Ever since my first story, the true account of a love episode with my golden retriever Mike called "Letter from Don," appeared here earlier this year, I've received many queries from both men and women. Those that are sincere want to know more about what it's like to have a canine lover, a very sexual male dog in my life as well as periodically in my body. All I can give is one woman's feelings and point of view, not pretending to speak for anybody else or try to convert anybody to my lifestyle or way of thinking.
When I first began "adventuring" with male dogs, the experience was so new, at first sort of frightening but soon so raw and exciting that I became quite promiscuous, which I had never been with men. I seemed to crave and become addicted to the total passion that a lustful dog can put into intercourse. I'm afraid I coupled at times with some pretty ragged looking canines just because I was desperate for sex and they were easy to attract. That period didn't last very long; despite the condition of some of my partners, I never once experienced a "female problem" or vaginal infection. Most dogs, I learned, are vastly cleaner than most men in the parts that count. Today, though, I'm quite faithful to Mike - and occasionally Mr. Banter, a black Lab-shepherd mix owned by a friend. My eyes are always open, though. I love to visit kennels just to ogle the male dogs and fantasize a bit.
This happens because, sweet men, unless you are a woman who has been mated and tightly tied to a loving dog, feeling the intensity and passion of his thrusting haunches upon you and his hot surges and squirts deep in your belly, you cannot begin to know the feelings he engenders in you. Once this happens to a woman, never again can she view a male dog as just a pet or subservient beast. She knows what he can do, how wonderfully warm and totally female he can make her feel. She can never again condescend to a dog in word or action. Even a strange male dog can affect her with a sense of respect, almost awe, even when no sex is desired or anticipated from him.
And male dogs do respond to us as females, don't think they don't. For one thing, they can smell us and very quickly detect the state of our sexual readiness. Many times when visiting a kennel and being rather stirred by viewing some of the handsome males, I've noticed them become erect when I'm near (when they do, of course, I yearn to pleasure them with my mouth, at least, but seldom can on account of the damn fences). An intelligent male dog often seems to know more about a woman in certain ways than she knows about him. And if a woman puts forth only a little effort to accommodate his own particular sexual needs, he will reward her with hours of sexual bliss.
Here's another thing that may truly label me a freak. I'm convinced that dog semen carries rich mixtures of hormones that can vitally affect a woman's body chemistry. I can only judge from my own experience and appearance, of course. I'm 32 years old, was always decent looking with fairly nice hips and breasts - but since I started being a serious bitch with canines several years ago, my body seems to have really blossomed - and not just in my own opinion. I also hear it from many acquaintances (with very few of whom I share the facts of my sex life). My complexion has become much smoother - I'm often told I "glow" - and my body curves seem fuller and rounder. My bras are a size larger, but I've added only a very few pounds in the past 4 years. I feel wonderful and energetic (sex with Mike is a workout!). My intuitive feeling is that the lovely juices from his balls that he delivers so copiously into me somehow stimulate and react with my own biochemical system, resulting in production of more female hormones that act in and upon my body.. Even my breath sometimes seems to taste of his semen when we have been together. (Once in awhile a man who kisses me full on the mouth has remarked on an "odd, not unpleasant taste," as one guy put it. Mike's very subtle taste may linger for 24 hours or so after I've been with him. Not many guys would want to kiss me again, I guess, if they knew the source of my occasional aroma.) I realize, however, that this opinion (of his physical effects on my body) may be slightly off the wall. But I'd adore to hear from any other woman out there who may be able to support this or comment about it from her own experience. This whole discussion on my part is mainly to emphasize that never has canine intercourse harmed me; indeed it has probably helped me in some prettty obvious ways.
When I come home from work in the evening, I always greet Mike on his level, drop to my hands and knees. We nose and lick and kiss (unless I've brought a guest home, in which case we just wrestle a bit). Sooner or later during this greeting, Mike lays a paw on my back. He knows never to mount me unless I'm totally nude and presenting my fanny to him, but this simple gesture of his conveys some heavy messages to both of us. It is his way of telling me - and anybody else who is there (even if they don't understand the message) - that I am his woman, that we are mates and lovers, and that he will always cherish and protect me. Whenever he does this, I feel my nipples rise and my heart melt, for I know he is remembering our times of intimacy together - the times when, tied together so closely by his swollen penis knot and held so tightly around my waist by his strong forelegs, I pant and sob and give myself totally, my vaginal walls clasping and caressing and kissing his hardness in me, my climaxes peaking again and again against his lunging maleness. Yes, that's what goes through our minds when he lays his paw on me, and we look at each other deeply if only for a moment, sharing our intimate knowledges of each other. An observer seeing this, of course, remains completely unaware (I hope!!!) of the significance behind the gesture, just thinks it a cute dog thing.
We have our petty jealousies. Seeing a man kiss me or even shake hands with me may evoke a growl from Mike, seldom more. But I don't provoke him unnecessarily; if I'm entertaining a man, I usher Mike outside. As for me and my jealousy, I thought the rules didn't apply. But last year, a friend wanted to breed his female retriever Mandy and asked if I'd loan Mike for stud service. In a weak moment I agreed - and when the day came and I took Mike over to Mandy's yard. I couldn't stay to watch them. I felt desolate, even bawled when I left them together. I hated that bitch Mandy, literally and quite irrationally. Jealousy? You bet. Ridiculous? Of course - but that's how it goes once you have a stake in total intimacy.
One question I've been asked by some internet readers - and one that I've often asked myself - is, can a woman really be "in love" with a canine sexual partner in the same romantic way that she would be in love with a man or another woman. I confess that I have real mixed and changing feelings on this question. During my workaday life when I'm away from Mike, my feelings for him include adoration, respect, friendly and caring and sexy thoughts - but romantic love? Not really. Yet on the other hand, during our most intimate moments when he ties me to him and our bodies become one wedded pulsing unit of passion, and the ecstasy of our union floods my being with such bliss - at such times he becomes my king, my total joy, my utter love. Whether he is dog or god could make no difference to me, we are simply gloriously one, and the gifts he transfers to me from his beautiful body are unspeakably precious. And when he is clasping me so tightly, I sometimes turn my head over my shoulder to see his marvelous head, and I croon to him softly and he licks my smiling lips and tear-wet cheeks. And when I do this I often feel inside me, where he is, another powerful welling, more hot spurts and squirts that lead invariably to belly tremors, then an all-out, panting and weeping, head-thrashing, leg-kicking, breast-strutting, absolutely total shuddering orgasm that surges in waves from my belly to toes to fingers to nipples to earlobes and back and forth in electric rushes of pure radiant energy. And I know then how wondrous and glorious a thing it is to be fully female. At such times I have yearned for the true joining of sperm and egg in my womb, which of course can never happen. But I know at least that his reproductive cells bathe mine in a wonderful dance that I feel in every fibre of my being. So am I "in love" with him? At times it seems very much like it, to be sure. The whole thing seems outlandish only when he is not in view. Anyhow, again, I'd love to hear any thoughts or opinions that might help clarify my own thinking on this.
And I guess this is really all I have to say today. It's hardly a "story" as such, except as part of my ongoing saga. I'll delight to reply to anybody who has something interesting or meaningful to say to me. I won't respond, however, to rote "Hi babe, what's up?" drivel.