Ok, I admit it. I had found the perfect chick magnet. So what if it was just a CAT, yes a kitty cat. Well, not just any old cat. My cat loved walking on a leash. And it’s extremely friendly. It will let anyone pet it and would hop into your lap without a second thought. It was a very handsome chocolate point Siamese male.

Today, I’m sitting at a shady picnic table at a nearby park. Right in line for the parade of young women headed for the beach.

“Oh! Cute kitty! What’s its name?” as the newest sweet thing walks by.

“His name is Wingman.” I reply. “He loves to be petted.”

“Wingman? That’s a funny name...”

I finish for her, “ ... for a cat?” She giggles as I shrug innocently.

She stoops down, short jean skirt now riding up as she scratches Wingman, who is immediately loving it. Her waist is narrow, widening as her hips flare and then curves to her long bare legs. I’d guess she’s probably about 5 foot 5 or 6. Her breasts are full but not large under her white flowery top. I can see hints of her nice flat tummy, just wanting to be touched. Her sandy blond hair falls to her shoulders. There is a streak of pink on one side. I try to make like I’m just watching her petting Wingman and not checking out her physical attributes.

“I’m Michael ... Mike. Glad to meet you... ?” I offer my opening.

“I’m Karen. Glad to meet you and Wingman.” She gives him another scratch on the side of his cheek.

She looks up at me. Her face is very cute; hazel eyes, light makeup, full lips but not pouty. She has that “sweet look” to her. Easy to just sit and stare at. Yes, she is a cutie. Instant attraction. Definitely my type.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat on a leash. Does he walk ok with it?” She asks.

This is the attractant. There’s always dogs walking in front of their guy or gal, but who has seen a cat walk on leash? Guys walking dogs are a dine-a-dozen, so you HAVE to stand out if you want any chance.

“Oh yes, he loves to walk around the park here. I usually bring him every Saturday morning.”

Some guys bring big intimidating dogs; apparently they want to scare off the girls even if their dog is as harmless as a kitten. But who ever heard of a girl that wasn’t attracted to a real kitten?

Wingman saunters around to Karen’s side causing her to have to twist herself to pat him again. Her skirt slides up as she widens her stance to maintain balance. The inside of her thigh has a little butterfly tattoo just below her crotch. ‘Hi little butterfly. I’d like to get to know you.’

I don’t mention it ... yet.

“Here, sit up here on the table. He’ll jump right up if he likes you.”

I don’t tell her that he likes everyone, especially the girls. Karen stands, adjusts her skirt and steps up on the bench and sits on the table beside me. I notice her ring finger is conspicuously absent any ring or even a tan line. She does have rings on other fingers, even a band, probably her grandmother’s. She looks likely to be 21 or 22, all legal, perfect! Her toenails are painted, visible in her sandals. An ankle bracelet as well. Cute feet. Ok so I like female feet. But not a fetish. There’s more interesting things.

She hardly gets to sit down and Wingman is hopping right up onto the table beside her. He immediately heads for her lap.

“Oh, I forgot to warn you, he loves to lie in someone’s lap. Especially new people. You better watch it. He has a thing for cute girls.”

She’s a little surprised by Wingman’s nonchalant attitude as he climbs into her lap. A pussy on top of a pussy. She strokes his fur and he starts purring as he curls up. She had to widen her legs to hold him as he’s a pretty big cat. We make small talk for a while, now that she’s trapped by him. I find that she has two cats and a dog. That she lives and works part time at a cafe not too far from here. That she is in the local college studying law. I have to watch it there. I enquire; good ... not criminal law. I also find that she seems to like guys that are tall, dark and ok, yes handsome, which I just happen to be. (If I do say so myself. Other girls didn’t seem to have a problem with me, so... )

She discretely inquires, “Does your girlfriend like Wingman?”

Perfect... “Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend at the moment. She moved back East and didn’t want to try a long distant relationship. In other words, she broke up with me. Several months ago now.”

This sounded like a good line to me. Not a lie, just matched one of my previous ‘girlfriends’ though not necessarily the last one. Ok, I haven’t had a ‘real’ girlfriend, at least for more than a week or two. No nesting for this fella. Variety is the spice of my life.

She pauses, still stroking Wingman who is now napping in her lap.

