Jenna

 There had always been something I liked about Jenna. It wasn’t exactly looks. Her cat eyes effectively ruined her chances of being traditionally beautiful. It was how she moved. Or maybe how she talked. Or maybe I just liked cats. 
    When I entered her room, she was asleep on the floor, curled into a little ball. As I approached, she burst awake. She turned around on her back and smiled at me.
    “I wondered when you would get to me,” she said. “Tell me before you do anything: am I the first? And if not, which am I?”


 I stared at her, surprised. “What are you talking about?”

 “How many women have you come to me before coming to me? Not that I’d be offended or anything, but a girl does have some pride.”

 “I’m still not sure what you mean.”
She jumped on her feet and approached me, always placing her toe on the ground and then her heel, thus making her practically soundless. “I have better senses than you. I could feel that you were going to come around to take me and the others at some point.” She turned around and pressed her back against me. “I don’t particularly mind. I just want you to answer that question.”
I folded my arms around her, placing my left arm on her right breast and surrounding her hips with my other arm. I held her gently, but if she attempted to move, both of us were aware that I could hold onto her. And if she called for help, I could just as easily mute her. “Is that so?”

 She smiled. “Absolutely. I’m just a kitten. I expect an owner, not a lover. And if I had to pick one, I would pick someone like you.” She leaned her head back on my shoulder and pursed. I took the invitation and kissed her.
“You’re the first.”
“All right, then,” she said. “Own me. What do you want me to do?”