I straightened up and ruffled Mr. Whiskers fur. "That does it, I think," I said, dropping the tack hammer on the bed and scratching at the back of
my neck. I looked around and giggled. "You know, Lisa... this might qualify as an improvement."
She cocked her head. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it's just that you didn't have any decorations in here -- no pictures, no posters, no g-strings tacked to your wall to remind you of your
past conquests...." I grinned and stuck my tongue out at her startled expression. "I mean, the paint job was nice and all, but there was nothing to
break up the lines. Now, at least, you can say you have a wall hanging."
"Not much of a wall hanging," she remarked. I had to agree. The large tarps we'd spent the better part of the past twenty minutes tacking to
the walls, ceiling, and floor were not especially decorative. Of course, now that I thought about it, I was going to have to do something about the lack of
decoration in the bedroom. Nothing fancy, maybe a portrait or two behind leaded glass, a fake ficus in the corner -- a real one wouldn't last a single
night, or possibly, might be mutated into a man-killing vegetable of mass destruction. We couldn't risk it, not with the rads we tended to pump out. With
great power, and all that...
I realized that Lisa was saying something to me, and dragged my focus back to her. Not that focusing on her is ever difficult, but --
(Pay attention, Rhea,) Mr. Whiskers said firmly. Oops.
"Sorry, I got distracted. What'd you say?"
She blew an exasperated sigh, but was smiling. "I asked if you were ready to get started."
"Always!" I replied, and couldn't help but grin as Lisa shook her head and chuckled. She favored me with a small smile, then without further
words reached down and caught hold of the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion. Next she unbuttoned and removed her
shorts, wriggling out of the tight material in a fashion that was more than a little distracting. Her boots were down the hall by the front door, so no need
to worry about those. She gathered up her discarded clothing, tossed a glance at me over her shoulder, and said,
"Enjoying the view?"
I nodded.
She dropped her clothes into the shielded hamper and sat down on it, wincing momentarily as the cold metal touched her skin, then regarded me steadily.
"Your turn."
"R-right." I tossed Mr. Whiskers to Lisa, who caught him easily and settled him on the hamper beside her, then set about removing my own clothes. I
was wearing the outfit Lisa had loaned me a long time ago -- jeans tighter than my tights and a t-shirt that looked like it was painted on -- so I had to do my
own fair share of wiggling and stretching to 'divest myself of garments', as they say. I kept one eye on Lisa the whole time, and aside from the hint
of a smile twitching her lips, she didn't show any expression. It was like I was an academic curiosity -- come, fellow scientists and men of learning, let
us observe the female of the species as she prepares to mate!
As usual, Mr. Whiskers chimed in with a comment that got me giggling. (Those would be some lucky scientists,) he observed. Lisa raised an eyebrow.
"Mr. Whiskers again?" she inquired. I nodded. She reached out and scritched him behind the ears, and I shivered.
"Stop that," I said.
"Oh? Why?" She was grinning now, and didn't let up on the scratches.
"Because it makes him purr, and -- ack! -- that's like having a, a -- eep! -- a pager buzzing inside my head!" Well, more like being IN a pager
as it went off, except you ARE the pager, but ANYway.
She relented, giving Mr. Whiskers one final pat. I gathered my clothes. We'd discovered, shortly after we met, that somehow Mr. Whiskers protected me and
the stuff I was wearing or carrying from the effects of radiation -- so long as they were in contact with me. But the moment I took them off, it was like
flipping a switch, and they were suddenly vulnerable to all the unintended side-effects of Lisa exposure. And, as it happens, Mr. Whiskers exposure as well --
I could channel his energies just as well naked as clothed, and they didn't hurt me, but... one time Terrence and I had left my tights on the floor of the
bedroom instead of in the laundry room where they belonged. I'd had to make an emergency call to the Icon store later that day. I liked those tights....
I liked that shirt, too, so into the hamper it went, along with the jeans and the lacy underwear Lisa'd gotten for me on a whim. Or because she wanted to
see me in them. I know which interpretation I preferred....
