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Part 7 - Ice Cream, Addictions, Holidays, and Cuteness

I looked back suddenly. He was checking out the top of my head and a space a little bit behind me, as he added, “How do you make them move? Motors?” I let my mouth hang open. Maybe…no…I had to be sure.

Pulling my mouth back in with a tremble, I folded my arms in front of me and asked, “Never seen a real catgirl before?”

He gave a pleasant but slightly-too-loud laugh, which nearly summoned the other guy, and remarked, “If you say so. But, seriously, quality.”

After all the looks, even one which seemed to give an instant to my supposedly ‘very cute’ breasts, I decided to give him a few looks in return. He was definitely taller than me, probably about six feet. I shouldn’t have been surprised that his hair was a coffee shade of brown, although he also had a goatee and copper-framed glasses which matched it. Jeans weren’t a surprise, but he had some historical motor car reference on his red-and-blue shirt, which I vaguely understood. Red chucks on his feet rounded out the ensemble.

I returned a smile as a quiet way of neither confirming nor denying his theory. He turned his attention to the ice cream under glass and I tried to comprehend why this guy, in particular, saw me the same way as the catgirls I’d touched. I’d never seen him before in my life.

Of course, learning about him would require me to actively try to talk to him. I got nervous shivers but took a breath. I could fall on some of my old tactics and fib.

I offered, “I’m trying to decide on a flavor.” He glanced back at me and pointed out a few of his favorites. I had no interest in any of them, but issued a polite, little noise to each suggestion. Before too long, the guy working the shop wandered back into the room with a vacant gaze and a freshly-scrubbed scoop.

Despite the new guy pointing at me and mentioning, “She can go first”, the ice cream worker said nothing as the empty vision vessels above his nose inspected me.

I settled for vanilla with a little bit of flavor on top. Nothing compared to the new guy’s confection. We grabbed a flimsy table with a pair of chairs towards the side as the specter of the worker vanished behind the curtain.

Sitting there without knowing how I physically appeared to him was stressful. I kept my legs together, as I might be expected to if wearing a dress. It didn’t feel comfortable but then none of this did. Eventually, we got to names. His was Steve.

I blanked in the moment but recovered by saying, “How about a nickname of ‘Josh’ given to me by a mad scientist who lives in my apartment complex?” This amused him more than I expected, and Steve accepted calling me ‘Josh’ while inquiring about this mad scientist.

Why not keep going? I took a big lick of ice cream and said, “Well, I call her mad in that she made stuff explode and her friend seems to have given me the ability to make catgirls from anyone I touch.”

Steve’s eyebrows expressed themselves like a wiggly line as he inquired, “Sooo…that means if you touch me, then I’ll turn into you…or something like you?”

I could only admit, “Something like. That’s what’s been happening so far. I’ve touched five people with different results. Didn’t you hear about a transformed librarian in the local news?”

He shook his head and noted, “Not really, but I don’t watch the local news that much.”

I looked down at Steve’s hands as he held his ice cream. He noticed and leaned back slightly, coughed, and asked, “Do I get to choose what I look like?”

All I could offer was a small shrug. “Most I’ve touched so far seem pleased with the... results. I don’t really know if it’s what they picked or would’ve picked on their own, but they’re not upset.”

He seized upon my usage of ‘most’ and repeated it with a skeptical eyebrow. I revisited the fear on my landlord’s face and tried not to show too much of my feelings. I told him, “The first time was a learning experience. In that I didn’t know what would happen for sure.”

He gave me a sympathetic nod. I was still avoiding the biggest piece of information. I curled up on myself. I had no idea what my possibly-existing tail was doing, but Steve gave a pleasant glance around my shoulder. It was probably doing something weird.

Placing his hands on the table, he rubbed his nose, looked off, and said, “Understandable. I guess.”

I returned to my ice cream instead of having to offer some insubstantial reply. He took a breath and asked me, “What are you going to do with it?”

My first reaction was to blink for a while, before repeating, “Do with it?”

He cocked his head in a half-shrug as he said, “As you’ve said, you’ve touched five people. Most of them are happy with it. What are your plans?”

The word ‘plans’ made it feel more like I was actually doing something instead of just poking my fingers at people when they weren’t looking or when they asked me to. I returned to the ice cream again to buy myself a few seconds.

I tried to put it in such a way which didn’t make me sound like a complete loser. “I’m taking it as things happen.”

He accepted that, then asked the sort of question I didn’t quite want to answer, “Did you get turned into a catgirl at first with this power or what?” His logic made sense, I acquire the power to make catgirls by becoming one and then I pass it along. That probably would’ve made things simpler.

I could’ve fibbed again, but there had to be a reason why he could see me like this, and I wanted to tread carefully. I answered, “Not exactly. Actually, how you see me…I assume you see a blond catgirl in a black and white dress…” He nodded and pointed out the red trim and ribbons.

