Lover’s Diary


Dear Harold,

Lord knows, as son-in-law and mother-in-law, the two of us haven’t been exactly close over the years. That awful “bowling establishment” you insist on operating has been a thorn in my side for a long, long time. Undoubtedly, our differences will always be too great for anything remotely resembling mutual respect, but… I am asking you now to put aside all your hatred of me, as I am disregarding my contempt for you.

What I have to say to you now is very difficult, not only as a mother, but as a normal, healthy woman with normal, healthy drives. It is an admission of failure as a parent. Total failure. I am glad Mr. Oliver is not alive today to see this letter, to read the horrible truth about his darling daughter, Polly.

The bound volume I have enclosed with this note is your wife’s diary. I discovered it quite by accident while I was straightening up her dressing room at the studio. After you have begun reading it, Harold, you will understand why I swallowed my pride and contacted you.

Never, not in my darkest imaginings, could I have thought my own daughter capable of such… such criminal depravity. To be perfectly honest, Harold, I vomited after reading the first entry. But it does explain so much: her odd behaviour over the years, her moods, the long silences, her treatment of you… you poor, poor man. It even explains her fantastic success.

You must believe me when I say it was not out of spite that I sent this to you. I am not interested in rubbing your nose in it. But I knew in my heart of hearts that you, as a husband, as a man, would want to know.

I can only pray that after reading this revolting confession, you will for once in your life be enough of a man to do what’s absolutely necessary.


Mrs. Ginger Oliver

CHAPTER ONE — Mongrel Love

October 14, 1966

Dear Diary: I’ve been looking at your first page for over an hour now. Such a pretty page with pastel birds and flowers around the edge. Pretty and so blank, so perfect. I’m afraid to start, afraid I’ll make some awful mistakes right at the beginning and ruin you.

I guess the truth is I don’t know how to begin. I have a lot to write, I know that. A lot better stuff than that icky Jane Hawser. But the starting is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

It was that icky Jane Hawser who got the rest of the girls in Miss Meredith’s seventh grade class interested in keeping diaries. She brought hers to school and let us pass it around during the ten-thirty “Nutrition” break. She has a real beautiful book, sort of Chinese-looking with a big brass lock.

“A diary is for a girl’s innermost secrets,” Jane Hawser said. “Things too wonderful to share.”

Which got me to wondering why she let everybody read it. So, I took my turn flipping through the pages. It was full of stuff about boys mostly. She’s turned thirteen and her mom lets her date. Even older boys. A lot of things happen on dates, according to her diary.

I wasn’t surprised to find out that she let Billy Rodgers, who’s in high school, touch her between the legs. I was surprised that she’d let everybody read about it in such detail, though. All that stuff about him slipping his hand into her panties, his finger going right in her pussy and coming out all wet. And how her face got real hot and flushed when he moved his finger around. Right in the balcony of the Meralta Theatre, too! Then he showed her his parts, how swollen they were. He told her she’d done it to him. Then, when she touched his thing, he said he loved her and wanted to marry her.

I guess that’s the part she wanted us to especially catch.

I’d never let anybody read my diary. Nobody. What good is a secret if the whole class is in on it? And besides, the “hot stuff” Jane Hawser wrote about is pretty tame compared to what I’ve done. And I’m still only twelve.

Which brings me to another problem: my mom. She’s an awful snoop, always going through my things. I’ve caught her rummaging through my drawers and searching my purse, for what I can never figure out. Drugs? Cigarettes? Who knows? She just acts like she’s been sleepwalking or something and says, “Oh, goodness me! Now what was I looking for?!”

It’s going to be hard to keep her from finding this diary. And I know she’d break it open so she could read it. God! I haven’t even written anything secret yet, and my hands are shaking. If she ever found out some of the things I like to do, she’d kill me! I mean it. No, actually, what she’d do would be to tell my pop… and let him kill me. Oooh, somehow, that makes it even more exciting, more dangerous.

I guess if I’m going to start, I should start right at the very beginning. The first time. That was when I was just a kid. Nine years old. With Fluffy.

Poor old horny Fluffy was a funny mixture of dogs, dachshund and poodle. He had very short legs and was long in the body. His fur was curly like a poodle’s and sort of a dingy beige… on a poodle it would’ve been called Champagne. He was so cute as a puppy but he grew up ugly. Mentally, he never grew up. But I loved him anyway. He slept at the foot of my bed and followed me everywhere.

I got him as an eighth birthday present and by the time I was nine, Fluffy was as big as he was going to get in the height department. I didn’t care. I wasn’t very big either and it made him easier to play with.

Fluffy was always getting into something smelly… rolling in garbage or mud or on a dead cat. It was my job to keep him from messing up the wall-to-wall carpet, which meant doggy baths sometimes twice a week. It was at one of these scrub sessions that I discovered how much my Fluffy was growing in another department.

I remember real well: he’d gotten into some green paint that’d been left open in the garage and it’d taken three washes and rinses to get it out. He was sitting up in the tub, all dripping wet, his long tongue lolling out, his brown eyes bright and deliriously happy despite his damp condition.

Like Mom insisted, I was only wearing my white panties, so I wouldn’t mess up my good clothes. I’d just let the water out. As the water-line dropped and the dirty scum, sort of a greenish-grey, ran down the drain, I was shocked to see a strange thing on the end of Fluffy’s wee-wee.

I leaned over the hair-littered tub for a better look. This “new” thing was red, long and shiny and wet looking, but a different kind of wet than from water. More like greasy. It seemed to be growing out of the end of his wee-wee. It was pointed at the end and kind of slid in and out of the hairy wee-wee holder as he breathed.

I wasn’t scared or anything like that. I was just curious about Fluffy’s “new development”. I touched it just under the needle tip with the bar of soap. Instantly the red thing surged out from the furry sheath, drooping slightly. I jumped back, but when nothing happened I reached out and touched it again. Fluffy licked my face with his hot slobbery tongue. It was definitely a “thank you” lick. I remember how funny, how tingly it felt, just then, to have his tongue touch my lips.

I rubbed harder with the soap and the red thing grew longer and harder so it didn’t droop at all but stood out straight and pointy. At the time I was pretty dumb. I didn’t even know that it was his cock I was fooling with. Anyway, I worked up a good, thick lather on the underside of his cock, and I was amazed and delighted to see the silly effect it was having on him. His hips began to snap spastically and his eyes half-closed and his upper lip drew back from his teeth, just like when I itched him in a real good spot. He started to breathe funny, too. Like wheezing almost and he grunted every now and then. He licked me again and kept licking me on the mouth. He bathed my lips in his hot, doggy drool, pushing them apart in his eagerness. I opened my mouth a little and Fluffy ran his bristly lips across mine. Our tongues touched and my mouth was full of his doggy taste. I squirmed. A tingle raced from the tip of my tongue to the fork between my legs. The sensation was new and exciting.

Dropping the bar of soap, I carefully reached out and took the swollen length of Fluffy’s wee-wee in my hot little hand. It was red hot and very slippery. It felt delicious! Even then, though no one had told me, in the back of my mind I knew I was doing something very bad, a no-no, but that made it much, much better.

I felt a flush creep up in my cheeks as I slipped the dog cock in and out of my closed fist, and Fluffy began whimpering softly as he snapped his hips into the tight ring. He stood up in the tub to get a better angle and began slipping and scrambling on the wet porcelain.

I reached out with my free hand and grabbed him and hugged his wet body to me. His curly fur tickled my naked chest: my little pink nipples puckered and stiffened like they never had before. I pressed my face into his damp neck and worked his dick harder. My fist traveled up and down the length of his cock, milking it cruelly. As it slogged in and out of my hand the sound of the dog’s breathing grew more and more hoarse.

I slid my hand up between his rear legs and as I played with his cock, I groped for his bulging brown nuts. They’d always fascinated me, but I never knew exactly what they were for. They were upright against the base of his rear end, hard and hot and more than a handful for me. I squeezed them gently and Fluffy’s hips went into overdrive, flipping wildly. I pushed away from him, my own breathing ragged, my little bee-sting titties covered with loose dog fur, and looked under his heaving belly.

The slimy tool in my hand jerked, a ripple of feeling raced from root to tip, bringing with it a fountain of creamy yellowish white stuff that spurted from the tip and flopped to the floor of the tub. It kept on shooting and shooting and I was scared for a second that he was peeing, but it didn’t look like pee-pee. It was so hot and thick and some of it got on my hand as I held him. When the stuff stopped coming out, Fluffy stopped jerking around. I let him go and sat down on the sopping wet bathroom rug. I looked at the gooey gob of his squirt on my middle finger. It glistened in the soft light. I looked at the quickly disappearing length of Fluffy’s cock. Its pointy nozzle held a similar blob of creamy stuff. I raised my finger to my nose and sniffed the smell of doggy come. It was marvelous. Musky and sweet like perfume and nasty, too. Real nasty. I opened my lips, moistening them with my pointed tongue. Then Mom called from the hallway right outside the door, and asked me what was taking so long and how I shouldn’t have the door closed.

I lunged for the faucet and rinsed off my finger and sent the slimy stuff swirling down the drain. I had a towel around my happy mongrel before Mom opened the door.

After that, almost every time Fluffy got a bath, I gave him a good rub, too. Every time Mom wasn’t around. Sometimes late at night he’d hop up into bed with me… also a no-no… and I’d make the red thing come out by pinching the tip of the hairy sheath or by bouncing his balls in my palm. It got so I didn’t have to do hardly anything to get him “in the mood” for a cock rub.

It took a long time for Fluffy and me to graduate to better things. It was a Sunday morning and I was ten. Mom and Pop always did the weekly grocery shopping on Sundays and Mom always tried to drag me along. I remember I pretended to be fast asleep when she shook me. I refused to budge even when Mom threatened me with an ice water drenching. I felt so warm and cosy and it was pure joy to ignore Mom’s shrill orders. I only stirred from the comfort of my little bed when I heard the station wagon pull out of the driveway.

If things went as usual, I had two whole hours alone in the house. I liked being alone. Well, not completely alone. I threw back the covers and Fluffy jumped up on the bed. He licked my face and wagged his long, curly tail. I pushed him away and got out of bed. I was wearing my long flannel nightgown. I walked over to the closet and opened it. Fluffy hopped down from the bed and followed me over to the closet.

“Nope,” I said out loud. I wasn’t ready to get dressed yet. I yanked the nightie up over my head and admired myself in the full-length mirror.

My body was really changing. I didn’t have any boobies to brag about yet, but there were plump humps of flesh under my rosy nipples. And between my legs, over the pudgy mound of my wee-wee, there grew a downy spring of golden hairs. Just a few, but I was very proud of them. They formed a little bridge across the fat lips of my pussy.

