The Caterpillar and the Butterfly

[mc, mf, ff, fd, ro]

((Written in the last days of July 2015 for a challenge involving luggage mix-up, this is a very light piece with romantic overtones. It also marks the third appearance of a certain “informations expert”. You can check her previous exploits in the tales Adjustments and Retribution.))


Information is… ah, fooled you, didn’t I? I’m not going to repeat myself over and over again so no “power” this time and… well, shit!

Hello. Yes, I’m back. What can I say? I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to these little shared experiences that I cherish every opportunity to tell something new. Maybe, I should quit the intelligence business and become a full-time writer. Then again, maybe not.

As you might have guessed already, this little piece is about Zoology. Okay, not really, even though there are some animals involved. It’s obviously a reference to the idea of metamorphosis, for the world is made of changes and everyone is subject to them whether they want it or not. Even me.

For instance, I didn’t want to bring home with me a bag other than my own and yet that happened, changing my plans for the weekend in the blink of an eye. Sure, there was some incompetence in the tagging department, but I blame myself for that as well. I should have noticed at the airport that, even though the bag looked identical on the outside, there was something very wrong with its weight distribution. It was too heavy to be one of mine, but I was feeling a bit light-headed after an exhausting last minute trip to a NATO Summit, and allowed the jet lag and the confusion to get the best of me. Not my proudest moment, but it’s done.

Anyway, I soon discovered that the bag belonged to one Karolina Kaczorowska which is as Polish as a name as one can get. She lived halfway across town and apparently was a music teacher. She also had the most appaling taste in clothing I had ever seen in my life, with most of it comprising of baggy attires that also had the unfortunate characteristic of being beige, and beige is an atroctiy to the chromatic spectrum. Yeah, I really don’t like beige.

With these little snippets in hand, and suddenly feeling invigorated by curiosity, I put my brain to work. I’m not sure if I ever told you this, but I’m the proud owner of a very good memory, something that also comes in handy in my line of work. It’s not exactly photographic, though I can recall a lot of details quite easily if I just focus for a while. Diving deep into my mind’s eye, I started looking for a Slavic woman dressed in a way that was the opposite of sexy. I caught a glimpse of her at the boarding gate but “saw” her in full color when we were mid-flight, passing by my seat on her way to the bathroom. Young, pretty, but doing a tremendous effort to hide all of her natural attributes as if they were a crime or something.

“There you are, Karolina. I take it you took my bag to your place…” I said to myself and then I started laughing.

I wasn’t laughing at her, mind you, but rather laughing at the notion that she was probably doing the same thing as I was in that precise moment. I imagined what would her thoughts be about the violet wand I shamelessly carried around next to my laced panties but, most importantly, I found myself thinking if she would feel tempted enough to check out the contents of the DVD disc I had labelled “Neverending Playtime”, a two-hour compilation of the greatest hits of my kinky games with Miguel Santos. Would she feel disgusted? Aroused? A mix of both? I pictured her trying desperately to reach beneath her baggy sweater only to find her restless hand caught in the fabric as the sensual pleasures intensified on the TV screen. I laughed so hard I almost lost control myself.

“Well, Karolina, we’ll talk in the morning to sort out this mess. I do hope you have some fun, tonight…” I said as I tucked myself in bed. It was late, I was beginning to feel tired again and I wasn’t afraid of my sexuality so yeah… the rest could wait. Good night!

* * *

She was the one that ended up calling me in the morning courtesy of an old business card she had found amongst my things. On the phone, her voice was as restrained as her fashion sense.

“I’m sorry for snooping around,” she started saying with a characteristic accent “but…”

“That’s perfectly fine,” I reassured her. “Let’s just worry on putting this whole incident behind us, okay?”

“Agreed. I suppose we should meet somewhere to exchange bags, then.”

“Are you busy right now?” I asked on the fly.

“No, not really.”

“Then, why don’t you come to my place?”

“Hmmm… I…” I could tell she was somwehat disurbed by the idea and the reason for it was no other than the one I had already anticipated. I took the opportunity to be as straightforward as possible.

“There’s no shame in admitting you wached the video, you know?”

Embarassment isn’t just about mumbling things incorehently or blushing into color pigments one didn’t even think possible. No, silence can be embarassing too and the absence of words at a given situation tells us all about the person we’re interacting with. Her uptightness was like an invisible cloak hanging over the whole conversation, and yet there was something more lurking there, a butterfly was waiting in the shadows for an opportunity to rise.

“Speak what’s on your mind, please,” I insisted.

“I… I just want to know how you do it…” she muttered.

“One more reason for you to come over, then, as those sorts of things are best handled face to face. Just do me a favor: no beige, okay?”

Well, for some reason that got a giggle out of her which was a good thing. Afterwards, I simply told her the best way to reach the Towers and the closest guaranteed parking space before the call went dead. The metamorphosis was already underway.

* * *

Karolina indulged me, although not by much. The brown and orange emsemble she picked didn’t favor her at all for it was a simply a repetition of the same dull pattern. She was only twenty-seven but, dressed like that, she looked old enough to be my grandmother and that was quite irksome to me.

“Thank you for coming,” I said as I took my bag from her eager hands. “Can I get you anything? Water? Apple juice? Something stronger, perhaps?”

