Please send your story to me by e-mail.
All of the stories are belong to Aigando, please do not use without permission.
"Dog Days 2" Frank
2 There were several things that rotated in my mind as I boarded the bus on that November Monday morning. The training conference at ten that morning that should have been foremost in my thoughts was not the major topic. My total mental effort was devoted to making "kennel plans". I knew that some things would have to change. Protection for the knees and hands was very high on the list. Frankly, I had bruises and scrapes from crawling the distance from the gate to the house. My knees were sore and it felt like there were holes in the palm of my hand. My first thought was of boxing gloves and those shin guards intended for a catcher. Not especially "in scope" of the image but certainly a possible protection item. There was a sports equipment store very near the office building. A quick trip at lunch would provide an immediate solution.
Of course, here I was thinking of the logistics for the next event and there had not even been conversation about having a "next time". Perhaps it was one of those once in a life time, we tried it, not all of us liked doing it, we didn't do it again. Diane was an important part of this decision. My thoughts had been directed at doing it "better" not questioning if it would be done again. Lunch was provided during the training conference on Monday and therefore no visit to the sports store. By lunch time Tuesday I had decided to wait and see where Diane was at on the subject before making purchases.
I anticipated going out for dinner with her on Tuesday night. This practice had started after Ginger had departed. Prior to those last days I spent most evenings with Ginger at her "home". I think that the "night out" had started as a way for Diane to get me away from my mourning period of losing Ginger.. She had never indicated that it was a bit silly for me to have become so attached to a dog that I knew was going to die, in such a short time. Of course, it might have been because I had never "had" a dog, or any other pet in my life. I had always been enough "inconvenience" without the addition of a pet.
There was a small German food restaurant just outside of our neighborhood. It was owned by a lady that was a former wife of a military officer. This gentleman had "discharged" her in order to acquire a younger model. At least that was what Diane told me from the information gained in her professional network. This network seemed to be quite complete. Since our area had a number of "German brides" that knew this lady and there was definitely an element that appreciated the type of food, her establishment was popular. It also featured good food as reasonable prices in a pleasant atmosphere. That night was no exception. There were many conversations around us being conducted in German and we probably could have "talked" without being heard. The "talk" began when we were at home.
"What are your plans for next weekend?" she asked.
Having spent the last just about forty-eight hours thinking of nothing else but that topic, one would have thought that I would have been completely prepared to engage in a meaningful conversation concerning this topic. In reality, I just blurted out something like "I don't know."
"What would you say to another weekend in the kennel?" she asked in an innocent manner.
"It would be okay, I guess." I replied.
"Doesn't sound like you enjoyed it very much." she observed.
"Oh no," I hastened to reply, "I enjoyed it very much. Thank you for putting up with me. I have been thinking about what I could do to make it better."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I was thinking about something for my hands and knees. I had thought of boxing gloves and shin guards."
"There were things that you didn't like?"
"The pain of crawling on the walkway," I began, "being afraid that you would not come to let me out. Thinking about being caught. The bathroom thing."
"Then you have been thinking about it."
"Yes," I admitted, "Very much so."
"So have I."
There are many good things that one looks forward to hearing in one's life. Each person has his or her own idea of what this would be. Diane had just increased my hope for what I would consider to be the best thing that I have ever heard in my life. It was good that she had thought about it. So far the conversation seemed to be directed in favor of a repeat event. But, what was she thinking? I was simply to afraid to ask.
"I have made some decisions," she began, "You will have to agree with them or I am not going to ever do it again."
I guess I should have responded in some manner, but I wasn't sure what was the answer was supposed to be. For once in my life there seemed to be the demonstrated intelligence of knowing when to not say anything. Her next statement came out in somewhat of a rush. It was if she had carefully rehearsed it and did not want to miss any of the precise points that needed to be communicated.
