Henry passed away last fall, November 1st. I'll never forget the day. It was All Saints Day, and it was only one day after my birthday. We had been out celebrating the night before. Maybe we ate too much or maybe we drank too much. I know I was okay to drive, because I was the one who drove us home, safe and sound. We had made love before our final kiss good night and I had thanked him for a lovely evening of celebration. I told him how happy I was to have him be a part of my life for the past ten years. I told him that I loved him; once while we were making love, and once while we just laid quietly next to one another. I remember our last moments together like they happened just yesterday.
We had been dancing at my birthday party. He loved to waltz. We didn't know how to properly waltz like they do on TV, but we did hold each other close. I had my arms around his neck and his hands always roamed somewhere on my back side. He was always feeling my butt. Henry was an ass man. I remembered feeling his cock getting hard while he pressed himself against me and squeezed my butt. That night, we went from the dance floor to the bedroom floor. Our clothes were strewn all about the house because we started to strip as soon as the front door opened.
I had already left my panties in the car. Henry had said he couldn't wait to feel my pussy and I obliged him while I drove us home with my left foot on the gas pedal and my right leg wrapped around the shifty thing. He stroked me and poked me and I moaned about how good it felt. I remember telling him how I couldn't wait to have him lick my pussy with his magic tongue, which is where he started on me on the stairway leading to our bedroom. From the top landing, he mounted me like a dog in heat, humping at my backside. The steps gave him the perfect height advantage as he aimed his cock toward me. From there, we moved to the softness of the feather duvet where I returned his oral pleasure. Then, I took my turn mounting him like a cowgirl on her stallion. I had no idea this was going to be our last ride together. Neither of us knew he had a bad heart. He was only 48.
Millie has replaced Henry on his side of the bed. She lies next to me night after night with her head on his pillow. I think she misses him as much as I miss him. He was our best friend.
Now, there is just the two of us, instead of the three of us. Our family is broken, but we have fond memories. Every once in awhile, she will dig out one of his slippers from the closet and bring it to me. I know that she remembers him because she will drop the slipper at my feet and look up at me with those sad brown eyes that Springer Spaniels have. She will turn and walk away, only to retreat to that round throw rug on the floor next to his side of the bed. She sits and waits. I can't make her understand that he won't be coming back. She always looks so sad laying there waiting for him.
I can only try to keep her amused during the day, but the nights are very sad. They are very sad for both of us. I promised myself and Millie, too, that I would keep going; that we, would keep going. Henry would have wanted it that way.
This is why I walk Millie every night. It's a ritual that the three of us used to do right after supper. But, now that summer is here, I find myself walking later and later into the night. I don't want to be out in the heat of the late afternoon. I'd rather wait until the sun sets and the sidewalk cools. We only walk around the block, but it's not a city block that we pound away at. It's a rural block that measures all of three miles. It's quiet and picturesque, even after dark.
Sometimes Millie and I will meet up with other walkers going in the opposite direction and I will nod my head and say, "Good evening. Nice night for a walk." Occasionally, I'll actually run into someone I know and we exchange pleasantries, but we always keep moving while we are talking. This is, after all, my neighborhood. I've noticed a few new families moving in while my old playmates get married and move out and their parents start to move away to retirement communities. It's the neighborhood that I grew up in. I know almost everyone. I know their brothers, their sisters, their wives, their husbands and their kids. This is where I live in my little town east of the river.
I remember when Henry and I would walk after dinner, we would talk about our day, who we had seen, or where we had had lunch. Millie would always walk on her leash in front of us. Once in awhile she would stop to smell something, squat and piddle a little bit just to let the next dog know that she had been there. That's when Henry would stop, turn to me, and kiss me softly on my lips and hug me around my waist, and say, "I missed you today, Rosie. I miss have my girl by my side during the day. I enjoy our walks at night. I like holding your hand."
Now, when I walk, the only thing I say is, "C'mon Millie, stop barking, leave the cat alone and let's go." I don't know why I feel the need to rush her along. There's no need to hurry home. There's no one there. As the summer months roll on and the temperature has risen, I've noticed that I'm in less of a rush to get home. I've even noticed that my walking pace isn't quite as swift. If Millie wants to stop, I don't mind waiting for her to finish smelling whatever it is that a dog can smell; cat piss, squirrel piss, it would all smell the same to me, but not to a dog.
On this one particular night, late in August, we had started out later than normal. It was already dark and it was still in the low eighties. It was hot. The dog was panting and we weren't even walking very fast, but we kept moving along until we got to the Robinson's house. Millie stopped to pee near their clump of bushes next to the sidewalk. I kind of pulled into the bushes myself for fear that someone would see her doing what she was doing to their bushes. I was trying to hide.
