Looking back, I have my dog to thank. I treat him very well for his unwitting part in what has turned out to be the most gratifying sexual experience of my life thus far. No, it doesn't involve my dog directly, you sick fucker. He merely stopped to pee, and that has made all the difference.
I am 34 years old, and not a bad looking man. I have had several memorable relationships, which is good for the soul, and many more one-night stands, which is good for the ego. Perhaps as a result of this good fortune, I am not yet married. The knowledge that another more intriguing interaction may be just around the bend has resulted in an unwillingness on my part to commit. In Italy, they say that a life of many women is all a man can hope for. Conversely, I have found that it creates a deep inner turmoil: if I am getting what I want—what men are supposed to want, anyway—why am I not fulfilled?
So, so, so. I was walking the dog late one night. About midnight. I often get home late from work, or just being out, and my dog, a pointer, isn't too agreeable without at least two hours of walking, or an hour at the dog park. At midnight, walking is the only option, so we find ourselves briskly covering neighborhood ground, as the lights go down and upstanding folks tuck in for a nice rest.
It was on one of these nights, six months ago, that it started. We were only a few blocks from home, on the return leg of a long walk, when Jim (that's my dog), pulled up to pee. He's always pulling or stooping as we walk, to sniff out a scent or pursue one, but there's a different kind of tension in the leash when it's a pee-stop. A good owner learns this differentiation by feel, and doesn't tug to get the dog moving. I stopped and looked back to see Jim "Truly Outrageous" Dog, whizzing on a sapling trunk. If the nickname doesn't make sense, don't worry. It's totally an 80's thing.
As he was finishing up, I heard a female voice coming from a dark window of the closest house. It was faint, but I could make out most of what she was saying, but not all. She was definitely enjoying herself.
"...what you wanted to see? Did you want me to...his cock? ...turn you on? He was fucking her...nice and deep..."
I felt my own cock move in my jeans. She sounded breathless, and her voice was just the one I always wanted to hear from a lover. Assured and knowing, but soft. Jim just looked at me, wondering why we weren't proceeding.
"You liked it, didn't you? His cock sawing in...little pussy...grabbing onto him...needed it so bad...oh fuck..."
And then a male voice, louder. I made out all of what he said:
"Yeah I fucking liked it, baby...I liked watching you rub your sloppy little pussy while you watched...you are such a slut...fucking ride me, just like that..."
I stepped onto their lawn robotically, drawn toward their voices. It wasn't until Jim pulled at his leash that I realized I was advancing on their house like some criminal.
"Did you want to fuck him, baby? Did you want that big cock?" It was the man again.
"No, baby...I just like watch...ohhh...watching them. I like when you...oh that's good, baby, just like that...oh fuck yes...you paid attention, didn't you?"
It was too much. I quickly yanked Jim down the block and found a tree. I wrapped his leash around the base, tied a quick half knot, and hurried back to hearing range, but this time I made sure I was shaded from the street light. She was simply moaning and panting, and he was grunting and saying things like, "Fuck him, baby," and other unintelligible phrases. It was clear that they were nearing a mutual climax. I had to resist pulling my cock out. I was hard to the point of pain, but I wasn't about to get caught jerking off onto a stranger's lawn, three blocks from home...but god, it was impossible to keep from rubbing myself through my pants. The problem was her voice: it was captivating. How to explain? There was something in her voice that seemed to be speaking directly to me. Like she knew I was there and she wanted me to hear her.
From the tree trunk, Jim started to whine, impatient for his walk to resume, and I thought better of standing around. Surely there would be a repeat performance, some night in the future, and I had plenty to think about when I got back home. I couldn't wait to masturbate when I got there.
Now let me say this much. I think voyeurs are kind of weak. Get off the sidelines and all of that. That didn't stop me, however, on subsequent evenings, from walking past that same house, as slowly as I could without being obvious, as often as possible. Stopping in a particularly dark spot to listen, I strained my ears, hoping for anything—a moan, a silhouette in the window—anything. In fact, the dog ended up getting more walks than time at the park. After a month or so of trying, I began to feel a bit stupid. My dog was not properly exercised, and I was frustrated. It had been a one-night thing, and she was probably just average-looking to boot. It could have been a hardcore movie soundtrack, for all I knew...in other words, I was telling myself anything to stop thinking about how hot it had made me listening to those two fuck. Her voice triggered something inside. I felt stupid and haunted. Go ahead and laugh. You didn't hear her.