I bent down to pick up my nightie and got a cold, wet surprise. “Fluffy, you bad dog!” I scolded, touching myself on the poop-hole where he had poked me with his nose.

Fluffy scooted under the bed quickly, ears back, hind legs flattened out frog-style, as he scrambled for cover. His wet, black nose peeped out from between the fringe of the bedspread.

“Oh, come on, Fluffy,” I said. “I’m not going to hit you…”

The little dog came part way out from under the bed. I could hear his mil thumping wildly. “Come on, you silly,” I coaxed.

Fluffy bounded out. I patted him on the head. What he’d done hadn’t really hurt anyway. It sort of tingled. “Let’s go get something to eat,” I told him.

The two of us ran downstairs to the kitchen. I felt wonderfully naughty running around the house naked. I always imagined the gas man or the mail man accidentally looking in the window and seeing me naked. I imagined them getting a big red hard-on like Fluffy, too.

I poured myself a big mug of milk and mixed in some chocolate powder with a tablespoon. Fluffy sat up and started to beg.

“Oh, alright, Fluffy, you can have a cookie,” I said, reaching for the box of dog biscuits. I stood there with my hand on my bare hip. “First, you’ve got to do a trick. Roll over!”

Fluffy dropped to his stomach and started to roll over. I squatted down and caught him by the paws just as he turned on his back. “Stay!” I said.

I held him there a minute and looked at his cock and balls. His big brown eyes twinkled. Like magic his red dick began to slip out of its holder. Letting go of a paw, I grabbed the slippery shaft and slapped it gently against his belly. He kicked his back legs real jerky-like and his cock got hard fast.

“Good boy,” I said, straightening up. I reached for the mug of milk and sat down at the kitchen table. Fluffy just stayed there on his back, cock stiff and ready, hoping I’d come back and finish the job. But I didn’t. I sipped my milk and slouched down in the chair.

Suddenly the look on his face and his big red dick hanging out seemed very funny to me and I choked on a swallow of milk, spitting it up. Then, the mug tipped and wave of brown fluid ran down over my soft belly and into the fork of my legs. “Eeeeeek!” I squealed at the shock of it.

Poor Fluffy, thinking he’d done something wrong again, slinked over to me. He started licking the sweet drink off the floor, then he licked my foot. I sat there and watched him. He licked my ankle. It felt good. Real good. His tongue was so hot and wet. He worked up inside of my legs in long sloppy strokes that made me shiver. Hot and cold tingles raced up my thighs. His tongue reminded me of his dick… red and slippery.

It pushed into the meat of my legs and bathed them with slobber. It tickled something awful but I didn’t make him stop. His whiskers brushed my inner thighs and I opened them a little for him. Whatever it was that he was doing to me, I didn’t want him to stop. That familiar cock-pulling flush crept up into my cheeks. I opened my legs a bit more, raising them up on tiptoe. Fluffy’s moist tongue lashed over my soft thighs, searching for the sticky splotches of chocolate milk.

I felt very weak. It was almost like I was suffocating. I looked at the wet nose sniffing my thighs. I looked from the nose to the chocolate drenched lips of my pussy. I knew I could stop it anytime I wanted. I was sure of it. The space between his nose and my cunt dwindled.

When the cold nose touched my pink buzzer, I threw my thighs wide apart. A shower of sparks blossomed over my mound and I felt a rush of juice escape from my pussy. “Oh, Fluffy!” I moaned, pursing my lips.

Fluffy’s thick tongue rasped over my pussy cleft. His bristling lips pressed up into the silky fork of my crotch. He snorted into my crack, sniffing out the keen, musky odour of my sex. He loved it more than the milk. His tongue began to work wildly up and down my cleft, driving the fat outer lips apart and sliding in between the thinner but slicker inner ones. I gripped him by the ears and pulled him down hard on my little mound. I felt his teeth against my soft sex flesh and I bucked my butt up from the chair into my doggy’s flailing tongue.

“Oh! Good doggy, such a good doggy. Oh! OH!”

I first coaxed, then screeched as Fluffy found the stinky opening to my pussy. As he flipped the end of his tongue into me, I froze on the plastic seat of the kitchen chair, my round little buns sticky with sweat.

Fluffy made little yipping sounds as my pussy delivered another rush of juice into his mouth. He worried my hole like a well-aged bone. Farther and farther the dog tongue slipped up me, in and out, in and out. I could feel my tight little tube parting under the jabbing, stabbing tongue tip. I watched as the pressure of the churning tongue forced the tight lips in on one another. They glistened with the combination of cunt juice and slobber.

Then, I wasn’t in control any more. Limp with excitement, panting with sex heat, I began to have my first orgasm. I lifted my feet from the floor, tipping my box so he could get in deeper. I felt the tip of his tongue deep in my pussy, pushing the slick walls apart, then ripples of joy raced up over my belly, washing my budding tits with tingling pleasure.

Somehow I slipped to the floor. Fluffy stopped working at my twitching pussy and began licking my lips, his tongue all stinky with my cunt smell. I felt red hot tip of his dick poking around between my legs. It rubbed against my mound and set off another flurry of thrills. At the touch of the loose and fuck-ready opening, Fluffy went crazy trying to buck his way into that tight little box. Again and again, his hot meat slammed into my soft inner thighs and ass-cheeks.

It was so slippery and yummy feeling I could hardly stand it. I wanted to take it in my mouth and suck it hard. I pushed the humping dog off me and got on my belly on the cold linoleum. I scooted in under his chest, facing the quivering red bulb. Fluffy put his front paws on my shoulders and stood on his hind legs as I got into an elbow-knee, all fours position. Then I took his hard, slimy cock in my fist and squeezed it. A big gob of his cream oozed from the slit in the head of his cock. My mouth filled with hot slobber. Cheeks burning up. I lowered my head and licked the sticky stuff from his dick. It was musky, sweet and nasty and one ladle wasn’t enough. I had to have more.

I opened my lips and let the red bulb slip between them. Its searing heat hit my tongue, the wonderful-awful doggy taste, and before I knew it I was stuffing the whole thing down my throat. Greedily gobbling every inch of dog cock Fluffy could flip my way.

And snap was just what he was doing. As soon as my lips closed around his dick, his little doggy butt went nuts. He made his dick go way far into my throat and bang against the back where I swallow. It hurt a little but not enough to make me stop sucking.

His cock was so slippery that it practically flew down my throat. I clamped my lips down on it to slow it down and Fluffy started whining and yipping real anxiously. I sucked him even harder, pumping my head up and down, making his cock go in and out faster and faster. Then he shuddered all over and suddenly my mouth was full of his hot stuff.

It gushed all down my throat so sweet and sticky and I kept on sucking and swallowing, sipping it out of the end of his dick like a vanilla malted through a straw. Red hot vanilla malted.

Things were pretty noisy what with Fluffy yelping and me slurping and gurgling his spurt but not so noisy that I didn’t hear the front door open on the other side of the house.

I panicked. I tore the still oozing dog cock from my mouth, threw the humping mutt off me; and raced upstairs, diving back in bed.

Seconds later, Mom stuck her head in the door and said, “We drove all the way to the store before I realised I’d forgotten the shopping list. Get dressed and come along with us…”

By way of an answer, I pulled the sheet up over my head. My mouth was full of the gummy flavour of Fluffy’s come, my thighs trembled and my mound still dripped from the passion of his tongue. It seemed like it took ages for her to find the list and get out of the house. I just lay there in bed and waited and heard the car door slam and the sound of one angry Pop gunning the engine then roaring off down the street.

“Fluffy,” I called, my heart beating way up under my chin. I had a terrible aching between my legs. It hurt so good I could hardly stand it. My whole pussy was wide open, all swollen and gushing juice. It was kind of scary… I was afraid it’d stay like that, but the thrills and chills I got when I touched it were wonderful I guess deep down I didn’t really care.

“Fluffy!!” I called a second time I was answered by a weak thumping from under the bed. “Come out, you silly!” I cried, slapping the bed.

The thumping got real wild and then I heard him scooting under the bed and before I knew it he was up on the sheet beside me, all crazy happy, licking my face and squirming.

I licked his tongue back and the wave of pleasure it gave me lifted off the top of my head and sent my pussy juicing up a storm. “Oh. Fluffy!” I cooed, sliding my hand in under his hairy belly to grip the end of his wee-wee holder. I gave the sticky end of it a tender squeeze and long, slow pull, just the way he liked it.

His tongue slid into my mouth and I sucked it, chewed it eagerly, as I had his cock earlier. In seconds my Fluffy was ready for another come session. His slimy cock was hard and hot in my palm. I wrung it hungrily, my palm aching where the bulb nestled in it. Fluffy grunted and started to shift his hips. He was a horny little dog alright.

And I was a horny little girl, too. I rolled him on his back and popped his dick in my mouth again. It was even better the second time! Better knowing the gooey delight that waited inside the slick red tube. He squirmed and flipped his ass as I puffed over his stiff cock, licking it with my tongue, making my lips dive way down over it to the mouth of his furry sheath.

My eyeballs were on fire… I could hardly breathe… my pussy was slobbering slick stuff all over the sheets. I took his dick from my lips and laid back on the bed, opening my thighs as wide as they would go.

Fluffy rolled over and was back rooting in my dewy slot in a flash.

I groaned and rocked my butt as his tongue rasped my buzzer. He was crazy for my pussy, scratching the sheets right under my butt like he was after a mouse in the garden. I held him by the ears, and guided his long tongue over my fuck-ready cunt.

His hot, sticky cock slapped against my knee and I knew I had to have it inside my pussy, had to have his tiny dog butt driving it in and out, had to have his creamy stuff squirting inside me. I pulled him up onto my tits.

He breathed pussy fumes right in my face and slurped me on the mouth. His cock, once again, poked my soft inner thighs, nudged my mound, setting off the sky rockets in pussy.

“Oh, Fluffy,” I whined. “Make me a baby!!” I raised my thighs from the sheets, lifting my knees up to my tits. With trembling hands I reached under my own dripping crack and gripped the nozzle of his slimy dick-meat. I fitted the spear point between my quaking pussy lips, and came at the touch of his blazing cock to the entrance to my hole.

Fluffy felt hot, tight pussy about the tip of his prick and like a furry little machine, he started flipping his hips. His cock snapped into my juicy twat.

Ooooh, it stung so bad at first! I almost made him stop. But then, when he got going good, and when things got good and slippery down there, nothing could’ve made me stop him.

His cock surged up my tube, pushing back the tight wrinkles, the slick folds, ironing out my bumps and valleys. I don’t know which felt better; the wild forward lunges when his dick would slip to the back of my pussy, the hairy sheath nuzzling against my buzzer; or the frantic back-thrusts, when the friction of dog cock dragging over slippery folds, slippery folds sucking at dog cock, would almost make me black out with ecstasy.

