Black Cat (Part II) - Sex Stories

Black Cat (Part II)

... dinner.”

Cat: “Would you also bless us with telling us what you, like, eat?”

Great, I wasn’t the only one who sometimes should just shut-the-fuck-up. Don’t ruin this, Cat…

“It is really simple, Catherine. No pork. Almost a year and you still…”

“Nana, I’ve seen your lunchboxes. This doesn’t look like just ‘no pork’. This looks like some Japanese chef had a manic phase. And then sprinkled rose petals on it.”

“Nobody expects a traditional Afghan meal. And it is nothing like Japanese food. No offense, Catherine: you couldn’t make it anyway.”

Cat wrinkled her nose: “None taken”. And stuck her tongue out.

“We have never had a real American hamburger. People say McDonald’s doesn’t count. And they are not good.”

“McDonald’s does indeed not count. Burgers it is.”

God or Allah had blessed me indeed: this is the one thing I knew how to cook.

—-----------------

“She grows on you, doesn’t she?”

We were standing in the kitchen, preparing a plate with fruits and nuts. Fruits and nuts Cat had brought up from downstairs because the only fruit I had were smoothies and the only nuts were salted beer nuts.

“She is… unusual.”

Cat raised her eyebrows.

“A different kind of unusual. But I can see that she likes you very much.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Now go and be a good host while I finish up here. You’re messing with my arrangement.”

I came back to the couch and saw Narges smile. Not a big, broad smile like Cat… more like a twinkle in the corners of ...

... her mouth. Narges had full lips and even the slightest tremble in them somehow radiated over her whole face.

“Cat will be right here. Do you want some more water?”

“My glass is still full, Dan. But thank you for offering.”

I really wanted Cat back here. This girl is, what? 13 or 14 years old and I’m genuinely nervous that I can’t hold my own in a conversation with her.

“Life lessons.”

“What?”

“Life lessons. Sometimes you need to observe real life to understand something. Back in Kabul, most girls learned from books. Or from old stories and songs. We didn’t get out much to observe real life. But I found that the things I thought I knew about America are not in books. Most certainly not in Afghan stories or songs.”

There was this hint of a smile again. Something about her made her not pretty or good-looking or attractive - but beautiful.

“And what is your life lesson for today?”

“Many Afghan men marry girls much younger than them. Most of those marriages are profoundly unhappy. My mother was given to my father when she was 12.”

She looked at me. Left the obvious unspoken.

“They didn’t love each other. But they did care for each other. My father traveled for days to get Turkish soap operas and pop music on the black market to bring to my mother because she liked them. My mother washed his feet every day and only cooked his favorite meals. When he got sick, she was by his side day and night. She was with him when he died and didn’t leave him until ...