My Crotch-Sniffing Dog

You’ve heard of drug-sniffing dogs and you’ve heard of bomb-sniffing dogs. Well, I have a crotch-sniffing dog. Now wait a minute here, you’re probably thinking. What’s the big deal? All dogs go around sniffing crotches. That’s true, but my dog has been specially trained to sniff out and identify fertile, human females ready to be fucked into motherhood.

This isn’t some science fiction story about some dog that rapes and knocks up women. No sir! I’m the one who knocks them up. My dog Spike just points the right ones out to me, so to speak. Heck! Spike couldn’t fuck puppies into a bitch. He’s fixed, you see. I got him at the animal shelter. They’re the ones who insisted he be neutered before I “adopted” him. Well, I got him for his nose and neutering him didn’t hurt that any. By now I’m sure you think I’m a complete bastard and you’d be right. But if my story is interesting, so what? Just bear with me for a bit.

I was born and raised in a working class environment. I won’t bore you with the details of my early life since it’s not important to my story. My father was a drunk and my mother was a dutiful wife. I was the oldest in a family of three sons and four daughters. When I turned 16 I was told to quit school and get a job to help support the family. Well, I quit school but when I walked out the door to find a job I never returned. I drifted from odd job to odd job until I was 18. I then got a job driving a truck and I’ve stuck with that type of work ever since.

I’m not ugly but I’m not exactly a charmer either. My success with women was always hit and miss. I usually accepted rejection like a gentleman but my one pet peeve was for a woman to string me along while expecting me to spend time and money on her. One time I’d spent a whole pay check to wine and dine this bitch. We went to this exclusive nightclub after dinner where there’s always a ton of people waiting to get in. I tipped, or rather bribed the doorman a hundred bucks to get us in. Not ten minutes after we were seated the bitch let herself get picked up by some other guy and dumped me! Needless to say I was pissed.

I got my revenge by raping her. Knowing her habits and schedule, I caught her alone where it was dark and deserted. I came up from behind and grabbed her. I then threw a bag over her head, shoved her into some bushes and tore off her clothes. Raping her was pure pleasure. I porked her mercilessly. Since she couldn’t identify me I got away clean.

Later when I heard she was pregnant by her rapist I couldn’t have been more pleased. In fact I nearly came in my trousers just thinking about it. My career as a rapist had begun.

Think about it. I saved a ton of money on dating and could pick and choose my “dates.” The most attractive women were accessible whether or not they were married or had a sweetheart. The only drawback, of course, was if I were caught, I’d be probably spending the rest of my life in prison. That possibility didn’t stop me although I tried to be as cautious as possible.

Within a year I’d raped several more women. I knocked up a couple of them and that’s when I realized the biggest charge I got was when I knew my victim was going to give birth to my bastard. My big fantasy now was to impregnate every woman I raped. Well how do you make sure the woman you want to fuck and impregnate is fertile? How do you know you’re not risking everything for a woman who’s on the Pill?

It’s impossible. I’ve read plenty of those online stories where the heroine gets knocked up so easily. This is not so in real life. It was a puzzle I was determined to solve.

Despite being a high school dropout I consider myself pretty smart. If I’d completed high school and gone on to college I might have made something of myself. I love books. I spent countless hours in public libraries in a program of self-education in the arts and sciences. I became well informed and I can hold my own in conversations with many professionals regarding their own specialties. In all my research I never ran across anyway to test a woman’s fertility without resorting to blood or urine analysis or checking body temperature. For my purpose none of this was tenable.

I was sitting in a bar one day nursing a beer. There was only one other patron in the place. I was watching a piece on the television news concerning the use of drug-sniffing dogs at the U.S.-Mexico border.

“They should have dogs who could sniff out women who were ready to have a baby fucked into them,” I said. I was talking back to the television out loud.

“It’s possible,” said the other customer who was sitting a few stools away from me.