Gus Stevens - Love Me, Love My Dog

At last her eyes opened, blinked once, and then looked into mine. Her lips curved in a smile and, for the first time, I could see that there were tired lines around her mouth. It had been a taxing evening.

“Good morning.” My voice was brisk, businesslike.

“Hi.” She sounded lazy and relaxed, as though she could turn her back to me and sleep five more hours.

“Rise and shine, lady. Move along, or I'll have to run you in.”

“Get lost, pig,”

She staggered from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, where I heard her brushing her teeth. Returning, she fell across the bed again and I replaced her before the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. I didn't like what I saw. The skin was dark and puffy under my eyes and there was a line coming down from my nose to each corner of my mouth that hadn't been there yesterday morning.

Washed up, I wandered back into the bedroom and stood over her until she reached for me, catching my wrist, and pulling me heavily to her side. We bounced and then she was kissing me, her lips very gentle as though she were bruised and she was sparing them further pain.

I broke the kiss, knowing it was stale, knowing there wasn't much inside me to give. “Cool it,” I muttered, rolling to my back and fumbling for a cigarette at the bedside table. I got it lighted and it tasted terrible, so I stubbed it out at once.

Sitting up, I blinked around the place, hearing a thumping in the corridor. Then Alexander trotted into the room, his heavy tail swishing as he planted his muzzle between my legs.

“And you, you horny old goat,” I snapped, tapping the top of his head. His tail continued to swish.

Amy sat up by my side, her hip heavy against mine, her breast crouched against my arm. I looked down at her naked body and she looked at mine but, beautiful as she was, I could feel my genes rolling over and going back to sleep. There just was no interest in sex.

“Wasn't he funny last night?” she remarked.

“Who, Buddy?”

“No, dope, Alexander. You know, that long red thing.”

“What did you expect, a silver bullet? Dogs like to have their share of nookie, you know. All the males on this earth do.”

She shuddered, hugging her breasts until they popped out and lay atop her folded arms, their nipples looking at me in invitation. “Don't say things like that.”

“Why not? It's the truth. I need it, Alexander needs it, Buddy needs it and, for added pleasure, both you and Trudy need it. It makes for a cozy social life, especially if you throw a Sam and Alice as a side order for the same price.”

Somehow offended and angry, Amy got up and went to the closet. Alexander followed and, as she paused to look over her wardrobe, his muzzle tucked itself into the crack of her bottom. For a moment she stiffened, doing nothing, and I waited, jaw agape, as the German shepherd shifted his snout lower and dug deeper, shoving hard. Then Amy was whirling and shoving him away, shaking her fingers.

“Nasty doggie. We don't do that.”

She looked up at me, flushing down between her breasts, and I noticed that her nipples were a brighter color than they had been a minute before, and their points were firmer. Christ, could it really be?

She turned back to the closet, selected a pair of pants and pulled them on. Then she wiggled into stretch capris and pulled a striped T-shirt over her head, mussing her hair. Her last chore was slipping into a pair of sandals.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” I asked, still sitting naked on the bed.

She looked back over her shoulder, saucy as hell. “I don't believe so.”

“What's the matter, have brassieres gone out of style?”

Together we looked at the thrusting points made by her nipples and the generous curves of her complete breasts. It was true that Any didn't need a brassiere for lift and the damned things only served to hold her in. Even so, after the night before, a no-bra day seemed a little rugged.

“Everybody's discarding them these days,” she sniffed. “It's the fashion. Besides, I'm not going out of the house, so you don't need to worry about me being raped on the street.”

I snorted. “You doing the raping would be more like it, if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you,” she hissed, glaring, hands on her nubile hips. “What were you doing last night, singing in the church choir?”

I rasped something neither of us could understand and she marched out of the room. In a minute I could hear her making noises in the kitchen, so I pulled on a shirt and a comfortable old pair of slacks. Old loafers were kind to my feet, too, and they slapped as I shuffled down the hall. In the kitchen I sat at the table by the window and looked out into the back yard, where the pool shimmered like a turquoise jewel.

It brought the memories all over again. Could it really have happened? Could Buddy Pipp have banged my wife against the side? Could he have blown her shortly before as she sat and tugged on his hair? Could I have hung like a devilish Christ from the cross, suspended from a diving board while Trudy Pipp sucked my brain cavity clean?

Scowling, I turned away and watched her at the stove, where she stood with a hissing frying pan in her hand, and the rich smell of bacon and eggs wafted to my nostrils. She had a dandy shape, all right, and I was a fool for allowing anyone else to play around with it.

She caught me looking, having turned while I was dreaming. “Well?”

“Just staring, that's all.”

“Staring at what?”

“Your ass, if you must know.”

“Horny old goat.”-

“Guilty, your honor.”

She put a steaming plate before me and sat down across the table, We ate in silence for ten minutes and I discovered I had the appetite of a squad of Marines and the more I ate the more I wanted. Amy gave me seconds all around and I must have had a quart of coffee.

Later we lighted up and sat back with deep sighs. “You're refueling,” she murmured, nodding at my clean plate.

“Looks that way. Old men aren't accustomed to such strenuous exercise.”

Her eyes were dead serious as she leaned forward, staring into my face. “Don, tell me how you really feel. Was last night as awful as I remember?”

I nodded. “Worse. I'd hate to see the replay on tape, coach.”

She shuddered, dragging on her cigarette, letting the smoke curl into her nostrils and then exhaling to one side. “We can't let that happen again.”

“No. Never. It was a bad scene, Amy. Bad all the way through. It could lead to even worse events.”

“What on earth could be worse?”

I fixed her with a steely gaze. “We could get hooked on that sort of fun. Plenty of couples have and they wind up in divorce court or making an arrangement.”

“They sleep with everybody except each other?”

“You got it, baby. That's not going to happen to us. You're all hot to get yourself pregnant and that's just dandy, but I don't need any help from any teen-age giant.”

“But that isn't why I…”

“I know,” I interrupted, my voice gruff, “but we've got each other and that's enough. We're finished with screwing around with those kids. Is that clear?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What about Alexander? Suppose he needs a sitter.”

“We'll get a little old lady… or better yet a little old man.”

We smoked quietly after that, each lost in our own thoughts, and so it was for the remainder of the morning. I decided to get some work done in the den, instead of running down to the office, and Amy went into the yard where I could hear her snipping roses.

While I was in the middle of balancing the accounts for the Peerless Lumber Company, the phone rang and it was Sam. He was working too, and he asked me several questions about the business. When that was cleared up he got down to the monkey business.