates but one afternoon in North Sydney, Cath really opened up about her past. I let her speak, as the more I listened, the more she told.

“My parents were so conservative when I was growing up,” she sighed.

“Both are ex-school teachers and my older brother and I went to very strict Catholic schools.”

“I met this Italian guy, who I married at 21. He went to the boys school across from mine and we met at a church function.”

“He established his own business straight out of school and used to spoil me a lot but I ended it after six years.”

I often wonder why women stay in relationships for such a period of intolerable monotony.

“What made you decide to end it,” I prodded.

“It just got the stage, where I wanted more than five minutes of missionary and a debrief of the day’s office politics.”

“My mother was so disappointed in me when I told her I wanted a divorce. It was like I had committed a violent crime, like I had disrespected God.”

Cath had a little dog. He was her happiness, her little boy. She had brought him along in a doggie backpack, where he was waiting patiently for us big people to finish our coffee.

Dogs aren’t usually that patient. I was about to learn why the little pooch was so well behaved.

After one skim latte, Cath ordered another two. Together. The waiter brought out two skim lattes for her and another flat white for me.

“What? I love my coffee. Are you in a hurry?” she snapped.

“No, no. Two lattes, hey? That’s pretty impressive,” I replied.

“So, you’re divorced and by the way, thank you for being so honest. What’s your attitude towards God and sex now?”

She smiled.

“I don’t believe in God anymore,” she said, with relief.

“I have been looking after myself and enjoying the single life. I think it’s time to get a little more serious now but we’ll see.”

“I like you.”

“I can tell,” I said, with a little too much confidence.

After Cath finished her two lattes, to my surprise, she asked me whether I wanted another one. She called the waiter over and asked for yes, a skim latte. I love my coffee, but seriously, four in a row? That seemed a bit intense. I opted for some water.

“I need to get this little fluff ball of mine off to the groomer. How about I give you my address and you come round for dinner?” she said.

“Sure, what are we having?” I replied.

“It’s a surprise. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” she said, in a forthright tone.

“Nope. A carnivore,” I replied.

“Good. I’m a maneater,” she said, with a sinister yet sexy smile.

Cath reached into her bag and pulled out her purse, motioned to the waiter and paid the bill. She then grabbed her iPhone and sent me a text with her address.

My iPhone vibrated immediately.

“There you go,” she said.

She lent in and gave me a kiss, picked up her backpack and said goodbye. I waived to her little doggie, which made her smile and she was gone.

I sat there thinking that she was very sweet and potential girlfriend material. A serious contender for taking me off the market. Although, we hadn’t slept with each other yet, so I couldn’t make the judgement call.

It was about 7pm and I pulled up outside her place. It was an old cottage.

I knocked on the door.

Cath answered, “I’m coming” as the barking proceeded.

There he was. He looked like a different dog. He was all cut and washed. All spiffy.

I was invited in and sat at the dining table, while she put her finishing touches to her meal. Handed a glass of red, Cath grabbed my hand and gave me the tour.

From the outside, the place looked like a rundown bungalow but inside, it was nicely renovated with polished floorboards and high ceilings. Cath had obvious taste. Her style was minimalist but still warm, matching her persona.

One glass of red turned into five. This lady does nothing in small doses. We sat at the dining table and ate. She had cooked pasta with meatballs and some sauce I can’t for the life of me remember the name of but I damned wish I could. It was amazing. I guessed her ex-mother-in-law taught her how to make it but never asked.

I had barely digested my meal when she grabbed me and started to get frisky.

She got up and went towards her bedroom. Before she faded out of the light, she turned and said, “Come on, this way.”

I had a serious boner.

By the time I got to her bedroom she had undressed. There was no time to think about anything. She wanted it, and now.

As I got undressed, she grabbed my cock and started stroking. She then started licking my shaft like a dripping gelato.

We went at it for a while and after my moment of glory, she wanted to go again.

And then again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And… again.

Where did Cath go? Who was this nymphomaniac?

I’m all for some intense, long and passionate lovemaking but please, I’m not a fuck toy!

I had to pee, so I went down the hall to the bathroom. When I came back, Cath was lying on her stomach masturbating.

This was too much for me.

In that moment, I felt completely emasculated.

I gave her a kiss and said I had to go. She was disappointed. She wanted to go another round. I’d obviously brought the wrong clubs. She wanted wood and I brought a putter.

She never called.

I thanked God.


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