Making sense of my adventures with women, one disaster at a time.

The Dog or Grandma?

Ed was having a birthday bash at a local bar/club called Padri’s. As it turned out, Padri’s is a hive for horny cougars trying to milk what’s left of their waning sex appeal. Jackpot.

The great thing about going to cougar bars is the mental swagger. Being younger than every woman in the place makes me feel like I automatically have the upper hand–because I have something they don’t: youth. I’ve had in depth conversations on the topic with several cougars. Most of them will admit that they aren’t exactly attracted to younger guys because of their physical appearance, but rather they’re after their youth, and the self-validation that comes with that conquest. We make them feel young again, beautiful even, and though they’re approaching old age and a doomed physical appearance, guys like me remind them that life can still be stimulating and hopeful.

Five beers into the night, an attractive blonde forty-five-year-old woman named Emily was standing right behind me. With her big blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she looked exactly like the older version of singer Aubrey O’Day. When I asked her what she was drinking, I was delighted to discover that she had a sexy English-Australian accent. Emily had lived in England and Australia for quite some time and now was living promiscuously in California. This foreign gem slowly inched her way closer to me, as we talked about each other’s cool features. I liked her hair; she liked mine. I liked her eyes; she liked mine. I liked her age; she liked mine. In incredible shape for a woman her age, she had worn a cropped top baring her stunning midriff. Her face did have two noticeable wrinkles slicing her cheeks, and there were probably more hidden beneath her makeup, but her stomach was successful in taking the attention away from any flaw she may have had. In her prime she had to have been at least a 9. I was hooked.

Kissing Emily was almost too easy. My friend Pico mischievously told her, “Kiss him.” So she leaned in and planted her lips on mine and then did it again and again, remaining in close proximity throughout the night. She was also in and out of conversation with an aggressive man in his mid-fifties who was watching the two of us like a hawk. The fierce glint in his eyes combined with his leather jacket reminded me of Wild Thing from Major League just before his windup. I avoided eye contact with him and tried to only make out with Emily when he wasn’t looking.

After another hour of sneaking in a few more make out sessions, Emily took me by the hand and sneaked us out before Wild Thing could see us depart. We walked what seemed like two miles to her car in a night that had gotten uncomfortably cold.

When we arrived at her apartment, Craig, one of my friends who had come to the bar with the group, began calling me incessantly, trying to get me to come pick him up, even though the rest of the crew was still there. I told him I was about to get laid by grandma. He tried giving me a guilt trip because he was stranded. The next morning he shrugged it off, but to call me three times in a row and cry like a baby about why it was fucked up he was stuck there, and it was my fault was uncalled for.

As we walked up the apartment stairs, she warned me that she had a dog, and he loved people. I figured this obstacle would be easy to maneuver around.

Perhaps I smelled so obviously of sex, or maybe the dog was just sex deprived, but the moment that wiener dog laid eyes on me, he absolutely could not stop humping my leg.

Overly enamored of her dog, Emily was of no help. She mildly admonished him, “NICHOLAS,” pause, and then again “Nicholas.” During the course of the night, she had to have yelled this name at least forty times. The dog didn’t respond to the name in any way; he probably didn’t even think his name was Nicholas. Despite the animal’s endless energy, I finally managed to inch my way past the dog and into her bedroom. 

Nicholas followed us in, jumped on the bed, and tried to start a threesome. I reasoned with her that we put the dog out, trying to hide the fact I hated her dog. Chicks usually find it a turnoff when guys don’t like their dogs. But my patience had reached its end with this fucking animal. I calculated the chances she’d throw me out at 6%. I finally convinced her to put the dog in the living room. We shut the door and fucked like humans. 

Minutes later, an unpleasant odor began to infiltrate the air. It smelled like an open Chicken of the Sea tuna can had been silently festering underneath her mattress for two months and the room turned into a rotten fish factory. It was atrocious, but I managed to keep my hard-on anyway and kept plowing.

To make matters worse in this bizarre sex adventure, Nicholas was feeling left out and began running into the door head first! This had to be the first case in recent hook-up history of a male animal cockblocking a male human, and of course I was the victim. Emily stopped, “I’m sorry, I have to let him in. He’s usually not like this. I don’t know what’s got into him.” All hell was about to break loose. 

As Nicholas quietly moseyed in, he looked up at me, and his psychotic instinct took over. He bolted like a ravenous sex zombie onto the bed and started humping my now-naked leg.

“NICHOLAS!” his owner screamed. No reaction. I was sitting up at this point getting leg-raped by Nicholas. I had to stifle the urge to kick the damn dog like a football but instead gritted my teeth and waited for her to step in. She patiently picked him up and petted him, but it didn’t settle him down. He stared at me the whole time.

She gave him some kind of pep talk in which she mumbled some sort of poem into his ear. I tried to listen to the exact words, but her voice was too low. His body relaxed, and he melted into her arms. When she set him down, he actually lay peacefully on the floor. She returned to the bed, and I stuck my now semi hard-on inside her and hoped it would get stiff again. Every fifteen seconds, I would look over at mini Cujo just to make sure he was still. About five minutes later my hard-on was in full force once more as I continued to ironically screw her doggie-style. I had her screaming again, but now Nicholas was up again, looking at me with his tongue hanging out.

We moved back into missionary. Suddenly I felt a tickling sensation in my asshole. I turned around to find Nicholas giving me a rimjob! What the fuck! I’m a fan of rimjobs, but only with human females; this was unacceptable. I looked at Emily, whose head was back moaning, and I moved to get in position to kick Nicholas off the bed. I sent him hurtling into the air, as he let out a piercing yelp. I felt bad momentarily, but it was more of a shove kick than a vigorous kick. I didn’t want to break any bones. I did have an excuse: being emotionally distraught from a canine rimjob.

She heard the yelp and stopped. “Did you hurt my Nicholas?”

“No, I think he just fell off the bed.”

Nicholas pattered to the side of the bed as if nothing had happened. Maybe he was rooting for us to get laid all along, a true voyeur.

We continued to fuck. A couple minutes later, I felt the dog humping my leg again. I was humping his owner; he was humping my leg. We had transformed into a sick interspecies love train. Jesus Christ! This dog made the Energizer bunny look like a two-pump chump. But compared to the rimjob, this was nothing.

I lightly kicked him away, but he kept returning. How I was able to maintain my concentration will forever be a mystery. The third time, I felt his little prick hitting my ankle. He had a boner! I sent him flying again. He didn’t yelp this time. I must have finished him because it was the last time he touched the bed that night. He quietly found his position on the floor and lay there, eerily satisfied. Maybe he blew his load in mid-air. Emily and I finally finished our stinky session, and she drove me back to my car. To my chagrin, she never apologized for Nicholas’s behavior.

In spite of the dog, I was satisfied with my night. My friends all made fun of me the next day and exaggerated Emily’s age, but I’d probably fuck Emily again if the dog weren’t there (and if I had a cold). The drive back to my car was only four minutes, but I remember looking at her and thinking how hot she must have been twenty years ago. Sometimes to fuck the hot chicks, you have to do it twenty years later.

  • sirene6531

    Dave, i’ve discovered your blog and you’ve got me hooked. This one just cracked me up. Btw, between maths, getting pissed and screwing, where do you have the time to write??

  • Since I teach math (and not english), I don’t have as much school work to take home to grade. So I’ll write on school nights and weekends, or whenever I can find time on my vacation (I do get summers off). Writing is one of my passions, so I’ll make time for it regardless of how busy I am.

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