I ask, “How about you? I’m sure you’ve got a boyfriend around here.” I look around this way and that acting like I’m hunting for ‘him’.

She smiles, “Well, no. Kinda same thing. ‘cept he already found someone else.”

Oh too bad for him. My gain. Let’s jump to the next level...

“Did you know that Wingman is an artist?”

Girls love artists. Girls love cats. So...

“What? An artist?”

“Oh yes, he paints. Actually, he loves to walk around on my canvases as I paint. He’s actually become part of my works. He’s even sold a few.”

“Oh how cute! I would love to see them sometime.”

She took my bait! This is too easy!

“There’s a few at a gallery in a coffee shop just a little way’s from here. I’d love to show them to you over a cup.”

She hesitates just a second and Wingman stirs looking up at her, urging her to pet him again and making up her mind for her. Good ole’ Wingman.

“Sure, that would be great.”

I get up as she stays seated with Wingman, unsure about how to get him out of her lap. I take the opportunity to pull out my phone.

“Oh you guys are so cute together, may I take a photo?” I ask almost innocently.

She smiles with radiant straight white teeth, showing her parents investment.

“Ok, sure,” as she looks down at Wingman continuing her smile.

It’s a very sweet picture; a strand of her hair falling over part of her face as she looks down at Wingman all curled up in her lap, her jean skirt up more than mid-thigh, knees slightly parted. One hand at her face to brush her hair and the other petting the pussy. I sound like this is my trophy. Ok, it is. I like to be able to remember them. Don’t worry, I’m not a creep. I don’t even post on social media. But I actually do this for another much more important reason...

I show her the picture on my phone. She giggles at the image of herself and Wingman. Actually, it’s a pretty decent photo, if I do say so myself.

Here’s that reason:

“I can send it to you, if you like? What’s your number?”

Bingo, got her number just like that. I text over the photo. She takes a snap of me, didn’t even ask, as I was just standing there with a little smile on my face. Ha! She’s interested in me, or ... evidence in case she ‘disappears’. I bet it’s already in the ‘cloud’, just waiting for the detectives. No worry’s my girl, I am not a crazy. Just a horny 24 year old male.

We get ready to leave.

“If you don’t mind, you can ride on my bike.”

“Ah, Oh! Your motorcycle! Ah, sure, why not.”

She seemed a bit surprised. Maybe she thought I rode a bicycle. Sorry, but it’s Harleys that are the magnets, not Schwinn’s.

“Ok Wingman, let’s let Karen up. She wants to see your masterpieces!”

Karen laughs as I pick up Wingman. We walk over to my bike.

“Where does he sit?”

I unfold his ‘side car’, actually attached to the back.

“I just put him in this carrier. He’s been riding with me since he was just a kitten. He loves it.”

She looked hesitant, not for the cat, but for herself.

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before.”

Excellent! Sex and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Ok ... Zen.

“Oh, it’s easy. Here you take the helmet.”

I help her slide it on and tighten its strap, brushing her hair off her face. She looks at me and smiles.

“There! You make a perfect biker babe!” I say in jest, kinda.

She laughs and awkwardly climbs on behind me, sliding her skirt up all the way to her hips, sacrificing modesty for the new adventure.

“Ok Karen, hold on tight to me.”

Rule #1, always remember their name. Use often. Score points every time.

I make sure she is pressed up against me, her legs on either side of my hips and her arms locked tightly to my chest. I had to lift her legs by the thighs to show her where to place her feet. She feels good in my hands. I hear a giggle. We take off as she yells in delight and pulls herself tight against me. It’s nice being so close together. I really like her.

The coffee shop is only a mile or so, so I take a more scenic route to give her more of a thrill. I hear laughs and exclamations as we ride. It’s a loop road that climbs up the hillsides with lots of curves and has great views of the ocean. I feel her squeeze on me as she watches the scenery rush by.

We arrive at the coffee shop and she untangles herself from me and the bike. Wingman has curled up asleep as soon as we stopped. I’ve dropped the bike in the shade, so he’s fine.

Karen’s eyes are as big as her smile. She’s out of breath and stiff even with that short trip. She’s talking up a storm now and hasn’t bothered to straighten her skirt that’s ridden up to her crotch.

“That was amazing! I love it! Wingman, thanks for letting me meet your owner!”

