I’m a canine lover you?

For a single, middle-aged man living in the big city, there’s no better wingman than a dog. This is not earth-shattering news, of course, but few people have put the amount of thought into this that I have.

Think about it — what are the situations where you’d meet someone while walking your dog? You’ll be in a park, right? During the day?

That means you’ll be meeting joggers — women in excellent shape who take good care of themselves. These aren’t the sad drunks with low self-esteem you get stuck with at 3:00 a.m. in some dive bar. To get a woman this fine, you need a wingman with class. Your obnoxious beer-bellied college roommate isn’t going to cut it.

In choosing a dog to be your wingman, you must keep in mind certain criteria. First of all, your dog needs to be approachable, with calm, easy energy. They have to be friendly towards strangers, but not so exuberant that they might knock someone over.

They can be interested in other dogs, but they have to be cool about it. No barking or excessive ass sniffing. Overall, the key here is discipline.

Size matters, too. Gigantic dogs are too hard to handle, while tiny dogs are associated with divas and high-maintenance people. You want them to be small enough to carry if you have to, but too big to fit in a purse.

Most importantly, though, your dog has to be a rescue because it’s the sob story that ultimately closes the deal. If you can find one with three legs, you won’t even have to flirt because women will be throwing themselves at you. However, you must exercise caution, because this could lead to getting more pussy than you can handle. Three-legged dogs are more responsible for sexual addiction than porn.

I got lucky with Jasper. I wasn’t necessarily looking for a wingman; I just wanted some company and someone to keep my feet warm in the winter. It just so happens that he’s irresistible to women.

It’s 10:30 a.m. on a beautiful Tuesday in early June. The only women jogging this late on a weekday morning are ones without jobs or independent contractors who make their own hours. The unemployed ones tend to be in unhappy marriages to rich husbands. That’s what I’m looking for.

Jasper and I are hanging out in our usual spot — on a bench next to the water fountain at the park entrance.

Halfway down the path, I spot a lean woman in purple spandex heading our way. She’s got bigger tits than most joggers, and her tiny sports bra is working hard to keep everything in place. Her unnaturally golden hair gleams in the sun, and I can see professionally-shaped eyebrows peeking over the top of her designer shades.

“OK, Jasper,” I say to my dog. “You know the drill.”

He barks a confirmation.

I take a bowl from my backpack and begin filling it at the water fountain just as the jogger arrives. She stands behind me panting, checking her Fitbit, patiently waiting her turn.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, glancing back at her. “You should go first.”

But, by now, she’s already noticed Jasper sitting at my side looking oh-so-thirsty.

“No, take your time,” she smiles. “Your friend needs it more than I do.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Jasper appreciates it.”

It’s one of those extremely low-flow water fountains, and it’s taking a long time to fill the bowl. While I’m working on it, Jasper makes with the cuteness.

“Jasper, huh,” she says, crouching down to pet him. “That’s a sweet name.”

“He’s named after Jasper Johns, my favorite Neo-Dadaist painter.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Ah, so you’re an art guy.”

“Guilty as charged,” I say.

The truth is I had never heard of Jasper Johns until a woman I was hitting on asked if that’s who I named my dog after. Now, it’s part of the story. He was already named Jasper when I adopted him, so for all I know, it could be true.

I’ve since familiarized myself with the painter’s work just in case I’m ever called on it. The late-morning joggers have a lot of time on their hands, and are often patrons of the arts.

“He’s beautiful,” she says.

“The painter?”

She laughs. “No, silly. Your dog. He’s very unique-looking. What breed is he?”

“He’s a Bosmaraner — a cross between a Boston Terrier and a Weimaraner.”

“Huh,” she says. “An interesting combo. We used to have a Vizmaraner — a cross between a Vizla and a Weimaraner. He um… died a couple months ago.”

“Aw. Sorry to hear that.”

Jackpot! A dog-lover who recently lost her dog. She could probably use some comfort right about now.

Observation: she said “we,” which implies a partner. However, on her ring finger, there is only a tan line. I smell an unhappy marriage.

We got her on the hook, Jasper. Time to reel her in.

As usual, Jasper is doing his part. When she brings her face within range of his, he goes after her with his tongue, licking the sweat off of her face until she starts laughing uncontrollably.

“Jasper!” I shout with pretend authority. “Leave the nice lady alone.”

“It’s fine,” she says.

When Jasper is finished with his salty snack, he lays down in the grass and gives her his belly. She rubs it vigorously.

“Oh, he loves that,” I say. “You’re making a friend for life.”

“So, what’s your name?” she asks with a smile.


“I’m Amber.”

She holds my gaze, telling me that I might have just made a friend for the rest of the morning.

“So how far are you jogging today?” I ask.

“Just three miles. But I live right across the park, so it’s easy.”

“Oh, I don’t know if running three miles is easy,” I say. “It certainly isn’t for me.”