"When you enter the compound with me you are a dog. You are not my husband. You are not my friend. You are not a person, a human, you are nothing but a pet. A pet, that I own. A pet that has no purpose or reason for being other than the fact that I have chosen to own you. I will feed you when, and what, I want. You will never eat or drink anything with anything other than you mouth. You do not have hands, they are paws. You may whine, bark, or groan, but you may not speak in anything that can be recognized as being speech. Never, never will you stand on your feet." She paused to regroup, or to allow me to complete hearing what she had said. Then she continued, "When you are in the compound I own you. You are there until I decide to allow you to leave. If that doesn't happen to be in time for you to make it to work on time, or you go for several days without food or water, that is just the way it is.. Some day, I might just decide to leave you there and forget about you. Do you understand?"
Well gosh and gee whiz! How does one answer a question like this? Perhaps if she could see my rigid extended penis, she would know that she was telling, at least the brain contained in that organ, what it wanted to hear. However, all I could do was grunt out "Yes".
"I don't believe for a minute that you completely understand what I am telling you. If you did your answer would be no. So, we will start with that and have this same conversation several times as we go along. You let me know when you are tired of doing it, but only when you are not in the compound. If you tell me in the kennel, I will beat you for speaking, and then ignore you.. Since it will probably be the last time that I beat you, I will probably beat you severely."
With that understanding, and with a slight interruption to take care of certain subjects that has come up during our conversation, the "dinkering" began.. The dinkering was my contribution to the continuation of the event. The insurance company provided a four day weekend for the Thanksgiving holiday. Many of my associates left early on Wednesday. Being the junior employee in my department, I was the last one out. As I left the building I noticed that the sports store had closed early for the holiday. I was just about the only person on the bus. I would need to find a local sports store on Friday, but I could do it closer to home since I would have access to the car.
Something else on the agenda that Thanksgiving weekend was the first annual sending of the Christmas cards. I had already received the updated "office directory" and knew that this was a required list. We had a few other addresses that included the "Generals", the "roommates", and several members of her family. Diane had list from the restaurant. Our little post office box was busy. I prepared a card for my mother and her current husband. There had been no response since my last letter informing her that there would be no commissioning for me after graduation. I also realized that I had not informed her of my new address. If I was going to get a present from her at Christmas (which would have been a first), then she would need to know where to send it. The card was mailed, well within the time recommended by the post office. It also came back well within the time recommended by the post office. The envelope indicated that the document was returned by the addressee at the request of the addressee. Shortly after the first of the new year a packet arrived from the address of the addressee. This packet contained significant documents related to me or my father. The typed letter enclosed with the packet stated that I was now in possession of all documents that pertained to me or my father and that the person sending this packet had no other records related to either of us. It indicated that no further correspondence or contact was necessary or permitted. I was officially without a connection to a past.
The term dinkering comes from a combination of "design" and "tinkering". In my lifetime I have done both. The term design indicates that it is an organized process to arrive at a definition to achieve a goal. Moreover, it assumes that the person doing the design has both the capability and capacity to accomplish the goal. The term tinker implies that something exists and one is making alterations to it to make it more suitable for what the person doing the tinkering wants it to be. My "dinkering" was an intentional combination of both words. While my objective was to achieve a dog like image, my lack of talent put me out of design mode. Since I did not have anything to work with I could not tinker with an existing product. Thus, what I did was defined as "dinkering".
Goodness, did it take some strange and unusual turns along the way. I was fortunate to have several things in my favor. The primary one was time. Tuesday night was allocated to marital bliss with my wife. Saturday night was spent in the kennel. Sunday night saw me either in the kennel or in the bedroom (it was difficult for me to decide which was better). This gave me four nights to dinker and all the time going to and from work to think about what kind of dinkering that I would be doing when I dinkered. It also occupied an increasing amount of my time at the office. I would suddenly be struck with a perfectly awesome idea that need to "scratched" onto a slip of paper. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice. It doesn't take a lot of effort to chose between four "out" boxes.
