The sun was shining, only a few clouds in the sky, and we were thinking "beach time!" As we dressed for our motorcycle ride to the beach, we talked about life, our personal paths, and how our relationship fit into the future. We agreed that the big picture was different for each of us, and that was totally OK with where we were at that moment.
Phillippe saw himself continuing to settle in as manager at the manufacturing plant in Massachusetts, where he was recently transferred. He wasn't quite ready for a relationship, but was open to new experiences. He wanted to know more about the area's gay scene, and looked forward to exploring.
I was still acclimating to being divorced, and to living in California - far away from my New England roots. Despite my enthusiastic and passionate foray into man on man sex, I still longed for a woman with whom to spend the second half of my life. Oh, there would still be room for some cock here and there, too.
Phillippe and I agreed that our weekend together had cemented our friendship, strengthened our working relationship, and mended some recent wounds - his departure from an abusive relationship and for me, a recent divorce as well as the end of a brief bisexual relationship with my co-worker, Steve.
The two of us were still feeling horny and flirtatious with each other as we gathered our stuff for the beach. He was grabbing at my cock each time he passed. In retaliation, I pinched his ass and squeezed his cheeks. I even teased a little when I told him, "I want to feel your cock piercing rubbing on my P-spot tonight"
Our planned excursion was nearly derailed as we turned off the Mid-Cape towards Longnook Beach. Phillippe pulled the motorcycle over to the roadside, where a small terrier lay on it's side, breathing heavily, one hind leg bent awkwardly.
"Poor thing, it must have been hit by a car," said Phillippe. "What do you think we should do?"
Before I could answer, a car pulled up behind us, and an elderly woman hopped out, exclaiming "Is he ok?"
I started to explain that we found the dog that way, but she interrupted, "No, boys, it's fine, I saw you pull over to help him."
As Phillippe tried to give the dog water from his water bottle, I asked the woman if she knew of any veterinarians around. She answered, "Yes, Dr. Wilson, back on the mid-Cape, he took care of my kitty. You obviously can't take him on your Harley, so one of you get in my car and I'll take you to the vet."
I slid into the back seat of her Subaru, and Phillippe scooped the whimpering terrier up in his beach towel, placing him on my lap. The woman, who introduced herself as Grace, eased her car into a u-turn and headed back towards Rte 6, with Phillippe following.
The vet's practice was in a storefront as the left hand anchor of a small strip of three stores. Directly adjacent was a liquor store and, at the right end, a stroke of irony - a recreational marijuana outlet.
As we entered the office, we were greeted gruffly at the door by an attractive woman, maybe in her early 40s, with a crew cut, wearing a tight tank top that displayed her inked arms and shoulders, as well as her ample braless breasts. "We're closing early today, the doctor has a patient, can you call Monday?"
"Uh...no, this dog was hit by a car, I think..." Phillippe valiantly tried to push forward.
"There's a 24 hour animal hospital back towards Eastham," she persisted.
A man dressed in dark blue scrubs suddenly emerged from an office behind the reception area. "I've got time, let me take a look! I'm Marc Wilson, by the way."
The veterinarian held out his hand, a huge hand, which dwarfed Phillippe's as they shook. Carrying the dog, I nodded, and said, "Thank you, doctor. We think he got hit by a car. He was by the side of the road on Longnook."
"Right this way," he told us as he led us down a short hallway. "Melanie, you can lock up. I've got this"
Melanie smiled at the doctor as she locked the front door, gathered a backpack from behind the reception desk and headed for a side door. "Locked up! See you tonight. I love you!"
"Love you too, Mel! Be good!" He said over his shoulder, showing us into an examination room.
Dr. Wilson turned to Phillippe and me and said, "Sorry, my sister runs the front with an iron fist!"
As he carefully took the dog from me, I got my first full look at him. Marc Wilson was easily six feet tall, maybe even 6-2. He had green eyes and straight blonde hair, kind of like Robert Redford's hair in the movie "All the President's Men." His arms, covered with soft blonde hair, were muscular, well developed, and his left arm bore an interesting, dark scar from under the bicep down below the elbow.
"Hey, fella, you look familiar," he said to the whimpering dog. "I think you were one of my first patients!"
Phillippe and I looked at each other. We hadn't considered what would happen if the dog got treated. Now, it seemed that maybe the owner would be easy to find.
"Guys, we caught a lucky break!" Dr. Wilson smiled at us, "This is Stanley. I neutered him in April, see, here's where I tattooed him when I did that." There was a small green tattoo of numbers on Stanley's thigh.
"And even more fortunately, his leg is just dislocated. I'm going to fix that, but you guys don't need to see!" The doctor lifted Stanley and slipped him into a crate, securing it before motioning for us to follow him from the room. "I'll check him for any internal injuries, then call his family. They are a nice elderly couple. They must be worried sick about him."
"Off to the beach, my friend!" I said to Phillippe, then turned to shake hands with the doctor. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson!"
"It's Marc. Headed to Longnook?" He asked.
"Yes, Marc, James is going to show me the nude section!" Phillippe said.