(I'll start calling you Tabby, again,) Mr. Whiskers mock-warned. I stuck my tongue out at him.
Lisa and I twitched the tarp covering the bed back into position, surveyed our surroundings one last time -- plastic gleamed from every exposed surface, like a
painter's prep job run amok -- and nodded at each other.
"So... are you ready?" she inquired, a serious note creeping into her voice even as a playful twinkle glimmered in her eyes.
I took a deep breath, trying to control my anticipation. I was tingly and excited and nervous and afraid all at once. I love that feeling.
"Go easy on me," I said. "It's only the second time I've ever tried this..."
-----\
Terrence whistled cheerfully to himself as he tromped down the stairs leading to Lisa's apartment, a duffel bag full of rare and mystical salvage bumping
gently against his back. He fiddled with the locks for a moment and let himself in, then removed his boots and dropped the duffel on top of them, re-securing
the door out of habit.
"I'm home!" he called out, and got no response. "Hello?" he said into the dark apartment.
A muffled whump, felt through the soles of his feet more than heard, came from the hall. He frowned and padded lightly over the carpet, moving with surprising
stealth and silence for a man who was nearly as broad as he was tall. As he approached the bedroom door, he began to hear noises from within. Familiar and
welcome noises -- heavy breathing, the occasional hiss of air through clenched teeth, a moan or two... he grinned to himself and went back down the hall to the
laundry room, dropping his clothes in record time.
"So they got started without me," he said to himself with a grin. "That's okay. I can finish the job."
He slipped naked back to the bedroom door and listened carefully for a moment, pressing his ear to the not-wood -- some synthetic that resisted radiation
better than wood did, he knew, but he couldn't pronounce it last time Lisa tried to tell him what it was and didn't really care.
"I - I can't -- OH!" Rhea was saying, followed by another muffled explosion. Terrence grinned and twisted the knob, pushing the door open and
stepping through in one quick motion. There was some resistance, and a tearing noise, but he didn't consciously register it.
"I see you've started withouT THE HELL?"
Terrence stared at the startled women staring back at him. He then transferred his stare to the floor, the walls, and finally the ceiling. Brown goo dripped
from random splatters on the ceiling, oozed down the walls, and puddled on every flat surface. Here and there were scattered white and tan bits, almost like
confetti. Both girls were liberally speckled with the stuff, as well.
And for some odd reason, the room smelled strongly of refried beans and spices.
"Hi Terr!" Rhea chirped.
"What's going on in here?" he asked plaintively.
"Lisa's teaching me control," Rhea explained cheerfully. "So far, it... hasn't really been going all that well."
"We've only gone through a couple dozen burritos, Rhea," Lisa remarked. "It might take a while to figure it out. And this is better than
the coffeesplosion."
"You've got a point. But I think I'm done for now," Rhea replied, wiping a bit of burrito filling off her forehead with a finger and sucking
it clean. "And we need a shower, bad."
Lisa nodded. "Good idea."
They crossed to the bathroom quickly, ducking through the tarp where two edges overlapped, and in a moment Terrence heard the water start.
"Oh, Terrence?" Lisa leaned out of the bathroom. "Would you mind taking down the tarps?"
Terrence looked around again. "I, uh, suppose not...?"
"You'll need a shower too, after that..." Lisa hinted slyly, then ducked back in the bathroom. Rhea yelped a moment later.
"Hey! Your hands are COLD!"
Terrence poked thoughtfully at the splatter nearest to him, licked his finger, and shrugged. "Beef and bean." He eyed the mess critically for a
moment and got to work.
Less than a minute later, he shoved the mass of tarps and burrito remnants into the garbage can in the kitchen. "Super strength has it's
benefits," he remarked to himself as he compacted the wad down to a tight block the size of a basketball.
He rinsed his hands quickly in the sink, then paused as a truly evil thought occurred to him. He opened the fridge, retrieved a pitcher, and headed for the
bathroom.
Moments later:
"AaAAAH! TERRENCE! Your hands are FREEZING!"