Almost as important was the shop provided at the General's home. Earlier I mentioned that there was a major garage which held four cars. The four cars were contained in the "automobile storage area". There was actually space for two more. Somewhat in the center was a work bay. It was primarily intended for washing and polishing the automobiles. At one end was a garage door to the alley and at the other end was another garage door that opened into the compound. This section doubled as an entrance to the compound. For instance, it was used by the technician that serviced the heating and air-conditioning in the doghouse. Next to the work bay was the actual shop. There was also a garage door that opened to the alley. In front of this door was a "pit". This allowed the automobile to be driven in and placed so that a qualified person was able to work under the automobile, doing whatever such a person would do when they do what they do when they are down there. Does my lack of automotive technical knowledge show?
The shop also contained a number of tools and devices. Although I did not exactly know how to use these items, I started to learn. I wished that "shop" had been offered at the military high school I attended Besides having sturdy and strong work surfaces, I had welding equipment, a drill press, strong vices, and a variety of metal working tools. I purchased a book about welding, a number of metal bars, and other supplies from a specialty shop and started my self training in this craft. I quickly learned that an open shirt and an arc welding task was not a good mixture. I contributed to the mixture a set of leather working tools and a significant amount of heavy duty leather. Using the available tools and my developing skills, I converted many of the metal bars and much leather to scrap. Oh, and every once in awhile an almost worthwhile device that almost nearly worked was created.
My first creation was protective knee pads. These were entirely constructed of leather and were fairly functional from the first efforts. My idea to attach a metal frame to the outside of each pads to insure a right angle of the legs kind of worked. It did prevent me from standing but it did create quite a painful situation because the legs were not able to flex for an extended period of time. When released I could hardly walk. Fortunately, Diane had decided that it was an early exit on Sunday. After that incident, I did some preliminary testing of my product before using them on the weekend.
The paws were the next item. The boxing gloves became mittens, the leather mittens acquired a paw like shape, and finally the bottom of the paw was shaped into a paw by the bending of some of the metal to enforce that appearance.. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and some large degree of imagination was required to interpret my creation as looking like a paw.
My work in the shop was very comfortable during those winter months. The shop came equipped with a gas fired heater that was mounted in the upper corner and did a good job of keeping the area warm. A large "room air conditioner" would be available in the summer time. After performing some very minor household chores every day (but Tuesday) I went directly to the shop and dinkered away. Frequently, I was still doing this when Diane came home from work. I slept quickly, and continued my nap on the bus, but by the time I got home the next night, I was ready to try out my new ideas.
While the paws and knee pads provided protection, I soon found that the feet, or at least the tops of the feet, were still being abused by the concrete. In addition I was still concerned with the ability to stand up whenever my natural weakness insisted that I do so. This called for some sort of a "back paw" solution.
The tax payers of the United States had provided me with four pairs of "combat boots". These had been used for a very enjoyable summer visit to this resort area called "Fort Sill" located in the beautiful country side of Oklahoma. Yes, a lovely place to be during the summer months. Maybe that is why they called it "summer camp". Now that I was not going to be a part of the uniformed services, I retained my often polished boots. While they had laces, two pairs had been converted to have a zipper. Not feeling that I had any other valid use for these items the oldest zippered pair became the basis of my new "back paws".
First, I added metal bars to the bottom. These were fastened with carriage bolts (see I was learning about those type of things) through the sole. This base became the platform for a framework that changed after every weekend. The first effort featured a bar fastened perpendicular to the sole of the foot that provided a long center spike. Functional, as far as insuring that one cannot stand, but not especially "attractive". After this the spike was moved to the back of the boot becoming an extreme high heel. Still functional, but there was something about it that didn't look or feel "right". I tried a number of combinations. This included a "rounded" and an almost rounded framework. There was also an attempt that suddenly began to look like an ice skate.
An early addition to the frame was a "paw like" addition mounted perpendicular to the front of the foot. This became the "foot print" of the back paws. If I had the will power to remain on my hands and knees this would remain as the contact with the ground. An excellent idea, but the will power was missing. I also was able to bend and manipulate this into a similar shape to what I had used on the mittens.