I continued, “…How you see me is not how everyone sees me. It’s how people I've touched see me. And I think...maybe, perhaps...it’s how people I’m about to touch have seen me. As a catgirl.” For the last hour or so.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

That made his eyes widen. Although, he didn’t pass into alarm so much as amusement as he remarked, “Guess I’m special.” I nodded to him and nearly held my breath before I asked, “So…do you want me to touch you?”

The stone-drop question. All out on the table. He had a pretty good poker face, if the question surprised him. He seemed to stew on it with his own scoop of ice cream, then asked, “Hmm…so, I’d be a catgirl too?”

I confirmed that was what happened to everyone I touched. I also confirmed that it seemed to be permanent, as no one I touched had turned back after at least as long ago as I’d touched Alexis.

We were both getting to the end of our ice cream and Steve was still chewing on my question. Looking at him, I felt the same kind of curiosity I’d noticed around the others for their catgirl forms. As for the impetus to touch, I wasn’t feeling it quite as strongly as with my last one. I didn’t want to pounce on him like an actual cat in sight of prey, but there was something there…

When his answer came, it did so with a stroke of his chin and the words, “I’ll think about it. I’m not against it but being transformed is a big deal. Assuming you’re not just messing with me. But if this is real, I’d definitely regret it if I didn’t give it more thought before jumping in.”

I assured him that the power was real, but I had to agree the only legit proof was the catgirl form he could see of me and whatever happened when/if I touched him. On the first part, I offered to show off my features. It took a couple tries before I was able to phantom move the ears around and really show off my tail. He took a few pics with his phone, but I was no closer to seeing my catgirl self in them either. It was enough to satisfy him that they were real.

We tossed away our trash as he asked, “I started work at a place down the road. Let’s walk and talk the way there.” I was fine with that.

Apparently, he’d just gotten off a job with a local politician that didn’t quite go the way he’d hoped. His new job was a seasonal one. He’d come from New England clad in Red Sox colors (he said he had about a dozen of their shirts). I learned he was a big movie fan and a bigger music fan. A lot of classics and even more I’d never heard of. Then, it came to books...again (he wrote in his free time). I could see how he and Alexis could get along. I figured Allison could get along with anyone. And I didn’t know the new girl well enough yet to say.

It was weird. There wasn’t really any consistent connection between the people I’d touched and those it seemed like I was going to touch. They were just normal. Nothing at all like me. Far more interesting than me.

We passed by the older shopping areas in the center of town, which had become indoor flea markets with barely-frequented shops on the sides. More had been replaced by medical offices or cigarette places. Islands of activity were all that was left.

I tried to remember if I’d ever seen the Star Wars movies or anything of Star Trek as he quoted his favorite parts and why. It didn’t take long for him to notice that the conversation was pretty one-sided.

“What about you, ‘Josh’?”

My stomach clenched automatically with the cold mass of ice cream slowly melting inside. I looked out at the regular lines of pavement marred by random cracks from overgrown roots and weathering. I could’ve feigned any number of fuller interests. I could’ve copied a few of his views quietly. But I said, “I really only think about catgirls.”

His eyebrows raised a logical amount as he repeated, “Only?”

I slipped in a few details about the banality of my work and urged him that I enjoyed it before he could offer any sympathy. Chewing on that a bit, he answered, “You seem pretty focused on this. Guess that’s why you wound up with the power to make them.”

It was something I hadn’t considered. I mean, it wasn’t as though I was going for any sort of catgirl collection or enjoyment record. I just really liked them and was into it with a passion that everything else in my life paled beside. I’d tried to tell stories about catgirls, but I always gave up. I’d tried to draw some like those I saved, but they were either pathetic traces or muddled, childish crap. I vented out the side of my mouth about this and Steve listened.

I huffed and took a breath. He informed me, “You look really cute that way, no matter what you really look like or whatever.” This made me blush hotly to myself, which probably made what he described even more pronounced.

Past the doctors' offices along the street was a holiday supply store decked out in lights, bows, and animatronics. Steve gestured to it with a smirk and announced, “My stop.” We traded information before we parted, and I resisted touching him.

My feelings afterwards were antsy, like a smoker too long after their last puff. I didn’t enjoy the analogy because I didn’t like the thought I was addicted to turning people into catgirls. But I had no better way to put it. I wasn’t ready to jump on Steve, but I could imagine it a little more clearly.

We talked a bit that night. I had a feeling he liked my voice, whatever cute catgirl tone it possessed. We met up for a lunch, and I brought along Allison, who had since sent me so many pictures of the last catgirl I made in elaborate ‘goth loli’ dresses and looking adorably-uncomfortable in them.

Allison nudged us together every chance she got, but Steve still appeared unsure. Since I’d seen him, I’d taken more opportunities to be in public, but no one saw me as a catgirl or no one else had been bold enough to say anything about it.

It wasn’t till the beginning of the Thanksgiving weekend that Steve finally declared, “Go ahead. Do it.”