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KITTY’S DEBUT

by

Emma Kaufmann


“Oh Kevin, how many times do I have to tell you -- red and green should never be seen,” said Jade, dropping her carrier bags on the floor.

She watched as Kevin, who had been lounging in an armchair, his legs propped up on the coffee table and his knuckles grazing the floor like a gorilla, jumped to his feet.

“Didn’t hear you come in,” he said, pulling at the hem of his dress, a guilty look on his face. “I just thought that this dark green and … these tights, they’re plum rather than red, I just thought … they looked rather good together.”

Jade flung her umbrella, dripping wet, beside the bags and pulled off her coat. “You just thought! I told you to wait for me before you started dressing.” She walked over and flung herself on the couch. “Where did you get it?”

“At a charity shop.” Kevin beamed. “It was only five pounds.”

“Well, that’s five pounds down the drain. Please go and take it off, and while you’re at it maybe you could wipe that foundation off your face, it’s far too dark.”

Jade shook her head. Unbelievable, what that boy thought passed for an outfit. Kevin had been her flat mate for six months now. When he’d come to see about the room Jade had taken one look at him -- at his jeans and flannel shirt, scuffed boots, fair hair tied back in a ponytail -- and thought, this can’t possibly work, he’s not got a camp gene in his body. But when Kevin had sat through the interview, making no move to leave despite the fact that Jade was wearing matching beige flares and an A-line tunic, her wrists dripping with gold chains, complete with bobbed wig and frosted lipstick -- when she had finally said, exasperated, look, you do know I’m a man, Kevin had simply nodded.

It had been the end of a long day and Jade had seen scores of prospective tenants. Some had visibly baulked when they’d seen her in her get-up. Kevin had been the last person to turn up, and Jade had made a snap decision to give him the room, based on nothing more than the fact that he’d had the deposit on him in cash. As she tucked the notes inside her bra she’d reckoned that because he worked nights at a press cuttings agency they’d probably just spend their lives living side by side, not running into each other much.

What Jade had omitted to mention at the time was that she was also a prostitute. Well, she didn’t exactly think of herself as one. The service she provided was too friendly to be thought of simply as a monetary exchange. She had come to London from Leeds four years ago with big dreams of making her name as an artist, but when that had failed to pay the bills she had been forced to find a sideline. She saw couples, mostly.

One afternoon when Kevin had wandered groggily into her bedroom -- mistaking it for the bathroom, he explained later -- to find Jade busy in between the legs of an architect’s wife while the architect looked on, Jade had rather expected Kevin to act a little shocked. But when Jade had come clean to him later he’d simply replied, “Live and let live, that’s my motto.” After Kevin’s accidental stumble into her other life, something shifted imperceptibly between them, and Kevin started to cook her dinner, with fancy plates, sometimes with candles. Always a sucker for romantic gestures, one evening Jade had fallen into bed with him. Kevin had not gone to work that night.

Kevin came back into the room, wearing a bathrobe, his face scrubbed clean of makeup and went over to the fireplace. Over it was propped one of Kevin’s efforts. Kevin had recently declared that he too, was going to try his hand as an artist, and the first result of this ambition was a sorry affair, drips of Plaster of Paris, set into peaks and smeared with multicolored crayon. Jade certainly had no need to feel threatened, she thought, glancing at the sculptural monstrosity that threatened to teeter off the mantelpiece, but she couldn’t help wondering where all this was going; first the art stuff and now, after much pestering, Kevin was to accompany Jade to a party dressed head to toe as a woman. Jade loved blind adoration as much as the next person, but sometimes she wondered if Kevin wasn’t a little too eager to meld his own personality into hers.

“Have you thought of a name for yourself?” Everyone knew Jade simply as Jade, whether she was in or out -- as she was today – of drag, but if Kevin was going to make his debut he needed a name for his other self.

“I thought, maybe, Kitty?” he said, pouring two brandies and walking towards her.

“Yes, that will do I suppose,” said Jade, hooking one leg, clad in velvet trousers, behind the other in a ladylike fashion. Kevin passed one glass to Jade, who sipped at it. “Thanks, I’m absolutely frozen. I don’t know what I was thinking, shopping for presents on Christmas Eve. Oxford Street was a complete nightmare.” She pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “I see you got the fire working.” It was nice having a man about the house. She’d never been able to get the fire to light before and now it danced merrily in the grate.

“Lovely,” she said, downing the last of the brandy and feeling the hot liquid flow through her and begin to thaw her freezing fingers.