I locked my thighs around his humping middle and let him ride, ride, ride. He loved every second of it too. I could tell by the way he drooled on my tits, by the way he kept speeding up his screwing. His cock flew in and out of me, churning my pussy stuff into a froth, making me quiver and moan and bite his jowls. Then it really happened.

The other times with his tongue and the tip of his dick were nothing compared to the thing that grabbed me by the pussy at that moment. My whole mind kind of exploded. Everything went white, then black and crazy, unbelievable joy took over my entire body. Everything, mind, mouth, tits, belly, pussy, butt-hole, legs, came at once. Whining like a bitch in heat, I flipped my juicy little ass to meet his cock thrusts, meeting him fuck for fuck. And it kept on happening!

My pussy started shivering around his plunging cock, and then it kind of flexed, opened then closed squeezing, milking Fluffy’s flying dick.

I must’ve hurt him a little because he yelped the first time my cunt clamped down. He was ready for the second spasm. His ass flipped extra hard driving stiff cock through the slippery fist of my orgasming cunt.

I had to have him squirt. I needed the hot waves of doggy come washing up inside me. I slid my hand down through his fur, around his thigh, and took hold of his heavy balls.

“Oooh, baby.” I moaned into an ear covered with my slobber. “Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me, lover. Let me have it.” As I flipped my butt to meet his cock stab, I tenderly twisted the silky slick bag in my palm, wringing the fat balls inside.

Fluffy’s ass went crazy, his cock slid in and out of me in fantastic triple time strokes, and I felt the sizzling rush of his come spurt up my pussy.

“Ohh… Uhhh… Yesssssss!” I cried, my cunt suddenly making squishy-squishy noises about his lunging prick.

His sticky stuff flew up me as he came. It flew way up inside my tube and made me come again, come right along with him.

I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. Something so absolutely wonderful. For a long time after he finished fucking me, even after his cock had gone limp and slipped out of my box, I made him lie there between my legs. Such a sweet doggy, such a marvelously warm and happy animal.

Fluffy and I had at lot of fun times together. He was my first lover and maybe my best. If he’d lived longer, I’m sure he would’ve been the very best. But… he got into something on one of his nightly runs and it made him real sick and he died. I was very sad when it happened. He was such a good doggy. And then Mom and Pop said couldn’t have another dog because Fluffy was too messy, and that a girl of eleven should be thinking about boys and not dogs.

I was heartbroken for months, just moping around the house, until the Baxters moved in next door.

CHAPTER TWO — The Dog Sitter

November 1, 1966

Anyway, when the Verduccis sold their house next door and moved to Oregon, we got some new neighbours, the Baxters. Right from the minute they pulled up out front. I knew I was going to like them. For out thing, they weren’t dried up old prunes like the Verduccis. Mr. Baxter, or Wally as he liked to he called, was about twenty-five and his wife, Lenore, was a couple of years younger. He was tall and tanned, blond and good-looking, a skier. Lenore was a very petite woman with long, straight brown hair that fell down to her plump little butt. She had a round face and a pretty smile. The other thing about the Baxters, the thing that really made my mind up about them, was the third member of the family. He was riding in the back seat of their sports car: a huge, rust and black coloured German Shepherd.

I know it sounds funny when I say this, but just looking at his big, lolling red tongue from all the way across the lawn gave me the damp drawers and bad.

He jumped out of the car and bounded up to the front porch of his new home. Under the thick black coat, his muscles were powerful and fluid. I think it a love at first sight. Not like with poor Fluffy. He was a dear doggy, but not much to look at. The big Shepherd hiked his leg to dribble pee on the shrubbery and I got a peek at some immense balls and a regular cucumber of a cock sheath. I knew right then I had to have some of that thing.

To break the ice, I cooked a batch of chocolate chip cookies and got a big soup bone from the corner store and took everything over to the new neighbours. My arms were pretty full so I rang the doorbell with my elbow. Right away the big dog started barking, deep, and scary. When the door opened, he jumped out and lunged at me. His muzzle and mask were a red-rust as were his forelegs and chest. He was a real handsome animal, but the look in his yellow eyes was enough to petrify me. I stood there, frozen, looking at Wally kind of desperately.

Before he could grab the dog’s collar the Shepherd was nuzzling his wet nose in under my short skirt. Sniffing and snorting right at my pussy! He knew what he wanted alright. His snorts sent waves of excitement rippling up over my belly.

Then Wally caught hold of his choke collar and said, “Sit! Sit, Romeo!” The dog dropped back on his haunches, thick tail wagging, long tongue lolling, eyes smiling at me.

“Wow, I’m sorry about that,” Wally apologised. “We’re used to country living where we don’t have to keep such close tabs on him.”

I told the tall man not to worry, that I liked dogs. I gave him the cookies and he thanked me and asked me in. The house was in an uproar, boxes and packing stuff everywhere. They were a real nice couple, so happy. I asked them if it was OK if I gave Romeo the bone I’d brought and they said sure.

I took him out in the back yard. He came right along like a good dog. Mostly because he knew he was going to get the big juicy bone I was holding. Like I said, he was real big, even for a Shepherd. He must’ve weighed a hundred pounds. I told him “Sit!” and was kind of surprised when her actually obeyed me. He plopped right down on the grass, tail swishing, tongue drooling so nice, red sloppy. I gave him the bone and watched him gnaw on it eagerly for a bit, then Lenore called me back the house.

She told me I had a way with dogs, that Romeo wouldn’t obey just anybody. That made me feel real good. She seemed very pleased that Romeo and I had made friends, I liked her. She wasn’t much taller than me, but she had a very sexy body. She was wearing pair of corduroy overalls that made her round butt stick out and her waist look impossibly small.

Then Wally came in with a glass of milk and we ate my cookies and talked. He was a public relations man with the phone company and Lenore is an artist’s model, part-time. When he let Romeo back in the house, the dog came right over and laid down next to my feet.

“Wow, Polly,” Wally said. “You’ve got an admirer there.” Then he winked at Lenore and said, “Better watch him close, Polly. He’s a foxy old boy.”

For some reason that made Lenore mad and she told him to be quiet. He ignored her and said, “Come ski season, we’re going to be driving up to our cabin on weekends. We can’t take Romeo with us. How’d you like to dog sit for us? We’d pay you, just like for a baby…”

I leaned down and scratched that big bear-head nuzzling against my calf. “Sure, sounds OK to me,” I said, barely able to restrain my glee.

Then the doorbell rang and it was the moving men, so Lenore had to go out front and Wally had to take Romeo, and put him in the backyard. I was sitting there in the living room, surrounded by half-empty boxes of kitchen stuff, books, papers. I just happened to glance at a cardboard box balanced on the edge of a dining room chair. I had papers and stuff in it, a real jumble of things, and on top were some photographs. They weren’t the usual kind of photos, the kind that you get back from the drugstore. They had funny pointed ends on them. They were polaroids, like on television. I’d never seen one up close so I grabbed the top picture and took a peek.

Did the top of my head ever come unglued!!! It was sort of a “family” photo, but not the kind you find next to the Fourth of July picnic group picture in the family album. It was a picture of Lenore and Romeo. Lenore was stark naked, kneeling on a double bed with a quilted bedspread, her firm tits hanging down, her round butt facing the camera, her face twisting around over her shoulder to look into the lens. The look on her face was crazy, half-agony, half-ecstasy; her tongue hung out and her eyes were slitted.

Up on the bed with her was Romeo. He was fucking the hell out of her. His jaws were holding her by the back of her neck, his forelegs were locked about her chest and his cock was caught in the act of slipping back between the swollen folds of her pussy. There was no mistaking it. That dog cock was all glistening with cunt juice, sliding right up her hairy little cunt.

The photo was powerful stuff. It made my mouth go all drooly and my heart pound. It took no great leap of the imagination to put myself in that picture, to put me under the slimy, red hot nozzle of Romeo’s big cock. I stuffed the picture inside my blouse when I heard the back door open.

I told Wally I had to go home. It wasn’t easy talking to him. Not because I’d stolen the picture and felt guilty about it… because I didn’t… but because without a doubt he was the weirdest man I’d ever met. He liked to take snapshots of his pretty little wife being screwed by the family pooch. I wondered what he did with the photographs, and I also wondered, not without a lot of heart thumping, if he’d like to take a picture of Romeo and me.

As I said goodbye, the Baxters were arm in arm on the front lawn, happy as larks. It gave me a funny feeling to see them so normal when I knew the sick truth about their love life. Then I took the stolen photo, marched straight into the upstairs bathroom, and while drooling over it, I finger-fucked myself until I came, biting the hem of my skirt to keep from crying out.

Let me tell you, by the time ski season rolled around, I’d worn out that sexy picture. I’d also been sneaking over to the Baxter back yard and giving Romeo little taste treats on the sly… to cement our friendship. And I’d learned a little trick, quite by accident. I call it the “Nasty Panty” trick. Everybody knows that dogs love smelly things, right? Well, what’s smellier than a teenage girl’s pair of week-old panties? Not much, and that’s for sure.

Anyway, this one time Mom had put all my clothes in the washing machine and I didn’t have any clean underwear left, so I rooted down in the laundry bag and found a pair of very soiled undies. I gritted my teeth and put the crusty things on and then forgot about them and went over to see my Romeo.

It’s hard keeping my hands, and mouth, off him. Just the sight of his furry sheath was enough to send my pussy into fits.

I guess all the finger-fucking with his picture had something to do with it. I’d trained myself to get wet whenever I looked at his heavy pod. Anyway, I always waited until the Baxters left the house before I went over… just in case things got out control.

This particular day I knew right away something was different. Romeo bounded up to me and kind of whined through his nose like a steam whistle. I didn’t realise that I was up wind from him. My pussy started juicing almost instantly and I guess the heat and moisture released the well-aged stink in the crotch of my underwear. It drove old Romeo bananas. He jumped up and put his heavy paws on my shoulders and licked my face. I always liked the feel of his hot, doggy tongue on my mouth and that day, for some reason, it was especially sloppy.

After taking a quick look to make sure no one was hanging over the fence, watching us, I let him slip his tongue in my mouth. He really started whining then and I could feel his ass starting to flip. He got off me and I got a glimpse of the biggest chunk of dog dick a girl could ask for, hard, red and slimy. Then his nose was rooting in under my skirt, mashing up against my clit, snorting over the dewy slot of my pussy. His tongue lapped at my thighs and sent tingles flying up over my tits. So hot and wet! And he was after the source of the stinky stink. Snuffling and whining, he bathed the nasty crotch of my panties in hot slobber. I came right there, standing up in full view of my folk’s upstairs bedroom window.

