The Dog Par

It is the kind of day I craved while laid up: a perfect fall Sunday with no plans. The sun is shining, there is just enough of a breeze, and Center City is once again my playground.

As I step out of the building, I think about where I want to go first. South to the Italian Market? East to Penn's Landing? North to the Parkway? No. I know where I'm headed. If I'm honest, I've known all along. West. To the dog park.

Along the mile up Spruce, I marvel at how well I am walking. Fifteen years of pain and limping (some years much worse than others) seem to finally be behind me. The summer of surgery recuperation was rough, but now I can reap the benefits. I roll my eyes at my own inner dialogue: "let's see what this bad boy can do."

...

The yard for large dogs is nearly empty, but at not quite 9:00, I figure it will start to fill up soon. There's one guy playing with his Boxer. Neither of them is terribly energetic, and the guy's rumpled clothes tell me he's likely still out from the night before.

Next to arrive are young couple with a German Shepherd who, poor dog, has an arthritic gait all too familiar to me. I wonder whose dog she had been before they became a couple. Perhaps I'm sexist, but I usually assume a shepherd is a guy's dog.

A few more visitors come and go. No one (canine or human) seems at all interested in interacting with me and there are no great ball chases to amuse me from the sidelines, so I start to head to the exit. Just then, a new pair enters the gate. OMG! I'm seriously not sure who is cuter: dog or owner. A fun, fluffy black and white dog with the sweetest face. A tall, handsome, decidedly masculine guy with the best hair. I immediately decide to stay put and I'm well rewarded. They are by far the most fun of anyone I've seen today. Energetic. Playful. Social. I want to know more. A lot more.

As my 30th or so lap around the yard brings me near to them, the dog bounds over to me. Yay! He clearly wants to play. I never engage without the owner's green light. I glance up and he's striding over to me. I ask "OK to pet him?" He smiles and says "Sure. Thanks for asking."

Suddenly I can't breathe. I barely remember to play with the dog. That smile. Oh my! It's one of those whole face smiles that instantly makes you feel like a million bucks just for being on the receiving end. Bestill my beating heart.

I ask the dog's name. When he says "Rover" I assume he's joking. But he insists it's true, so Rover it must be. Or he's messing with me. Which is also fine. I introduce myself and he tells me his name is Spot: it's a family name. I laugh out loud. But I don't press further for a real name.

The next 15 or so minutes are a blur of dog and man. Chatting while I rub Rover's tummy (hmmmmm, I wonder do they both like that?). Throwing a ball while trying to throw a sexy look. I'm not great at either but they are both still hanging with me. "Spot" takes a seat on the stone wall and pats the space beside him. OK then.

We chat for a few minutes about the dog, the revitalization of Center City, and live music we've seen lately. We even discover we were both at Live Aid. I clearly didn't see him there. I'd remember.

All of a sudden, he leans over. He puts his mouth so close to my ear his breath tickles. I am still as a statue. He whispers, oh so sexily, "I really want to kiss you." Now I need to restart my non-beating heart. I manage a smile, and I assume a blush.

...

Fifteen minutes later we are sitting at an outside table of a coffee shop, Rover under the table with a bowl of water. Spot hasn't said anything more about kissing me but it's all I can think about.

He gets up and says he needs the restroom. As he passes me, he leans over and quickly plants the sweetest kiss on my temple. The skin there is now on fire.

When we've finished our drinks I assume we're going our separate ways. Instead, he invites me to join him in the yard of his house, just a few blocks away. I should say no. I don't know his real name. I don't know him at all. No one knows where I am. Instead I say "I'd love to, as long as I can text my best friend the address. A girl has to be smart." He thought that was a great response.

...

The yard is a private oasis. Plants and flowers, a dog run, BBQ and chairs. And a sofa to which he leads me. As soon as we sit, he leans over, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me. Not a hard kiss, but strong and passionate. He leans back and we both smile.

The next kiss is less sweet and more urgent. It lasts for what seems like a heavenly eternity. He explores my lips with his tongue, then my mouth. I put my hand at the back of his head and pull him in tighter. Damn this man can kiss. We continue for at least half an hour, mixing up intense, gentle and everything in between.

Then things progress quickly. His hands are roaming, caressing my breasts, sliding up and down my arms, legs and back. He turns me and lays me down on the couch. In a blink my skirt is hiked and my panties are gone. Damn he's fast! He kisses me again, this time with his hands creeping up my inner thighs. Finally (finally!) he reaches my pussy and marvels at how wet I am. I want to say this is the most turned on I've ever been, but I've lost the power of speech.

His fingers play me like a Stradivarius in the hands of a virtuoso. Around my hole, back and forth on my clit, entering me and stroking. It is... exquisite. He starts sliding down my body, kissing and licking and nibbling as he goes, all the while his fingers continue their ministrations. When his head is in position he doesn't hesitate. His mouth and tongue are all over my pussy. There are no words. I think I'll die. Happily.

I can't suppress my moans any longer. He sucks on my clit and starts to fuck me with his fingers. The more I respond, the harder he plunges. I beg him to go deeper. He obliges. Suddenly I am cumming so hard I think I'm going to explode. My contractions are so strong I fear I'll break his fingers. Holy fuck.

He continues to massage me inside and out as I eventually come down, lost completely in bliss. He finally moves back up to kiss me again. He tastes of me. I've never particularly liked that before. On him I adore it.

As my thoughts bounce around like pinballs, I think "Wow, that ankle surgery is really paying off!"