I lay awake with Caitlyn curled up by my side. It was early in the morning, nearly dawn, but Sunday, so we could sleep in. Hopefully, Caitlyn wouldn’t demand too much “me time,” because the party was pretty much a lot of her time.
I don’t know why I felt so off about that. She accepted the car, which I frankly thought she would never do, and she was free with her body, even initiated a little car sex, and I appreciated the spontaneity. I was feeling off-kilter though. She wasn’t that much younger than me — less than ten years — but the diversity and utter coolness of her friends made me feel like a relic.
I was rich as all fuck and incredibly famous, and none of them cared. Caitlyn had given them the heads up to steer clear of me, but even when they were drunk, they didn’t seem at all interested in me. What they cared about was music, weird cheap drinks, and Caitlyn. That made me crazy.
After lying there awhile, I realized I was too wired, frustrated, and generally upset with myself to sleep, so I carefully slipped out of bed. I’d go to the kitchen to catch up on some work. I usually worked every day, and outside of sex, work was the best thing to calm me down.
As I tucked the sheet around her tighter, guilt bubbled up. I’d hurt her tonight, taking her as hard as I did. I was so pent up and ravenous, I just pounded her like I would Rachel, who loved that kind of thing. Caitlyn was vanilla with a little bit of spice — very little — but willing to try more, which was sweet. Still, I’d taken advantage.
After my laptop booted, I checked my emails. Rachel was begging to come back and Lucas was confirming for Tuesday. Well, those two were as predictable as always. As sad as it was, it felt more normal. I looked around the house and tried to discover what Caitlyn’s normal was. There were paintings on nearly every visible inch of wall space, which was a testimony to her late grandmother and her voracious love for Caitlyn. Then the graffiti piece made with poetry and art. But what else drove her?
I found a stack of her notes near her laptop. Tucked in the pile was a drawing that intrigued me. It was a girl with a massive volume of twisted and curled hair. She had a beautiful mouth drawn into a kind of sexy pout. I loved the way the character looked. The name in an irreverent-looking print was Mathilda, and the name of the animated series — I assumed by the look of the drawings I flipped through — was “So Now it’s X.”
I was so intrigued, I sat down and read Caitlyn’s entire pitch for the series. She had printed it out, so she must have intended to take it to school with her the following week. She hadn’t even officially begun school, I loved the eagerness. It took me an hour, but by the time I had read the whole pitch for the young adult animated series, I was hooked.
So Now it’s X” is about a depressed teen on meds, who is seeing a shrink and trying to manage her depression. Unbeknownst to everyone, she is actually a superhero who has to face the world’s ills.
The tone of the series was snarky, poignant, and cool. I could pitch something this timely in my sleep. It dealt with mental illness, music, sexuality, suicide, school… life. I wanted it, I wanted to make it. I’d finally found our common ground. Caitlyn and I had a crossroads where her world would meet mine.
I was tempted to wake her with a kiss and share how impressed I was, but instead, I decided to have her pitch me her version of the series. If I had her spin on it, I could use it to work my magic.
I felt better, having found little miss irreverent Mathilda, the depressed superhero teen, in Caitlyn’s kitchen. It was still dark when I inched back into bed, put my arms around her, and fell asleep. We both slept in and didn’t wake until our bodily needs could no longer be ignored.
“I’m starving,” she said in a sleep-dazed state.
“I have to pee,” I growled.
We both reluctantly crawled out of bed. She started breakfast, and when I walked into the kitchen, I was surprised to see her only wearing panties and an apron as she sizzled up some bacon and eggs.
“Um, think you forgot something,” I said as I snuck up on her and started kissing her neck as she cooked.
I had learned that her neck, the tops of her inner thighs, and her belly button where her sweet spots. If I wanted her to play with me, I knew to go for those zones.
“Did I?” She acted as if she had no idea what I was talking about.
“You did.” I slipped my hand inside of her panties and let my fingers dance around her soft, lovely skin.
“I don’t want to burn you,” she warned as she moved the bacon and eggs to a plate.
“But you already have,” I teased, “with desire.”
We both laughed at how corny I sounded, and it made me fall in love with her a little more. I wanted to make love to her again. Soon, it would be a week before I got the chance. After she plated the food, I was ready for her.
“Just take it easy this time, okay,” she gave me a sweet warning.
After we ate, I did take it easy. I also took my time. Kissing every inch of her skin, I lapped at her labia and clit, soft strokes that drove her crazy. As rough as last night was, this was gentle and loving. Still new territory for me, but I enjoyed it.
Afterwards, I begged her to pitch me the show. She told me she and the students at the art center had created the show as a parting gift. They wanted her to develop it while she was at Parsons. I smiled; I had a better idea.
I was reluctant to leave Sunday night, but I knew she would be moving nearby soon, so I tried not to make a big show of it. Robert picked me up around five o’clock, and I returned to Manhattan feeling incredibly lonely. It was only two more weeks before Caitlyn moved to school. We compromised on the dorm, and she agreed to rent a single apartment near campus. There was no doubt in my mind that she would make friends — cool, artsy friends. The thought terrified me for some reason.
I’d made a big stink about having to wait for her to move in, and maybe that was why it all happened the way it did. Being honest had its disadvantages, as I soon discovered. After returning to the office, I went back to business as usual, calling Caitlyn twice a day as we had agreed was sensible. The only thing really powering me through that week was putting Caitlyn’s pitch on the agenda. I was excited about getting that project approved and started. I had a sparring match planned with Lucas the next day, so things were going back to normal.
On Tuesday, I returned to my office after a quick lunch with a cinematographer I was trying to woo into working on a crap film to up its credentials. I was feeling pretty good because the lunch meeting went well, and I almost had him convinced that it would be a good move for him.
I was feeling great until I walked into my office to find Rachel spread out on the couch wearing a pair of high heels and a set of pearls. Her long, bronzed legs were crossed, and she was reading a trade magazine. She looked just like the cover of a skin rag.