Gus Stevens - Love Me, Love My Dog

“Such language for a native queen to use. Turn around and I'll pluck the jewel from your belly button.”

Amy turned, all right, staring. “Sometimes I think you're crazy, and maybe crazy like a fox. I don't know whether to believe you or not, especially when you admit you were alone with that Trudy Pipp person.”

“Alone for five minutes,” I pleaded, “spending the time discussing Alexander and whether Trudy-Miss Pipp-should get a round dollar fifty for the final fraction of an hour she's at the house.”

Amy got out of the car, hugging her arms as a cool night breeze whispered in over the beach and swirled behind the wall. I hopped out, coming after her and draping my coat around her shoulders. I gave her a little squeeze.

“Why would I be so hot and bothered just being near you if I'd already had a… if I'd already made love to someone else tonight?” I whispered through her brown wisps of hair into her ear. When I was in high school I could drive them wild by whispering into their ears. In fact, that's how I got my first cherry, out in back of the football grandstand.

She turned toward me, leaning her back against the concrete of the wall. “Oh, Don, I'm not sure of anything these days. Why do you think I got that silly dog? He's just something to do… some company while you're away. I guess a woman who's worried behaves like a suspicious fool.”

Inside me something sighed with relief and sat back to relax. I suppose it was my rotten conscience, which was strictly an invertebrate when it came to having a stiff spine. I leaned close to her, resting my hand on the wall, which was still warm from the last sun of the day.

“You're worried about having a baby… or not having a baby? We can always try once again to solve that problem, sweetheart. Right here and now.” My voice was husky and it wasn't all acting.

“You're a nut,” she whispered, turning her face up to mine and not behaving as though she thought I was a nut at all. “A complete idiot. Suppose the cop on the beat were to come along?”

I shook my head. “It's uphill from the street, so he won't get out of his prowl car.”

“Even so,” she murmured, shoving my arm out of the way and walking to where there was a break in the wall. Steps led down to the sand and we took them, she leading the way back to the wall so that we were on the dark side, below the top level, facing the ocean across a hundred yards of sand.

She turned, got up on tiptoe and kissed the tip of my nose. “Now then, what were you saying about making babies?”

A strange sound filled my ears as I came closer to her and it was several seconds before I realized it was coming out of my own throat.

I've tried to make it clear that my wife Amy has a body that wouldn't quit if it were surrounded by Sitting Bull's Indians and that's a fact. I've never understood why we didn't have a house crammed with kids, because she has one of those fertile looks. One would almost believe that she'd become pregnant from a warm handshake.

So, as she leaned back against the sea wall and curved her lips in a smile that was loaded with invitation, I was a ready guy. I stepped forward and her arms snaked around my neck, her fingers playing hide and seek with the hairs where they touched my shirt collar.

“You're a sex box.” My voice was accusing.

“Guilty, your honor.”

“You get me all hot and bothered and then you announce that you've bought a new fall coat.”

“Guilty again.”

“The worst part is, you don't mind cheating this way. If the Geneva Convention ever got a look at you bare-assed they'd charge you with violations of international law. Poison gas, the hydrogen bomb, Amy Brady's bottom. They're all inhumanly effective weapons.”

She wasn't laughing, her fingers still horsing around at the back of my neck. “Talk. Is that all you do?”

“I perform too.”

“Start the performance.”

I did, leaning forward until I was flattening her against the concrete, and flattening my wife's curves isn't easy because she's pneumatic. Squeeze her one place and she produces a curve somewhere else.

I loved the feel of her breasts spreading out across my chest and, while there was still some room left, she opened my jacket so her nipples could do their dance against my shirt. I got their message loud and clear, five by five, feeling their twin rake across the skin of my chest. Her hips wiggled their way around until she had a knee thrust between mine and I didn't have the heart not to relax and let her shove deeper toward my loins.

“Gros Gott!” I blurted.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she breathed, her lips moving against mine, her tongue flicking around like that of a playful garter snake looking for a place to snap.

“German for you're loaded, sweetheart.”

“More talk,” she sighed.

I kissed her good while she tried to force her body behind me and we must have held it for a full minute. Just before we began to turn blue, I broke our embrace. “You're pretty steamed up.”

“You know how long it's been,” she muttered, kissing me on the chin and neck like a sexy burp gunner. Then she froze, pulling her head back. “What's wrong? Don't you need it?”

“Of course I do.”

She shoved me away, staring. “I wonder if you do. You were a busy little man, especially with your pat excuses. Alice in the kitchen and Trudy Pipp at home. You could have unloaded your scrotum into either one, for all I know.”

“Come on, honey…”

“Come on, my eye. I can tell when I'm hotter than you-like right now. I'm ready to swallow you like a whale taking in a minnow and you're fiddling around. Your reactions are much too slow for such a hot-blooded lover type.”

I sulked. “You spend so much time being jealous of nothing I get cooled off.”

“I've never cooled you off before,” she snapped, turning away, her arms folded over her breasts.

I followed, grasping her shoulders and holding on tightly until her head fell back against my chest. Her eyes were squeezed shut. “God damn you, Don Brady, but I've got to have you, even if it's only sloppy seconds.”

“Baby, I swear…”

“Kindly close your mouth, unless you're willing to use it for something besides talking.”

Kissing the side of her neck, I let my fingers whisper across her throat, touching every curve and hollow in that elegant place until I could feel the rasping of her breath in my fingertips. Slowly, her head rocked back and forth and her hands groped before her for a moment before coming back to feel of me and then clutch the sides of my thighs. She held on hard, digging in for what was to come.

My touch slid more deeply into her throat, into the deep divided valley of her bosom, where it was cool from the night yet warm from her passion, her internal fires making the flesh hot and dry.

I pressed on, more deeply and then up the side of one of her magnificent Alps, shoving my way toward the button at its summit. It was a squeeze, so I freed a hand long enough to locate the zipper tab at the back of her neck and slide the tab halfway to her waist. The back of her dress parted like a banana peel, freeing itself from the heaving tightness of her torso so that white skin and the firm band of a brassiere came into view. I solved the riddle of the brassiere clasp and the ends sprang from my fingers as though they'd been shot from a catapult.

I went back to the front door, into the now less confining valley and up to that seething summit, where the cherry nipple awaited me, almost beating with its own rabbit heart. I scissored it quickly and her breathing turned into a file-like rasping.

“God, turned on, turned on…” she panted.

I switched to the other bunny point and it came to life, anxious to perform any tricks I, its master, might command. Her breasts became heavier as I slid my hands to their bottoms and lifted, forcing them over the tops of the loosened brassiere cups so that they fell into the cool air of the darkness.