The F-Word

Why would I?

It’s easier to go to a woman’s place after a night out. If I’m going to sleep with her, I don’t really want to sleep with her. I want to fuck her. Too blunt for you? Maybe, but that’s one of the things about guys. We’re honest. We like sex. Remember when I said that before? Oh, sure, I’m into seduction, touching, kissing. I’m into holding a woman after sex. I don’t run out. Hell, I’m not a boor. But unless I take a babe away for the weekend—admittedly, a rare occurrence—I almost always end the night by going home to my own bed.

I have Walter to take care of.

Plus, why put wrong ideas in a woman’s head?

My space is my space, and I like to keep it that way.

So Walter’s not the only guy here who’s surprised to find a woman present. Truth is, he’s

more than surprised.

He’s making an ass of himself.

He’s on his back, all four legs in the air, drooling and making little woofing sounds as Bailey kneels next to him, rubbing his belly.

Man, I’d drool and woof too, if she were rubbing mine.

I clear my throat.

“So,” I say briskly, “how about some coffee? I mean, how about some tea? I don’t have the white stuff, but—”

Bailey looks up, her face all smiles. “What a great dog Walter is!”

“Yeah. He’s okay.”

“Oh, he’s wonderful!”

Walter moans with pleasure. Bailey laughs, rubs his belly a little more and says, “Don’t you have to walk him?”

Walk. The doggy version of a sexy four-letter word. Walter springs to his feet, laps Bailey’s face with his monstrous tongue, then turns his attention to me and jams his head into my balls.

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll just let him out into the garden…”

“I bet he would rather walk,” Bailey croons. “Isn’t that right, you big, beautiful boy?”

She’s calling him sweet, intimate names—and I had to convince her to call me Matthew. I narrow my eyes at Walter as if this is all his fault.

Then I grab his lead and snap it to his collar.

Walter heads for the door. So does Bailey. Well, that’s something. She’s going to walk with us.

We make a circuit of the block. When we reach the corner, I start to turn back.

“It’s such a nice night,” Bailey says. “Can we walk a little further?”

“Well, sure. If that’s what you want.”

“Plus,” she adds with a little giggle, “I’m starting to get used to these heels.”

Yeah. So am I. I love the way the heels have changed her walk. Not that there was anything wrong with it before…But there’s definitely something about really, really high heels that makes a woman’s walk sexy.

We do the next block. And the next. We’re so busy talking that I don’t even realize that time is passing. As for Walter—he’s in doggie heaven and he leaves no tree, no fire hydrant un-watered. Every now and then he looks up at Bailey and I could swear he smiles.

I don’t blame him. I’m smiling too. At our conversation. We’re just passing the time, but it’s fun. Bailey comments on the wonderful old houses we pass. She admires the little shops. There’s one on the corner that stops her dead. It’s a bookshop, closed at this hour, of course, and there’s a display of signed first editions in the window.

“Fahrenheit 451,” Bailey says, her voice full of awe. “And Peter Pan! And, oh my, Green Mansions!”