“Apple juice sounds wonderful, thank you,” she said in a bit of a haze as her eyes fluttered across my apartment.

“It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” I asked, wanting nothing more than to make her feel as comfortable as possible.

“More like ‘wow’, really! This is extraordinary, «name censored»”

I handed her a crystal glass and poured one for myself. Of course, I failed to mention that I added a little something extra to her drink, but you probably saw that one coming from a mile, I’m sure.

“So is this situation, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she sighed.

“What’s his name?”

“How do you…?”

I touched her left hand gently.

“Trust me, Karolina. This is what I do. Your body language is sharing all sorts of secrets right now. There’s someone in your life you’re desperately trying to conquer and what you saw last night stirred that passion in you even further, correct?”

“Damn, you’re good!” she exclaimed drinking the juice in one gulp.

“So I’ve been told,” I winked. “Then again, you saw just how good can I be, so…”

Remember the blushing thing I mentioned earlier? Don’t ask me what color her face turned because I’m not even sure it has a name!

“I think I’m going to need something stronger, now!” she blurted, almost choking in the sound of her own words.

“Excellent choice!”

And so it came to be that the wonders of a homemade lemon vodka cocktail mixed with the little incentive from before, loosened her tongue just enough for her to talk about Giuseppe, the handsome piano instructor (she played the violin!) that had stolen her heart with his magnificent renditions of classic themes and a summer smile the size of the Amalfi Coast. How she wanted to seduce him so badly, but…

“Naturally, he doesn’t look at me at all!” she sighed.

“Naturally!” I agreed, looking disdainfully at her outfit once more. “Come on, girl, if you want him to play your tune, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that, don’t you think?”

“I… I have no idea how to do that…”

“Of course you don’t but don’t worry, I’ll teach you… It’s why I wanted you to come here in the first place!”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like caterpillars, but I do love butterflies,” I responded as I guided her to the master bedroom and began to take off my clothes.

Her knees buckled.

“Wait, I… I’m not into…”

“Relax, me neither…” I laughed out loud. “I’m just going to show you some of my dresses to see if we can find one that really suits you.”

I showed her green, purple, royal blue, assymetric beauty and transparency games. During the first couple of hours, she acted dizzy, confused, anxious. Contradictory thoughts danced inside her mind with every try out. When the drug I had surreptitiously given her was fully absorbed, she began to warm up to my suggestions to the point where she actually took the initiative to put on a black, silky delight with just the right amount of cleavage.

“Good choice! If you really want him to eat off the palm of your hand, you need to show him your boobs!” I exclaimed, a universal truth in the art of feminine seduction.

At that precise moment, looking at the mirror, with her perky breasts becknoning like a lighthouse in the dark, her natural shyness gave way to a coy expression twirling in her lower lip.

“I was thinking he could eat off something else, instead…”

Hallelujah! There was a natural seductress in her after all!

“In that case,” I grinned “We’re going to need a shorter dress!”

* * *

I’m going to skip ahead now, if you don’t mind. After settling on the proper attire, suffice to say we had a very busy weekend taking care of her hair, nails and exploring ways of unleashing the most passionate reactions out of a man with a simple smile or one or two properly placed words in the middle of a conversation. Oh, and there was also a little something about pheromones and perfumes, but… if you ever want me to share every single detail of my lessons, you’re going to have to pay up, and you should know that lessons as valuable as mine don’t exactly come cheap. Not interested? Your loss, not mine. However, seeing I’m being nice and all, here’s a tip, free of charge: going commando definitely helps!

By Monday, she was ready to rock any man out of his socks. On Tuesday night, she had a date with Giuseppe in one of the most expensive restaurants in town (my treat of course!) and I had the pleasure of watching inner desires come to life. My last gift to her was a beautiful sapphire necklace to match the color of the eyes, a jewellery item she wore proudly every step of the way. Yes, it had a hidden camera and a microphone built-in, but don’t mistake my intentions for voyeurism. I simply wanted to see if the chemistry was there or not, and the answer is definitely “yes!”. Sure, the pheromones heightened the sensations a little but once the pianist saw the violinist I unearthed, real music and not just lascivious one began to play. The symphony of love is still playing at the moment.

For all their beauty and mystery, butterflies are quite transient beings, you know? Mourning Cloaks, some tropical Heliconians, and Monarchs are some of the only that have an average life of about nine months. The smallest ones you can usually spot feasting on the flowers in your front yard will usually only live about one week, and the average life span of the species as a whole is just a month. I sincerely hope that what’s blooming between Karolina and Giuseppe right now lasts way longer than any of these scenarios.

Am I a romantic? A little, yes. I do love sweet ballads and stories with a happy ending, although I prefer not to dwell in such matters. Sometimes, it’s all about the sexual release and that’s fine, too. Please, be content with what you were able to learn from this little tale and try to have fun. Have a gigantic, bold, dazzling life. You know you want to. That’s what the ghosts all around want us to do as well—all the exciting things they no longer can. So, stop reading, get up, and go out there. Run, dance, howl at the moon with a smile upon your lips. Perhaps, you’ll find me somewhere tonight, and we can appreciate each other’s company. Who knows if we don’t end up recording a video of our own…

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