When it was over, I got really scared. I was afraid someone might’ve seen the big dog licking in under my dress, and me standing there bow-legged, knees shaking, letting him slurp my pussy. Poor Romeo got left hanging that afternoon, but it wouldn’t always be like that… not if I had anything to do with it.

So having learned what made the Shepherd’s cock come to attention every time I brought a goodie over to him. I slipped on a real stinky pair of panties. I was training him real good, only neither of us were aware of it. Pretty soon, nasty undies or not, every time he saw me he sprung a boner of sorts.

Wally noticed what was going on, I’m sure, but he didn’t ever make a joke about it or draw Lenore’s attention to the miraculous event that occurred whenever I walked into the room.

The only time he came close to mentioning it was the evening the two of them were leaving for their cabin, leaving me in charge of my Romeo. Lenore was out of the room and Wally came over and put his arm around me, real fatherly. He smiled at his panting dog and hugged me a little. Then he said. “You treat him right, Polly, and he’ll treat you right.”

That’s all he said. Maybe I just imagined the meaning behind his words. I don’t know. But they sure made my pulse rate skyrocket and my face blush.

When the Baxters finally left, I went back over to our house and told Mom that I was going to sleep over at the Baxters and watch the place while they were away. She said I could watch just as good from our house. I told her I’d promised them and made a little scene and she gave in. After all those weeks of waiting for a chance at Romeo, I would’ve made a real big scene to get my way.

I went upstairs and dug out my special pair of panties. Super-stinkies! The one I’d been saving for three weeks. I pulled them on and grabbed my pillow and ran over to my new lover’s house.

Was my head ever spinning! Romeo came up as I opened the front door, his tongue hanging out, a happy dog. I locked the door and chained it and when I turned around, I got a wonderful surprise. A hot, horny dog nose right on the cunt!

“Ooh, Romeo,” I crooned, stroking his soft pointed ears. I opened my legs and let him shove his nose way in between my thighs. He snorted hot air into the nasty crotch band, through it and into the folds of my juicy twat. Then he burrowed down further and snuffled at my asshole. Talk about thrills!!! His big doggy head was mostly hidden under my skirt and his slippery jowls were dragging over my thighs. “Ooooh, SO good!” I groaned as his tongue lapped as my fork.

He was slobbering up a storm. After three, butt-hole to clit slurps, my panties were covered with hot drool, actually soaked through and stuck to my aroused little pussy. He kept whining and grunting, making my fat lips vibrate from the blasts of scorching hot air. I leaned way over his broad back and slid my hands through his dense, silky fur. He smelled so doggy good, so wonderfully woodsy. My hands slid under his well-sprung ribcage, meeting around the base of his hairy cock pod.

Incredible waves of joy lashed over my cunt as he slid his tongue in under my crotch-strap, as my trembling fingers closed around the slimy, red hot shaft of his cock.

God! He was SO BIG! It was scary holding so much cock in my little hand. Scary and fabulous. I gave his slippery pud a long, loving squeeze and was rewarded by the touch of his tongue tip at the entrance to my pussy.

The soft, hot-buttered velvet feel of my cunt drove the animal crazy. He started growling and nibbling at the crotch-strap like he was after fleas. The touch of his teeth so close to my juicy little sex hole made my knees go to rubber. I pushed up off him and rolled the sopping panties down my quivering thighs.

“That’s better, isn’t it, Romeo?” I said, holding onto his neck as he began licking my split in earnest. I had to bite my lips to keep from screaming. Such a hot, wide tongue he had! So sloppy wet! It lambasted my turgid cunt, mashing over my buzzer and fuck-mouth, making the juice gush from deep inside me. In seconds he had my whole pussy swollen, sagging open, tight little hole slick and ready for a big meal of his dog dick.

But we were right by the front door… if anyone should knock… my mom! I scooted forward, sliding hot pussy up Romeo’s soft muzzle, over his forehead and down his wide back. I headed back for the bedroom and I didn’t have to call the horny hound. He was after me like a bullet, scaring me by snarling and baring his fangs and nipping me on the legs and naked buns. As I ran to the bedroom, for a second, I was really afraid that I’d started something I couldn’t control. He was a powerful animal! He could tear me to shreds in his passion!

I jumped up on the bed as I rolled over, Romeo landed beside me. His tongue washed my face in hot, cunt-stinky slobber. I tried to hang on to his neck, but he jerked his head away.

GOD!! He dove into my naked pussy, sliding his tongue up and down my puffy slot. I gripped my knees and lifted my thighs, spreading them as far as they’d go, letting him eat every square inch of my cunt. The Baxters had trained him well. He knew right where to go. I stiffened as his long tongue lurched up my tube, shoving back the walls, sending mind numbing waves of pleasure up my spine.

“YES!” I cried, whimpered, pleaded, as the big dog gobbled my cunt, spearing my hole in lunge after powerful lunge. His bristly lips were grinding into my buzzer and ZOWIE! I was coming. I threw my legs about his strong neck and rode the wildly stabbing tongue, snapping my hips into his thrusts. Such a horrible little slut I was! So eager for the feel of dog face against my sex! For dog tongue deep and flapping inside me!

When the tidal waves turned to ripples and my cunt stopped milking his tongue, I eased my cunt from around his tool. We parted company with a loud smacking sound that made my asshole flex.

I could see by the look in his sexy yellow eyes that he wanted to fuck me. But I had plans for that long slimy joint of his. Plans I’d dreamed about for weeks and weeks.

I reached under his belly and took hold of the searing red bulb. Automatically, the big dog rolled on his side, drooling dewlaps grinning, giving me complete access to his wonderful length of meat. Lenore must’ve liked to suck his cock, too. She sure had him trained good.

I couldn’t stand just looking at that greasy red pole, the way it kind of slid in and out of its sheath. I threw my mouth down on it, sucking the slippery bulb way back in my throat, back past the root of my tongue into my gullet. His hips started rocking and flipping. He knew just how to make a girl feel wanted. His tool plunged in and out of my lips, stretching them out painfully from the girth at its base. My mouth repeatedly bumped into the furry pod as I took every throat splitting inch of cock he had to give.

The sweet doggy taste of his dick flooded my skull, making a river of juice and drool belch from my pussy as my sex muscles began to contract and convulse. Then it happened. Incredible sticky waves of hot come spurted from his cock, filling my mouth, my throat, choking me in dog chowder. I swallowed and swallowed and could not keep up with the pulsing tide. Long gobs of doggy squirt flew from my nose, burning the hell out of my sinuses. It was all I could do to keep from barfing. Romeo’s ass went nuts, shoving cock in and out of my face in a greasy blur.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. I licked the gooey strands up, cleaning up every speck of his gummy stuff. I sucked his cock clean, and kept right on sucking until it was hard as a tree limb and just as thick.

What I needed was some of that stiff meat up my pussy. Just like in the candid photograph. And the big Shepherd must have had E.S.P. or something because he knew exactly what I wanted.

I let his long, needle nosed cock slide from between my lips and gave his shiny black balls a tender squeeze.

He was up on his feet in a flash, back at my cunt, growling and whining, lapping up an electric storm. I held my legs apart, as before, and let him go to town, burrowing his tongue deep up my pussy, snorting hot blasts of air into clit and pisser.

Every hair on my pussy was plastered down by his sticky slobber. And the rasping, grinding pressure of his tongue made my pussy lips see-saw over one another.

Somehow I got on my belly. Romeo never broke stride. He kept up the lickety-split action like some kind of machine. Only then, he was licking my cunt from behind. Cunt and asshole in long hot slurps that made me chew the sheets.

Suddenly, I felt the warm, wonderful weight of his hairy body on my back and I stuck my ass up in the air, giving him all the hot access he could want.

I felt the spear-point slap against my cunt. He’d missed on the first lunge, animal hips too eager, snapping too soon. His hot cock nudged against the slick lips of my pussy and my face burned with fuck-need.

The next thrust was too high. It struck me between cunt and asshole, a stinging, wrenching blow. I yelped in pain, my whole body pitched forward on my face from the shock of impact. The tip of his cock kind of bent then slipped down, right down in the pocket.

As soon as I felt the bulb at the entrance to my pussy, I flipped my ass up, driving the huge thing past straining cunt-mouth and in the depths of my tube. I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t slip out.

His slipping out was something I had nothing to worry about. When his dick-head popped into the slippery confines of my pussy, he went berserk. His hips flipped twice and I stifled my scream of pain by ramming more sheet in my mouth. His huge dog cock spitted me, filled me to the splitting point. I couldn’t believe anything could be so long and thick. His jaws clamped on my neck. Just like in the photo, and his forelegs, locked about my chest, holding me at the right angle for his maximum pleasure.

Trapped like that, held spitted on the cock of a great, hairy, snarling beast, I felt no more lust, no more pain, only pure and simple terror. My cunt squeezed at his gross shaft and he started to screw me. Slow at first. Dragging his cock out a millimetre at a time, drawing my tightly stretched cunt-lips far from my mound, making the tube suck at his deeply buried bulb. My guts felt like they were being torn out. Then he was pushing it back in, driving my swollen cunt in on itself, shoving every inch of cock back in me until the fuzzy sheath nuzzled against my pussy’s entrance.

Gradually he picked up speed. His drool was running down the outside of my throat and the bed started squeaking as he flipped his hips faster. My cunt tightened up, then went all sloppy. I could feel wave after wave of hot juice burbling out over his plunging shaft, easing the way for the next twat-busting lunge. Faster and faster. And suddenly I was lifting my ass to meet his wild thrusts, relishing the squishy impact of dog dick sliding home. There was a bee buzzing in my skull and the droning got louder and louder and my mound was on fire, a liquid, coruscating blaze that engulfed cunt, ass, belly, everything.

“YES! YES! YESSSSSS!” I cried into the covers, humping like a bitch in heat, giving the big Shepherd all the pussy he could handle.

The feel of his hairy body on my back, the fuzz rasping over my asshole, the plunging cock churning up my folds, working my pussy into an absolute come-dither, was too much. I whinnied and wailed, pounded the bed with my fists, as the heat of my orgasm washed over my mound.

Romeo could sense what’s happening and he needed no E.S.P. to do so. My cunt was milking his cock like crazy… long sexy pulls that grew stronger and stronger until he was yelping and whining and fucking me so hard that the bed’s headboard was bashing into the wall.

It wasn’t surprising that in the midst of the squirming, quaking melee I missed the sound of the back door being opened. The stabbing dog cock was making me come over and over, like a record with a scratch, gibbering the same delirious three note melody into the rumpled covers. But even with my face buried in the bedspread, my mind melting like a Fudgsicle in Death Valley, I could not miss the flash.

