Not saying girl

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Kate Davies and I go way back. Of course, our relationship wasn't always what it is now. It sometimes seems like I've known her forever, though assuredly she would tell you differently. We've both changed, but there will always be a part of me that loves Kate for a number of reasons. She has great legs, an air of vitality about her, and fantastic hay fever and dust allergies, all things that for some reason I adore in a woman. She's also vivacious and clever, hard working and assertive. This balance between her physical and mental attributes is something I find very refreshing.

Kate is blessed with huge green eyes that are flecked with brown, feathery chin length brown hair and a face that looks so young and angelic that at first glance, you'd think she were really fifteen instead of nearing thirty. Though of course speaking from experience, most fifteen year olds are angels only by a very broad stretch of the imagination, Kate is definitely appealing in a cheeky, gamine kind of way. She has a sharp tongue that always keeps people on edge, as do her frequent and extremely loud sneezes. Those booming explosions never failed to turn my legs jelly throughout the years!

Ours is a long story, though one that is filled with anecdotes that are hopefully fairly interesting. Let me tell you a bit about Kate and I, and perhaps then you will understand a little bit better why this woman is so special to me.


The first time I met Kate, I was in primary school. We were in the first grade, to be exact. I was a dorky kid, always doing weird things, and didn't have any friends because I had a bad lisp back then, wore glasses that seemed to take up my whole face (honestly - I now look at my school pictures and cringe) and basically wandered around the schoolyard telling my imaginary friends fantastic stories. The other kids thought I was weird and stayed away from me.

I had a huge secret crush on Kate, who at that time called herself Katie (a name she later rejected because it didn't sound grown up enough), though never in a million years would I have told her (or anyone) about it. It wasn't cool for guys to have crushes on girls ("girls - ewwwww!"), especially not if you were the nerdy reject of the group. Katie would never have looked at me twice, even though I looked at her plenty. I remember her sneezing consistently even throughout primary school, either from dust all year 'round or from hay fever in the summer. I don't think my interest was exactly sexual at that age, but there was just something about this cute little girl sitting at her desk surrounded by sodden wads of tissue and pitching involuntarily forward every so often with a massive sneeze that would make the whole class grind to a halt... She'd blush bright red and so would I, silently empathising, burning with inexpressible longing for her.

Of course, I never told her. Not only would I have been way too shy and tongue-tied, but any rebuke would have undoubtedly crushed my fragile ego. I'd talk about it with my imaginary friends, but none of them were much help. Some would be nice and comfort me, but more often than not, these fictitious companions would poke fun. If even my imaginary friends couldn't support my unrequited childish love, I was scared to think what would happen if I ever told any of the real kids in my class!

One day, I discovered a fantastic way to make friends. My mother would often leave her purse unguarded on the kitchen floor. I took this as an open invitation and snuck in when she wasn't looking to steal loose change out of her bag. I'd take this to school and buy treats at the school cafeteria - my lunch would then consist of a tray of cookies and chocolate milk.

Obviously, the other kids quickly noticed this was the only "cool" thing about me and pretty soon they all wanted some of my cookies. I thought cookies were fantastic, so I wouldn't share any of my chocolate chips with them. However, loose change didn't taste nearly as good, so I freely gave that away. Before I knew it, everyone wanted to sit with me at lunchtime, be my best friend, and share the wealth, as it were. Katie was definitely one of those. One day, she sat down next to me, and gave me a freckled grin that melted my heart. When she extended her small podgy hand to steal a cookie, I didn't whisper a single word of protest. Seeing this, she grew bolder and soon asked me for money directly. She'd look at me with eyes that were huge and appealing even in a six year old, smile prettily, and ask,

"Kevvy, can I have a quarter to buy a cookie?"

Katie was gorgeous. Of course I said yes. I also said yes to Marcie, Tammy, Patsy, Nicky, Stevie, Marky... Is it just me, or does everyone's name end with an "ie" sound when you're in primary school? Anyway, when Ali Babba's cave opened and the treasure beckoned, we all became one big happy family. I was ecstatic. I think this discovery is responsible for the fact that today I'm an accountant. Money could get you friends - it was that simple.