“Sure you don’t want anything else? I’ve got some coke left …”

“No, I’ve got to keep my head if I’m to get you looking presentable.” She set down the brandy glass on the coffee table. “You’ll just about get into one of my dresses I suppose, but as for shoes, mine’ll never fit. I hope you’ve thought to buy some --”

“Oh yes!” said Kevin, disappearing and coming back with some silver high heels. He held them up excitedly. “What do you think?”

“Oh dear,” said Jade, pulling her mobile phone from her bag and running her hand agitatedly through her short plum colored hair. “This isn’t going to be easy. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to come as Kevin?”

“No!” Kevin pouted. “You promised this would be my big night.”

“I suppose I did.” She punched in a number. “Hello, Dillon? We’ll be over in an hour. Hang on.” She turned to Kevin who was holding the silver shoes out in front of him, mesmerized by the way the fire’s reflection made them sparkle. “Please tell me you’ve shaved your legs.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” she said, catching sight of his hairy calves. She turned back to the phone. “Make that an hour and a half. We’ll be round with a taxi at eleven to pick you up.”

* * *

When the taxi eventually rolled up outside Dillon’s front door it was almost midnight.

“Shall I go?” said Kitty from beneath the black wig. Jade had done the natural look on her, which had required trowels full of makeup and all her artistic ingenuity to achieve. The result, Jade thought, was a passing resemblance to Isabella Rosselini in Blue Velvet if one looked hard enough. Kitty leaned back in the seat, her legs spread wide in a characteristic male stance and Jade eyed her disapprovingly.

“No, you’ll probably break a leg on those heels. Keep your legs together will you. Please try and remember.”

As she clambered out of the taxi and stepped into an icy puddle she cursed under her breath. She had gone the whole hog as Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and now her kitten heels were soaked. She negotiated a pile of gray slush that was heaped up on the sidewalk and, as the freezing wind almost whipped her coat from her back, she drew it close around her.

At the top of the steps she rang Dillon’s bell, jumping from foot to foot to keep warm. She hoped that Dillon was ready. She was always worrying about him -- she’d known him since he was a scrawny kid at school -- especially whether he was eating enough. He was terribly thin. Although Dillon was twenty-five and only a few years younger than Jade, she still felt rather protective.

Eventually a delicate hand, clad in a white leather glove reached around the door.

“Sorry,” said Dillon, blinking out at her. “I was asleep.”

“Your hair looks great,” said Jade leaning over and clasping Dillon to her foam bosom. He felt as small and frail as a bird. His hair was died orange with streaks of blonde at the temples, so that now he looked the spitting image of David Bowie, Jade’s all time favorite idol. He wore a black turtleneck, narrow black pants and white pointed shoes. What with the white gloves, on anyone else the outfit would have been a fashion faux pas of staggering proportions, reminiscent of Michael Jackson circa , but on Dillon it was the epitome of rock chic, thought Jade admiringly.

“You not brought a jacket? You’re gonna freeze,” said Jade, sheltering him under her arm as they walked down the steps. “Don’t know if I told you? Kevin’s going as Kitty tonight.”

“Oh? How does she look?”

“Well, she’s going to need a bit more practice before she can carry it off.” She pulled open the taxi and barked, “Shove over will you Kitty.”

When they got to Spike’s party it was in full swing. In fact, thought Jade, it looked like it had climaxed a while ago because most of the guests were lolling drowsily on the sofas, some were leaving.

Spike’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment as Kitty pulled off her coat. Jade bit her lip, hoping that Spike would not ridicule her handiwork, then breathed a sigh of relief when he said, “Wow, you look great, Kevin,” as he ran his eyes over the long sleeved cream-colored dress. There hadn’t been time to shave his arms too.

“Actually he’s Kitty tonight,” said Jade.

Spike tossed his long mane of strawberry blonde hair behind him. “I thought you lot were never going to show up. Anyone want a cocktail?”

“Sure,” murmured Dillon, wandering into the lounge. Kitty and Jade followed Spike into the kitchen.

The blood red of the walls seeped through the dim light, the sofas strewn with leopard print and fake fur rugs. Dillon went and sat down next to a girl in a brown mohair dress. She had a smooth feline look with closely cropped brown hair. First she ignored him, then eyed him warily. Finally she sneezed.

“Sorry,” she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a tissue. “What’s the best cure for a cold?”

“Cocaine?” said Dillon lethargically.

“Wouldn’t that make me feel even worse tomorrow morning?” said the girl, turning to look at him, her green-brown eyes widening a little.

