It was a dreary Monday afternoon in January. Not cold enough to snow, which somehow made it worse. There was sort of a drizzly, misty freezing rain falling softly through the fog.
It was also a perfect day to have off from work. I run a regional mall in the metro Philadelphia area. My normal work week includes most Saturdays, so that usually gives me a day off during the week, which works out great most of the time. It's a lot easier to run routine errands when half of suburbia is not out doing the same on Saturdays.
Such was the case on this gloomy Monday. It was high time my chocolate lab, Reese, had a long-overdue grooming appointment at the local Pet Smart.
Reese was so named because he has smatterings of tan on his nose, legs and stomach, giving him the appearance of a canine peanut butter cup. He's also a big lovable teddy bear, which doesn't hurt as an icebreaker with women. There are typically no wing men in grocery stores, so pet stores are a natural way to have something in common with a woman as a way to strike up conversation.
I had dropped him off at noon for the two-hour session and arrived back at PetSmart promptly at two o'clock for the pick-up. My only plans for the duration of the day were to prepare my taxes, so it wasn't as if I had any pre-conceived notions of finding pussy on this day.
But if there is one thing I've learned in my many years, to paraphrase Tom Cruise's character in Risky Business, opportunity for pussy often arrives in the most curious of circumstances.
You just have to not be afraid to ask nicely.
I walked through the door of the grooming salon into the cramped check-in/check-out area. I saw the other dog and his owner at about the same time. Both were very cute.
Very, very cute.
I smiled first at the owner, a raven-haired woman I guessed to be in her late thirties, or about fifteen years younger than myself. She had big blue eyes and a wide smile which grew when I bent down to pet her pup.
"Hi, big guy," I said to the happy pooch, whose tail wagged merrily, hungry for the attention I was providing. While down there, I had a close-up view of the woman's shapely legs, which were covered in black leggings. The most intriguing part, though, was that she also had on a pair of at least four-inch stilettos, ivory white in color, which served as an interesting choice on this treacherous weather day. But the contrast between the ebony material of the leggings and the white "fuck-me" pumps caught my attention immediately.
The colors of her attire mirrored that of her dog's. He looked to be a lab mix of some kind, black with white on the same areas where my Reese had his tan markings. I looked up at her as I knelt below her, petting the precocious pup behind his floppy ears, and was greeted with a birds-eye view of her crotch. My face was mere inches from her pussy, which was purely unintentional, but even if she wanted to, she had no room to backtrack.
I could have stood up, but I chose not to. Instead, I admired the prominent camel toe protruding from the gap between the woman's legs. If she was wearing any panties at all, they must have been wedged tightly between her labia. The two puffy lips were easily visible, and I made no effort to turn away. I was close enough so that she could probably feel my breath on her folds. And maybe it was my imagination, but she seemed to rock ever so slightly forward so that her pelvis crept another inch towards my nose.
"Twins," I said, staring directly at her pair of plump pussy lips, within a tongue's length of me. If I wanted to, I could have unraveled my tongue and licked right at the apex of her twat.
"Pardon me?" she replied, perhaps wondering if I'd really said what she thought she had heard.
I rose, reluctantly eschewing my view for the time being. I pointed to her wardrobe, which included a cropped black leather jacket. Like her dog, she was black from head to almost toe.
"You two, all in black, except for the feet." I pointed to her outfit and then to her doggy. "You're dressed like twins. Almost identical."
She looked down at herself in self-assessment, and began to laugh. "Oh, my God, I never even thought of that. How hysterical." She blushed. "Now I'm embarrassed. I never want to be one of those people who has their dog wear the same colors. Do you know those hideous people I'm referring to?"
"From my humble perspective, and I've had a pretty god vantage point, you both look adorable, so don't be embarrassed."
She fluttered her eyes and looked down, somewhat bashfully. "Thank you," she said shyly.
"Those white shoes make a very sexy contrast to the black." I looked in her bright blue eyes. "Very sexy indeed."
"Thank you again, kind sir."
I looked at her feet in mock surprise. "Oh, I was talking about your dog. But, I just noticed, your pumps are very sexy also," I kidded her, trying not to come on too strong.
She slapped me on the arm, chortling in delight. "Oh, you're a jerk. And here I thought you were charming."
Just then, the PetSmart associate behind the counter announced, "Look out, Mr. Donnelly, here comes your spanking doggy!"
Reese burst through the swinging counter door and jumped up on his hind legs and began to lick my face in greeting. That's the best thing about being a dog owner. Whether you've been gone two hours or two weeks, each return is like a celebration worthy of the Fourth of July to your dog. Man's Best Friend indeed.
"My, my, someone's happy to see you!" The dark-haired woman smiled as she watched Reese pummel my face with kisses.
"Do you blame him?" I asked. "After all, I'm very lovable."
