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From: john3365a@aol.com (John A and Virago Blue)
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Subject: {ASSM} Fonda and Cat [01/23] [02/23] {John A and Virago Blue} MF,MFF,FF, Rom, anal
Date: Mon, 18 Sep 2000 18:10:07 -0400
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This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real
persons is unintentional and strictly coincidental. If you are below
the age of 18, or 21 depending on your locality, stop reading right
now. If your government prohibits erotic literature, stop reading
now and delete this. If you choose to continue, that is your decision
-- and your responsibility -- not mine.
This is intended solely for adults, and any other rebroadcast,
retransmission, and account of this game is strictly prohibited by the
National Hockey League. Wait -- The NHL doesn't care -- we care. Any
unauthorized redistribution of this is in violation of copyright. We
authorize the reader to make one copy for reading purposes only. We
expressly prohibit posting of this work on anyone's website, including
but not limited to pay-sites, sites with advertising, and any type of
site where a fee is charged. Any distribution without the authors -(TM)
permission is strictly prohibited.
DO NOT REPOST
"Fonda and Cat"
Copyright (C) 2000 by John3365A@aol.com (John A) and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago
Blue)
All rights reserved.
---------------------------
We'd love to know what you think. Positive or negative,
we'll try to respond to everyone.
If you liked it, send us a note. Thanks.
E-mail us at John3365a@aol.com or VBwrites@aol.com
-------------------------------------------------------------
Author's notes:
Fonda and Cat is a joint effort between John A and Virago Blue.
Virago brought the seed to John. John, always ready to sow seeds,
jumped Virago immediately. Today we present Fonda and Cat,
our joint effort, our "baby."
The process was an interesting one, from a writing standpoint.
The collaboration between us was always amicable, and there was never
a point during the nine months where anything got even remotely
contentious. It meant making concessions to each other, but I think
that the story benefits from our different styles and viewpoints and
blends our strengths nicely. And I think most of all, we both had fun
writing it.
Thanks go out to Dr. Spin, who presented the original kernel of an idea,
and to Maria Gonzales for reviewing the final draft and making helpful
observations.
Should the gentle reader choose to read it, we certainly hope that you
enjoy it. And, as always, feedback is appreciated. Feedback (both positive
and negative) can be sent to John A at john3365a@aol.com or Virago Blue
at VBwrites@aol.com.
It's a long story or a short novel, depending on your viewpoint, settling
in at about 48,000 words. We'll be posting two chapters (usually) every other
day or so. The story is 23 chapters long, so the postings will last about
three weeks.
It starts out slowly to allow for plot and character development, but rest
assured there will be plenty of hot, steamy fornication going on.
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and please don't forget to tip your waitress.
Virago Blue and John A
September 18, 2000
Fonda and Cat
by John A and Virago Blue
"Fervent ivory thighs, open to his touch, whispered demands and the
wet grasp of yet another woman stirred his emotions. Was he crazy
or did his fantasy come true? He considered the one woman of his
dreams, letting his mind's eye focus on her. He was so tired . . . "
~~~Fonda Daskalakis, "Fonda and Cat"
Chapter 1
"Men suck," Margie remarked, draining a second glass of wine.
Lunch sat cold and uneaten in front of her, as her best friend,
Trina, stared longingly at the wasted food on the plate. For the
past three-and-a-half months a salad and water were her usual
lunch whenever she ate at the trendy yet homey Greek restaurant
and Fish Market that Catrina and Margie frequented. Located on
the east side of midtown Manhattan at the same spot that it had
occupied for the past 45 years, the restaurant was a longstanding
hallmark of good food and comfortable atmosphere. It was a place
people went to languish over a long lunch, absorbing the old-world
style ambiance and always impeccable menu. Trina was one of
those people who had to go where she could be seen; it was part
of her life, part of her career choice.
Even the coagulating garlic-butter sauce looked appetizing, Trina
thought. She stared despairingly at the small salad in front of
her. Reluctantly she stabbed at the lettuce, tossed lightly with
low-fat dressing and a hint of feta cheese, and began to nibble
at her lunch.