The whole darn room exploded in white light and I jerked my head up from the bed in panic. Romeo was pod deep in my cunt and driving like a long haul trucker. I snapped my head around, and through the haze of come-frenzy I saw Wally Baxter and his lovely wife Lenore. Then the camera he was holding flashed again. Another golden memory of sodomies past. I tried to shake the humping beast off my ass, but it was impossible. We were locked together until doggy come time.

“Oh, God!!” I bawled in shame and fear, unable to restrain the raising of my sloppy buns to meet the wonderful cock thrusts Romeo was force-feeding my gushing pussy.

“What did I tell you honey?” Wally laughed, cocking his polaroid for another candid shot. “The little cunt couldn’t wait a minute to get all that pooch-prick up her muff.”

“Uh-huh,” Lenore said, looking at me and Romeo with a funny, far off gaze in her eyes.

Wally leaned down and took a close up of my puffy cunt gobbling dog dick. It was then I noticed his zipper was undone and his cock, a thick pink banana with a red mushroom cap, was sticking out of his fly. I groaned as I saw his hand drop down to his own pud, shoving a tight fist down over straining shaft. “She’s a tight little fuck, isn’t she, boy?” he said to the drooling, humping dog. His hand flew up and down the stiff bone of his dick, making white stuff ooze from the strangulated head.

“Hey! Lenore! What’re you doing?” he asked, looking up at his wife.

Lenore said nothing, but was unzipping the front of her jeans and taking off her blouse.

“Ohh-wee, baby!!!” Wally claimed. “Are we gonna have us a time. Wait’ll I get another roll of film!!” He rushed from the room, hard cock bobbing lewdly.

But Lenore had no intention of waiting. I watched, grunting and groaning under the lunges of the big dog, coming still with every cunt bottoming thrust. Coming apart at the seems.

The small woman stripped of her bra, letting her heavy, mocha tipped tits fall free. Then she rolled her bikini panties down over her slim thighs, exposing a super hairy bush of brown fuzz. She walked over to the bed and patted her dog.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. Not to me. The fucking. The insane, drawn out orgasm. And now… this lovely woman climbing up on the bed, squirming her way in between me and the head board, opening her naked thighs right under my face. I was inches away from that brown bush. I could see the fat pink slit underneath the fuzz and I could smell the foxy, woman scent of her cunt.

She gave me a little time for further thought. Gripping me by the hair, she lifted my face and scooted her ass in under it. When she had my mouth where she wanted it, she spread her thighs so wide that her knees touched the bedspread. And then she pulled my mouth down.

I fought at first, straining against the hand that caught my hair, but it was useless. She had all the leverage. I suddenly found myself nuzzling my mouth into the juicy lips of another woman’s pussy. The powerful lunges Romeo was giving me from behind sent my mouth sliding across the funky folds, making them pucker and pout, making them part, exposing the deep red and slippery gash of her tube.

The stink, the feel, the mind-boggling orgasm I was having, all played a part in my undoing. I found myself licking, sucking, CHEWING on the hairy lips of Lenore’s pussy. I buried myself in her folds. Finding her buzzer was easy as pie. It stuck out from the apex of her slit like a little flagpole. I sucked at it in a frenzy, delighting in the way it made her round butt lift off the bed, made her knees flap against the spread.

Then the flashbulbs started popping again, and Wally was whispering in my ear, telling me how fantastic I looked, what a great fuck and suck I was giving. The whole time he was jerking off. I could hear the rustle of his trousers and the growing passion creep into his voice.

Things were getting hotter and hotter. The bed sounded as if it was going to collapse. I had Lenore’s pussy slopping wet with my drool, and it’d stopped melting like cunt and started smelling like my slobber so I drove deeper, down into her juicy hole for some of the real stuff. She gripped my head with both hands, hauling me down harder making my tongue surge deeper.

And then the bed groaned as yet another body climbed aboard. It was Wally. Wally without any clothes on. Wally with an immense, congested, up-curving erection. “Got the camera set on a tripod… automatic shutter,” he said huskily, hunkering down in front of his wife so she could suck on his cock.

And suck she did, taking the whole swollen thing down her throat, making her cheeks puff in and out as she sucked it.

“Is everybody ready?” Wally yelped, leaning over and smacking the wheezing Romeo on the ass.

At the sting of the blow the dog butt leaped, his nuts flexed, and my cunt washed by the thick waves of his spurt. Somewhere above my joy, a flashbulb exploded.

I felt Lenore’s pussy tighten about my tongue and looked up to see Wally dragging his slobbery, oozing cock from her face. Another flash.

He stuffed his cock into the sloppy morass of Lenore’s pubes, right under my nose. And it began squirting. Long, agonisingly slow pulses of sperm oozed from his slit. Flash. It squirted down in the hot, sloppy red valley of her cunt, down over my lips and then I was lapping it up, taking up every milky drop, eating it faster than he could unload it, working my way up the hairy cleft to clamp my lips around the shooting dick head to suck. Flash! To suck. Flash! SUCK!!!

When it was finally all over, I felt like an over-cooked noodle. My poor little pussy was bright red from all the abuse heaped on it by Romeo’s great cock. My face was all gooey with male and female juice. And with dog juice, too. Lenore and I took a long hot bath together and she and I talked about what had happened.

I guess after, the fuck fever had left the Baxters, they were afraid I might tell my folks, and my folks might go to the police. Doing what they’ve done to a young girl like me was real dangerous. I told Lenore not to worry, that the last people in the world I’d tell would be my folks. And besides, I said, feeling for her wonderful pussy in under the soapy suds, I had a great time. I never realised that two girl could have so much fun together. She actually blushed when I said that and I knew I’d said exactly the right thing.

When she reached under water to diddle my pussy, I didn’t stop her. After all I wanted to stay on the good side of her, so I could keep seeing Romeo. Anyway, it did feel nice. She had very soft, very skilful hands. Before I knew it I was shuddering against her soapy tits, coming around her plunging, doubled fingers.

All four of us had some fun times together, in every combination you could imagine. Unfortunately Wally decided to quit his position with the phone company and take an offer he got with some advertising agency in Hollywood. So our little fuck-fests came to an end after about a year. The Baxters promised to keep in touch with me and send me photos and things. Wally said after I graduated high school he could help me get a job modeling in Hollywood. He said that I had a perfect ingenue face and figure. My mom’s ears really perked up at the mention of Hollywood… if the dear thing only knew!

CHAPTER THREE — Pyjama Party

May 31, 1968

Dear Diary: I feel kind of guilty about not having written in you for so long. I think the guilt was actually keeping me from picking you up. Anyway, I made up my mind that the time spaces between the entries don’t matter… when I have some to write, I’ll write it. Right? Right.

I certainly do have something to write about today. Last night I went to a slumber party over at Jane Hawser’s house.

Yeah, I know, I wrote all those catty things about her before and made out like she was the worst enemy I had in the world, but…

I guess I was kind of jealous of the way the other girls clustered around her, like she was a princess or something. And they’d all known her since grammar school and, as a newcomer, I didn’t think I stood a chance of breaking through the ice and being her friend.

It probably never would’ve happened if by accident we hadn’t been seated across from each other in Mr. Langevin’s California History class. Things just naturally got warmer between us and by the end of the term I was one of Jane’s biggest fans.

She was a real smart girl, pretty and smart. But she had the kind of prematurely shapely body and cute, round face that would go to seed after her glands got going. She was blonde, with china blue eyes, nice, firm titties, a high waist and plump ass. Like I said, she wasn’t stupid, so she knew her nubile good looks were going to fade along with her teens… just like her mom’s had done. She was determined to make the best of her “good years”, as she called them. By best, she meant getting in all the hot sex she could manage with as many handsome boys as she could interest. She had her pick of the crop, actually, and from the things she said and wrote in her diary she worked them over pretty good.

My mom thought my friendship with Jane was the best thing that had happened to me since the training bra had come off. She wanted me to be “popular” just like Jane. Of course, she hadn’t the faintest idea what kind of nitty gritty pussy shaking and cock sucking it took to keep a half dozen teenage boys on a string. In her heyday, all she had to do was let Buster cop a little feel, some boob-in-bra, or a touch of thigh, and she had him cold… or, actually, hot. Well, you couldn’t explain something like that to your mother, for Christ’s sake.

So, when Jane invited me to a slumber party at her folks’ house, my mom was all for it. Of course, I didn’t mention that Jane’s folks were going to be away for the night, or that Jane, liberated female that she was, had invited Merrilee Bozwell, the first coloured person to ever attend Langousta High School. Not that my mom was prejudiced or anything like that… she was a stone-ass bigot.

I’d never been to Jane’s house before, so I was kind of nervous about being clumsy, knocking things over, stuff like that. I wasn’t nervous about Merrilee. We’d met the first day she came to school and liked each other right off. She had a great smile and a beautiful brown body that would not quit. She walked like a cat, long legs, firm, heart-shaped ass, and a pair of tits that turned up, jutting at an incredibly tasty angle like a couple of Hershey’s Kisses.

Pop let me off at the door and before he drove away he told me to be a good girl. I intended to be very, very good. When I knocked on the door, I got my first big surprise of the evening. A dog barked on the other side of the door. A big dog. His voice was low and powerful, confident. It made my cunt tingle.

It’d been quite awhile since I’d had any dog dick inside me, long enough so the mere thought of it set my pussy juicing.

The door opened and Jane was standing there in a sexy little pink shorty nightie. It was completely transparent and I could see her dark red nipples brushing against the fabric. She wore matching panties but they, too, were see-through. I never realised she had so much curly hair on her pussy!

“Come on in, Polly,” she said, smiling at the way I was gawking at her twat. “We sort of started without you.”

I followed her inside, wondering where the dog was. I didn’t, have long to wonder. He was sitting at attention right by the entrance to the front hallway. He was a big, sleek, black Doberman with devil ears and a finely chiseled muzzle, touches of rust at his eyebrows and under his brown eyes. He was the scariest dog I think I’d ever seen. Something about the way his muscles quivered under the short, silky coat, like he was barely in control of himself, barely able to contain the violence he craved to do to every living thing in sight. He was like a time-bomb sitting there on the shag carpet.

“Hey, don’t you like dogs?” Jane asked with a smirk. She leaned down and petted — pounded, really — on the dog’s huge sloping skull. His jaws opened, tongue falling out, drooling as he grinned, his devil ears going flat against his head.

“Sure, I love dogs,” I said, letting the inbred nitwit sniff the back of my hand. His little pig eyes blinked and then he gave my hand a big wet slurp. His large, fan-like tongue slavering over my fingers sent a flurry of thrills racing to the fork of my legs. “Nice doggy,” I said.

“Hey, he likes you!” she exclaimed, pointing down under his shiny black belly at the inky pod that dangled there. Inky pod and lewdly arching hot pink prick.

