The Dog Trainer

It wasn't even my idea to see the trainer in the first place.

I'm not a dog person. Never have been. And no, I'm not one of those cat elitists, although to be honest if I had to choose between the two at least cats have the self-respect to leave you alone once in a while. I guess I just wasn't used to the whole thing; the only pet I ever had growing up was a hermit crab, and it died within a week. I only got the damn dog for Julie.

You see, Julie had just turned thirty, and she was spending hours a day scrolling through Facebook, showing me pictures of her friends' newborns.

"Isn't that just the cutest baby you ever saw in your life?" she asked about three times a day.

And don't get me wrong, she was right, the babies were always cute as shit. I actually love kids, and I look forward to having one someday. But just not right now. And just not with Julie... right now.

We had been married six months and she was already baby-crazy. Which she had every right to be, but it put me in an uncomfortable position. I just wasn't ready to have that conversation. We were still only newlyweds, still getting used to living together, still "finding our rhythm" (read: getting into semi-frequent screaming matches over toilet paper).

But I couldn't stop her from wanting a kid, and she kept dropping little hints that they were on the forefront of her mind. Like about a year ago when we walked by the Baby GAP in the mall and she took one look at the little shoes on display and nearly started bawling.

"Look!" I said, pulling her away from the window. "Let's go see the puppies!"

I dragged her over to one of those animal shelter setups, hoping to distract her for about an hour with the dogs they had up for adoption. I just thought we would go in there to scratch a few bellies and pat a couple heads and be on our way. But long story short, we ended up walking out with Sasha.

Now, even I have to admit she was cute at first, with her little white face and big blue eyes. But nobody told me how much Siberian Huskies grow within the first year. And how fast. Within a few months, the adorable little puppy we'd adopted turned into a fucking wolf. Not to mention a huge pain in the ass.

She was totally unhinged-barking at the slightest sound, jumping on visitors every time they walked in the door. And Julie always rushed to her defense, her little practice-baby. Every time Sasha went through the garbage or stole my dinner off the table, my wife would say, "Alan, you can't blame her. She's just a baby."

An actual baby was starting to look more and more appealing. At least babies don't hump your leg every few hours (who would've thought that female dogs did that?).

And don't get me started on the dog's impact on my sex life. Even when we locked the door, Sasha just scratched at the wood, whining to be let inside. I had to repaint the door twice. And those tea kettle whistles were a serious boner killer.

Finally Julie said we should just let her in the room, but it was always uncomfortable getting down to it while the dog was staring at my ass from the edge of the bed. Or when she howled along with us if we got too loud, waking up the neighbors. And every time I got too rough or actually started to enjoy myself, she'd growl at me!

"Aw, she thinks you're hurting me," Julie smiled, her heart melting. "She's so protective of Mama."

"Yeah," I said, rolling over onto my back, my balls aching. "What a good girl."

So now the only time I could bang my wife after dark was after the fucking dog went to sleep, and even then we had to be as quiet as possible. It got to the point where we started timing our fucks so that they coincided with her mealtimes, so at least she was distracted for a few minutes. I couldn't believe it. I was getting pussy-whipped by a dog.

Oh, and did I mention she was a biter? Julie used to think it was cute letting the little dog nibble on her fingers, but that habit stuck with her well into adulthood, only now those chompers could cost you a hand.

One time after we had our one successful fuck of the week, I went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. When I got back, my wife was already asleep. And there was Sasha, curled up on my pillow.

"C'mon, girl," I said. "Get off now."

She lurched forward, nipping at my hand. I slept on the couch that night.

Things were officially out of control. So before the year was out, Julie handed me a flyer for some dog training center in town.

"They have classes every Saturday!" she said, smiling. "You can go while I'm at yoga."

I looked at the bad photoshop job on the front and sighed. "I don't know, babe."

"Come on, Alan. It'll be fun. More bonding time for the two of you."

Great. Just what I needed.

Now, in my defense, I did try to get out of it. I tossed the flyer into the garbage, and when Julie asked me the next day if I'd called the place, I told her that the classes had filled up.

But then Sasha had to come prancing into the room right on cue with a mouthful of garbage in her mouth. And when she spit it out on the floor, proud to show us her kill, there was the soggy flyer crumpled on the top of the pile.

"Alan?" Julie said, setting down her fork. "What is that?"