There were lots of problems with the boots. While they were worn in the winter months, I was concerned with the fact that they would be worn for long periods of time (I hoped) and that the use of water would make them wet and cause foot problems. All of that could probably have been solved but the primary problem was that they were a remnant of my previously intended life and profession and that was just not acceptable.
One day in early spring while waiting for the bus I was stuck with an idea while observing a female office worker wearing a pair of spike heel sandals. And suddenly, I had an idea. Well, perhaps more than one idea, but only one related to my search for the ultimate paw. I could see how sandals would solve several problems. Water could flow freely through them and they were in no way associated with a military career. I could add the "paw" to the front of the sandals. It really didn't matter, once I had seen the pleasing shape of the primary shoe, I simply had to do something that would require them as a solution. All that was left was to do it, so I started on the creation of my brilliant idea. The dinkering effort did not go very well.
While I had been working on the physical devices Diane had also been working on ideas and concepts. Very quickly the little black and white "turista" ridding crop was replaced with business like implements. It wasn't a surprise, but there was a saddle shop that specialized in products of this nature. One obviously did not have to explain on what kind of animal the device would be used to train. In fairly short order there were three such devices. There would be no danger of any of them falling apart. They were well made and quite effective. I can assure you that they were effective. I frequently had welts that lasted for several days.
There was the very special gift of a collar. It was a high grade collar and quite attractive. It had a place for a name that was not engraved. However, there was a "tag" attached that clearly showed her as the owner, the post office box, and the "servants" telephone number in case the subject was "found". I was disappointed by two things, one there was not name given, and two no offer of a reward for a return of the lost, unnamed, pet. Considering the security profile of the pen in the kennel, it was unlikely that I would become lost.
A new language developed. At least new to me. At first, I was puzzled, and actually spoke up and said "Huh?" when she used one of the new words. My next words, or rather screams, indicated that I forgotten the rule that I did not ever attempt to communicate as a human. However, with her patience, enforced with the whips, I soon learned this new language. I did not know about the source of the new language, I knew they did not resemble the Spanish that I had pretended to learn in college.
She was truthful about the food and water. At her command, the automatic watering device was disabled. It was replaced by a large pan of water. She filled the water, or not. I did not like it when the water was not freshly filled at the start of my stay. I did not complain. Food continued to be furnished in the other bowl. I carefully waited, obeying the word "Mate!", until the command "Tabero!" was given, at which time, I addressed the task of eating with enthusiasm. Food was provided on Saturday evening as I was placed in the kennel. She brought food on Sunday morning at or about ten (as much as I could figure). I was also fed on Sunday afternoon or evening.
On Saturday evening she put me in the kennel wearing her work clothes. Sunday morning dress was "casual", more exactly wearing what she had worn to bed with a coat over it for warmth. Sunday evening was the variable. Sometimes it was an extension of morning casual which made me assume that she had spent the day in relax mode. Other times there was "dress casual". After this appearance I usually found shopping bags to be disposed of, or tickets stubs from movies or other programs in the trash.
Then there were times when she fed me on Sunday afternoon wearing clothes that made it appear that she was on her way to some social engagement. She was usually well dressed and looked quite lovely. On these Sundays I could expect one of two things. I would either be released very late that night or very early the next morning. When it was the later I usually had time to just clean up, dress for work, and barely make the bus. Once I did not make the bus and she drove me to the office. She never revealed to me what she did on these evenings. I assumed that since her restaurant was closed on Sunday's that she spent this time in social activities with friends in her network.
Food was interesting. Most frequently it was brought home in a "doggie bag" from the restaurant. Not exactly a bad source of food. However, there is something that works in your mind when you realize that you are eating scraps that come from a table, or tables, containing people that you do not know and will never see. Did they come from one group? Did my food come from the plate of an attractive female that considered it improper to finish her food, an unruly child that didn't like what was available to eat, or a grumpy old man? Do these people have any diseases or other medical issues that would impact my well being? These concerns did not matter, the question was not permitted, since I was owned by Diane, this is what I would eat. There was also a "mush" that was used, mostly oatmeal with some additions. It offered a different texture and was not easy to eat. I may not have cleaned my dish once or twice, but learned that if I didn't finish the serving, there would be far less the next time and it would be the same stuff. Happiness is a clean dish so one's owner knows that that the feeding effort is appreciated.
