Date: Sun, 24 Oct 2010 06:34:13 -0700 From: Jay roberts Subject: "Dude, Your Dog is Gay, Part One" by Jay Roberts Bestiality +++Under 18 not authorized...GO. Over 18, stay dawg. Neal and I are like an old married couple, though we are both twenty. We both room together in the third floor of a railroad flat and both work for Bruce Gutmiller. Bruce is a story in himself. He's the boss of the Extended Limousine Company. Bruce is about six foot six, with big shoulders, bright red hair and a handlebar moustache. An imposing figure. Extended Limousine Company does just that. We take Cadillacs, Lincoln Town Cars, even Volvos and saw them through and add a middle section. When Bruce does his sales pitch, Neal and I, in the back room, roar with laughter, it sounds like penis enlargement. "We take it and add as many inches and you want. It'll end up longer and earn you money." There were four employees in the company, but Neal and I were the technicians, the other two cleaned up and did routine sanding etc. I said that Neal and I were like an old married couple, not exactly, but because of the rare times that we had sex made it seem that way. How we ever hooked up is strange. We are so unalike. Neal is a slob. His wrinkled torn clothes are only the beginning. His area of the room is impassable, but Neal is always happy, except on that rare occasion that I get nuts and clean up his side. "I hate it. I can't find anything. Don't do me any more favors." Now, in spite of his unkempt look and his constant cursing, Neal is sexy. That's what first drew me to him. Why he likes me is hard to figure. I'm a Yale dropout, clean to the point of obsession, and bit up tight, except when it comes to sex. I can really howl up a storm when the time is right. Oh yes, the gay dog in the title. Well, about a week ago, I got up early, before work and went out in my shorts to get the paper. I'm one of those guys who sleeps in boxer shorts and has the deep belief that no neighbor sees me in them if I move fast. I couldn't get the paper because a dog was sitting on it. A rusty colored, medium sized dog with the kind of fur that looks like it needs to be cleaned and pressed. You know, sticking out and stuff. He wagged his tail and, I swear, winked at me. "What's your story dog?" I asked, not expecting an answer but he (it was a he with an oversized handy case for it.) Jangled his neck and caused a metal disc to rattle. I took a look, no help, it just had BD engraved on it. No address or telephone number. I sighed, feeling sorry for the dog, but I had things to do. I pulled the paper out from under him and he licked my hand as I did it, and started to walk back to the house, realizing that I had displayed my bare chest and feet to the neighbors. He followed me. I tried to slip through the door but he slipped in with me and as I headed up stairs, his nails tap taped behind me. The beast needed a manicure. Back in the room I spied Neal, naked, spread eagle on his back, his red pubes glinting and his fat cock half hard laying on his hip. A nice sight. I reminded me that I was a little horny today and I might try to convince him to give me a benefit. I wasn't the only male whose mouth watered at the sight of the well formed boy, BD noticed too and put his paws on the edge of the bed and pulled himself up and began to nuzzle Neal's stuff. Neal murmured happily and let his cock expand. His murmured became a grunt as BD began to lick it soulfully like it was a salt lick. At this point, Neal opened his eyes and looked down, expecting to see my Yale face looking up at him, my long tongue in the middle of a nice suck fest. Instead he let out a howl of fear as he spied a hairy stranger of non-human kind between his legs. He pulled his legs up to his chest and shouted, "Get out of here. Scat! Go home!" To me he said, "Is this your filthy dog?" "Not exactly. He was delivered along with the newspaper." Then thinking about it, "Maybe he is paper trained." "Well there is one thing I know about his, "He's gay. This dog is gay." "Why you say that, Neal. You made him gay by waving your stuff at him." "I did no such thing. I was fast asleep." Then pointing to the dog who was slowly walking away, "Look, Look, he walks like a sissy gay." Well, it was true. BD walked or rather sashayed, his rump undulating. On the way he grabbed a lavender silk pillow that my mother had donated to our apartment. He put it down in the corner and lay curled up on keeping one baleful eye on us. "Look there," Neal said, He picked the lavender one." Somehow Neal decided that there was no use making a fuss. He called the police and the dog shelter and reported the found dog. I guess he thought that the owner of BD would call any minute. Meanwhile I fed BD. He turned out to be picky, wanting only the best human food and let us know that he required catsup for his hamburger. Neal decided that BD stood for Bette Davis. "He walks into a room like Davis in her red dress in "Jezebel", so from now on we called him Davis, I warned Neal not to call him Bette. Well folks, a week went by and there was no owner claiming our prima donna. In some ways, he was cute and very smart, and a real drama queen. He'd order us to pet him by barking until we did, then he's lift his head and almost cat purr. I told him, "You are enjoying this too much, it's almost obscene." Neal groused, "We're stuck with this pansy dog. Keep him out of the bedroom, he'd like to organize an orgy, I bet." Things went along for a few more days, I got no friendly blow jobs from Neal as he was very inhibited by the dog. Also there were no calls from the dog's owner. We were getting used to having him around for laughs, finally, a peak event occurred. End Part One