Getting used to the plain salad was good for her. It built self-discipline;
at least that's what she told herself. In addition
to being low on calories, a salad and water were also relatively
cheap by New York's prices. If it managed to snag a table for a
good part of the day at a restaurant that was haunted by Broadway
producers, she was willing to make her sacrifices. To find work
as a dancer she had to keep her body lean and in tune -- but she
also had to be "seen."
"Eight months I put into that friggin' relationship. Eight
months! And what do I get out of it?" Margie continued,
exaggerating the "I", and interrupting her friend's self-pity.
"Nothing but a pain in the ass and a ton of gray hair. Just look
at it, Trina," The twenty-six-year-old leaned forward,
melodramatically separating her sleek black hair at the crown,
prodding at invisible gray hairs.
"Oh Margie, get real. You're imagining things. Like, your hair is
totally gorgeous as always," Trina told her best friend. It was
true. Margie never had a bad hair day in her life. Or a bad face
day. Or a bad body day. Just bad men days. Margie just couldn't
manage to maintain a semi-normal relationship with any man. Trina
smoothed back her own blue-black bob, tucking one side of her
hair, the side that faced the crowd, behind her ear.
"Do you know he just wanted me to give in to him all the time?
He, like, thought I was just some dumb bimbo. Like, I have
brains, you know. What an asshole. Do you know that he actually
wanted me to give up my weekend in the Hamptons with Clarice and
Joe just so I could be available to him for some lame party he
had planned for his stockbroker buddies?" Margie quoted the word
'available' with her fingers, rolling her eyes. "Like, hello?',
I said. Anybody home? I've only been doing this annual trip with
my high school buddies for, like, the last five years. Duh."
"Wow. He wanted you to be, like, the hired help and all?" Trina
asked, an eyebrow arched up in astonishment. She chewed her salad
slowly. Trina wanted to drag out lunch, just so she could have a
reason to occupy the far corner table by the front window. She
really had no place else to go until late tonight and would just
as soon sit in the restaurant and maybe be seen by a producer or
two.
"Uh, yeah! He was all, 'you're selfish' and I was like, 'no way,
you are'. It was totally ridiculous. I mean, if I wanted to play
Betty Crocker I'd buy an apron and go to cooking school or
something, you know?" Margie reached for the empty bottle of
burgundy. "Order another bottle of wine, would you Trina? I'm in
desperate need of a buzz," Margie guzzled the wine, dribbling a
little on the crisp white tablecloth. "Selfish, my ass . . . "
She continued to mumble while Trina looked around the restaurant
for their waiter.
Catrina caught the eye of the dark waiter. "Yo, sweetie," she
called, not really meaning anything by it. His dark brown eyes
smiled back at her as he approached their table. Hmmm, she
thought, nice eyes and a cute smile, if you like that tall, dark
type. She knew better than to date waiters. They were all
aspiring actors. Egotistical nuts. She was a dancer -- an artist.
Her tastes in men went to the eccentric, anyway. Trina spent way
too much time around the hip crowd, the heroin-chic: long-haired
and rangy men, sexy in their stringy, bad-boy way. She hadn't
been interested in 'normal' looking guys since she moved to
Manhattan six years ago. She had dated a few male models, but
they didn't suit her for long. Besides, she didn't like competing
with a man over bathroom counter space. Chase, the man she was
currently seeing, although somewhat sporadically, was a sound guy
for a recording studio. He showed her off to a few of his
friends, some not so famous, a few who could be famous one day.
Name-dropping and networking was just a way of life in her
business.
Trina looked up at the waiter and smiled distractedly. "My friend
would like to order another bottle of that burgundy. I need
another glass of water, this time with a twist of lemon," Trina
dismissed the waiter with a curt smile, turning back to Margie
and her mood swings. She loved Margie like a sister, but
sometimes her whining about men was enough to make her scream.
The girl had a face and body that would get any man she wanted,
and all she could do was bitch.
