He caught my eye as soon as he entered the classroom. Most of the other students were women and seemed to be comfortable with each other and their dogs. It was a night-class dog grooming class. He—his name turned out to be Cal—stuck out like a sore thumb. For one thing he was somewhat of a bruiser. He was good looking enough—in fact very good looking in a bodybuilder, square jaw, dark looks way. But he was tattooed like a biker and had that rough look about him in other ways. For another he brought a large, black poodle with him, and he handled the dog like it wasn't his and like he didn't have the foggiest idea why the poodle had come in with him.
I never got a last name for him because he wasn't even registered for the class.
"Look under Jim Causey," he said when I approached him with a clipboard. I trembled a bit as I approached, because he both intimidated and aroused me. This was just the sort of man I sought out when I was between boyfriends. I was always on the lookout for a longer-termed relationship in a boyfriend, but when I was between these relationships, none of which had worked out for me, I found myself seeking out one-night stands with a bigger man. At those times I wanted a man who would manhandle me and leave me panting and moaning and unable to close my legs. I wanted to know I'd been totally fucked.
"Yes, I have a Jim Causey," I said. "Is that also you?"
He gave me a look that started mean, like he didn't like to be challenged, but then softened when it seemed like he actually looked at me for the first time. "No, that's Jim Causey rolling in now. I'm just Cal, his personal attendant."
"His personal attendant?" I asked, as I now saw that, indeed, a middle-aged man in a wheelchair had rolled into the classroom and moved over to the side.
"Yeah, I do pretty much everything for Mr. Causey. He's got the money to continue to live alone. And it looks like I'm going to be doing Sid for him too, just like I do him."
I took a quick look at the man in the wheelchair. He was trim despite apparently have no use of his legs. When Cal's look had softened when he gave me the once over I was sure I recognized that look. I'd gotten it often enough—the look of sexual interest. So, was he telling me that Causey was his sugar daddy? That Causey paid Cal's way and Cal took care of Causey in all ways—and of this Sid too, whoever he was?
"Sid?" I asked.
"The pooch," Cal said. "This fancy dog, whatever kind it is. This is Sid."
The poodle was crouched by Cal, looking as scared of Cal as I thought Cal had been of the dog when they came in.
"Have you handled dogs before?" I asked.
"I thought I'd handled just about everything," Cal said, giving me a searching look again—a look of checking out possibilities?—"but I ain't ever done a dog before."
The first thing that came to mind was, well, that's good. You could go to jail for doing a dog. I nearly laughed at that, but then it struck me that Cal presented just like the inmates had in the special class I'd taught at a prison, a vocational class in giving inmates skills they could use on the outside. A slightly touchy demeanor with more than a touch of challenge and bad ass to it.
"You sure you want to do this, then?"
"You teachin' the class?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then I want to do this." I took that as confirmation of his interest—but maybe more in me than the class. I wondered if his sugar daddy knew he was on the make with other men. It sort of gave me a jolt, though, that it might be me. He was just the kind of bruiser I was in the mood for—in a temporary, one-night way. Or one afternoon. Or just a half hour on top of the table here after the rest of the class had left.
Cal surprised me in the class. He had an intimidating demeanor and big hands, but his hands weren't clumsy, and over the two-hour class both he and Sid became comfortable with each other. Sid seemed apprehensive about the whole situation, but the dog was thoroughly cowed by Cal, and when Cal put his hands on the dog and moved it into this position or that as the grooming required, the dog obeyed. It would be skittish right up until Cal put his hands on it and then it would settle down, trembling slightly.
I trembled slightly myself at seeing Cal do that, and I'll readily admit that I thought of the big bruiser of a tattooed man doing that to me as well. He was prime one-night-stand material.
Jim Causey didn't just sit back and watch during the session. He was right up there with Cal, watching his every move and giving him encouragement and talking to the dog. The two men obviously had a relationship going, one that I envied.
"You got dogs too?" Cal asked me near the end of the class.
"Yes," I answered. "I have a few Maltese. I show those. I have a poodle bitch too. Smaller than Sid. I don't show her, but I breed her. She's good stock."
