Carlotta Graham: A wild yearning

In the beginning, there was no thought of the Levitt's German shepherd Rex in Jan's pretty blonde head as she went grumpily about her early morning housework. She was by far too preoccupied with other things – in particular with the peculiar frustration she was continually feeling with being married.

Not that she hadn't frequently noticed the sleek dog that lived next door. Indeed, she had often puzzled over Rex's peculiar attraction when he was tied up at the local supermarket, for it always seemed as if every housewife in the neighborhood paused in her shopping duties to give him a friendly pat and whisper some friendly words to the long-tongued dog, which was usually sitting obediently on his haunches as he waited for his mistress to finish her shopping.

"Hello, Rex, how's that nice doggy today?" they would ask. Or, "My, that's a sweet little dog, aren't you?" And this puzzled Jan from time to time. After all, it was true that Rex had a sleek, shining coat and that he was the epitome of form in what one thought of as the German shepherd physique, but after all there were usually a half dozen pedigreed dogs parked outside the supermarket, all of them equally handsome in their own way. Yet there was not a one among them that seemed to inspire the response Rex did. He was truly unique in that respect. Women couldn't seem to pass him up.

Yet so far as Jan could tell, there was not anything especially unique about the dog. True, he had a handsome, intelligent face – very masculine, too, of course – but that was scarcely enough to justify such unusual attentions as he invariably commanded.

So this was just a part of Jan's ordinary curiosity with respect to the Levitt's dog. But another part of it was Marge Levitt's seeming preoccupation and possessiveness with respect to Rex. Jan had frequently noticed Marge's usually cheerful face changing rapidly to a sullen scowl if she came out of the supermarket and found someone talking to or petting Rex. Occasionally she tried to remember if this similar change of personality took place when Marge encountered a man being friendly to the handsome German shepherd. But this line of thought was usually futile, as Jan could not recall any such instance. It was almost always some housewife who could be seen being friendly to the sturdy, sleek dog.

Not that she pondered this overmuch. It was simply something she occasionally gave a modicum of thought.

Marge's possessiveness also seemed to continue at home, for she kept the dog chained securely and confined to the Levitt grounds. It was never allowed to roam free like other dogs in the neighborhood, and occasionally even Steve remarked that such a house dog should be more savage, instead of so friendly as Rex obviously was. Jan didn't know much about dogs, but she knew enough to know that this observation of Steve's was fundamentally correct. Logically speaking, a house German shepherd like Rex should be more vicious. But it was obvious that the dog's nature was sunny and affectionate.

Not that one ever got much chance to find out. Marge didn't even like to bring Rex next door when she stopped by for coffee on the odd morning. At least not since that morning when the dog had nuzzled Jan's leg in an over friendly fashion.

Marge had an unusual excuse to justify her possessiveness, though, and she self-consciously brought this up on every possible occasion. To Jan it seemed like a bad case of 'protesting over much', but Marge's justification usually went roughly as follows: namely, that ever since Rex had sired the Boardman pups down the road by that German shepherd she-bitch Carla, the Levitts didn't want to take any chance of having any lawsuits due to Rex's cavorting.

Which seemed reasonable on the face of it – but then on the other hand Jan had never heard of anyone being sued for letting their dog out and having it sire unintentionally some other dog. That was, after all, the way of the world, wasn't it? You couldn't legislate animal biology very well.

But then she was no expert on the law, so maybe she didn't understand the situation. Barrington Hills was a small community with very wealthy families, and there was no dearth of money around to support lawsuits if people became indignant over one thing or another. With people this wealthy it paid to be careful.

Still, nothing seemed to explain adequately Marge's continual nervousness, anxiety and possessiveness with respect to that dog.

Not that she hadn't been angry when she first learned of Carla's pups – and it seemed to Jan unreasonably so. Those pups had really altered her personality.

Those pups. Several women in the neighborhood had tried to buy them, but the Boardmans were interested in selling only to their friends, and the price for such pedigreed German shepherds was high. The Boardmans didn't know many people in Barrington Hills; so far as Jan knew, she and Steve were the only persons they had offered one.

But what did she need a dog about the house for? Just one more worry and someone to clean up after. And she would have to go through a breaking-in period with it and so on. It scarcely seemed worth the trouble.

And so it went – on most mornings, a sample of her daydreaming thoughts, idle and useless.

But this morning she was altogether too furious and uncomfortable to give any thought to Rex at all.

And it was all Steve's fault, that rat. She was too refined to use any term more rough than that. Last night had been absolutely the last straw. She didn't see how she could put up with the situation any longer. Maybe she would be able to discuss it with her parents when they arrived – Sarah and Arnold Talbott were scheduled to arrive for two weeks vacation this afternoon – she had always been able to discuss things with her mother, although of course she was suitably more reticent with her attractive, distinguished father, who, after all, was a man.

Jan sat down at the kitchen table with a weary sigh and lit a nervous cigarette. She fluffed out her long blonde hair and drew strongly on the cigarette, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke out through her luscious young mouth, which she felt was more refined for a woman than blowing smoke out through her nostrils. She had been brought up to behave like a lady, and she knew what was ladylike and what was not.

That rat. She couldn't forgive him. Although she had been brought up to be respectable, reserved and refined, and she knew better than to let her husband even guess that she might be capable of enjoying something like sex, she still nonetheless could not escape the torrential, merciless feeling of passion that arose in her loins whenever she encountered his heavy desire-hardened penis. And last night it had been worse than usual. And he had been worse than usual. She was beside herself. He had gotten her worked up to such a crazed pitch of desire with his foreplay, then disappointed her as usual with his early, too quickly arrived at, ejaculation.

Only this time she hadn't been able to calm herself down with a cold shower. After last night's big let-down she was still smoldering without let-up. She could still feel a slight twinge of ever present need within the sensitive walls of her vagina everytime she moved and scraped her thighs together.

As usual, he'd been terribly inconsiderate in bed, just satisfying himself and leaving her in the middle of her passionate escalation. He had fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards, while she'd lain beside him in passionate frenzy for almost two hours before she fitfully dozed off.

So it was little wonder that the twenty-one year old, curvaceous blonde wife had awakened in no less an erotic state than the sizzling fire that sleep had temporarily banked for the night.