Sometimes I was given a bone. Not that it was a bad bone. It was typically a prime rib bone usually with a goodly amount of tender aged meat. However, it was cold, somewhat "greasy". I would be left with it in the pen and would have the opportunity to eat it by tearing the meat from the bone as I held it with my "front paws". Training my digestive system to accept these various offerings was a long process. It was not without failures.
Which brings up the bathroom thing. The absolute horrible item that even after all of these years is still not a comfortable situation. After my initial weekend, I did not enter the run without her being present. This was not exactly a bad thing since by late November and then into the next months, it was damn cold outside. The door that lead to the outside was controlled from the center section of the dog house. Inside the pen was warm. It got just a bit too cool just before the heat came on, but it still beat being outside.
Performing basic excretory functions inside was not permitted. I learned this fact with my nose in a puddle of piddle and a whip playing the zebra march on my exposed rear, with some side trips to the legs. I probably used some "words" during this time, but before she was finished all I could do was whimper. I was to "hold" until the door to the run was open. Once I crawled out in the run I was free to release what I needed to release. I knew enough to know that the "drain" to the septic system was in one corner of the run. She could observe this corner of the run from a window. She would release the door, I would scamper out, deposit what was to be deposited, and then she would step out into the run from her door with the hose fully blasting. After the complete cleaning of me with the powerful stream of water I would be clean and my contribution would be sent on to where it was going. She would usually step back into the wash room while I would return to my pen. While it was a short trip, it was a cold trip. There was not a motivation to stay outside and enjoy the cool natural air.
During the winter months I did spend quite a bit of my weekend time in the kennel. In fact, with the exception of two weekends around Easter, I was there every weekend. Those two weekends were occupied by an official visit by the General. He did not just pop in unannounced. We were informed of the time and length of his visit. He was attending a meeting at his former duty station and would be in for two weekends and the week in between. We had plenty of time to "clean up" both our "act" and the place. Everything remained in good condition. I removed by tools and my current dinker projects from the shop. Functional items, as always, were stored in the closet in one of the bedrooms of our quarters.
The main house was quite large. It was a two story "Southern Plantation" style house with equal "wings" on each side. A circular driveway brought one to the impressive entrance with the six columns. . The "east wing" was the Master Suite. The "west wing", which probably would have been the garage if it had been located in another neighborhood, was the "quarters". The quarters consisted of two bedrooms, a full bathroom, and a sitting room. The smaller bedroom had a single bed, it also contained the "off-season" storage closet, which now served as the storage for my "toys". The other bedroom was larger and contained a double bed. This was currently serving as "our" room. There was a "service" entrance on the west side that served as the entrance to our quarters and a delivery entrance for the household. When a caterer was utilized for functions at the house, our sitting room became the "public" area for the catering staff. The "side yard" that went back to the alley also served as a staging area for vehicles involved with the caterer's effort. There was also a supplementary walkway from the circular driveway that could be used for backdoor delivery.
A part of our assigned duties was to perform a security check each day. This meant a trip though the house checking the four bedrooms and three batches upstairs, as well as the Master Suite, dining room, living room, family room, and service basement. The check was to insure that there were no violations of window security and that all the plumbing was in order. Other than this daily check, which was performed by Diane each afternoon (and recorded on the "log book" left for that purpose by the General), we did not visit those areas of the house. We did make use of the laundry room, the kitchen, the breakfast nook, and the screen porch that overlooked the swimming pool. We were granted express permission to use the swimming pool for our personal use. We did not even attempt to answer the infrequent ringing of the front door bell. While the General (and Mrs. General) had not made any rules that prevented us from entertaining others, the Mrs. Roommate had indicated that such liberties, while permitted, should be few and far between.
