Open Up (Part 9)

Read part 8 here, or from the beginning, here. 

Celia got up to avoid the onslaught that would have been the full force of Barry Meowinglow. Heading downstairs, she went towards the kitchen to find something suitable to satiate her dear cat. She considered doing some washing, too, whilst she was at it. Maybe that would be a more productive way to spend her evening. 

She filled Mr. Meowinglow's bowl with a pouch of tuna goodness. Celia enjoyed the sounds of him munching away, despite them being a little... wet. If he was content, then that was the most important thing. 

If only it was as easy for her. The life of a cat was a sweet one. Although, that being said, Mr. Meowinglow's life had been filled with an almost improbable amount of disaster. Celia had adopted him at four months from a local rescue centre. His profile had stated that he was not very good with children, dogs, or other cats. He'd been found in a box outside the butchers. She had contemplated the reasoning behind this - was it the easiest location to dump the poor thing? Had they panicked and thought 'Ah, well at least the butchers will know what to do with it'. It was rather odd. But, at least Mr. Gillian had found Barry before he had starved or got too dehydrated. It was also probably where his obsession with venison sausages started, too. 

Barry seemed to attract disaster. A few months after she had taken him home and things were starting to look up, Barry went missing. He was gone for five days. Nobody knew where he'd been. They'd been posters and desperate Facebook pleas for his whereabouts, yielding no results. The silly thing had eventually turned up as though nothing had happened, shouting loudly outside the window. 

Then there'd been foxgate. Barry had nobly decided that defending the honour of his garden was to fall directly on his furry shoulders. The fight had been valiant, but ultimately, the fox got away worse. Celia watched it unfold. The fox, minding his own business, had then felt the heft of Barry Meowinglow coming at him full cat-sprint. It had been a sight to behold. Of course, the one scratch Barry had managed to come away with had ended up badly infected. 

He was still wonderful to her, though. Despite his affection levels dropping massively after food was safely deposited in his belly. 

Celia checked the time. 19:27. Was it really that early still? She supposed there was time to do the wash and maybe even get round to cleaning the kitchen. Perhaps after she could hop back online and get the American crowd. Although they were always the most unpredictable. She shuddered a little, recalling a very large man and his obsession with Clifford the Big Red Dog. That one had been a waste of good facepaint. Although the lead had sorta come in handy. 

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Read part 10 here.

 

To Y'all

I've been trying to create content that isn't the 'Open Up' series upon here. Yet, I've struggled to breach other topics, or - I suppose -  felt more compelled to continue writing this short series. For a while now.

Given that not much travel has been able to go down... the Joanne-doing-things-in-other-countries-stuff is out of the equation. And, I guess, I have not really had the spark - or urge - for different topics to continue with other blog posts.

But for now, I shall - maybe - work on one short story series for longer than any other. 

Who knows, though? 

Hopefully, you stay around and are keeping well, if you've decided to visit this blog, or stumbled across it. 

xoxo 

Open Up (Part 8)

Read part 7 here or from the beginning, here. 

The sailor socks went. After only twenty seconds of struggling.

Instead, her normal bestseller was the whole schoolgirl thing. Despite her own disgust at the whole kinda... well, nonce vibe, she worked with what she could. And what she had was a small body and a young-enough looking face. Apparently, she screamed "innocence" to the hordes that were into that. Particularly when performing with the pigtails.

Celia smelt the school uniform. At least, the small piece of material that dared call itself one. She hadn't got round to washing it properly since the last time. And when had that been? Tuesday? Wednesday? Christ. That was bad. Even for her. She sniffed again. Not that it smelt... bad. Just. Musty. 

And a little like her ylang-ylang lube. 

Nobody was really doing much in the chatroom. When they all started chatting amongst themselves like this it was always a weird one for Celia. Was she meant to keep doing what she was doing? Stop and try and join in the conversation? Tell them to shut it otherwise, she wouldn't bother? Yet, the slow flow of tokens that were trickling in at least made it kinda worth it. She could forget they weren't there and just dance to the music she had put on. 

Celia had made a few different playlists. This evening she had a playlist she had christened big boning bonanza which, in her head, had been very funny and clever. Her other playlists shared similar themes; a playlist to get ya kissed and horny beatz for crusty meat. She drew the line at anthems to make you cums. Couldn't bring herself to pluralise ejaculation like that. 

The tokens were drying up. Celia was left with a tie that reached an inch above her belly button and little else. Nobody wanted to take her into a private session, then. She could only dance for so long. And she would rather not give the lurkers in the chat a free show, either. Celia dragged her laptop so that she was back on her bed. Not her most flattering angle, but, whatever. There was a soft thud at her door, followed by a louder, more persistent noise. Looking up from her screen, she saw a flash of fur come striding into the room. 

Barry Meowinglow had entered, and he was hungry. 

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Read part 9 here.