Detained in NYC
Copyright© 2025 by Midori Greengrass
Chapter 26
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 26 - An artist is caught up in the dragnet.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Ma/Ma NonConsensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Wife Watching White Male Oriental Female Oral Sex
Nelson told Akemi what they were doing reminded him of a scene he remembered from a party after a film showing when two cats were getting affectionate with each other, which didn’t happen often. Cats tended instead to fight, didn’t they, were territorial.
The felines, very different from each other, were on the bed in the guest room of a party he was leaving or had arrived at, didn’t remember now (Nelson smiled at the admission of fallibility), and one took the initiative. Small tiger. That would be Akemi. Kittenish, he added, grinning.
Smaller cat lay atop the bigger, spread flat, seemingly to get as much contact as possible. Did the tiger-striped one just find the fur of the other comfortable? Was that all that interested it, “not the cat’s character?” Nelson laughed loud for a moment at the memory, his turn of phrase, in a way that struck Akemi as abrupt, even jolting, rude. But this was Nelson, she understood.
Her eyes smiled, narrowed, almost winking, a small opening inviting him through, look that said, “I like you.”
“Go on with your story,” it meant to Nelson.
The cat “being importuned” was surprised and seemed to be losing patience, he said.
“The way cats get, turning still before going on the attack. Really glaring. The other cat up close, their faces only inches apart.”
“Like ours now,” Akemi said without words, just her eyes.
“Eyes like a hawk, know what I mean? Big, yellow, incandescent.”
Akemi nodded, following Nelson’s English. He came from the western part of the U.S., spoke differently from her husband.
“Like, ‘What the hell are you doing?’” Nelson put into words what he imagined the domestic pet had been thinking.
Choked on a laugh, had to pause to catch his breath.
“But then it turned out they did like each other. The big cat, Tom cat, I’d call it, started licking the other. Lavishly! Really something, you know? Caring for, cleaning the fur of that kittenish one. Tongue so big and rough the tiger looked like it was enduring a storm but you could see it also felt good.”
Nelson looked at Akemi, repeated, “You know?”
Sometimes he thought she was dull, anyway didn’t know where her mind was. She wasn’t the usual, adoring audience, students of film who knelt at his feet, hung on his every word.
How interested was she really?
He had more to say.
“Like a dog and cat together. I mean, they were like different species.” He let Akemi take this in, swallowed again, regulating his breath.
“Once I saw two lesbians, students of my work, who had come to me together and I said, ha ha, they reminded me of that, the only question was which was which. I told one she looked more like the cat, and that got her back up- just like a cat, come to think of it.
“‘Why would you say that?’” Nelson quoted her. “She felt I was, I guess, belittling her, resented the suggestion she was the smaller of the two animals. Can you imagine?” Amused, he shook his head.
“‘I’m a lawyer too,’ she said. Turned out both were. I hadn’t known. They seemed pretty young to be so, you know, accomplished, ha ha.”
“What did you do?” Akemi asked earnestly. Her eyes wet.
Nelson shot a glance at her, sensing fakery.
That was the thing. He liked her eyes, black, liquid, on him, no matter what.
Akemi yawned, not for the first time that visit, covered her mouth with her hand, shook her head apologetically, as if to say, “Nothing. It means nothing at all.”
Nelson was’t done with his tale. “And she turned from me to her girlfriend and said to her, ‘Maybe it’s my haircut.’”
He explained she’d apparently just gotten a new one and that it was shorter than her lover’s and that both were blond.
“She touched her hand to the side of her hair, kind of patting, to get a sense of the shape without a mirror.”
Nelson said the lesbian paced around the room, wanting to try different angles, though all would feel the same.
“‘It looks kind of like wheat grass,’ she told her friend. ‘Dry.’ Ho ho!”
“Light yellow. Maybe a dye job. But looked pretty good,” Nelson conceded.
He wasn’t making much sense to Akemi, and the problem went beyond language. Comparing two girlfriends to a cat and a dog? Wouldn’t that be truer of a man and a woman? Akemi knew Nelson didn’t think like everyone else. He was a creator, an artist. She appreciated him. But still she didn’t understand.
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