The Robinson house is a big white colonial with pillars that lead up to their front door. There's a wrap-around porch with three or four black rocking chairs lined up on it. Mary Robinson always has beautiful flowers planted around the base of the porch and there are two giant urns, one on either side of the steps. It's very picturesque and so very typical of all of the houses here east of the river. There is never a blade of grass out of place. The yards are quiet large and I can see the Robinson's have left their croquet wickets up for the summer. Their lawn is always impeccable.
"The lawn guy must love mowing around those, Millie," I quietly muttered out loud.
As soon as I said that, I noticed a light go on in the upstairs bedroom. I tried to step back further into the shadow of the bushes just in case the Robinsons could see me allowing my dog to piss in their front yard. I'm sure there will be a big brown patch of grass there in a few days and they'll have to have their landscaper in to repair it. Oh, well. It's too damn hot to even care about it.
I stood for a moment watching the figures in that upstairs bedroom. I could hear them laughing. The drapes were fully open and so wasn't the window. I couldn't quite make out the words they were saying, but there was mostly laughter coming from the house. The rest of the house was in complete darkness. The full moon allowed me to see there was a pickup truck parked in the driveway. I assumed Mary's car had been pulled into the garage for the evening.
Millie had completed her duty and started to roam and sniff around the bushes that I still clung to for camouflage. I stood there like a statue, quietly watching. I don't know what came over me, but I was intrigued to watch these two figures walk around the room. Once Mary walked closer to the window, I could see the silhouette of her extended hand holding a glass of wine like she was offering it to her husband, George.
I went to grammar school with George. I knew him well. He was always a nice kid and I always thought he would be a great husband, too. I felt like a peeping Tom, but I didn't care. I wanted to see what they would do next. So, I watched. And, I listened. All the while, Millie sniffed. We were both very quiet.
Mary Robinson walked directly toward the open window and for a second, I thought she might have heard me, but she stopped a few feet in front of it. George approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her and she arched her back and laid her head on his shoulder.
I gasped! Mary Robinson was completely naked! Her breasts were pointed right out to the front yard for anyone to see, but there was no one there but me. Her pussy, although neatly shaved, was dark and just at the right height of the window sill for me to see it. I now knew she wasn't a natural blonde, I suspected it all along. That dark pussy was my proof.
They each had a glass of wine in their hand and I could here her say, "It's so hot tonight. Let me catch my breath. I need some air." She walked closer to the window.
George kissed her neck and her shoulders, never lifting his head to the moonlit yard. As he stood behind her, his hands fondled her breasts and I could tell that he was grinding himself into her back side. They both turned slightly until there were two silhouettes in the window and I could see he was also naked. I was getting warmer myself and I knew if Henry were with me he would be having the same ideas that George Robinson had had right at that moment.
Squarely planted, directly in the center of the window, Mary turned to George and got down on her knees. I knew what she was about to do. I could see his cock was hard and her hand was already in action on it. They both stopped to set their wine glasses on the window sill.
I gasped, again, for the second time. I quickly placed my hand over my mouth in case they might have heard my very audible deep breath. It wasn't George! Who the hell was that in Mary Robinson's bedroom? I didn't know she was having an affair. I had no idea.
I took a step to the right to see if I could get a better look at who was in the bedroom. Millie was sitting right by my side waiting for me. Mary's head went down on his cock and he moved his hips in rhythm to her bobbing head. I stood in awe, just watching from the shadow, like a common peeping Tom. I still couldn't make out who he was. I took another step to the right to get a better look.
"It's the landscaper," a deep voice came from behind me in the shadow.
Yet, another gasp came from deep within me this time. I swung around quickly to find a man in the shadow standing only about six inches from me. I was shaking. A million thoughts raced through my head in lightening speed. How long had he been standing there? What was he doing there? Was he watching Mary, too? Where the hell is Millie? Why isn't she protecting me? Why isn't she barking?
"Millie, come!" I pulled on her leash to get her closer to me and the man in the shadow stepped forward into the moonlight where I could see who he was. It was George! It was George Robinson standing in the dark bushes in his own front yard. I looked at him; I looked up at the opened window, then back at him, again. I felt like I was watching a tennis match and didn't want to miss where the ball was going.
"George? You scared the shit out of me! What are you doing out here?" I was still trying to keep my voice down to a whisper so the two lovers in the window wouldn't hear me.
