Page 8 of Collars & Kittens
It’s after hours at my practice, and I need some privacy to go through the applications sent over by the radio show. I was surprised yet pleased when they contacted me to tell me I was one of the chosen bachelors, and I’ve been waiting for the information on the women who want a date with me.
Since I’m not looking for a love match, I’m more interested in finding someone who will be a fun dinner companion—someone I have something in common with to avoid any uncomfortable conversation.
I light a eucalyptus and mint candle on the side table before sinking into the worn-out leather chair in front of my screen. It’s time to pick the person for my Valentine’s date, and the scents should help me focus. As I work through the applications, I find that most of the answers feel generic, like the women are telling me what they think I want to hear. I’m also taken aback by how many applicants aren’t from Oregon. Since the contest went viral, there are women from Seattle all the way down to Los Angeles trying to score a date. Don’t get me wrong, I know I clean up nice enough, but I’m no celebrity bachelor.
I chuckle as I come across a couple of women making straight up offers to let me pet their pussies. I really should have seen that one coming. Travis is going to find that funny when I tell him.
About halfway in, I’m starting to lose hope of finding someone I feel a connection with. I roll my shoulders back to stretch as I click over to the next application. When the photo appears, I freeze.
Well, hello there, OliviaRuiz.
My pulse speeds up as I take in her big brown eyes and long dark hair. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since we met that day at my clinic. The way she called me “sir” and could barely string two sentences together around me. There’s something spellbinding about her combination of innocence and allure that’s haunted me ever since.
Bumping into her at the coffee shop didn’t help. The way her yoga pants hugged her curves…I’m a sucker for a woman in yoga pants, and they highlighted her fabulous legs. She’s gorgeous, but there’s no way I could date her. There’s a wholesome quality about her that I don’t want to corrupt with my perverted old self.
I scan down her application, noting that she’s twenty-four—ouch. Okay, I knew she was young, but fifteen years younger is too much of an age difference for me. She’s a part-time yoga instructor and full-time cat mom…which means she’d be in yoga pants. Often. I suddenly feel like the universe is fucking with me.
The two times I met her, she seemed tongue-tied and shy, but her answers to the questions are charming and articulate. I’m fascinated by the difference.
When I get to my request to know about her pets, I read through her answer slowly.
You’re asking the wrong question.
I am? What’s the right question?
The real question we should explore is what makes me uniquely captivating.
Oh, Olivia. I’m already captivated. You don’t have to convince me.
Allow me to highlight that I possess an extraordinary level of flexibility, courtesy of my devotion to yoga.
All thoughts drain from my head as I imagine her in those sexy, tight yoga pants and in a downward dog pose. Well, she succeeded in putting filthy thoughts into my head.
But why stop there? Let’s add a dash of whimsy—imagine a penchant for pink, sparkly collars that proudly proclaim ‘kitten’.
I do a double take and read the sentence again. Is she telling me she likes BDSM pet play, or is this a collar for Agnes? There’s one last line.
And, for the cherry on top, I offer a playful admission: I can be delightfully obedient when the situation demands it.
A vivid image pops into my mind of her on her knees, a pink collar around her slender neck, gazing up at me with those big doe eyes.
Oh yeah, I’m fucked.
I shift in my seat as my pants grow tighter. Down boy, I scold myself. I can’t deny I’m interested. The Olivia here is bolder, more playful than the bashful woman I met before. I need to know her better.
Before I can overthink it, I email the radio station that Olivia is my choice. This is just a friendly dinner. I can rein in my baser impulses for one night. One little date with the charming Ms. Ruiz can’t hurt, and then I can find out which Olivia is the real Olivia—the temptress in her application, or the charming sweetheart I met in person.
What will I do if she’s the temptress?
I shake my head to clear it and pick up my phone to call Travis. He’ll want to know who I selected, so I might as well get the teasing over with.
“Hey Doc, what’s shaking?”
I smile. “I picked my date for the radio contest.”
“Oooh, let me guess. You chose the one offering to let you pet her pussy?”
I snort. Is that the first thing everyone thinks? “Give me some credit, man. I chose someone I actually want to have a conversation with.”