-----
There was a conversation last night in chat... I couldn't resist. I am weak!![[Image: smile.gif]](http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/images/emoticons/smile.gif)
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
my neck. I looked around and giggled. "You know, Lisa... this might qualify as an improvement."
She cocked her head. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it's just that you didn't have any decorations in here -- no pictures, no posters, no g-strings tacked to your wall to remind you of your
past conquests...." I grinned and stuck my tongue out at her startled expression. "I mean, the paint job was nice and all, but there was nothing to
break up the lines. Now, at least, you can say you have a wall hanging."
"Not much of a wall hanging," she remarked. I had to agree. The large tarps we'd spent the better part of the past twenty minutes tacking to
the walls, ceiling, and floor were not especially decorative. Of course, now that I thought about it, I was going to have to do something about the lack of
decoration in the bedroom. Nothing fancy, maybe a portrait or two behind leaded glass, a fake ficus in the corner -- a real one wouldn't last a single
night, or possibly, might be mutated into a man-killing vegetable of mass destruction. We couldn't risk it, not with the rads we tended to pump out. With
great power, and all that...
I realized that Lisa was saying something to me, and dragged my focus back to her. Not that focusing on her is ever difficult, but --
(Pay attention, Rhea,) Mr. Whiskers said firmly. Oops.
"Sorry, I got distracted. What'd you say?"
She blew an exasperated sigh, but was smiling. "I asked if you were ready to get started."
"Always!" I replied, and couldn't help but grin as Lisa shook her head and chuckled. She favored me with a small smile, then without further
words reached down and caught hold of the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion. Next she unbuttoned and removed her
shorts, wriggling out of the tight material in a fashion that was more than a little distracting. Her boots were down the hall by the front door, so no need
to worry about those. She gathered up her discarded clothing, tossed a glance at me over her shoulder, and said,
"Enjoying the view?"
I nodded.
She dropped her clothes into the shielded hamper and sat down on it, wincing momentarily as the cold metal touched her skin, then regarded me steadily.
"Your turn."
"R-right." I tossed Mr. Whiskers to Lisa, who caught him easily and settled him on the hamper beside her, then set about removing my own clothes. I
was wearing the outfit Lisa had loaned me a long time ago -- jeans tighter than my tights and a t-shirt that looked like it was painted on -- so I had to do my
own fair share of wiggling and stretching to 'divest myself of garments', as they say. I kept one eye on Lisa the whole time, and aside from the hint
of a smile twitching her lips, she didn't show any expression. It was like I was an academic curiosity -- come, fellow scientists and men of learning, let
us observe the female of the species as she prepares to mate!
As usual, Mr. Whiskers chimed in with a comment that got me giggling. (Those would be some lucky scientists,) he observed. Lisa raised an eyebrow.
"Mr. Whiskers again?" she inquired. I nodded. She reached out and scritched him behind the ears, and I shivered.
"Stop that," I said.
"Oh? Why?" She was grinning now, and didn't let up on the scratches.
"Because it makes him purr, and -- ack! -- that's like having a, a -- eep! -- a pager buzzing inside my head!" Well, more like being IN a pager
as it went off, except you ARE the pager, but ANYway.
She relented, giving Mr. Whiskers one final pat. I gathered my clothes. We'd discovered, shortly after we met, that somehow Mr. Whiskers protected me and
the stuff I was wearing or carrying from the effects of radiation -- so long as they were in contact with me. But the moment I took them off, it was like
flipping a switch, and they were suddenly vulnerable to all the unintended side-effects of Lisa exposure. And, as it happens, Mr. Whiskers exposure as well --
I could channel his energies just as well naked as clothed, and they didn't hurt me, but... one time Terrence and I had left my tights on the floor of the
bedroom instead of in the laundry room where they belonged. I'd had to make an emergency call to the Icon store later that day. I liked those tights....
I liked that shirt, too, so into the hamper it went, along with the jeans and the lacy underwear Lisa'd gotten for me on a whim. Or because she wanted to
see me in them. I know which interpretation I preferred....