She knows now why he’s called Wingman and smiles.

“Ok, I have to warn you. My, I mean OUR paintings are, well rather ... abstract.” (and a little erotic)

She laughs, “It’s hard to think that they would be anything else!”

I helped her take off the helmet. Her hair is all in disarray making her face even prettier. Our faces are only a foot apart as she turns to look at me. I really want to kiss her. I sigh inwardly and stay the gentleman. She quickly leans forward and gives me a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you. That was fun!” she whispers near my ear, a twist of sensualness in her voice.

I can just smell her lightly perfumed scent. I’m sure now that she’s going to come home with me.

Inside, I order two coffees as she examines the half dozen small paintings. Each is a different nude in a swirled and smeared colorful way; with little paw prints and swishes obviously made by the cat.

I didn’t mention that most of the ones sold were from, shall I say, my previous models. I think Karen will be next.

“I LOVE them! They’re so ... cute!”

“Cute ... That’s better than most of the comments I get.”

She blushes, “Oh, actually, I really do like them and sorry, but Wingman steals the show.”

“Oh thank you.”

Rule #2, Part One; start in a public place, at a bar or coffee shop, Part Two; move the party home.

We drink our coffee as she asks questions; college? Job? (besides painting) Yes. I know my painting will never make me rich and famous. Not its purpose! Otherwise, I answer everything and she seems to approve. At least she doesn’t suddenly look at her phone and tell me she has to run.

Eventually, the conversation returns to my (our) artwork.

She hesitates a moment then quietly asks, “Do you have more?”

Ding, Ding, Ding! We have a Winner!

“Sure, unfortunately my apartment is full of them. I’d love to show them to you.”

Already on to Part Two. Man, this is easy. She must really like me.

Another bike ride; this time she seems a little more subdued, but does seem to be hugging me even more. At the apartment, she is quieter, like she is thinking. I try to keep the conversation going, apologizing for the mess and telling her about some of the people and things nearby.

I take Wingman in and drop him on the floor where he makes off for his food bowl, his work done.

I then take Karen’s soft hand in mine and give her the guided tour. She examines each of the paintings, though I’m not sure if she is checking out Wingman’s parts or the abstracted nudes. Probably the latter as she seems to be a little introspective. I offer her food and drink, but surprisingly, I only have some cheese, bread and a bottle of red wine ... the stuff of romance. I gotta get to the store sometime, HA!

Wingman is back in her lap again, curled up asleep, keeping her pinned down to the small sofa. My apartment has only one bedroom, so the living room has become my studio. She spots my guitar over in the corner.

“You play?”

“Well, not sure if Wingman thinks I do. But I try.”

Rule #3, play an instrument, i.e. guitar, not drums, not flute, definitely not trombone!

I of course, know exactly one song, nice and slow; an easy melody that I can alter to give a bit of variety. I look into her eyes every chance I get as I play. Girls like that. And she’s actually very easy on the eyes. It works great. She loves it.

“If you like and if Wingman’s up to it, we could do a painting. Actually, I’ll let you paint, that is.”

Her face gives a little shift and then shines as she realizes I want her to be the artist, not the model ... at least not yet. I set up a canvas and some paints, just the non-toxic washable stuff of course, and lay it all out on the floor. She giggles at herself for wondering how Wingman would paint if it was on an easel.

“Come on, Wingman, let Karen get down here on the floor with us.”

I lift him up and she moves to the floor, sandals off, skirt riding back up to her hips, she not seeming to pay it any attention. I get a view of her pink panties as I come around to cover her with an artist’s apron. My face is right beside hers as I tie the apron strings behind her back. She smells wonderful. Almost as intoxicating as the wine we are having. I resist just falling onto her right here, right now.

I can see her blushing and a little smile on her lips. She knows where this is going.

“It can get a bit messy, as you will be painting with your fingers as much as with a brush. And we have to position Wingman with his paints, too.

She smiles, laughingly, “Finger painting! I’m back in kindergarten.”

The painting progresses, messily as expected and Wingman isn’t cooperating very well. He keeps trying to climb back into Karen’s lap, getting as much paint on her as on the canvas. We are both laughing and painting and drinking our wine. She has little marks of paint on her cheek as well as her arms and legs. She looks like a true artist now.