If I was overjoyed at my newfound popularity, Miss Biddle, the first grade teacher, wasn't. She thought my sudden upsurge in friends highly suspicious and quickly understood what was going on. She immediately phoned my mother, who wasn't too pleased either. I got what seemed like a sixteen-hour speech on the value of money, not to mention the value of friendship (turned out that wasn't to be measured in financial terms - surprise, surprise!), and my lunch-money traffic ground to a sudden halt.

Unfortunately for me, the schoolyard pirates decided that without bribes, they would not remain my friends. This included sneezy Katie, who only looked at me with contempt when I shyly explained that we could still be friends even if I could no longer afford to pay her. With a sniff and a sneeze, she staunchly informed me,

"Kevvy, I'm sorry, but I-... Hi-ih... Hiitchoo!... I don't like you any more."

She took the one cookie that was on my plate - one was now all I could afford - and left me alone at my table, confused by the fickleness of six year olds. To think I was in love with this girl and fantasized about our walking down the aisle together. I had no clue about what marriage really was; I just thought she'd look dazzling in white.

Katie didn't speak to me for the rest of primary school. After that year, we were only in the same class once, and she'd never talk to me. Every class has one geeky kid that can't seem to make friends, and unfortunately, I was that kid. In primary school, being the straight A, first row know-it-all is not a cool thing. I'd occasionally send Kate anonymous notes and cheesy Valentines, but she never figured out whom they were from. This was probably due to the fact that I'd invent glorious names for myself like Lorenzo Launcelot or Pee-Wee Pickletoes. I left primary school friendless, with excellent grades, promptly forgotten by everyone except maybe a few elderly teachers who swore that some day, I'd be Prime Minister.


I graduated from high school with an astounding average. Did I have many friends? Not really. I was president of the Sci-Fi Club and an active member of the Future Writer's society, though. I churned out dozens of stories starring Captain Picard and Alyssa Milano as his first officer battling against a race of sexy femmebot aliens, or Han Solo and Pamela Anderson engaging in intergalactic intercourse in worlds where gravity was almost non existent. True literary wonders, I assure you, though none of them were ever published for some unfathomable reason. I think the fact that my leading ladies also always happened to have monstrous allergies very much puzzled the few bespectacled friends I had that read them. Can you imagine a story ending with Pamela Anderson blasting off the moon, propelled away by the force of a gigantic sneeze brought on by vast amounts of chalky moon-dust getting up her nose? Then again, these scarce friends probably assumed it was just another one of my admittedly many puzzling quirks, and to be fair, their own stories could be just as bizarre. My friend Sam, for example, seemed to really enjoy my works of genius, and happily reciprocated the favour of my letting him read them by allowing me to peruse his own stories. These tended to focus on equally buxom and surreal women, which always happened to have the hiccups for some reason. Thinking back on this, I think he also had a 'special' interest, but we've lost touch over the years so I'll probably never get to ask him.

What I never told my friends was that no matter who's name I put in my stories, the girl in them was always really Kate Davies. We went to the same high school, but by then, she'd thoroughly forgotten I existed. This was probably not a bad thing, come to think of it. While I huddled away in science labs and dusty meeting rooms, she was out there making a name for herself. It didn't take her long to become popular, joining the cheerleaders' squad, the Yearbook and in the final year, the Prom Committee. Her chin-length pre-school hair grew until it reached her waist and her breasts swelled to a generous C-cup. She sashayed about, siren like, in the corridors with the eyes of countless guys following her. I was definitely one of her many admirers, though unlike most of them, I never went up to talk to her.

Kate's only flaws at that age seemed to be her grades and her allergies, which seemed to worsen consistently through the years. She could be heard sneezing away in the corridors while guys cooed sympathetic drivel to her. She'd always carry at least three handkerchiefs to blow her nose, which seemed a perpetual shade of pink. Tree pollen got her going in the spring, and dust seemed to plague her everywhere she went. Those sloppy janitors will never know how grateful I was to them for permanently overlooking the dust bunnies that huddled in every corner of our school's endless corridors, triggering massive explosions from Kate's small and otherwise elegant straight nose. If her sneezes had been loud and squeaky "hitchoo!"'s in primary school, they had progressed to deep, throaty "HAATCHOO!"'s, well rounded and thoroughly reverberating, by the time high school was over. A couple of times, I could have sworn I felt the building's foundations shaking after Kate had sneezed.