There was a lot of activity with the arrival of the General. The house cleaner person spent an extra day insuring that all the already clean house was absolutely spotless. Diane worked with the General to assure that the house was stocked to meet his food and entertainment requirements. The bar was unlocked and restocked. Plans were made for a few nights of social entertainment at the house. Food service was arranged with our friends at the German restaurant. Diane had taken time off from work and remained at the house as the functional hostess. Her service was considered to be very satisfactory by the General. I found that I was considered to be helpful to the crew from the restaurant. In addition to the small staff there were several customers that "helped out" during the week. The owner lady was very appreciative of everyone's effort and scheduled a celebration party on the Tuesday after the General departed. I appreciated the idea, but I had a list of major questions for Diane and I was afraid that the function would interfere with my conversation with her.
The first Saturday afternoon of the General's visit included a formal visit to the compound. The attending veterinarian was present provided a complete report of Ginger's final days. The General was very gracious with his expression of appreciation of my efforts. We both were crying during the graveside visitation. Shortly afterwards we entered the "dog house" for the official inspection. The dog house that I had so carefully cleaned with the minor exception of my feeding and watering dish that were very visible in pen "two". Diane engaged him in conversation while I removed them to the storage room and hid them under some towels.
The conversation between Diane and the General was focused on the training of larger animals. He seemed quite pleased that she was interested and invited her to make use of materials stored in the dog house and in his library in the Master Suite. From the number of awards, trophies, and ribbons displayed in the dog house, this was a subject in which he was well versed.
We also talked about our planned length of stay. He informed us that he and the Mrs. General were very pleased with our service. Our fellow household service people, the vet, the mechanic, and the police had indicated that we were doing a good job. He told us that he was still planning on a full three years at his present post. Retirement was something that he would consider in the future. We were most welcome to stay, he would like for us to stay, but if we found that it was time for us to move on to our own "rose covered cottage" and start a family, he would certainly understand and support our decision. Diane told him we were quite happy with our situation and had no plans to depart. There had been no discussion of rose covered cottages or family development.
Later in the week, he gave us permission to acquire a dog, and to use the dog house facilities. If we chose to do so, he would appreciate the supervision of the veterinarian of record. He also warned us that we would need paperwork from the police department and that he would have to approve it before the license would be granted.
"I don't think I will acquire a dog," Diane offered, "I am still trying to train my husband. I will need to leave him in the kennel for long periods of time. Do I need a permit for that?"
"You already have a marriage license," he answered, "That should give you all the permission you need, but Marg will tell you that it is a long and complicated process. Every time that she thinks that she has me trained, I do something to prove that I am not. Then she starts over on me."
"She seems to have done a good job," Diane noted.
"What makes you say that?" He asked.
Pointing to the decorations on his jacket she said, "Look at all the ribbons that you've won."
He laughed and said, "There is more than a little truth to that statement young lady."
"Are there any books on husband training?" she asked.
"I sure there are, but I am not allowed to know anything about them," He answered. There were several other similar exchanges. They seemed to see a great deal of humor involved with this exchange. Diane did everything except point out that I spent the weekend in the kennel. I was very uncomfortable with her direction of conversation. I just knew that he would suddenly understand and we would both be sleeping in the street, and not in that community. The other alternative was to be arrested and spend many months in jail. That was not my idea of a proper kennel.
The Tuesday evening celebration at the "Guest House" was a joyous affair. Everyone was in a good mood and the party went on very late into the night. It was obvious that Diane's personality had helped her to make many friends at the restaurant. I was introduced when it was appropriate and Diane was helpful at the art of making sure that I knew the names of the people that I had already met and should know from previous introductions. It dawned on me that these were probably some of the people that she spent time with on Sundays. There were lots of handshakes, hellos, and many hugs as well as friendly kisses. I was a bit uncomfortable with some of the smiling and amused glances that seemed to be directed at me. Of course, I was always uncomfortable in a any social gathering.