"I can see that, Mr. Lovable. My name's Julie, by the way. Do you have a first name, or should I just call you Mr. Lovable?"
I wiped the doggy drool from my face and watched as Reese and Julie's dog began the introductory ritual of sniffing each other's butts. "Mr. Lovable is what I prefer, Julie, but until you're comfortable with smothering me with kisses, I suppose you can call me John."
Julie giggled, tugging on her dog's collar so that they two leashes would not become irrevocable intertwined. "I'll try to exhibit some self-restraint, Mr. Lovab...er, I mean, John." She looked around at the PetSmart groomers behind us, watching our own mating ritual with interest. "At least in public, I mean."
"Well, that's admirable, Julie. I commend you. We should at least hold off on any public displays of affection until I've been properly introduced to your twin," I said, pointing to Reese's new buddy.
"Oh, my goodness, how rude of us," Julie said in mock disgust. "Jackson, why didn't you introduce yourself?" The black and white pup huffed and snorted and yipped a greeting.
"Well, hello to you, Jackson," I said as I watched Reese continue to sniff Jackson's rear end. I shook my head. "Such a curious way of getting to know each other, isn't it? Imagine if we humans did that."
"It would probably end a lot of first dates rather quickly, don't you think?" Julie asked rhetorically.
I nodded my head in agreement. "You're so right. I don't usually try to sniff my date's butts until the second date. And even then, only after dinner and a movie. But I always ask first."
She playfully slapped my arm again, this time holding onto it for an extra second, though. We began to walk out into the main store in tandem, neither one leading the other, just sort of naturally walking as a couple. Or a foursome if you included our furry friends. "I'll bet you don't get a lot of third dates, do you?"
We talked easily near the entrance to the store, neither one of us wanting to venture out into the nasty weather. But it was more than that. There was a comfort level to our banter, and at least on my end, a tangible chemistry.
Julie had about fifteen extra pounds on her, but somehow, that made her even more attainable from my perspective, and it seemed to be proportioned in all the right places, including from what I could tell under the confines of the jacket, a very ample chest. I figured the longer she hung around talking with me, the better my chances.
I was beginning to formulate an alternative plan to an afternoon of tax preparation.
Julie revealed she was a hairdresser, or a "stylist" as she phrased it, at a local salon on the Main Line, perhaps Philly's most tony suburb. (It's funny. Why are they called "stylists" on the Main Line, but "hairdressers" in South Philly?)
Like me, she had off most Mondays and used that for personal time to do what she needed to accomplish. In the summer time, that included days at the Jersey Shore, where she had recently inherited a house in Avalon due to the death of both of her parents within the last few years. She had never been married, yet confessed reluctantly to a semi-serious boyfriend.
"So, you're sort of wealthy, gorgeous, a dog lover, and I can tell not really committed to your boyfriend." I concluded after listening to her background.
"What does an older guy like me have to do to convince you to drop your boyfriend and elope with me?"
She contemplated this inquiry. "Hmmmm," she began pensively. "Well, I guess for starters, don't try to sniff my butt on the second date unless you ask really nicely, AND it's a really good dinner, AND a really, really good movie."
I whipped out my receipt from the dog grooming and began to scribble down notes. "Got it, ask nice before, well, you know. Expensive meals, and only good chick flicks. Probably one of those foreign artsy-fartsy films with subtitles. No shoot-em-ups or anything with Chuck Norris. Check."
"You're paying attention, that's a good sign. Next, I suppose you can tell me something about yourself, other than your butt-sniffing fetish." I threw up my palms in non-verbal self-defense. But then her next comment not only told me she was playful, it also told me she was a little bit interested in seeing how naughty I could be.
"Not that I rule that kind of behavior out, mind you. There are worse fetishes."
She gave me a cue. That's all a woman can do if a man is paying attention. React to the cues. Now it was up to me to play the game just right.
So I told Julie my story, and why I was off on his dismal winter Monday. When I told her the mall I managed, she snapped her fingers in recognition. "I knew it, that's why you look so familiar. I worked in Paula's salon there for a few weeks last year while our salon was being renovated. I KNEW I knew you from somewhere."
"I can't believe I didn't see you there, Julie. I definitely would have remembered you. I have a keen attention to detail for things......" I scanned her body up and down, less than subtly, lingering my gaze on that splendiferous camel toe that had my mouth watering. "......like you."
Julie shifted on her white stilettos and moved a bit closer to me so that our torsos were nearly touching. "I worked part-time, mainly nights when the business was heaviest. And it was only for a few weeks." She gazed at me and licked her cherry-red lips. that's when I saw her tongue for the first time. It looked long. And warm. And wet.
"Besides, you were dating that other stylist, the redhead. What was her name.......?"
"Debra," I admitted quietly, caught in the small-world irony.