Damn dog.

* * *

So that's how I ended up at the training center on a Saturday morning with a handful of white women and a couple old folks. We were standing in a fenced enclosure behind the lobby, the floor beneath us made of blue foam. And a goofy-looking kid with the name "Ryan" written on his company T-shirt was giving us a speech that I'm assuming was supposed to be motivational.

"Welcome, masters," he said, beaming. "Today we commence your training."

"Your training?" I repeated.

"That's right," Ryan said, smiling at me. "Before you can discipline an animal, you need to be disciplined yourselves."

Jesus. Dog people really are smoking something else, aren't they?

He went on about the different stages of the six-week course, talking about how it would culminate with a graduation ceremony in the end.

He held up a cheap-looking printout of a diploma. "And after your dog passes the final test, you'll get to walk away with one of these!"

Oh, boy.

I barely paid attention. I was distracted by the dude's animated delivery. The guy couldn't have been more than twenty, and he had all the bouncy, obnoxious energy of a puppy himself. I could tell he was a fitness fanatic too by the way his T-shirt tugged at his biceps. And he mentioned he was going to night school to be a nurse. And somehow, on top of all that, he still found a way to come bounding into work every Saturday to wrestle with these mutts. He made me feel so off my game-here I was in basically my PJs, and I still had "get a better job" and "lose twenty pounds" on my to-do list.

Things started going south on the first day. All we had to do was to get the dog to look us in the eyes. Believe me, with Sasha, that's a lot tougher than it sounds.

"Like this," Ryan said. He brought a treat to his forehead. "Watch me."

And like magic, Sasha froze, her eyes widening, transfixed.

"Damn," I said. "Let me try that."

No such luck with me. I pulled a treat of my back pocket, but as soon as I brought it to my forehead she jumped up, snapping at my fingers. I panicked and let the treat fall to the ground. She licked it off the floor.

Ryan put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, bud," he said. "We're just getting started."

Awesome.

Next he taught us how to do a "sit" and "stay." Ryan demonstrated again, and I have to admit, he made it look easy. All he did was hold up a hand and Sasha submitted completely, her tail hitting the floor, her eyes locked on the treat in his fingers.

"The key is eye contact," he said, his green eyes piercing into her own. "And a calm, commanding voice."

I actually got her to sit successfully by like the ten or eleventh try, but as soon as I turned around to walk away, I felt her jump onto my back and bite my back pocket, ripping through my sweatpants.

"Motherfucker!" I shouted as the treats in my pocket scattered to the floor. I looked down at my butt, her teeth marks red against my exposed skin.

I told you she was a pain in the ass.

I went into the bathroom and surveyed the damage in the mirror. She had ripped the pocket so that now it hung like a flap, the underwear torn. And beneath that, her teeth left a raw, red bite print right on my ass cheek.

I was just starting to wipe the blood away when I heard a knock on the door. It was Ryan.

"I got some rubbing alcohol for you," he said, handing me a bottle.

"Thanks," I said. "But I think I'm good."

"You're not gonna sanitize it?" he asked.

I looked over at my ass in the mirror, twisting to look at it. "I don't know if I can get at it," I admitted.

"Do you need a hand?"

I was taken aback for a second. "It's on my ass, man."

"Relax," he said. "I'm a nurse."

"Okay," I said, figuring the guy was a medical professional and all. And the last thing I needed was some ass infection on my medical bill from this Goddamn dog. He stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

"Why don't you lean up against that wall?" he asked me, pulling out some latex gloves from underneath the sink.

I did as he said. He got down on his knees and started to reach into the elastic band of my sweatpants.

"Hey," I started, feeling the cold ventilated air of the bathroom spreading goosebumps over my cheeks. "Is that really necessary?"

He stopped and looked up at me, his breath hot and humid against my ass.

"I'm just trying to get a look at the injury," he said. "If you want me to stop-"

"No," I said, shaking my shoulders out a little. "I guess, if it's necessary..."

He smirked and put a hand against the small of my back. "Relax, man."

I nodded and turned back to face the tile wall.

He pulled the rest of sweatpants off, slowly, until my entire ass was exposed. He leaned until his mouth was only a few inches away from my crack. He lifted up my cheeks in his hands to inspect them.

"Well, it looks like you're not going to need stitches," he chuckled. "Luckily you got some padding on you."

