"Who is he?"  She inquired with obvious lust.  She licked her lips and her heart pulsed feverishly.

The tall man had crossed the threshold into the trendy nightclub.  His smooth brown eyes scanned the tables for an empty seat; they were met by the seductive stares of countless women, young and old.

They didn't know he was really a dog.  A canine.  A pooch.

"Somebody call 911, cause that man is gonna need some serious oxygen after I'm through with him," whispered a blond near the window.

The tall man sat at the bar and smiled coolly.  He ordered a drink and swiftly ran his hand through his hair.

They still didn't suspect . . . . . that he was a dog.

A ripe twenty year old named Michelle sat in the back.  Her elegant fingers made slow circles in her drink.  Slow, sexy circles.  The tall man noticed Michelle.  She noticed him back.

"Come here," the tall man mouthed with aggressive mildness. Michelle slipped silently from her seat.  Her body seemed to swim across the floor.  Her firm breasts moved in synchronization with the sides of her unbelievably perfect hips.  Her constricting dress attempted to hold back her luscious curves, but to no avail.  All was palpable through the thin black fabric of her tiny dress.

The tall man smiled to himself.  And she still didn't know that he was a dog.

Michelle sat next to him.  They chatted meaninglessly for a bit.  But they both wanted the same thing, and eventually they would get it.

The tall man drove Michelle to his apartment that night.  He dimmed the lights.  He turned on Barry White.  They undressed and the tall man made viscous, unrestricted love to her.  Michelle's tender hands moved eagerly across the dog's . . . .I mean across the tall man's furry body.  The love making grew more intense and the tall man began to howl as his right leg twitched uncontrollably.

Michelle went home later that night.  The tall man sat back with a few Milkbones and smiled once more.  Man . . . . . he's pretty good for a dog.

Written January 1, 1999