"How do you do it, Trina? How do you stay so cool and detached
when it comes to men? You aren't, like, a total lesbian, are
you?" Margie leaned across the table to get a closer look at
Trina, as if she could possibly read the answer in her sky blue
eyes.
Trina shrugged, bemused by her friend. "Why? Are you asking me
out?" she teased as her friend turned crimson. "*No*, I'm not a
lesbian. I'm a sexual free-spirit, I guess."
Trina swirled the remains of the ice and water in her glass. "I
just don't think it's such a big deal. Sex, I mean. Don't get me
wrong. I'm all for getting off on a regular basis, even better if
it's with some stud that's easy on the eyes. I just have other
goals in mind," she shrugged again.
"I don't know how you do it. I think I've got that thing Oprah
talks about all the time. You know, I'm co-dependant or something
like that. Maybe I should see a shrink."
"Maybe you need to get out and party with the girls more often,
and stop falling for every guy you see," Trina lifted her glass.
She tilted the remains of the water into her mouth. Ice slid down
the glass and between her vixen-tinged lips. The dark color of
the lipstick and silky black hair, a genetic throw-down from her
Asian mother, contrasted beautifully with her alabaster skin. The
rest of her physical attributes: fair complexion, light dusting
of freckles and pale blue eyes was a gift from her Irish father.
Trina fixed her gaze on Margie, waiting for the ax to fall.
"Oh? And what about you?" Margie shot back.
"What do you mean?"
"Do I have to remind you about Corey? Remember coke-head Corey?"
Margie prodded, smirking ans self-satisfied, and Trina turned her
head downward.
"Corey was a sweet guy," Trina defended him weakly.
"Corey was a fucking loser. He always was and always will be. And
you'd be in the shitter with him, looking for your next fix, if I
didn't save your sorry ass from him," Margie spat superiorly.
Trina looked around nervously. She acknowledged to herself that
she hadn't always made the best choices when it came to men, but
it still hurt when Margie would bring the subject of Corey up to
her.
"Forget about Corey, ok. He's like, yesterday's news anyway. And
just forget about Mark, too," Trina changed the subject. "Me and
you, we'll go out tomorrow night and party our asses off.
Zoe said something about getting us into that new club on 57th.
I'll let you borrow my latex
dress. It looks much better on you anyway," Trina smiled at her
friend.
"Yeah, that sounds like fun. Mark and I were supposed to
celebrate our eight-month anniversary
of our first date.... Asshole." Margie sniffled, dabbing at her
nose with her napkin, then continued, justifying to herself her
insults. "Besides, he has a small dick."
"So?" Trina looked sideways at her best friend. "I mean, it,
like, works doesn't it?
"Yeah," Margie said sheepishly.
"You've got to be a little less picky about everything."
"I know. I'm just mad at him, is all," she relented slightly.
"C'mon then. We'll help you forget the prick. Who needs him
anyway, huh?" Trina reached across the table, handing Margie her
own napkin. "You sure you want another bottle of wine? I can
cancel the order and we can leave? I'll take you home and fix you
a nice pot of herbal tea. Doesn't that sound good?" Trina took
her friend's hand. "It's a new brand, something from Lin Chu's
Apothecary. Good for your karma or your dogma or whatever."
"Hon, I'd rather have a buzz than good karma."
On cue, the waiter delivered the bottle of wine to the two women,
making a show of uncorking the fragrant burgundy and pouring a
dash into a fresh glass.
"Are you sure you won't be having any?" he asked in his slightly
Greek accent, his dark eyes fastened on Trina.
She shook her head, barely acknowledging the waiter's presense,
and looked back at Margie. The bottom of Margie's glass stared
back at Trina. "Just water."
The waiter placed Trina's second glass of water in front of her
with a plate of sliced lemons. Trina looked up at him and smiled
distractedly. "Could we please have our check now?"
"Of course," he smiled broadly as he headed toward the kitchen.
Fonda walked through the door to the kitchen after bringing the
bottle of wine to the two young women. The 29-year-old Greek
turned sharply to look through the door's porthole window at the
table with the two long-legged raven-haired women draped around
it.