Many years ago, I saw a couple having sex at a fairly close distance. I was in a hotel by the ocean, and the way it was laid out, from my room I could see her getting eaten out, and him fucking her for about five minutes, and him eating her out some more. A lot more. I got the feeling he was trying to make up for his short performance. At that time, I had no urge to do anything but masturbate, but this one stupid aural encounter on the street...good Christ! It had left me with a few distinct urges, or maybe even fantasies, all of which were basically unfounded. I mean for crying out—I'd never even seen her! Still:
1)I wanted to watch him fuck her, unseen by both. 2)I wanted to fuck her, with or without him around. 3)Then, I wanted her to myself, and I wanted to know, from her mouth, that she wanted me more than him.
That and a bunch of other shit. I wanted to tease her asshole when she came, I wanted her to spit on my cock and suck it off, I wanted to massage her cheeks while she sucked me, and most of all, I wanted to do all the things her husband refused to do, or didn't like. Weird stuff. The lack of logic! And all of this sight unseen! I imagined her in my mind—I had a pretty fair picture going—a picture based on nothing but a few moans. I felt like I was losing my better judgment.
Eventually, after some soul-searching, I stopped walking by their house as much at night. Then not at all. It just didn't feel right, and I have my pride. Some degree of integrity.
A couple of months later, I was returning from the store, where I had purchased steaks for a barbecue I was having later that evening with friends. A few blocks from home, I noticed a woman on her lawn, pulling weeds. I took my foot off the gas. I braked. I stopped right in front of her house. She was stunning. She was wearing shorts and a tank top, and as she bent over to pull the weeds, her breasts were showcased nicely. Her legs strained with her arms, and the skin on her shoulders and legs shone in the sunlight, breasts heaving with each pull. She was struggling with it, and not looking too pleased.
The neighborhood I live in is nice, and almost everyone prides themselves on their lawns and gardens. Most folks hire someone, but regardless, that kind of attention to the small things breeds a weird kindness, or a mutual understanding (i.e., by keeping it nice, we keep the riff-raff at bay!), and that was exactly the way in which I planned to approach this woman: under the guise of politeness. In reality, I just wanted a closer view of her tits. I pulled over and jumped out.
"Excuse me, could I give you a hand?"
She didn't hear me at first. I took another step closer and then...it was like someone punched me in the stomach. It was the house. I stared over quickly at my "shady spot" near the sidewalk...yes, it was the house. How could I not have noticed? It did look different by day, but for crying out loud. Fucking architecture. If you think about it, there's not a whole lot of variety out there.
I was standing there considering how weird it was when she noticed me.
"Can I help you," she asked, a little annoyed. I was on her lawn, after all.
"Oh...I, well, I was going to ask you the same!"
"About what?" she asked, hands on hips. This was not going as planned.
"With whatever it is you're struggling with. You looked like you could use..."
She interrupted: "But why were you just standing there looking off into space?"
"Oh, I just remembered something as I was walking up to ask you," I said, as confidently as possible.
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you a Jehovah's Witness?"
I laughed. "Hardly, ma'am." (Born in the south. Never goes away.)
"Look," she said, "I'm sorry, I'm just having a shitty day, and weeding is not my favorite thing. I'm Beth. What can I do for you?"
Well, it was all a bit much. It was the same voice, and she was really attractive, and here I was, of all things, tongue-tied!
"What's the matter," she asked. "You got laryngitis just now?"
I mean, fuck! Here she is, and a smartass too, which I love, and I am the king of smartasses, and all I can do is try not to stare at her tits. Maybe as a result, I overcompensated, with, of all things, the truth.
"No, I was just having a hard time not staring at your breasts. They are rather amazing, and..."
"I'm married, asshole," is what she said, but she said it with the slightest hint of a smile.
"Now make yourself useful and pull this fucking thing up, will ya?"
It was not fun. Her hedge trimmer was broken, and a spade would have been worthless. I struggled mightily, and broke a sweat, got some dirt on my suit, but I got that thing—some sort of little tree?—up and out of the ground. It took several minutes. She laughed at me the whole time. Afterward, she offered me a drink, and I chose beer. It seemed like the thing to say. She started inside, and I followed her.