“Who cares about tomorrow?” said Dillon and they regarded each other for long moment, broken by Jade, who thrust two cocktails at them.

“Gimlets all right? I love your dress,” she said, reaching out to touch the soft wool, which wrapped the girl’s boyish figure like a pelt. “Very Christmassy.” Jade sat down in the space between the girl and Dillon.

“I’m Heather,” she said, accepting one of Jade’s proffered cigarettes. While Jade chatted to her she kept one eye on Dillon, who was sprawled beside her. Frankly, she was worried about him. He was attracted to this Heather, that much was clear, but after his last girlfriend’s departure, which had led to a botched attempt at suicide, well, she wasn’t going to stand by and watch it all happen again. Besides, he didn’t need the distraction of love if he was going to make it big. And he was, Jade was quite certain of that. It was only a matter of when.

Jade was talking very fast. She felt very happy and high. At the same time she was acutely aware of Dillon’s slightly down mood. She was just wondering how she was going to cheer him up when she glanced over at Kitty, who sat in an armchair a few feet away chatting to a guy. She watched as Kitty plucked a cherry out of her cocktail and began to suck on it provocatively. Her eyes transfixed by something at the hem of Kitty’s dress, Jade jumped up and rushed over to her. Speaking in a voice that was so loud that everyone could hear, even over the music she said, “Your stockings, Kitty!” Both of Kitty’s stockings were sagging around her knees, revealing her knobbly knees. “What do you think you look like?” Jade yanked Kitty up by the arm. “Let’s go to the bathroom and fix you up.”

When Jade had eventually sorted Kitty out she leaned back on one of the fur covered beanbags at Dillon’s feet. She’d polished off another couple of cocktails and was feeling a little drunk. Dillon was explaining to Heather that he was trying to make it as a rock musician, but in the meantime was subsisting on social security benefits. Heather talked animatedly of her job at an art gallery, but then her conversation was abruptly cut off.

Jade raised herself up on her elbows. Oh Jesus! Dillon had lunged at Heather and was trying to press his mouth onto hers.

“Hey,” Heather said, pushing him away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I dunno. Trying to kiss you …”

Jade chuckled silently, closing her eyes. Dillon certainly had a lot to learn about the art of seduction. He’d well and truly ballsed that one up. Still, it was just as well. They should probably think about heading home. Then, to her surprise she heard Heather say, “Listen, I’ve got some dope at my place. I just live upstairs. Do you fancy a joint?”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Dillon.

“Well, let’s go,” she said. In the lull between two songs Jade tensed as she heard Heather whisper, “Can you get rid of your friends?”

“No, not really.”

“Well okay,” her hands fell into her lap. “I guess they can come up too. It looks like the party is breaking up anyway.”

Jade made a pretence of waking from a doze as Dillon shook her awake. She went to find Kitty, who was holding court in the kitchen, unaware that her black wig was askew and that her blonde hair was poking out beneath it. It seemed to take forever to straighten the wig, to kiss Spike goodbye and to stagger up the two flights to Heather’s apartment. As she followed Kitty’s unsteady gambol up the stairs, one arm reaching out in case she toppled, she turned to look at Dillon, climbing up behind her. Thank goodness Dillon had not attempted to be alone with the girl. Dillon fell in love at the drop of a hat, then fell to pieces when it all went pear shaped. That wasn’t going to happen tonight, Jade had made sure of that when she had briefed Dillon privately before they’d left Spike’s.

Jade felt embarrassed when, as soon as they’d got into the apartment, Kitty immediately headed for the fridge. One look at Heather’s face told him that she regretted inviting them up.

“I’m starving,” said Kitty. “Does anyone fancy a burger?”

Soon she was frying burgers and Jade was rolling the joint.

“Where’s Dillon?” said Heather.

Kitty snorted. Jade hoped that she wasn’t going to give the game away.

Heather went down the hall to her bedroom and found him crouched in front of her collection of CDs. She saw that he had removed his gloves.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking at your CDs.”

“Do you want some of the joint?”

He shook his head. “Well, okay,” she said and turned away.

When she came back Jade noticed the look of irritation across Heather’s face as she saw that Kitty was splattering the wall above the cooker with grease. But after a few puffs on the joint Heather began to relax.

“It beats me what Dillon is doing in there,” said Heather, taking a deep drag.

“Looking through your underwear?” said Kitty, giggling, and Jade nudged her.

“I’m going to have a look.”

***

Standing inside the doorway of her bedroom Heather said to Dillon, “Why don’t you come out?”