One time, I'd overheard one of her girlfriends asking her why she never stifled them like all the other girls seemed to. She answered something along the lines of,

"I tried it a few times, but they're so powerful it makes my head hurt. Besides, I just keep on sneezing if I stifle them, which is even worse. God I hate these allergies, it's like my nose is always... Al-... Always... Ah... Ahh... Ah-HAATCHOO!!! God, bless me. It's like my nose is always tickling."

I though this was quite eloquently stated, and was very glad she didn't stifle. I was very content, listening in to her frequent sneezing from afar, even though this meant my hormone-filled adolescent body would respond with massive erections about twenty-seven million times a day. I remember now going through high school with a big red binder in front of my crotch not only because I didn't want to risk people reading the stories I wrote and carried with me at all times, but also because it offered a very convenient means of hiding my embarrassing (if quite involuntary) physical reactions to Kate's stunningly gorgeous and omnipresent sneezing.


In college, I decided it was time for a change. As luck would have it, Kate and I both attended Slowdonia College. Where Kate discovered the joys of literature and going steady with a football player named Roger, whom I hated with a passion both because of his muscles and his obvious lobotomy, I plunged happily into a world of mathematics and logarithms. Despite spending too much time hunched over in the school's dank library, I finally enjoyed a growth spurt - which meant no more being picked on and asked whether I helped Santa at Christmas - and the school's excellent gym facilities.

My metamorphosis had begun because of hormones, but wasn't attributable solely to them. Oh, the hours I spent alone on the rowing machines, the bench press, the sit-up mats. I did push-ups and press-ups, chanting "One, Kate is so sexy. Two, I hate her boyfriend. Three, I'm going to get her. Four, I'm going to slay the jerk. Five, we'll get married. Six, I'll hide her allergy meds." This and other assorted drivel got me through hours of working out that left my body aching but developing beautifully. I began to use shampoo on a regular basis and renewed my wardrobe, doing away with all the tracksuits and everything made out of polyester, which essentially meant everything except my two pairs of jeans. I got contact lenses and discovered that braces actually came off at some point after they'd been put in.

Before I knew it, I'd become a decent looking guy and was actually attracting a few looks from the opposite sex, which at once made me panic and sent my heart racing. The first time a girl flirted with me, I nearly fainted, and then promptly proceeded to scaring the daylights out of her by asking her how many children she wanted and what neighbourhood she'd prefer to buy a house in. As you can easily guess, I had no idea how to go about these things.

My academic life mainly consisted of numbers and equations, but we were forced to include some subjects outside of our main area of interest into our curriculum to broaden our horizons. As an option, I chose Medieval English because I knew Kate would be in that class. I didn't have a clue what the whole course was about and actually ended up failing for the first time in my life (could somebody please explain to me what language those people speak? The course's name would suggest it's English, but I have serious doubts about this), but the prospect of being near my sweet Kate Davies and enjoying her fabulous allergies was too much to resist.

She didn't recognise me and I made a point of sitting next to her in every class. In order to ensure that she wouldn't remember the geeky kid I'd been, I made everyone believe my name was Michael. I explained to the teacher that there'd been a mistake in the roster. Of course, at the end of the semester, I had to explain to the Dean that my name was really Kevin and that the teacher had been the one to err in assuming my name was Michael ("Honestly sir, I have no idea where could she possibly have gotten that from"), but it was well worth it. Kate acknowledged my existence, even smiled at me between sneezes, and I was in heaven.

The best day of my entire years in college came in my final Medieval English class. I remember it being a gorgeous sunny May day, where flowers bloomed and birds chirped happily on the windowsills. The pollen count was high and those minuscule grains of whatever it was that troubled her were torturing poor Kate's reddened little nose. I was, of course, sitting right next to her and immensely enjoying the fact that she'd obviously forgotten to take her daily dose of antihistamines.

Every few minutes while the lecture was going on, Kate would get this incredibly sneezy expression, eyes closing, the bridge of her nose wrinkling up even as her mouth pursed into an exasperated little 'oh'. She'd stay like that for a few seconds, make a mad grab for one of her handkerchiefs, and then fly forward with the loudest "HAATCHOO"'s you can imagine. Every time, the other people in the class would snicker or bless her, but I think in the end even the lecturer was fed up with her. She was red-eyed, stuffy nosed and mortified, and I had a huge erection I was at great pains to keep hidden from her.