"Well, I played hockey in college," I said awkwardly.

He laughed. "That explains it."

Uh, okay.

It was such a surreal moment, leaning against the wall with a man's hands on my ass. I told myself he was a professional. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that Julie would have more than a few questions if she walked in on me in this position.

He worked on me slowly, his gloved hands gently squeezing the fat of my cheeks, examining the wound. But then all of a sudden, his touch changed. Slow, and tender. Now it didn't feel like he was just taking a look-it felt like he was enjoying the feeling.

And even weirder, I was too.

I felt all tingly and warm under his fingers as he stroked my ass with his thumbs. I took a deep, shaky breath and shut my eyes tight. Before I could stop myself, I let out a groan.

"Does that hurt?" he asked.

"Ah... no," I said, trying to stifle the ecstasy in my voice. I looked down and started to sweat. Oh, no, I realized. I'm getting hard.

The thing is, this was a whole new territory for me. Ass play had never been a part of my sex life-even though I begged Julie to put her finger in me on more than a couple drunk occasions. But she was always grossed out by the idea. Still, I'd always had a hankering for someone to touch me back there. And now that I felt it, I had to admit there was no feeling like it.

I arched my back and pushed my cheeks into his hands, enjoying the feeling of latex against my skin. But then all of a sudden I felt him wipe a stinging dab of alcohol against my wound and slap on a bandage.

He patted me on the butt. "Alright, you're all set there, champ."

I hoisted up my pants, careful to stay facing the wall so he wouldn't see the dick print in my sweats.

Then he slipped off his gloves, casually tossed them into the garbage, and walked out of the bathroom.

I stood there shivering for a moment, savoring the memory of his fingers against my skin.

As soon as my erection subsided, I wrestled a leash onto Sasha's collar and dragged her out of the training room into the lobby.

"See you next week," I said weakly as I passed him.

Ryan didn't even look up from behind the front desk, completely unfazed by what had just gone down in the bathroom.

Well, maybe nothing had really gone down at all.

I sat in the front seat of the car with my hands on the steering wheel, staring out into the shopping center while I waited for Julie to finish her yoga class. I looked over at the dog panting in the passenger seat.

"What the fuck just happened?" I asked her.

She raised her ears and cocked her head to one side, intrigued. I was kind of feeling the same way.

* * *

The weeks went by, and Saturday mornings quickly turned into my new Mondays. The work was grueling and pointless. I sat there boiling while the rest of the class advanced ahead of me, moving on to "roll-over" and "give-daddy-kisses", while I was still trying to get the dog to look me in the fucking eye. And more infuriating than anything was Ryan's perky attitude. His grin never left his stupid, pretty face.

One day after class, as the rest of the white ladies and old people started filing out, Ryan put a hand on my arm.

"Hey," he said. "It looks like you two were having a little trouble there today."

"Yeah," I said bitterly, picking up her leash off the wall hanger. "She won't listen to me."

I looked down at her, humping my leg.

Ryan snorted. "Well, you can't blame the dog, man."

I spun around to glare at him. "Why the hell not?"

"Look, a dog is only as disciplined as her trainer," he said, crossing his arms. I couldn't help but notice how veiny they were.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I said, looking back up at him.

"It means that they're perceptive," he said, smirking. "A dog doesn't want to be the alpha. They just want to know where they fall on the totem pole. And you have to be the one to show them that."

"So they want to be dominated?" I asked, doubtful, trying to brush the bitch off as she thumped against my knee.

"It's a mammal thing," he shrugged. "We all do a little bit, right? Like right now," he said, gesturing to my leg. "You know why she does that?"

"No," I said, trying to shake her off.

"Because she can. Because you let her."

"That's not true." I turned to her and held out my hand like we practiced in class. "Off."

He rolled his eyes. "C'mon, dude. Really?" He looked down at Sasha and did it himself. "Off."

She slid to the ground with a whimper. I stared at him, impressed.

"So, who's the alpha in the household?" he said, leaning against the hanger.

"It's hard to say," I began. "I mean, my wife and I try to make it an equal partnership."

"C'mon. There's always an alpha. What about in the bedroom? Who initiates?"

My mouth fell open.

"What?" he said. "Is that too personal?"

"A little," I stammered, gawking. "But also..." I looked down at the dog, panting up at me. "It kind of depends on her."