I must’ve blushed all over. Jane started laughing that husky laugh of hers and her titties jiggled under the nightie. Then she said the others were waiting and took me by the arm and the dog by the choke collar and led us into the Hawser’s sunken living room.

It was super-posh with a fireplace and deep shag rug, lots of pillows and things on the floor.

I was a little surprised to see that “the others” were only two. Merrilee Bozwell, of course, and Judy Sternovsky, a tall, willowy red head with the palest, freckled skin I’d ever seen. I was also surprised to see what they were doing… to each other.

Merrilee was laying on the rug on her back, completely nude, her silky thighs spread far apart. Kneeling over her, on all fours, was a stark naked Judy, whose long red hair had fallen down over her face, whose face was buried in the Brillo pad of Merrilee’s snatch. Judy’s skin was a mind-boggling contrast to Merrilee’s. The white chick was eating pussy like a champ, too. I could see her pale pink tongue dipping in between the kinky fuzz-covered, chocolate lips of Merrilee’s pussy, sliding right up her cunt. Her boobs were bigger than I’d thought, and they swung about lazily as she gobbled black cunt. Merrilee wasn’t just laying there, either. Judy’s firm buns were right over her brown face and she was holding them apart with her long fingers, lifting her head from the rug, snaking her red tongue slip into the hot slot surrounded by copper-coloured pubes. I could see her button nose bumping into the pale puckered hole of Judy’s ass.

“See… we started without you,” Jane said, grinning.

The sounds, as well as the sights, in the living room were real exciting. The two cunt-sucking teenagers had long since forgotten their table manners. It was wet and sloppy, with much lip smacking and cunt farting.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off and get comfortable?” my hostess asked, her blue eyes roving over my body, making my skin prickle.

The wonderful-nasty stink of cunts-in-heat overpowered the wood smoke smell of the fire raging in the fireplace. My cheeks burned like kindling. When I spoke, it was only with the greatest difficulty. “You do it,” I said, moving closer to Jane.

She just smiled and, like it was the most natural thing in the world, reached up and squeezed my tits. Let me tell you, I nearly came right then. She knew just how hard to squash them. Then she leaned up close, making her tits brush mine and kissed me on the mouth. Our tongues touched and waves of delight rushed to my clit. Her hands slid down over my blouse, undoing the buttons, peeling it off my shoulders. Then ms bra fluttered to the rug and her nails were scratching at my nipples, raising them expertly.

I slid my hands around her plump buns, digging the firm curvature, then down lower, in between them. My fingers met super-sopping cunt-strap. She was hot-to-trot!

Even as I shoved the sloppy band aside and traced slow circles around the juicy folds of her fuck mouth, she was removing my skirt. Then rolling my panties down over my thighs. She cupped my downy mound in her hand and we hugged each other, sucking tongues, mashing our tits together. For a hot and delicious eternity we clung on each other, feeling pussy. When Jane finally pushed back, her face was all rosy at the cheeks and my fingers were slick with her juice.

“Ooooh, baby,” she cooed, making her nipples graze mine, sending the fire engines roaring down to my clit. “I always figured you were hiding something under that calm exterior. Still waters run deep. Huh?”

By way of answer, I gave her buns a squeeze.

“Oooh — yes!” she cried, lowering her head to lick at my tits.

But something else was licking me, too. Right where my fingertips were grinding into her slick slot. Then Jane felt it, too, and looked around.

“Hey, Buckwheat! Ooh, such a good doggy. Did Mommy forget you?” she said in the mushy mouth tones of a true dog nut. She looked at me and smiled craftily. “How’d you like some of that animal up your cunt?” She gave my clit a flick.

“Oooooh!” I moaned involuntarily, grinding my muff into her hot little palm. “Yes!”

“I thought so. You look like the kind of a chick who’d get off behind some slimy dog dick,” she said. “How ’bout it, Buckwheat? Wanna fuck her?”

The Doberman, trained to the sound of the word, began whining and jumping about nervously, his big, hard cock dribbling into the rug. He started to bark excitedly and the noise interrupted the black-white lesbian action in front of the fireplace.

Merrilee let her face fall from between the slobbery white buns. Her mouth and cheeks were slick with Judy’s cunt goo. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Oooh-wee, Jane! I thought you were gonna take him outside. He doesn’t bite, does he?”

Judy, her green eyes shot with red from the stinging spray of cunt nectar, looked up from the ebony snatch and started picking woolly peppercorn pubes from between her teeth. “He’s a good doggy,” she said grinning at Jane.

Our hostess let go of me and patted her stud on the back. “You shouldn’t be afraid of dogs, Merrilee,” she chided. “It’s like being superstitious…” Merrilee licked her fat lips, propping herself up on a slim elbow. “… and eating barbecued ribs… shuffling the feet… saying ‘Yow-sah!’ to every white man you meet,” she said, somewhat irritated. “Don’t you tell me how to act, Jane Hawser. Don’t you dare tell me being afraid of that monster dog of yours makes me a stupid nigger!”

“I didn’t say that…” Jane protested.

“Shit if that wasn’t what you were getting at!” Merrilee cried. “I can’t help it if I don’t like dogs. And I sure don’t like them the way you do!!!”

“Aw, Merrilee, you just never gave ol’ Buckwheat a chance to show what he can do…”

“An’ I never will!!!”

This made Jane angry. “You’re gonna be a cunt-lapper all your miserable life?!” she demanded. “Is that all the meat you want shoved up your tight little pussy… a lezzie’s puny little tongue?!!! Christ, you are a stupid nigger!”

Merrilee let her head fall back to the rug. Her silky-straightened, shoulder-length hair coiled about her brown face. “Yo is da boss, ma’am,” she said snottily.

Jane’s face purpled with rage. “Hold that black bitch!” she shrieked at Judy.

The red head instantly sat back, pinning Merrilee’s head to the carpet with her sloppy cunt. The long black legs flailed on the floor in vain as Judy gleefully ground her buns over the captive girl’s face. “Ooh! Do I ever have her!” she cried.

“Come, Buckwheat!” Jane ordered. The black dog sprang to obey her, following at precisely the correct “Heel” distance, nose an inch behind her left hand.

Jane leaned down to speak to the frantic Negress, while I circled around the front to get a peek at her flopping butt, the wide open, deep red gash of her cunt, the kinky nest of her pubes above the fiery folds.

“You’re afraid of everything, Merrilee,” Jane said. “Afraid to be black, afraid to be white. Afraid to date white boys or black boys. Afraid to do anything but nibble on a little clit. Nice, safe pussy sucking, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer, not that she could’ve understood one from under the dewy folds of Judy’s pussy. “Well, you’re gonna break out of your shell, darlin’, and you’re gonna do it tonight.”

Jane reached out and stroked the angry morass of puckering sex below the Brillo pad. Merrilee stiffened at the feel of fingers on her pussy. “You got so much to give, if you’d just let yourself go…” Jane said.

The pert blonde paused to sniff the fingertips that’d massaged the black girl’s snatch. Her nose wrinkled up and her eyes twinkled. She held the stinky fingers up for me to smell. My first whiff of black pussy! Ooh! It was dank and murky stuff, foxy and funky with a tinge of butt, but mostly it was raw musk. It singed the inside of my nose and made my mouth fill with slobber. I started to go down on my knees between the slim thighs. I wanted that funky stuff all over my face. I wanted to bathe in it.

Jane stopped me with a hand on my bare shoulder. She shook her head. Though my lips ached to feel that Brillo pad I stopped. It was her house. Her party.

She saw the disappointment in my eyes and said, “Why don’t you see how Buckwheat takes to a whiff of this?” She waved her shining fingers in the air.

I just looked at her stupidly.

“Go ahead, watch his cock,” she said, making the dog sit.

I knelt down on the rug; my eyes glued to the heavy pod swinging under Buckwheat’s muscular belly. There was a gob of creamy stuff clinging to the dense fur around the pod’s tip. I moved in closer, his doggy scent filling my nostrils, making my already aroused pussy quiver in anticipation. Behind the long sheath hung a pair of huge, black balls. They hung in a dully shining sack of glove-soft black leather. I couldn’t stop myself from fondling them.

“Hey! Polly! Cut that out!” Jane cried. “This is an experiment. You’re gonna interfere with the reliability of our results if you keep that up.”

I gave his balls a last, long, loving squeeze. Their heft made my palms ache. More creamy fluid joined the dollop at the pod-tip. My mouth watered.

“Here, boy,” Jane said. “Get a whiff of this!” She shoved the stinky fingers in Buckwheat’s face. He inhaled noisily and began almost instantly to drool. “How’s he doin’?” she cried.

“Uh…” I said, all tongue-tied, “something’s happening alright. His cock is so big! SO JUICY!! Wow…”

“Yeah… go on,” she ordered.

“Uh… it kind of goes in and out of the pod, real jerky like. Jesus, it’s slimy! It’s getting harder and harder. Must be eight inches long and some stuff is oozing out the tip…”

“Go on!” she cried, waving the fingers around under the dog’s nose.

“Mmmmphhhl…” I said, trying to talk around a throat full of slippery dog cock. I just couldn’t take it any longer. I put my lips to the slick, fat bulb and let it slide into my mouth. The taste of his come, the pre-spurt drizzlies, racked my senses.

“Judy!” Jane yelled. “Look at her suck that dog dick!! God! She’s getting every inch of it!”

“Go get ’em, Polly!” Judy rooted, shaking her cheeks into Merrilee’s nose.

I sucked that Doberman’s cock until it stuck out hard and straight, pumping my mouth down over its fragrant, naturally juicy length. Jane’s hand pounding on my shoulder was the only thing that kept me from continuing until I got a hot meal of dog chowder.

“Stop! Come on, Polly,” she said, dragging me off the happy pooch’s prick. “Help me with Merrilee.”

The three of us leaned over the black girl’s crotch. Sensing what was about to happen, Merrilee clamped her thighs together. Jane and I puffed and panted, hauling them apart, then sitting on her knees, trapping them against the rug. We could hear her whimpering into the folds of Judy’s cunt. The weepy vibrations must’ve been a real thrill for the red head because she closed her eyes and started dragging her twat back and forth over the black girl’s nose.

When the hot chocolate donut was held wide open, Jane called Buckwheat over. She didn’t have to explain what she wanted. One sniff at the fat folds, at the deep red lining of her sex, and the Doberman was slobbering all over the captive girl’s pussy.

Not even the grinding pressure of Judy’s buns could contain the squeal of delight that flew from Merrilee’s lips. God! How I envied her! Buckwheat was bathing her gash in his hot drool; the broad tongue was mashing into clit and pisser, spreading the lips apart, and delving into the entrance to her cunt.

At the first taste of the “real thing”, juice hot from the source, Buckwheat started yelping and the muscles in his back were jerking and his cock was sliding in and out of its pod and his paws were digging at the shag carpet right under her brown buns, as if he were trying to bore deeper, trying to get his whole body inside her.