Things soured a bit near the end of the class. You see, we were sitting together so closely in those small desks designed for two students that our thighs touched. Every time she sneezed, it would feel like an electric shock going through my body. I'd feel her rocking very close to me, seeing her sneeze and hearing those incredibly throaty gasps she'd give just before. It excited me to no end, and though I refrained from saying "bless you" after the first ten sneezes or so, I was obviously very much attuned to what was going on.

As the teacher droned on and Kate's sneezes began to scrape her throat raw, one huge uncontrollable "HAATCHOO!!" after the other, I suddenly realized I wouldn't be able to stand this level of stimulation much longer. Then, it happened. She groaned, her face contorting dramatically as she clamped her handkerchief to her nose, and for no good reason pressed her thigh strongly against mine. Of course, all of my attention was fully focussed on her at this point, and the erection that had been plaguing me for the past hour or so because of it's painful intensity practically jumped in my trousers of its own volition, as if it knew what was going to take place before I did.

She choked out a squeaky "Oh no!" and then sneezed three times, one after the other, explosions that were thunderous even by Kate's now well-established standards. Everyone sat in almost stunned as she let them go, "Hah-HAATCHOO!... HAAITCHHOOO!!... HAATCHOOOO!!!"

Her thigh spasmed against mine with each one, applying dangerous pressure on my overexcited sex, and before I knew it I'd ejaculated right there in my seat. I was just as shocked as everyone else in the room when Kate was finished, though obviously not for the same reasons. I was therefore greatly relieved when the teacher interrupted his lecture to ask Kate,

"Miss Davies, you don't seem to be feeling too well. Perhaps it might be best if you went to the infirmary?"

Kate was only too happy to take his advice and, for once, I was glad to see her go. She whispered a quick "bye" in my general direction as she hastened out of the room, all eyes following her every move, while I cringed at the thought of my loss of control being revealed. Good thing black had become my favourite colour at that point, since dark coloured clothes made stains of any kind harder to discern. The class seemed to last for hours after that, and I couldn't get out of there quickly enough, but that day stands out like a golden ray of sunshine amidst the clouds in my memory even now.


I lost track of Kate for a bit after college. We went our separate ways, and I brilliantly completed my accounting degree while she apparently hopped onto the job market. Occasionally, I'd get news of her through mutual acquaintances and each time, I couldn't help asking whether she was still suffering from those incredible allergies. People thought this was a fairly normal question; Kate's nose had developed quite a reputation through the years, and her sneezes were an obvious subject of conversation whenever her name came up.

One day, I learned she had decided to marry Roger Football-Player, the boy she'd been going steady with at Slowdonia College. I was gutted. Then, remembering statistics that indicate how one out of two couples end up divorcing, I tried to convince myself all was not lost. Unfortunately, my hopes dimmed again when some time later, someone told me Kate had blessed the world with a small daughter who apparently looked just like her. Upon hearing this news, I smiled and wondered whether genetics and fate would decree that this offspring would also have allergies that would spark the imagination of a young man like myself some day.

When about two years after this, Kate Davies walked into my office, I nearly had a heart attack. Our accountants' office had been posting ads in various papers in order to acquire a P.A. the lot of us would share. I was the one designated to do the interviews since I was the one that boasted the best people skills, and had had a long dreary afternoon filled with a string of lacklustre candidates sitting before me, trying desperately to impress. When Kate walked in, I thought I was dreaming.

"Kate Davies?"

"Yes sir. I'm here for the personal assistant position?"

She hadn't recognised me at all. Such a shame my hereditary legacy had caused a significant portion of my hair to fall out while crow's feet were quickly spreading around my eyes, making me appear older and more tired than I really was. I realized at that moment how little I resembled the young man I'd been back at Slowdonia College, seeing nothing of my own spontaneous recognition in Kate's placid green eyes.

I thought it best not to jog her memory. The thought of the love-struck "Michael" I'd been in that long ago Medieval English class flared up in my mind, and I felt the faintest blush rise to my cheeks. How impossibly faraway those times now seemed!

"Fantastic. I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place?"

"No sir, I..."

Kate tapered off, getting a blank look, and immediately, my expert eye saw what was going to happen. As if my entire body was still attuned to this beautiful woman's allergies, I started to get an erection the likes of which I hadn't experienced since my college days.

"Yes?" I pressed, knowing full well she couldn't answer just then.