Ryan looked down at Sasha and laughed out loud. "Oh, man," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Shit is worse than I thought."

I just stood there, burning.

"Look," he said, glancing at his watch. "I got about an hour before my next class. What do you say you try it on me?"

My eyes went wide. "What?"

"Just-give me your best sit and stay," he said.

"Um, okay," I said. I raised my hand the way he showed me and said, "Sit."

He snorted. "Really?"

"What?"

"Say it like you mean it."

"I don't mean it," I said, starting to get impatient.

He sighed. He looked down at Sasha and led her into a little pen at the edge of the room, shutting the gate between them. He leaned down and unclasped her collar. Then he brought it up to his thick, muscled neck. "Just pretend I'm her," he said, buckling it in and holding up her tag. "Just say, Sasha, shit."

This was about the dumbest idea I'd ever heard. But I still had about twenty minutes before Julie wrapped with yoga, so I decided to humor him.

"Sasha, sit."

"Dude," he said, laughing. "Are you even trying? Here, let me show you."

He unclasped the collar and wrapped it around my shoulders. I felt a little chill as his hands brushed against my five o'clock shadow, the metal tag cold against my neck.

He brought his hand to his forehead, his eyes boring into mine. "Watch me."

I looked into his eyes. And suddenly I was transfixed. They were intense, burning green. And I felt magnetized to them, like I couldn't look away. I saw him fully, as if for the first time. His tanned, smooth skin. His perfectly buzzed haircut. The freckles on his forehead. His sharply carved jawline. The dimple on his chin. I felt myself get weak. Even though the dude was a few inches shorter than me, I had to admit he was intimidating.

"Sit, boy."

And before I knew what was happening, my knees buckled and I knelt at his feet. His voice was so commanding, I was completely disarmed.

He put out his hand again, his expression unchanging, his voice slow and deep. "Now stay."

He backed away, and with every step I felt my heart race. It should've been strange, but it was thrilling, completely at the man's mercy.

"Now come," he said, gesturing.

I crawled forward on my hands and knees, sliding against the blue foam floor, the dog tag clinking against my throat. And just as I approached his feet, he gestured again.

"Up," he said.

I rose to my knees and looked up at him. My face was inches from his shorts, so close I could smell the sweat of his balls. His thick, manly musk entered my nose-and my mouth started to water.

"Good, boy," he said, smiling down at me. "Now, you get a treat."

He came closer to me, until I was face to face with his crotch. I just closed my eyes and breathed in deep, enjoying the smell, opening my mouth and leaning in to taste him.

But I just felt a dog treat hit me in the head. I looked up. He was laughing at me.

"See? We all like to be dominated," he said, shaking his head and walking away. He left me there on my knees.

I was mortified, emasculated.

And honestly very turned on.

* * *

That night, while I was brushing my teeth, I practiced making eye contact with myself in the mirror, trying to capture the look in Ryan's eyes.

"Sit, boy," I said, my spit splattering the glass. "Sit."

"What are you doing?"

I looked over to see Julie standing in the doorway, her head cocked to one side.

I nearly gagged on my toothpaste. I bent over to spit into the sink.

"I'm just practicing these fucking commands," I said.

She giggled. "I can see that. But isn't the point to practice on the dog?"

"That's what I thought," I said, slamming down my toothbrush on the counter. "But Ryan says for it to work, I gotta assert my dominance."

"Okay," she said, arching her eyebrows. "Why don't you try it on me?"

I sighed, brought my fingers to my forehead, and gruffed, "Watch me."

She looked into my eyes, and suddenly I watched her face fall, intimidated by the intensity of my gaze. Her arms dropped down by her sides.

I held out a finger. "C'mere, girl."

She stepped towards me, her eyes wet and submissive. She put her hands on my chest and squeezed.

"Damn," she smiled. "You're kinda sexy when you're in control."

"Yeah?" I said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Mmhmm," she said, dancing her fingers over my collar bone. "What other tricks are you learning over there?"

I smiled, wrapping my arms around her hips. "Well, there's one I still haven't mastered I've been meaning to try out." I pointed to my lips. "Give daddy kisses."

She smiled, leaning in to taste my tongue, when I heard an angry bark from the doorway.

Sasha came bounding towards me, snarling. But before she could knock me over, I held up a hand and ordered, "Off!"