My Second Encounter with Monty

After my first time with Monty, the big, handsome Rottweiler I was housesitting, a predictable guilt came over me. I felt sick and ashamed every time I saw him. Before the incident he used to sleep on the bed with me – innocently, of course. It was his owner’s bed and he liked to flop down on top of my feet with a big sigh. But I couldn’t stand to have him around me, let alone in bed with me, any more. At night I shut the bedroom door, and locked it, with Monty whimpering on the other side.

“I know you don’t understand,” I said quietly. “But–” But what? What did I have to say for myself? I let a dog fuck me. No. I made a dog fuck me. It was illegal, for one. For another, it wasn’t even my dog. I’d started having dreams of the owner coming home and revealing a nanny-cam in the living room and catching the whole thing on tape. He was turning me in. It was all over. When I woke up I couldn’t shake the dream. While I showered I had visions of my story going out over the local news. My mother’s shame. My grandmother’s horror. At odd moments I groaned audibly. This was the kind of shit you couldn’t even take to a therapist. I felt so filthy, so awful. And yet still I had to walk Monty every day, watch him sashay ahead of me, his head erect, nose twitching in the air, his balls swaying between his thighs.

I threw myself into my work and went back to Monty’s later and later every night. Three weeks went by and I started to take heart – just one week left. People at work were telling me I didn’t look so good. Well, no one was that blunt, but I got a lot of “are you feeling okay?” Meanwhile my brain chanted, one week, one week, one week. Then I got a call.

“Jillian? It’s Mark. Listen, this research of ours is getting to be more than we bargained for. Is there any way you could stay with Monty a little longer?” My guts clenched and I gritted my teeth.

“How long, do you think?” I asked, trying to sound as nice as possible.

“Oh gosh, it’s hard to say. I wouldn’t even ask except that you said you were flexible… I mean, I can pay you more if you want.” He cleared his throat. “Probably another month.” He was already giving me fifty dollars a day, and I could hardly afford to say no to that. I chewed my cheek for a second.

“Yeah, sure, that should be fine.” He thanked me profusely, said I was a lifesaver and so on.

I had been on my lunch break and skulked back to my cubicle and dropped my head to my desk. Now instead of one week, one week, one week I started chanting one month, one month, one month. This dribbled into my self-loathing mantra of dog fucker, dog fucker, dog fucker.

“Jillian.” I bolted up and saw my boss staring at me. He didn’t have much by way of understanding. Or feelings for that matter. “You haven’t caught an eating disorder, have you?” I shook my head. He coughed. “Well the secretaries keep telling me that you’re not eating and other ‘signs’ or something. And from the looks of it you haven’t taken a sick day, or any vacation, in a long, long time.”

“Really, Carl, I’m fine,” I said, desperate. “Just a little tired is all.” He nodded.

“Which is why you’re going to take a few days. Sick, vacation, you’re pick. But three days, minimum. And if you’re still looking all… tired, I’ll make you take more. Now skidaddle.”

I drove around for an hour before going to the house. Anything to delay the inevitable. Once inside I did my now-automatic scan for any sign of recording devices, as if they might spring up overnight. Monty had long since given up his old friendly greeting and remained, dejected and confused, in his doggy bed in the living room. I mentally scanned through the numbers in my phone, trying to think of any guys I could meet up with. Maybe if I had sex – with a human – I could start to move past this thing.

“Patrick,” I said suddenly. He was a friend of a friend who I’d gone out with once before. We had a good time and made out a little but then I went out of town for a couple of weeks and we never met up again. I had nothing to lose and gave him a call. He sounded pleasantly surprised and was – my lucky day – available for dinner.

I threw myself into getting ready. I took a long shower and shaved my legs and pussy and under my arms and tried to loosen up under the hot water and perfumes of conditioner.