“Oh!” Judy cried, her big tits swaying pendulously, her muff pumping into Merrilee’s face. The sight of that big, hungry animal eating pussy was enough to send her cunt into spasm.

The noise of hot twat sliding against black lips suddenly grew louder, grew incredibly sloppy sounding, like a hog-at-trough. And Judy leaned down and pressed her face into the Brillo pad, her tongue lashing, competing with Buckwheat’s for the flavour of negroid snatch.

The sight of the two tongues, one human, one animal, intertwining amongst the juicy folds of a black cunt was enough to make me come on the spot. Crazy with fuck frenzy, I started sliding my gushing pussy up and down the slim black thigh, rubbing my clit against the silky skin.

And the doubled tongues were doing serious damage to Merrilee’s libido. Her buns began shifting on the rug, lifting to tip her cunt at a steeper angle, so Mr. Doglips could stuff more hot tongue down her box.

“How’s that?! How’s that?!” Jane hollered to the trembling black chick, her own doubled fingers flying up inside the leg band of her panties, flying right up her curly twat.

The brown buns began to shake righteously, jiggling like Jell-o on a plate, twisting and turning to meet the flipping tongue.

Then Judy kind of went limp and collapsed. She was moaning and groaning, and all of a sudden she was rolling off Merrilee’s face. And what a face it was! Drenched in shiny, musky juice, pubes glued to lips and nose, nostrils flaring, gooey mouth open and panting, eyes wide with the fuck-hunger.

Merrilee looked down at the animal gorging itself on her sex juice and whinnied. She couldn’t keep her hips from working, from snapping into the dog’s dewy muzzle. She was a goner.

“Ooh! Uhh! Get IT, lover!” she cried, scooting forward to give him even better access. Jane winked at me and took her fingers from her cunt. She leaned in under the Doberman’s heaving belly and I did the same. I watched her open her pouty lips and snake her tongue about the slimy nozzle of Buckwheat’s cock, making a pebbly ring of it, sliding the ring up and down his shaft.

I scooted in and popped a soft black ball into my mouth, nursing on it tenderly, relishing the feel of his sex ligaments twitching under the grip of Jane’s tongue.

Then the little blonde had had enough dick. She nudged me and we both rolled away from the humping girl and feasting dog. Merrilee was thrashing about on the rug like a Holy Roller on S.T.P.

“She’s ready now,” Jane wheezed in my ear. The two of us separated the delirious duo. Jane grabbing the choke collar, while I held Merrilee’s head down.

“Oof! Uhh… off!” the black chick groaned as dog tongue and snatch parted company. She flipped her hips madly in the general direction of dog face, cunt gushing juice and pedigreed slobber.

“Stay!!!” Jane commanded the squirming, whining, snapping animal. Then she rushed to my side. Together we turned the beautiful girl on her belly, then made her stick her ass up in the air. It was so round and perfect, her mound so sweet and funky, that neither of us could keep our fingers out of it. Jane and I kissed deeply over the girl’s jutting ass, our fingers meeting at the entrance to her cunt, our fingers diving into the slick tube together, our hearts pounding in unison as Merrilee’s ass began to snap, fucking our digits, as her cries of pleasure were muffled by the great swatch of shag carpet she was sucking so passionately.

But Jane knew she couldn’t control the horny beast very long in his present frame of mind. Even when not sexually aroused, his attention span was a record for the hundred yard dash.

“Up, boy! UP!” she cried, dragging our fingers from the hot tube.

“MMMMMPPHLLKKK!” Merrilee bellowed into the deep pile as the hot, furry weight of the dog landed on her back, as the slimy but scorching length of his pud scraped over her juicy folds.

The brown girl started to get up. She lifted her head and there was terror in her eyes. I wondered if I looked like that the first time with Romeo when he chased me into the bedroom, nipping at my bare ass? Jane moved like lightning, straddling the girl’s neck and dropping the whole weight of her body down. Merrilee’s face plummeted back to the carpet.

“Put it in!” Jane shrieked, riding the bucking, frantic body of the naked chick. “Quick!”

I squirmed in under the silky brown belly, in under the tangled, jungle fork of her thighs and reached up, groping. The feel of drizzling dog dick lanced through my palm, setting my lips a-jibbering and my cunt a-sputtering. I yanked on the slimy thing with one hand, while holding the dripping folds open with the other. It was delicious! I crammed the first three, slope-headed, needle-nosed, red hot inches of Buckwheat’s pizzle into her gash.

And the whole house of cards came down!! Sleek dog hips whipped nine inches of aroused choad into the tight, fuzzy twat; brown thighs quivered, locking about my neck, holding me trapped, gazing up at dog pecker delving into Brillo pad; hot, firm brown tits dropped on my loins, pinning me with wonderfully taut nipples. Then the entire shebang started rolling.

Brown hips flipped back into vicious, doggy lunges, making tight pussy slide, squeaking up around the slimy dick. What I needed was windshield wipers! Every time ol’ Buckwheat would give Merrilee what for, a spray of hot stuff, a combination of soul sauce and dog dribblings, would fly right in my face. It was crazy the way her fat cunt-lips would suck and murmur as she gobbled his wildly lunging cock. I could’ve watched the action all night, but about then Merrilee shifted into second gear.

I guess she felt the pubes scratching her tits, or maybe she got a whiff of my stink, anyway, the next thing I knew there were a pair of hungry, horny, lips mumbling sweet nothings into my slot. I screamed when she slipped her tongue up my cunt, screamed and threw my thighs wide open.

After that, I couldn’t watch the hot, dog dicking going on just above my nose so dispassionately… because the more intense meat the Doberman slung Merrilee’s way, the more crazy, flapping tongue she slung mine. I was rooting the big dog on, snapping my hips up into the black chick’s face, twiddling with her little brown clit, squeezing Buckwheat’s balls, and in general, having the screw of a lifetime.

The skilful teenager brought me off twice in quick succession. My juice was bubbling down the crack of my ass and my thighs were clamped about her neck. The third time was longer in coming. She did it that way on purpose, teasing me with puny, darting flicks instead of deep, soul-stirring stabs.

I was determined to speed things up. I arched my head up into the spritzing, squishy danger zone, feeling the crisp peppercorn pubes on my lips and tongue, seeing wild bestiality up as close as you can without taking a dog dick in the eyeball. The smell of bitch-in-heat and oozing canine cock surges of joy straight to the clit Merrilee was sucking so avidly. I whimpered. I wailed. I watched Doberman dick slide into red tube, rocking, socking, whipping, flipping. I buried my face in Brillo pad, and popped the brown love nodule into my mouth, sucking it, lashing my tongue over hot, fucking folds and glistening dog shaft.

Then someone took my hand. I could barely see around the black blur that was Buckwheat’s bobbing pod. I had a vision of white thighs and dewy-damp curly cunt and then my fingertips were plunged into searing hot slot. I gave Jane the hand job of her life while I stared at her upside down.

The fuck-crazed bitch was in under her dog’s belly, facing his stub of a tail. I wailed into Merrilee’s fountaining fork when I saw Jane grip Buckwheat’s flexing thighs, when I saw her drag herself up, up past the uptight ball bag, up to face his puckering, hissing bunghole.

Her blue eyes were wild, nostrils flared, lips protruding stretching for the nasty sphincter.

It was like in slow-motion the way her pointed tongue slid out, glistening, dripping with slobber, her face swinging right into his ass. Her eyes made closed the instant before tongue made contact. I remember wondering what kind of thoughts were going through her diseased little mind in that glorious, debased fraction of a second.

Then, literally, all hell broke loose. The feel of tongue, hot and squirmy, high in his ass, was just what the Doberman needed to get over the hump. His hips moved at blinding speed, bashing cock to the greedy brown cunt, as the thick spurt burbled up his tubules. Merrilee shrieked her joy into my open gash; her box was flooded with dog sperm, hot and sticky; her own cunt milking and sucking up a come-frenzy. She went at me with such a fury, suck a flurry of tube splitting tongue stabs, that I nearly fainted. I came all over her face, every which way. I guess my head hit the floor because one second I was licking clit and the next I was flat on my back with a ringing in my ears and then the rain started. A wonderful, sizzling hot rain of sex juice, sperm and cunt slop, long ropy strands flying from the slogging cock on the back-thrusts, spewing from the overflowing pussy on the lunges… they splattered over my forehead, eyes, cheeks, nose, lips, tongue throat, chin, and I just kept on coming and coming and coming and coming!

It was Jane who broke the panting, groaning, growling, gagging interlude that followed all the orgasming. She said: “Hey, girls, I got a great idea…”

It was a great idea and it wasn’t the only one she had that night. She kept us up until dawn with crazy couplings, enema bags, more stuff than I ever even imagined. She was quite a little hostess, alright, and I was proud as punch that she was my friend.

CHAPTER FOUR — Girl’s Best Friend

September 17, 1970

Dear Diary: Sweet sixteen! Thought I’d never make it, but here I am. I have to thank Tara for it too. “Tara” is the name Jane Hawser’s taken; it came to her on a boss D.M.T. trip. She’s about the hippest girl at Langousta High.

Merrilee’s now going out with… and going down on… white boys and having the time of her life. All it took was a little nudge in the right direction. Oh, also, she got a dog of her own… a monster German Shepherd, all glands and hormones, a real lover-boy.

And speaking about boys… Tara told me what she thought my trouble was. Yes, fear of boys. She psychoanalysed me and figured it all out. She said I was avoiding the problem by doing it with dogs, that basically, I was scared of making honest, human contact. I said she was wrong, that I just didn’t like playing all the cutesy games we girls were supposed to play before we got some of the old porker. She said that was a “rationalisation”.

I guess what made me come around to her way of thinking was all the hassle Mom was putting me through. She figured that if the guys weren’t pounding on the front door with their tongues hanging out at all hours of the day and night, I was a social failure. Mom couldn’t stand the idea of me being something like that.

Oh, it wasn’t that I didn’t get lots of offers… in front of my locker, on the gym field, in the auditorium… or that guys didn’t follow me around. Jeez! A girl can’t grow some tits and fill out on the bottom without some goons making a big deal over it. Not that I didn’t like my new attributes, but some of the creeps I caught sniffing my bicycle seat! God! Take that gross Harold Himmler, for instance. Thinks he is absolute primo-grade shit. His dad is a big real estate broker, handles the new development over by the creek, lots of money. He is the big athlete, all 280 pounds of him. Super Jock! Looks like a cube, Neanderthal skull, shaves his head down to this stupid eighth inch Marine regulation length. Walks around school growling at everybody. Anyway, he decided that I was going to be his girlfriend. Just like that. “Me, Throwback, you, Polly.”