"Stavros, come here," Fonda grabbed his younger brother's arm,
almost causing him to drop a stack of plates.
"Fonda, be careful," he gave an angry look at his brother. "What
do you need?"
"She's here again. Look out there," the older brother indicated
the table where Trina was sitting.
"Who?"
"You know, the girl. The airhead."
Stavros looked through the circular window. "Oh yes. I've seen
her. Beautiful, and a great body, but she drinks like a fish."
"What? No, not *that* one. The other one. The tall one eating the
salad. Look at her."
"The one over there?"
"Yes, look at her. She's gorgeous. A little dingy, but gorgeous."
"Yes, she's pretty too. She has great legs but she's a little
thin, don't you think?"
"You're crazy. She's beautiful. There's something about her that
is so exotic looking," Fonda again looked out the small window.
"Why don't you ask her out?"
"She doesn't even know I exist," Fonda huffed, shaking his head.
"Fonda, you need to have more fun. All you do is work. You need
to get out a little," Stavros
shook his head. "You stare at her every time she comes in here.
What do you have to lose, a
night in front of the TV?"
Fonda sighed and went to the register to prepare the check.
"Men just suck, suck, suck. . . they do," Margie repeated,
downing another glass from the new bottle of wine. She fished her
cell phone from her backpack and began punching at the keypad,
avoiding contact between the buttons and her long red
fingernails.
"Who are you calling?" Trina asked.
"Mark. I'm going to tell him how much he sucks."
"Tell him I said hello. Oh, and that I think he bites for making
you upset. Wait!" Trina nearly shrieked as she grabbed her
friend's hand. "Tell him we have plans tonight. Don't tell him
where, let him wonder," Trina smiled, anticipating Mark's
reaction. She loved stirring up a little trouble with the jerk.
"Mark? You suck. Like, I really hate you. No, I love you but you
still suck. What? Fuck you. Yeah, that's right. Fuck you and you
suck," Margie stabbed at the phone, disconnecting the call. "I
gotta go. I just can't stay here anymore," she stumbled from her
chair, gathering up her backpack and phone. "I'll see you later."
And then she was gone.
Chapter 2
Trina's mouth dropped open. A half-uttered word hung in the air
as Margie ran down the sidewalk, a flash of staggering black and
red rushing past their window seat.
"Dammit," Trina breathed audibly, reaching for the notebook with
the bill tucked inside. Her stomach dropped when she saw the
amount. She hadn't been paid for her last gig yet, Friday they
promised. Her credit card was maxed-out and she only had six
dollars and thirty-two cents and three subway tokens in her
wallet, enough to pay for her small salad and leave a little tip
for the waiter and then get home.
She placed her credit card within the leather case and held her
breath as the waiter took it with a smile. Please, she thought,
just let it go through without a problem. I promise, I'll pay a
lot of it off when I get paid. Somehow I'll pay my bills, even if
it means crawling to that sleaze, Justin, for a part in one of
his skin flicks.
Fonda returned to the table a couple of minutes later wearing a
frown. Trina could feel the pit in her stomach enlarge with each
step he took toward her table.
"I'm sorry miss, but your credit card has been declined. Do you
have another?"
"Are you sure? I just made a huge payment on it, like, two weeks
ago," Trina lied nervously. "Maybe you can run it through again?"
"I ran it through the machine twice, and then called the credit
card company to check on it. They said you are over your limit."
Trina squirmed in her seat, staring down at the table trying to
think of something. She rummaged through her wallet, searching
for something she knew was not there, anything to delay having to
deal with the waiter. Finally, as she could feel his eyes bearing
down on her and she could take it no longer, Trina took a deep
breath and looked up at the large man hovering over her.
"Listen, whatever your name is, it's um...like this," Trina said
defensively in her slightly nasal Long Island accent. "I get paid
for my last gig on Friday. Ya ever heard of a band called 'Mondo
Monkey Ride'? Like, the rage with the street kids. Well, those
are my legs in the music video. That's right. My legs, my belly,
my arms and even a flash of my ass. The going rate on fly girls
is boss. I can pay you on Friday, capisce?" She tried to show a
tough front, but in reality she was trembling with fear.