Rather than feeling "jealous" it actually made me feel better. I had already realized how selfish I was. If I assumed that I was required to work (not that it was really ever an option), that I needed some amount of sleep, then that left a finite number of hours available for other activities. I spent the majority of that available other activity time involved in my kennel interests. Some of that was spent dinkering and the remainder was spent in the kennel under her control. Even the Tuesday night conjugal visit with my wife involved some communication about the kennel. All of that made me very happy.. While I always had some panic moments in the kennel when I realized that she could decide to leave me there or that something might happen to her and that no one would know where I was, the pleasure of being there far exceeded these fears. While it was "good for me" I had never really considered her "needs". Not that I felt that I was the answer to her sexual prayers, but I wasn't even available to go to a movie with her on Sunday afternoon. We only ate together once a week and that was in a public setting. I was glad to see that she was meeting her social needs with these very nice people.
When we were at home for the evening I began my plea. "The other day I saw a lady wearing a pair of high heel sandals at the bus stop. I was thinking that I could use a pair to make something for my feet."
She looked at me for a few seconds which seemed like hours. "I don't understand," she finally said.
For a moment I considered changing the subject. After a long party at the Guest House she might not have been in the mood for such discussion. "I have some sketches of what I mean," I offered, pulling out my "scratch" pad. An artist I am not, but in a few minutes I was flipping through a series of what could maybe be called "drawings".
"You think that high heels will keep you on your hands and knees?" She asked, "What happens when you learn to walk in high heels?"
She did not know that in my past there had been experience with doing just that. It was one of the many reasons that I was not exactly a welcome subject at my mother's household.
"No, I wasn't thinking of that, but the straps would be more functional than the boots. When I put the paw on the front of the shoe the angle of the sole should insure that it stays on the ground. I think the heel itself should be removed. I haven't figured out how the ankle strap and back of the shoe would work. I was thinking that if I had a pair to work from, I could figure it out."
"You want a pair of high heel sandals, " she stated. I nodded, "So, just go buy them."
"I can't do that," I replied.
"You want me to buy them for you?"
"Yes, please," I replied, thinking how stupid I was really sounding.
"Take off you clothes," she ordered.
While I did not know exactly what this had to do with buying me a pair of shoes, I had become quite accustomed to doing what she ordered. I quickly removed, and carefully folded, my clothes until I was quite naked in front of her. There was only one major question, was I supposed to stand there in front of her or get down on all fours? By the time that I was naked she had disappeared into the "main house". When she returned she had a measuring tape, paper, and pencil. She began to take my measurements. This included the waist, the hips, the chest, the arms, and others. In eight years of wearing precisely fitted uniforms I had never experienced a tailor with that degree of completeness. The final item was a tracing around each foot. She then directed me to the laundry room which was the official site of the household scales.. She continued to write and in short order there was a document posted on the laundry room bulletin board that indicated the date and my weight. I was going to mention that this "reading" was taken immediately after a substantial serving of food, but somehow I knew better than to mention it.
Since I was already naked, I was not surprised when the Tuesday night process began that would lead to the enjoyment of sexual activity. I believe that my efforts did provide her with an element of joy and pleasure. At least she sounded if they did and there was definitely indication of response. However, my usual little contribution, which I would so gleefully remove with my tongue was not permitted. Instead it was manipulated to fly into the air. Even though it was different it was good for me. After many and frequent "masterful" nights in college, I had become accustomed to performing this action only when she was present.
It was 10:43 the next morning when my great paw design became apparent. At the time I was attending a meeting at the office where the management representative was informing me and my fellow employees of important modifications in our daily routine. In the midst of paying careful attention to the lecture, I was rapidly sketching my new and innovative idea. It all sort of fell together at once. My effort began that very night. I remembered about another pile of metal that I had seen, and while I did not have instant success, I was suddenly more on the design side than the tinker side.
What I failed to do was to inform Diane that with this revelation of innovation I no longer needed for her to purchase the shoes for me. Perhaps it was thoughtless of me. A definite oversight. Definitely a punishable offense (or so I hoped). I mean, what if she made me wear them anyway? Perhaps it was because I wanted the shoes anyway.
LIST BACK NEXT