“You’ve got some great books.” He stood up and walked over to her.

“Well they can’t be that interesting …” But before she could say anything more he had kissed her. He reached behind her and switched off the light.

Lying down on the bed in the dark she felt wonderfully drowsy. First they kissed, long drawn out kisses, and then he slipped off her clothes so she lay with her legs dangling off the end of the bed and he knelt between them and began licking and licking so that her body began to reverberate. She felt like she was suspended in a blue cloud for a long time and then the orgasm, like a tiny point of weak light in the distance, began its stealthy approach.

She sighed, her mind completely blank, aware only of the orgasm creeping toward its destination, of the sensation, like molten honey, that was emanating from between her legs. Then dimly she was aware of another sensation, a wetness on her breast, then something brushing against her cheek. Her drugged brain searched for an explanation, how could he be here and here and here? She opened her eyes. At first she saw only the door, ajar, and the sliver of light that flowed into the room. Then she turned her head. To her right lay Kitty, naked but for a few smudges of eyeliner around her eyes. To her right was Jade, without her wig. Heather started to laugh.

“We’re going to give you the best Christmas present you’ve ever had,” said Jade.

She continued to laugh, a barely containable mirth tickling the inside of her stomach. Then, when the laugh had shuddered out of her she became aware that the almost orgasm had seeped away.

“I can’t believe it.”

Jade kissed her cheek. “Do you want to?”

“I do,” said Heather, leaning over to kiss Jade, savoring the unfamiliar feel of the lipsticked mouth, then Kitty, at the same time feeling that Dillon had resumed his lapping.

Had they done this before? she wondered. It certainly seemed like it. They slipped on condoms, then drew her to them, so that she sank into the warm nest that their bodies made on either side. She felt their fingers running over her skin, leaving trails of heat like a comet fizzing through a night sky.

“No, Dillon,” Heather heard Jade whisper, “you stay down there. You’ll have your turn.”

She turned on her back and still they caressed and caressed her and soon one of them was inside her. She was surprised to find she didn’t care to know who it was. She closed her eyes, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. She got up on all fours and fingers touched her clit. She reached out blindly in the half-light in front of her and, finding a cock, started to suck on it, then ran her tongue up and down its length. The cock was no longer in her from behind, now there was someone below her. It was so easy, so ridiculously easy, to sink down onto it.

The tremors generated by the fingers working her clit caused her to gasp momentarily, taking one cock out of her mouth to savor the other inside her, grinding and grinding against the front wall of her pussy, the orgasm that she had lost earlier, now beginning to rise jerkily within her, like a swimmer pushing against the tide.

Then, as she twisted her mouth back towards the cock she felt some fingers probing her ass, putting in some cold lube as she squirmed against the fingers. Then a cock was slid into her ass and began to pound. Rhythmically someone’s hips bounced against her while still her splayed legs balanced her so that the cock beneath her was still moving in and out of her pussy, and although the insides of her thighs were beginning to ache it was a good ache.

The cock in her mouth was beginning to ejaculate and she tried to keep it there while still pushing her ass back on the other cock. She felt like a rubber band, being stretched in all directions, fragile, about to snap, her hips overburdened with pleasure as she came, feeling a wetness on her back where someone had pulled out and come, as she collapsed on the body beneath her.

All was silent for a long while. Eventually she got up and walked to the kitchen. It looked appalling, greasy plates were piled up in the sink, ladies clothes tangled on the floor. She picked up Kitty’s black wig and tugged it over her head. In the bathroom she looked at herself admiringly. The dark hair brought out the green in her eyes. There was a trail of fuchsia lipstick kisses on her cheek and neck. She took a deep breath and noticed that her nose was unblocked but that her limbs ached. She sank down on the edge of the bath.

“I can’t find my wig!” shouted a voice.

“In here,” she called, weakly. God she was tired. Kitty stuck her head round the door.

“Listen, we’re going to split.” Heather handed her the wig.

“Sure. Let me do you up.” Kitty twirled round and Heather zipped her dress up.

She trailed after Kitty into the kitchen where the other two were dressing. She walked over to Dillon.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Sure. I think my cold’s disappeared.”

“I’m glad,” he said, leaning over and kissing her cheek.

She walked them to the front door. “Thanks for the Christmas present,” she said, as she shut the door behind them and leaned wearily against it. She hugged her naked self, then walked slowly back to the bedroom.



ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emma Kaufman was born in London but now lives in Baltimore. She has published three novels:. Her short stories have appeared in e-zines like Clean Sheets, Hercurve and Mind Caviar.


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