She sizes me up in my jeans and fitted T-shirt. “I don’t know, you look like you take good care of yourself. If you don’t run, then what do you do for cardio?”

I smile at her wryly. “Funny you should ask.”

“Nice place you have,” I say, looking down the long hallway adorned with priceless paintings.”

“Thanks,” she says from the kitchen as she rummages through the pantry.

Jasper waits by her side, tongue out, thumping his tail against the marble floor. She emerges with a bag of Castor and Pollux Organix dog food.

“I’m afraid this is all I have left in the house,” she says. “Does Jasper like chicken and sweet potato?”

In case you were wondering what Jasper gets out of our deal, this stuff costs $6.00 a pound — more than I spend on meat for myself. It’s practically filet mignon.

“That’s his favorite, actually.”

She fills a bowl and puts it in front of him. He digs into his reward immediately.

As she rushes into my arms, she intentionally knocks over a photo of her and her husband in Paris.

We embrace, and her sweat soaks into my t-shirt.

She sniffs herself. “I’m pretty nasty. Do you want me to shower first?”

“Not necessary.”

She pulls my face to hers and shoves her tongue into my mouth.

“Although, it might be fun to shower together,” I say when she comes up for air.

“Excellent idea!”

I actually love the way she smells — all savage and animalistic — and sweat is my favorite lubricant. But I love fancy bathrooms even more.

Hers is bigger than my living room, with a separate shower and bathtub as you’d find at a spa. She gropes the bulge forming in my jeans while she fills the tub with water and some kind of French bubble bath. The marble tiling cools my bare feet as we shed our clothes with ferocity.

Just as I’m about to step into the tub, she drags me into the shower and turns on the water. It comes out like icicles, causing my whole body to seize up. I shriek like Janet Leigh in Psycho.

She laughs and watches me shiver for a while before dropping to her knees in front of me to shelter my cock in the warmth of her mouth. This speeds up my acclimation to the water.

From this view of the top of her head, I can see her gray-brown roots. I haven’t thought about her age until now, but the suppleness of her skin suggests she’s only in her early 30s. For some reason, I find her premature graying to be very sexy. It tells me her life might not be as easy as I initially assumed given her social status.

As she sucks my cock, I squirt shampoo into my hand and massage it into her scalp. Whatever bottle she got her color from hasn’t compromised her hair’s silkiness. Even soaking wet, it feels amazing between my fingers.

Her oral skills are impressive for someone who probably doesn’t get much practice. I’m not a small man, and she glides up and down my thick shaft with the grace of a ballet dancer. I could fuck her face all day, but I want to taste her, too.

I pull out of her mouth and let her know it’s her turn. She stands and I kneel. At this point, the water pouring from the spout is warm, which helps heat up her pussy. By the time I bring my tongue to her clit, it’s already engorged.

That feels so good,” she moans.

With my mouth full of her muff, I reach up and grab her tits. On my way to her hard nipples, my hands pass over a scar. Kudos to her plastic surgeon, because these are spectacular. Soft, ripe pears, with just the right amount of jiggle.

I keep munching away until my neck gets stiff, then switch to my fingers. She’s so wet, that I easily fit three digits in her pussy. I wiggle them around, fishing for her G-spot, but the angle makes it difficult to reach.

Eventually, she stops me and shuts off the water.

“Now I want you to fuck me.”

She leads me by the cock to the bathtub. The water is still warm, and whatever is in the bubbles makes my skin tingle. She continues to jerk me off until I find a comfortable way to sit, then she straddles me and slips my throbbing dick inside her.

As she grinds her pelvis into mine, I feel the full power of her core. In addition to running, she must be a yoga master. She couldn’t weigh more than a buck fifteen, but I am completely at her mercy.

And it’s awesome.

With each powerful thrust, my dick gets harder and her pussy gets wetter. Water splashes about as though we are in the middle of a shark feeding frenzy.

“Keep fucking me!” she shouts. “I’m about to cum!”

Her pussy starts to pulse as though it was choking on my cock. She squeezes me between her mighty thighs and wraps her arms around me. It feels so good that I can no longer contain myself, and I blow my load inside her quaking cunt.

Afterwards, we linger in the tub and soak together, letting the suds work their calming magic. Eventually, Jasper comes into the bathroom to tell us it’s time to wrap things up.

As I kiss Amber goodbye, we exchange numbers and a loose agreement that if we both ever happen to be lonely and horny at the same time, we can revisit this scene. She’ll make sure to keep plenty Castor and Pollux Organix on hand just in case.

But as much as Jasper likes the food, there’s another condition to our little arrangement. Later today, we’ll visit the dog park so he can hook up with some bitches, and It’ll be my turn to be his wingman.


Don’t worry your escapades are safe with us.








I’m a canine lover you?

Leave a Reply