"I found it, no problem," she quickly squeaked out, before pitching forward to sneeze, a violent "HAATCHIOO!!" which put the memory I had of her sneezes to shame. Was it possible that they'd actually gotten even louder over the years?

"Great. Bless you. Glad to hear it - that's wonderful." I was babbling, referring more to her sneezes than to her sense of direction.

Kate only looked at me, puzzled.

"Right," I began again, regaining some composure. "Let's get started, shall we?"

I asked her the same questions as I had the other applicants, even though I knew from the start the others now no longer stood a chance of getting the position. Throughout the interview, I noticed Kate's nose twitching in response to our admittedly rather lax cleaning habit (if you take the time to look, you'll notice a thin coating of dust on the radiators).

At first, for the sake of politeness, she tried to stifle. Kate's sneezes definitely didn't qualify as being appropriate in an interview setting. She only did it twice, however, because she'd been right in high school: stifling did nothing for her. The sneezing wouldn't stop if she couldn't get the dust out of her nose. It was the most amazing thing! It sounded like: "Hah-ngkk!... HUH-ngkkk!... HAH-nngkkk!... HAATCHOOO!", where she simply lost control of the last sneeze and could finally sit back and let go of her increasingly reddening nose. She seemed to decide that one loud sneeze was preferable to a series of ongoing ones that kept her from talking to the man she was out to impress in order to get a job. Had she but known; I'd have happily hired her even if she'd just sat there and sneezed for a straight half hour. How fantastically powerful those sneezes were... No wonder stifling made her head hurt to keep them in!

As the interview progressed, her answers were more or less peppered with forceful "HAATCHOOO!"'s, which delighted me to no end. I pretended to make notes of what she was saying on my clipboard, but my thoughts were really more focused on anticipating her next sneeze. Kate didn't disappoint; her nose was just as sensitive as it had always been to dust, and every few minutes, she'd get that dazed pre-sneeze look and let one loose.

At some point nearing the end of the questions, my colleague Barry stuck his head in the door to ask if everything was all right. I figured he'd probably been alarmed by the force of Kate's sneezing and was wondering exactly what was happening in my office.

"Sure thing Barry," I answered as casually as I could despite the sweat that was now beginning to form on my brow. "Come on in and meet our new P.A., will you?"

Kate beamed at me as Barry strode over to pump her hand vigorously. She was well qualified for the job, and if I couldn't marry Kate like I'd planned when I was six years old, then having her work for me was the next best thing. Kate chatted for a few moments with Barry, who told her a bit about our office policies and remuneration structure, and then stood up to leave.

Barry and I both escorted her to the elevator, inviting her to start on the following Monday. While we were waiting, Kate noticed the abundance of dust that seemed to be everywhere that day. Having no way of knowing it wasn't usually that bad, she cheerfully told us,

"Thanks so much for taking me on board! Though I have to tell you, I have the worst allergy to dust. If you don't want me snee-hee... HeeATCHOO!!... Sorry. If you don't want me sneezing all the time, it might be good idea to remove some of that... HAATCHOO!!"

Barry kindly assured her that we would get the janitor to look into it, while I wisely kept my clipboard firmly pressed in front of my crotch. I remembered the red binder I'd used for the same purpose back in high school, and wondered whether I'd have to purchase another to keep from embarrassing myself on a regular basis around Kate. Both of us smiled at her as she entered the elevator. As soon as the door closed behind her, we heard another loud "HAATCHOOO!", Kate's parting sneeze.

"She seems like a really nice gal," Barry commented as we made our way back to our offices.

"She sure does. What a sneeze, eh?" I tried to keep my tone as neutral as possible.

Barry chuckled. "You bet. She probably scares small children with that!"

"I'm just glad that we found someone for the job. Anyway, I'd better get back to work; I've got loads of paperwork waiting."

"And me," Barry replied, sighing.

"Right, so we'd best get to it. Oh, before I forget, Barry, could you do us a favour?"

"Sure thing, what?"

Though hiring Kate would probably not do wonders for my productivity, it would certainly make the nine-to-five routine infinitely more enjoyable. Even if hearing her sneeze from dust allergies all day long virtually guaranteed I'd have to work with a perpetual hard-on, it would definitely be worth it. Fate sometimes works in mysterious ways...

A decidedly evil smile spread across my lips. "Would you please sack the janitor?"