(I'll start calling you Tabby, again,) Mr. Whiskers mock-warned. I stuck my tongue out at him.
Lisa and I twitched the tarp covering the bed back into position, surveyed our surroundings one last time -- plastic gleamed from every exposed surface, like a
painter's prep job run amok -- and nodded at each other.
"So... are you ready?" she inquired, a serious note creeping into her voice even as a playful twinkle glimmered in her eyes.
I took a deep breath, trying to control my anticipation. I was tingly and excited and nervous and afraid all at once. I love that feeling.
"Go easy on me," I said. "It's only the second time I've ever tried this..."
-----\
Terrence whistled cheerfully to himself as he tromped down the stairs leading to Lisa's apartment, a duffel bag full of rare and mystical salvage bumping
gently against his back. He fiddled with the locks for a moment and let himself in, then removed his boots and dropped the duffel on top of them, re-securing
the door out of habit.
"I'm home!" he called out, and got no response. "Hello?" he said into the dark apartment.
A muffled whump, felt through the soles of his feet more than heard, came from the hall. He frowned and padded lightly over the carpet, moving with surprising
stealth and silence for a man who was nearly as broad as he was tall. As he approached the bedroom door, he began to hear noises from within. Familiar and
welcome noises -- heavy breathing, the occasional hiss of air through clenched teeth, a moan or two... he grinned to himself and went back down the hall to the
laundry room, dropping his clothes in record time.
"So they got started without me," he said to himself with a grin. "That's okay. I can finish the job."
He slipped naked back to the bedroom door and listened carefully for a moment, pressing his ear to the not-wood -- some synthetic that resisted radiation
better than wood did, he knew, but he couldn't pronounce it last time Lisa tried to tell him what it was and didn't really care.
"I - I can't -- OH!" Rhea was saying, followed by another muffled explosion. Terrence grinned and twisted the knob, pushing the door open and
stepping through in one quick motion. There was some resistance, and a tearing noise, but he didn't consciously register it.
"I see you've started withouT THE HELL?"
Terrence stared at the startled women staring back at him. He then transferred his stare to the floor, the walls, and finally the ceiling. Brown goo dripped
from random splatters on the ceiling, oozed down the walls, and puddled on every flat surface. Here and there were scattered white and tan bits, almost like
confetti. Both girls were liberally speckled with the stuff, as well.
And for some odd reason, the room smelled strongly of refried beans and spices.
"Hi Terr!" Rhea chirped.
"What's going on in here?" he asked plaintively.
"Lisa's teaching me control," Rhea explained cheerfully. "So far, it... hasn't really been going all that well."
"We've only gone through a couple dozen burritos, Rhea," Lisa remarked. "It might take a while to figure it out. And this is better than
the coffeesplosion."
"You've got a point. But I think I'm done for now," Rhea replied, wiping a bit of burrito filling off her forehead with a finger and sucking
it clean. "And we need a shower, bad."
Lisa nodded. "Good idea."
They crossed to the bathroom quickly, ducking through the tarp where two edges overlapped, and in a moment Terrence heard the water start.
"Oh, Terrence?" Lisa leaned out of the bathroom. "Would you mind taking down the tarps?"
Terrence looked around again. "I, uh, suppose not...?"
"You'll need a shower too, after that..." Lisa hinted slyly, then ducked back in the bathroom. Rhea yelped a moment later.
"Hey! Your hands are COLD!"
Terrence poked thoughtfully at the splatter nearest to him, licked his finger, and shrugged. "Beef and bean." He eyed the mess critically for a
moment and got to work.
Less than a minute later, he shoved the mass of tarps and burrito remnants into the garbage can in the kitchen. "Super strength has it's
benefits," he remarked to himself as he compacted the wad down to a tight block the size of a basketball.
He rinsed his hands quickly in the sink, then paused as a truly evil thought occurred to him. He opened the fridge, retrieved a pitcher, and headed for the
bathroom.
Moments later:
"AaAAAH! TERRENCE! Your hands are FREEZING!"
-----
There was a conversation last night in chat... I couldn't resist. I am weak!
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs