The City That Never Sleeps Kat is beautiful, in a generic sort of way. You look at her, and you think, well, her eyes are like Cindy Crawford's, her hair like Christie Brinkley, and her body something like a Lexus SC300: lean, with curves in all the right places. It all adds up to something unique -- her -- but nonetheless, the comparisons to some other beautiful woman always come. I know. I listen to them constantly. It's as if she's not allowed to possess her own beauty, it has to be stolen from someone else, photocopied onto her body by Calvin Klein in the pages of Vogue magazine. Then the secondary comparisons come, always directed at me, the boyfriend. Men are predictable; their observations always end at their penis. Women treat me with more deference in her presence than they do when I'm alone, as if my being with Kat is some sort of mystically accomplished empowerment. All told, it gets old. I just love Kat. It's that simple. She's beautiful to me because she is who *she* is, not because her face is as alluring as anything as Madison Avenue or Hollywood has produced. For the last few years, we've both been proverbially fat, dumb and happy, having fun, being a couple, thinking about thinking about the future. As extraordinary days usually do, Friday began in an ordinary way. We woke up, cursed the clock and let it let us sleep ten minutes too late. After a too-quick shower together, we each grabbed a too-hot Pop-Tart on our way out the door and gave each other a quick peck. She went east, I west. "Love you!" she said over her shoulder as she ran to her car, her purse falling off her shoulder. "Love you, too," I replied, heading the other way. The memory of her legs in stylishly short skirt burned in my memory as I climbed into my car for another day's battle on the freeway. At work, I gritted my teeth through the never-ending pile of files that my secretary always seemed to place into my in-box while I was away from my desk. Insurance is boring at best, but on Friday it is a cross between watching snow on television and going to a needlepoint store with your least-favorite third aunt. The Simpson file was in front of me; the front office had a technical question about the policy structure. I was cursing the ineptitude of the bureaucrat-hacks up there when the phone rang. "Yeah?" I said shortly, having answered the phone at least twenty times so far that morning. "Hey, Chris... 's me," Kat said. "What are we doing tonight?" "I dunno. What *are* we doing tonight?" "I was thinking about us going dancing. It's been so long! Will you? Please?" her voiced had assumed that irresistible please-please-please sound. "Kat, I'm really tired... work is killing me." I stalled, hoping she'd let me off the hook. Sometimes she did, other times not. Problem is, I hate to dance. I hate the plastic crowd, the too-loud music, the smoke, just the whole scene really. Me, I'd rather go to a blues or a jazz bar, or just a bar, a place where you can hang out and not have to worry about the single's game, just jam to some tunes and quaff a few cold ones. Like the ones in the lower village in the city. But Kat, she loves to dance. I guess it's a natural extension of her aerobics and blues an extension of my weightlifting regimen. And she wasn't letting me off the hook, not this time. "Come *on*, baby! You promised I get to pick this weekend. And I want to go and dance with you." she said. "I know you hate it, but you dance really well! It makes me so--well, anyway, we won't stay too late, promise." Sold! to the insurance hack talking on the phone. I laughed. She was right and I was too busy to argue. Good relationships are about knowing when to give, and when to take. I gave in. After all, there are worse fates than dancing with Kat. "Okay, okay. We'll go dancing. Do you want to go and see a show at the Comedy Club before we go? The New Bar won't even get going until eleven." I asked her, trying to get a sort-of compromise. "Nahhh, let's go to a new place. It'll be a surprise for you." she answered. "Okey-dokey. Listen, babe, gotta run. Old Man Crabby is going to come and kick my ass if I don't get these files done before I leave." We said good-bye, and I went back to work. It was hard to concentrate, as I was wondering where she had in mind, there are only two good dance bars in Raleigh, and Kat despised The Longbranch, especially after some drunk redneck tried to pin her in the corner and feel her up while I was in the bathroom. That was the first fight I'd gotten into in fifteen years and no title-defenses in the two years since, thank you. But that's another story. So I knew weren't going to go to Redneck City, and if it wasn't The New Bar, where could it be? It wasn't long before the Simpson file and everything else had me wrapped up, so it slipped my mind... ------------------------------ After work, I went out with my co-workers for a traditional Friday quick beer before we headed off to our respective weekends. As usual, the conversation centered around office politics and other people's sex lives. I suppose the co-worker conversations are the same for every corporation in North America. This one was no different. I took my time getting home. Kat usually liked to take an hour-long candlelit soak in the tub after she got home from work and the gym, so I didn't think there was any need to rush. When I walked in the door, she was all in a tizzy. "Where've you been? I've been waiting for almost an hour! We've got to hurry!" she said breathlessly. I was taken by surprise. The clock said 6:41. It wouldn't be time to go out for hours. She was already half-dressed in her going-out clothes: a sequined turquoise upper-mid-thigh mini-dress, black stockings and garter, pumps (not spikes but the in-style ones). She was also wearing a dab of three different colognes that added up to a new one. The colognes are a Kat trademark, something she refers to as a paean to her French ancestry. Looking at her got me hard. My pants were like a tent. Her smell got me throbbing. "Here! Here! Go take a shower! I'll put your clothes out for you!" She reached up and kissed me quickly. The back of her hand brushed my prick as she did, and after the kiss she looked down and smiled. "He really *is* a devil!" she said. "But no time! Later!" She gave my manhood a quick squeeze. Then she turned to the closet and starting getting out some of my clothes. "Hurry! There isn't much time!" After I got out of the shower, I put on the clothes Kat had selected: Emporio Armani slacks, a Liz Claiborne original shirt and, of course, a neon yellow G-string to wear beneath my jeans. "Let's go! We have to hurry or we'll be late!" she exclaimed, sounding a bit like a character from Alice In Wonderland. We got into the car and headed west, towards the airport. Now I was puzzled. This was on the way to nowhere-land, unless we were going to Chapel Hill. At the airport exit, Kat took a dive off of the highway and we were at RDU International in a quick minute. We parked the car, and she grabbed my hand and started running. "We'll just barely make it!" And we did--by two minutes, we made the last American Airlines flight of the evening to Laguardia. On the plane, my rush had evaporated into shock. "New York!" I said. "You want to dance in the *city*?" "Yup, lover. We're going to Webster Hall. And tomorrow, MacSorley's. I know you love that place, and after I bamboozled you into this, it's the least I can do!" "But the money! We're not exactly Donald Trump, you know!" "Don't worry. I've got an appointment tomorrow and it plays for the whole trip. I just wanted you to be surprised! We're going to have a blast!" So there we were, over Virginia, drinking champagne and laughing at our latest adventure. ------------------------------ The line to Webster Hall was long, and the first chill of autumn was blowing through the Village. Neither Kat nor I were wearing a coat, mainly because it's a pain in the ass to keep up with one once you're in a steamy club. As a result, her braless nipples were pressing against the thin fabric of the dress she was wearing. It was a black something-or-other, and I loved it because up top it barely contained Kat's voluptuous breasts. You could see nearly everything on the sides as well as almost see the areola from the front. My pants were getting thick just looking at her. After a few minutes, we were waved inside, and then in the magnificent library that comprises Webster Hall. We relaxed over a few drinks, laughing at the outrageousness that can only be found (in America) in New York City. The beautiful people were out in force, and we were two of them. I took Kat's hand and took her out to the dance floor. Despite my taste for the more sanguine strains of jazz, blues or rock, I was soon throbbing to the music. Then, an old song, "Connected" by xxx came on. Kat started rubbing her body onto mine, and in a moment, we were in the throbs of a reggae rhumba. If you've never danced it, it's an extremely erotic dance -- my knees were in front of my waist, my legs spread, and my torso throbbing upwards and downwards to the beat. The best part is this: Kat was between my legs, in virtually the same position, except we were joined at the crotch area. She was rubbing her sex on my right quadricep, her thigh rubbing itself at my crotch. My man was awake in an instant. The song was the re-mix, and lasted for at least ten minutes. We danced with abandon, and near the end, I felt wetness on my leg. Kat knew it too, and started to laughing. "Sorry, Chris!" Not that I minded. The floor was crowded and dim, and no one was looking. Sensing this, I reached under Kat's dress, and found her thighs warm and damp. My hand tracked to her sex, where it was even hotter and wetter. She caught her breath at my touch and twitched her muscles around my fingers. She'd also shaved herself that day, she was as smooth as silk. I removed my hand and slowly licked her from my fingers, tasting and smelling her excitement. "Mmmmm" I whispered into her ear. "Do you say that to all the girls?" she asked with her frolicking tone. "Ah, but of course. Until I met you, that is..." I replied with some seriousness. "I bet they cannot resist you, Monsieur!" she said, still smiling. "Maybe, but I cannot resist *you*!" I said with equal levity. Funny how truth comes sometimes comes out as a joke. A song ended, and Kat took me by the hand. "Come! Come! I've got a great idea!" With that, we left the dance floor and found ourselves in a dimly lit corner, sitting together in a leather chair like you'd find in some English mansion. Kat looked around the club and the scene as it unfolded in front of us. Funny how bars are like a thousand little dramas. Some have tragedy, some continue another night, other have a happy ending. Ours was going to have a happy ending. This was decided when Kat started rubbing my cock. It responded immediately. "Bet you want me, lover." she said huskily. "I know I want you." "More than you know, mon cheri," I said. "Bet you want me right now!" she said, tauntingly. "Again, more than you know!" I laughed. "Then take me!" she exclaimed. "Here?" I said, in some shock. There were hundreds of people in the room! Kat didn't reply. Instead she stood, and then sat again on my waist. She reached down between her legs and found my zipper. She quickly pulled it down, and reached inside my pants. She found the top of my underwear and pulled them aside, finding my cock beneath. She grabbed it and pulled it out of my pants. Still holding it, she slid herself forward and straight into her waiting sex. "Now," she said. She didn't move, only squeezed me with her pussy. I didn't move either, transfixed by her boldness and the pleasure that was enveloping me with great rapidity. I never lasted long inside her, only exactly as long as she wanted. Kat worked out every day, and she once told me that she worked her pussy out too, doing something she called Kegel exercises. They worked. "Don't wait!" she said through her own clenched teeth. At that moment, a waitress started approaching. As she drew close, about ten feet, Kat and I both erupted simultaneously. It was terribly hard not to scream, I'm sure for both of us. The twitches from both Kat's pussy and my own cock were just subsiding when the waitress stepped in front of us and asked, "Can I bring you anything?" Kat looked at her and smiled. "No, I think we're doing fine for the moment."