"Did you eat your meal on Friday, or today?" Fonda asked flatly
with a slightly Aegean accent.
"What? Is this, like, a trick question? What do you *think*?"
Trina snapped back.
"Well, since you ate today, I expect you to pay today," Fonda
countered, a little frustrated with her obstinance, but at the
same time a little turned on by the way she was squirming in her
seat. His eyes briefly fell to the light sprinkling of freckles
on her chest. He noticed a slight rise in the soft skin above the
opening of her top. He wondered how much of her creamy skin was
freckled. "Do you have any experience gutting fish?"
"What? Like, you don't really expect me to touch fish?"
"No. I expected you to pay your bill. You ate today, you pay
today. Otherwise, the fish are
waiting"
Trina started playing with the silver bangle bracelets on her
wrist. The thought of cleaning fish was nothing compared to the
embarrassment that she felt at not being able to pay her bill.
She was going to get Margie for this. Trina just hoped that
something would come to mind soon to get her out of the mess.
"Hey, Fonda. What's the problem?" Stavros had noticed the
somewhat strained conversation between his brother and the woman
he recently fawned over in the kitchen.
"This woman says she cannot pay her check. I suggested to her the
fish need gutting," Fonda told his younger brother.
"I'm not touching any fish. I could break a nail. I want to talk
with the manager." Ha, she thought, I'll go over this flunky's
head.
"You are speaking with him. I own this restaurant," Fonda said in
a matter-of-fact tone meant to impress Trina a little. Her hopes
sank.
"Well, there's always an alternative," suggested Stavros with a
bit of a smirk.
"What do you mean, *alternative*?" Fonda asked curiously.
"Yeah, what do you mean, alternative?" Trina was suspicious.
Fonda wondered what his brother was up to now. Stavros was never
shy around the ladies. He dated many women, and Fonda envied him
his outgoing nature. Although he had gone out with several women,
Fonda's relationships always seemed to develop slowly over time
and he was always ill at ease engaging in small talk with women,
especially women -- like Trina -- whom he was attracted to.
"I was thinking that we could set up an alternative arrangement,
instead of paying the check." Smiling a little too slyly, Stavros
looked from Fonda to Trina. "Fonda needs a little help with
something this afternoon. It is an odd request, but maybe if you
could help him we could forget this little incident with the
expensive wine and bad credit card."
Trina gasped. "You perv! Exactly what are you trying to get me to
do? I don't go for weird shit. Besides, I don't even know --*shit!*
Why am I even talking about this?" Trina sputtered in anger.
"Please miss, my brother, he suffers with dementia when he spends
too much time in the meat cooler," Fonda glared at his brother,
laying a cool hand on Trina's shoulder to calm her.
Trina glared up at Fonda and removed his hand from her shoulder.
"The name's Trina -- not miss," Trina added, cool blue eyes
narrow and flashing a warning at the men. Fonda smiled an apology
before turning back to his brother.
Stavros laughed. "No, no, you misunderstand what I am suggesting.
Let me finish. Please?"
"You agree the bill is quite high and cannot be written off just
like that?" Stavros snapped his fingers. "I happen to know that
my brother here, Fonda, must perform a task for our mother this
afternoon, a task he dreads, because -- "
Fonda interrupted, sputtering in embarrassment, "Oh, Stavros!
Please! The lady has no interest in -- "
"All right, like, what could it be?" Trina asked with just a
little curiosity.
"You also do not wish to clean those icky fish in the back, do
you Miss Trina?" Stavros directed this question to Trina with a
little pout to his lips. He smiled.
Trina shrugged and absentmindedly looked down at her hands. "No,
I can't do that. What's my other choice?"
Trina looked at Fonda, noticing with glee a tinge of a blush
darkening his bronze skin. She was curious. What could make a man
blush like that? "Tell me, Fonda. What do you have to do?"
Stavros stepped back, but not before nudging his brother forward.
