Carl Isley - Dog show girl

Wimpy chased after me for awhile, never quite catching up. That was all part of our game. Then I jumped up and grabbed onto the bars and climbed up about eight feet high on the side of the cage, out of his reach. So there he was down below reaching for me, grabbing at my ankles, chattering away, and there I was up there hanging on the bars, kicking down at him, spitting, calling him a big hairy motherfucker and every other name. Of all nights for somebody to be spying on us. I could have killed that sneaky bastard.

It ended with me jumping down and landing right on top of old Wimpy and he caught me like he always did and we went down onto the floor together. Then I rolled over away from him and got up on my hands and knees; with my ass in his face, and making monkey noises again. This was going to be a plain old-fashioned monkey-fuck — in from the rear-end, under the ass and up the snatch. I gave Wimpy a good spread to aim at and wiggled my ass at him and he slipped up behind me and eased into position. Man, this was his kind of fucking.

He slipped his prick up inside with no trouble at all — we had our parts pretty well tooled to a fine fit by then. I'd developed a perfect monkey-cunt, just for him. So there he was whanging away against my ass and me bending the knees and bumping backwards to help the action. As usual his long arms came around under me to play squeeze-ball with my boobs.

Pete said later that he thought he must be asleep in a drunk dream, I mean who would believe a sight like this — drunk or sober?

We pounded away to our usual A-bomb orgasm and then we wrestled around with each other, making more monkey noises, and all through the whole nutty scene that kid Pete wouldn't pop out and show himself. He let me go on making it jackass of myself and then finally — when I'm climbing down out of the damn cage, all smeared up with crud and straw and dripping sweat, looking like it bedraggled sewer-rat, then he sticks his head out and says to me, "Good show, Miss Valerie. Didn't know you had it in you." And he gave me a couple of tired hand-claps along with it.

I let out it whoop and almost dropped right on the spot from heart failure. But then I saw who it was and I started in giving him hell. The cocky young shit — I'd slept with him once or twice when he first joined the show. That was when I was still sleeping around a lot — long before I took up with the monkeys. I used to try out all the new boys that came and went, the same as the other girls did. I remembered this one well. He was a common variety — big mouth and small cock.

But then under the circumstances I figured I'd better play it cool with him. I wasn't too anxious naturally to have the word get around the lot about me and Wimpy's mad passion. So I invited Pete to come on inside with me and have a drink and help me shower down.

Then over a drink, under the shower, and finally under the sheets together, we made a little deal. Tomorrow I'd speak to his boss and arrange a transfer to the menagerie for him. From now on he would work for me — helping out around the monkey house.

And it wasn't such a bad deal for me. I could use the help, and from then on I had somebody to stand watch for me when I was doing my thing with Wimpy. Pete wasn't such a bad kid anyway. It certainly was no sweat keeping him happy. He was a pretty feeble fuck compared to that wild monkey. I could drain Pete dry in five minutes anytime without half trying and have plenty of juice left for Wimpy whenever he was ready to ball.

Pete loved watching me and Wimpy do our stuff and I didn't mind that. What the hell — I'd performed in the buff for audiences enough times before when I was in the girlie show — stuffing myself with dildos and every other damn thing. So there was no problem for me of self-consciousness or embarrassment. And it was big kicks for Pete. Sometimes I think he got more charge out of watching me screw the monkey than he did out of banging me himself.

One day when I wasn't on the scene, unfortunately, some woman got into a big hassle with Wimpy. She claimed she was standing beside his cage minding her own business when he reached through the bars and grabbed hold of her, tore her dress down the back, and then reached around and "roughly handled her right breast, inflicting major bruises and abrasions and causing her to suffer extreme terror and severe embarrassment."

She informed Mister Bennington that she was suing the circus for some idiotic amount of money — way up in the hundred thousand area. Old Bennington flew into his usual tizzy and told me in no uncertain terms that Wimpy was a nuisance and he was getting rid of him. Having him destroyed!

I nearly had a breakdown. Destroy Wimpy! They'd be destroying me too if they did. But what could I do? I was at my wit's end.

But then good old Pete came to the rescue. I hadn't even seen the dame who made the complaint, but Pete told me, "You know who she is. You've noticed her around here plenty. Remember last week I pointed her out to you? The fat cunt with the floppy hat."

Oh, did I ever remember! And all of a sudden the worries just melted away. We had this dame by the balls, so to speak.

The thing is, there's a certain type of woman that's attracted to monkeys, and they spend half their time hanging around zoos and menageries like ours. Any place with monkeys can tell you they see this type of woman every day. Women like that know that male monkeys can get horny over human females and with them, like me, and vice versa. They don't have my opportunities though to actually do something constructive about their urges, so they just hang around the monkey cages half the day, hoping to see a monkey passing or playing with himself or just showing off a hard-on.

So this cunt who was suing us was one of those. Pete had spotted her one day poking a stick into Wimpy's cage, trying to jab his crotch while he was sleeping. That's when he pointed her out to me and we had a security cop take her for a walk.

So now we had me, Pete, and the cop to testify against that bitch and her monkey-teasing habits, and sure enough — all of a sudden the case collapsed without ever going to court. And there was no more talk from Bennington about liquidating my sweet little old furry-ass common-law spouse.

FINAL NOTE: After that, Valerie carried on her passionate affair with Wimpy the orangutan for more than a year, until one night the lovable ape suddenly took a fit and died in her arms during one of their frenzied sex-sessions. He apparently had suffered a heart-seizure.

Valerie reports that she was inconsolable for weeks afterward. She fled from the circus and gave herself up to a series of violent love affairs with a great many men, none of which satisfied her, physically or emotionally.

So at last she returned to the circus and her beloved monkeys, and eventually she married and seems to have achieved a happy human-relationship with her present husband.

Although she admits having cheated on him occasionally with other men, she swears that she has always remained absolutely true to the memory of her beloved Wimpy, and despite frequent bestial temptations, never again has she consorted sexually with any other monkey.