"Seems strange to have those two kinds, even if both are of the limp-wristed variety," he said. "Aren't Maltese a yappy little dog. And poodles—"
"Maltese can be a bit yappy, yes, but poodles are smart dogs which started out as hunting dogs," I answered, resisting noting that he himself had come in with a poodle. "The poodle was left behind after a relationship that went bad. I didn't mind. I liked the dog much more than I liked him." I nearly froze when the "him" came out. I was revealing more than I had intended to.
I looked up to see a slight smirk on Cal's face. "I knew I was right," he said in a low voice.
I just blushed. There didn't seem to be anything to say to either try to cover up or expand on the slip about having had a relationship with a male.
"Know a good place to exercise them on Saturday mornings?" he asked, smoothly switching gears. "I don't like the thought of Sid being cooped up all the time. He's a big dog; he needs to be able to run regularly. All big animals need to be able to run free."
I felt a bit of a chill going up my back, my first thought being of a hunk like him running free—running naked. I tried to concentrate on the canine aspect of what he'd said. I was surprised that he showed such concern for the dog and, before thinking better of it, said so.
"No one—man nor animal—should be cooped up," he repeated, with an edge of vehemence. "It just ain't right."
This only made me think again about that class I taught at the prison.
"I take my dogs to West Side Park occasionally on Saturday mornings," I answered. "They have an off-the-leash area at that time."
"You'll be there next Saturday?"
"I suppose I might."
"And bring the poodle bitch."
One of the other students broke in to ask a question before I could answer or ask about that, and when I finished talking to her, Cal was wheeling Jim Causey out of the room, with Sid trotting beside him, both Cal and the dog seeming much less skittish than when they'd come into the classroom.
I went home humming. I don't know whether it was because I considered any class where a master and dog had melded as well as Cal and Sid had a victory or it was because Cal was my ideal image of a one-night stand and had shown interest to me.
I didn't, of course, have any intention of going to the park with Starbright, the zany name my spaced-out, once-significant other had tagged the poodle bitch with, but almost like a zombie, I loaded her up and drove out to the park on Saturday morning.
Cal and Sid were there, in West Park, Sid already off the leash and running around the dog run area, when we got there. We were the only ones who showed up.
The day was hot, the sun beating down on us, and I found Cal sitting on a blanket under some trees at the verge of the meadow Sid was cavorting in. He was wearing shorts and sandals. He'd taken off his T-shirt. My impression that he was a bodybuilder was borne out by his muscular and cut torso. The tattooing I had seen running up his arms continued on the chest and back and down onto his legs in a riot of color.
"Let her off the leash and sit down here with me," he said when I arrived.
It no longer was the teacher, me, giving instruction to him. He was in command. I fell right in with this change. It was, after all, what I had dreamed of in the four days since the class, while all along I was telling myself I wouldn't show up on Saturday—that he had my telephone number through the school and could pursue me a bit if he really was interested.
But I wasn't kidding myself. I knew all along that if he wanted me, he could have me, and that I melted to a man who took control. This, I was only beginning to realize, was the problem with the long-term boyfriends I had tried. They related to me as equals and all were attentive to my needs. That was all well and fine, but it paled against my arousal to a man who just took me because he wanted me—and who had the cock to keep me pinned down.
I let Starbright off the leash, and she took off into the meadow and was tearing around with Sid in no time at all.
I sat down beside Cal, and he leaned in close to me. We spoke for a few minutes about I knew not what—something to do with the class and pointers he wanted to understand better. It was just nervous small talk—on my part at least. I kept looking around for other dogs and owners to show up, but none did. Cal didn't seem nearly as nervous as I was. He just crept closer until he had an arm around me.
I couldn't even have told where the transition was in his putting his hands on me—in a possessive way—pulling my T-shirt over my head, and turning my mouth to his for a controlling kiss that took my breath away. I was trembling at the strong grip of his hand on my waist and then inner thigh, and then cock. He was stroking me hard and still possessing me with a kiss, and I was breathing hard. It was all him, controlling me. Just as I wanted in a one-night stand.
When we pulled out of the kiss, with me already pulled over into his lap and able to feel the insistent hardness of him, I looked out into the meadow.
Starbright was standing perfectly still and Sid had mounted her and was breeding her.