"I, uh, I must bring Coco to the groomer," Fonda mumbled, looking
down at the tiled floor.
"What?"
"He must bring our mother's Shih tsu to the groomer for a hair
cut or whatever it is the mutt has done at the doggie salon,"
Stavros didn't even try to suppress the laugh that spilled out
loudly. Fonda glared at his brother. Trina looked at them both as
if they were crazy.
"Wait. Let me get this straight. If I help you bring your
mother's dog to the groomer, you'll forget this nearly three-figure
bill? Right. What's the catch?" Trina guffawed. A few of
the diners turned to look at the young woman with bangled arms
clasped over her belly as she continued to laugh loudly. She bent
over, still laughing. Fonda noticed the freckles on her chest
disappear deeper under her shirt. At that point he lost interest
in the freckles when the outline of her naked breasts became
visible as she continued to lean over. Her breasts, obviously not
constrained within a bra, jiggled with each laugh. Fonda blushed
deeper, clearing his throat in embarrassment.
"You do not know Coco Puff," Fonda muttered.
"Coco Puff? His name is really Coco Puff, like the cereal? No,
no, please. This is, like, way too funny," Trina threw her head
back, laughing hysterically. Fonda couldn't take his eyes off the
long white arch of her neck, swanlike and graceful. Delicate,
tender, the neck of . . .
"Truly, Miss Trina, Coco Puff is the devil reincarnate. And he
doesn't like Fonda very much,"
Stavros joined in the laughter.
Fonda shifted his weight, picking up the credit card again from
the table.
Fonda blushed slightly. "Please forget what just happened, and
you can follow me. I'll show you where the fish are cleaned."
"What?!?" Trina had been so stunned by Stavros's proposal she had
forgotten about the more immediate need to pay her check.
She took a closer look at Fonda; he was clean and kind of cute --
tall, with broad shoulders and dark, Mediterranean features. She
thought that a lot of women would find him very attractive. Yes
he was a waiter, but he also owned the restaurant, which was a
step up -- a large step up. Maybe one date wouldn't be such a bad
idea -- it certainly had to be a better alternative to touching a
fish. What the hell, it's only one date, she figured, a free meal
is a free meal. If he was really lame, she could always fake
being sick and ditch him early.
"You know, I was, like, thinking," Trina intoned in her
distinctive Nassau county accent.
Trina looked up at Fonda. He was embarrassed. Something inside of
her felt a little sympathy for the poor guy. His brother made him
look like a fool. "Yes, I'll protect you from the little hairy
monster. When?"
Was he hearing correctly? She would help him out of this
embarrassing situation? What was he thinking? She was the one in
the embarrassing situation. He wasn't going to let her get the
best of him. "Miss ah...Murphy," Fonda glanced at the card for
her last name, "I will keep your card until five o'clock this
evening. At that time I will either expect to see you with the
right amount of cash, ready to clean fish, or prepared to spend a
few hours in my company. And Coco's. If these alternatives do not
meet with your approval and you choose not to show up, I will
simply provide my attorney with your credit card and unpaid
bill," Fonda turned and walked away, leaving Trina to stare after
him.
"Well, Miss Trina, I have never seen Fonda this way before. I
suggest you do not make him follow through on his threat. The
last customer who couldn't pay their bill was slapped with a fine
and community service."
Stavros turned to follow Fonda back into the kitchen, leaving
Trina to make a decision. She nudged her backpack over one
shoulder and pushed her way out of the door, stopping briefly to
look back at the kitchen through the leaded glass of the front
door. "Shit. I'm going to kill Margie." Trina took off down the
street, taking the steps to the subway.
Fonda and Stavros watched Trina leave. They saw her stop and look
back, deep in thought. She then turned and walked away, her knee
high lace up boots splashing in the recent rain.
"Yes!" They both hooted, giving each other a high five.
continued in chapter 3 (to be posted in a couple of days)
Like it so far? Let us know!
Where do you think the story is going? Drop us an E mail
--------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright (C) 2000
John3365A@aol.com (John A) and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue)
All rights reserved.
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