I would’ve done something really dumb, like spit in his ugly face, if it hadn’t been for Tara. She really straightened me out.

“How’re we gonna get to be cheerleaders, if you go spitting on the team’s star line-backer?” she asked.

This was the first time she’d ever mentioned cheerleaders.

“Sure, Polly. It’s the American Dream. Every girl wants to be a cheerleader. It comes with the muff…”

Hey, well at first I thought she was putting me on, that she’d had a micro-dot for lunch and she was just tripping. I was wrong… she was dead serious.

“Look, Polly, you wanna be a model, right?” she said. “And we both know you got what it takes, looks-wise, but that isn’t enough. You got to learn how to handle men. They’re not much different than dogs, very dumb dogs. It’s men who’re gonna try and get control of you, who’re gonna want to run your life. You have to get on top and stay there.”

Tara’s bloodshot eyes glared at me, burned right into my soul. And I knew she was right. Manipulation was the name of the game. It sounds cold and calculating when I write it down, but if it’s either them or you on the end of the string… better it be them.

“You need to be a cheerleader, Polly,” Tara continued. “It will get you out in front of lots of people, stage experience, and maybe, if the Langousta team wins All-City, you’ll get some exposure in the papers…”

Her eyes, the pupils mere pinheads, gleamed dully. “And speaking of exposure, lover, imagine yourself out there in front of the bleachers, doing high kicks in see-through panties!”

She had to say no more. The two of us signed up to try out for cheerleader. My mom, of course, was over-joyed. To her it was another example of the wonderful influence that sweet Jane Hawser had on me. Mom began to push and nag like she’d never done before. Always giving me “good advice”, like it was her that was doing everything, like she could maybe do it a hundred percent better. I started hating her guts. Not only for the tips on how to be a great cheerleader, but for the encouragement she gave Harold Himmler.

I started dating the glandular freak right after Tara and I hatched out plans. She said it would be a good idea if one of us was going out with the team’s big star, that would cinch the cheer-leading spots for us, as well as give me needed experience in paper training a pubescent male. So the next time he cornered me in front of my locker and asked me out, I accepted. If I was afraid of him before… because of his huge bulk and little pig eyes… the look on his face after I took him up on the offer, that shocked, gleeful grin, cured me. He was a total bozo, proverbial putty in my hands. I made up my mind right then that I’d never let him even touch me, that I’d give him terminal blue balls before I let him have a piece of my ass.

After the hysterical fit, an Oscar winning performance, I threw in the back of his woody when he tried to get his finger wet, he was completely cowed, a stuttering, blushing lummox.

Mom really laid it on heavy every time the clod came over, telling him how much I liked him… complete garbage, of course, but she felt she had to gaff my “catch” for me, even though it was obviously gut-hooked. I couldn’t stand to listen to her sucking up to the cretin, puffing tip his already bloated ego. After every session with Mom, it took me a half hour of cold shoulder, sarcastic comment and debasing commands to get things back to normal between us.

Tara and I did get the cheerleader jobs, of course. I never realised how much “practice” went into doing a few rah-rahs. Neither did Harold. It was great. I hardly had to spend any time with him at all.

I’ll describe the last session, so what I mean is perfectly clear.

After supper, Harold came by to pick me up. Pop left the room when Mom started in with the “Why, Harold!” bit. It made him as sick as it made me. And old pea brain standing there, toeing the rug, basking in the toothy admiration of a fifty-five-year-old woman! It never failed to get his juices flowing.

On the way out to the woody, he got so overwrought that he actually put his arm around my shoulder!

“Watch it, moron!” I snapped, shrugging his hand off, and swishing my butt extra nice as I moved ahead of him.

“Uh… Pol… hey, I’m sorry,” he blubbered.

Keep them groveling, that’s my motto. Off their toes and on their knees. All the way to the practice room, a sound proof room in the home of one of the woman gym coaches, I gave the guy the silent treatment. It was a kick seeing his huge hands strangling the steering wheel in impotent fury. This cat was a killer on the football field. They called him the “Monster Man” because he took such satisfaction out of breaking bones. And I had him chewing his lips and sniveling like a four-year-old.

I was sitting next to him in my cheerleader outfit, super short pleated skirt, tight sweater that emphasised my firm tits and narrow waist, a teenage queen. I couldn’t help but rub his nose in it. When he stopped the car in front of Miss Kundard’s house, I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a big, wet kiss on the cheek. He was totally stunned, blushing up a storm. Then I let my hand slide down over his mammoth chest, down to the bulging crotch of his levis.

I’ll say one thing about Weird Harold, he does have a big dick. And after all the deprivation therapy I’d been giving him, it was easy as pie getting a rise out of him. I kind of squeezed his entire lump once and BOING! His fire-hose stiffened and sprang half way down his thigh.

“Oh, Harold!” I breathed huskily, giving it a pinch at the bloated head. “It’s SO BIG!”

“Pol… darling… uh…” he groaned, making a clumsy attempt to get his hands in under the short skirt.

That was the signal to split the scene. “Oh, I’m late!” I exclaimed, pushing away from him and sliding out the door.

“B-b-but, Pol…” he whined helplessly, his cock pulsing against his jeans.

“After practice… lover,” I promised, blowing him a kiss, knowing full well that after practice I’d be far too exhausted… and satisfied… to want to have anything to do with the ass-hole.

I worked the same sadistic scam on him week after week until I could hardly keep a straight face when it came to the “SO BIG” part. But the nitwit never questioned me, never dared accuse me of prick-teasing him. He took all his violence out on the field, snapping collarbones, wrenching backs, handing out concussions right and left.

It would’ve really driven him nuts if he’d ever seen what kind of “practice sessions” went on in Miss Kunard’s sound proof room.

After I blew the bozo a kiss, I went up to the front door and rang the bell. As usual, the door opened as if by a ghost and I slipped in. Behind the door was Miss Kunard, our gym coach, five-foot-five inches of cunt-licking lesbian. She was wearing her silver whistle on a leather thong around her neck… and that was all.

“Hi, Polly,” she said, closing the door and sliding into my arms. Her body was warm and soft and sweetly perfumed. She kissed me and her blonde moustache tickled my nose. It wasn’t a heavy growth, just enough to be interesting.

I put a hand to her big, fluffy bush and gave the hot gash a rub with my palm. Miss Kunard opened her rather short thighs for me and I really massaged her whole crotch, digging the feel of her dense, womanly fur, and the slick stuff slipping from between her pendulous cunt-lips.

“Ooh, stop!” she said, drawing back. “Stop or I’ll rape you right here…”

Having had the pleasure of being raped by Miss Kunard and her magic dildo before, that sounded fine to me.

“… no! Really, dear. The others are already here and we’ve got things planned,” she said, giving her whistle a toot. “Come on, it’s a surprise!” she said, leading me into her living room.

From the piles of clothes strewn over the rug, the couch, the armchair, panties, bras, skirts and sweaters, I figured the fun had already begun.

“That’s it, Polly, get down to basics,” Miss Kunard said, watching me peel off my sweater. The dyke sure liked young meat. Her eyes practically bugged out as I rolled my panties down over my thighs.

“Is your mouth watering, Miss Kunard?” I asked, spreading my legs and giving her a full view of my plump, downy little mound.

“You are a cool little bitch,” she said, smarting from my words, words that got to the nitty gritty, that got to the source of the power I had, we all had, all of us light young things had, over her. For a bull dyke, she had the tastiest job imaginable… the care and training of a half dozen of Langousta High’s most delectable cunts… and we used her weakness like a blunt instrument to club her into meek, servile submission.

For the privilege of watching us frolic in the nude and the pleasure of occasionally dining on fresh pussy. It was her job to provide us with new and demented thrills. She, with her dark brown nipples, her slightly sagging tits, her mammoth bush and faint moustache, would orchestrate the orgies, directing the action with her silver whistle.

I followed the rotating cheeks of her thirty-eight year old ass over to the door to the “practice room”. She wasn’t bad looking from behind. She wore her light brown hair in a short, mannish shag and the tuff of fuzz between her buns was really kind of cute.

She opened the door and immediately started blowing the hell out of her whistle. “Girls! Stop it this instant!” she ranted, making the whistle do a nerve-racking “TWEEEEET!”

I looked in and saw the tangle of slim legs, silky bodies, firm titties, moist snatches and wagging tongues. They were having a real suck session. There was Twinky Blair, the tanned, sun-bleached blonde, surfer chick; and Pam Rumfurd with her auburn pony tail and bubble gum pink nipples and slit; and Sueann Tsin, a slanty-eyed, black-nippled, half-oriental with ivory skin and just a hint of downy black pubic fuzz; and Rhoda Lugo with her super long, super thick brown hair and her super ample body; and, between the slim, white thighs of Rhoda Lugo, face gooey with Lugo-juice, my friend and fellow pervert, Jane “Tara” Hawser.

“Hi, Polly!” she exclaimed, giving the Lugo slot, hot and puffy pink under the dense brown bush, a loving slurp.

“Alright girls,” Miss Kunard said, lezzie eyes eating up all the tender flesh. “Let’s do our warm ups.”

The “warm ups” were our single concession to the needs of an aging homophile. They consisted of doing toe touches with our legs spread as wide as they’d go while the coach watched from behind. She got a real charge out of the six puckering ass-holes, the six damp muffs bobbing up and down, one-two-three-four.

Then she blew her whistle again. “That’s fine, girls,” she said. “Now line up and I’ve got a big surprise for you.”

We lined up, but not without copping a few quick feels off each other. I loved the way Sueann’s ass felt, a real baby soft butt.

“Keep the groping to a minimum!” she ordered. “Now, when I introduce our special guest to you, I want you to STAY IN LINE! No rushing him, no trying to get a few feels before the others. We’re going to play this game by the rules.” She gave Tara a castigating look. “Hear that, Hawser?” she asked.

Tara grinned impishly. I could see what the teacher couldn’t. Tara’s hand was snuggled in between Rhoda’s round cheeks; her paired fingers were doing a hell of a job of muff diving.

“Girls…” Miss Kunard said, “meet Tobor.” She opened the back door of the room and in bounded the biggest, most beautiful dog I ever saw. It took a three second blast of the whistle to restore order to the chamber.

He was a Great Dane, a huge, drooling monster of a dog. His coat was a sleek grey, shiny, silky like, a two hundred pound silver fox. God! Was he ever gorgeous! He was all legs and jowls, a regular horse of a dog. And every one of us girls were leaning down, trying for a look at his parts, cooing to him, blowing kisses.

“Here, Tobor! Come on, boy…” Tara shouted, waving her sloppy-wet, curly muff about under his nose.

The poor thing snorted, its immense nose spraying slobber every which way. It looked very confused.

“Now that’ll be enough, Hawser!” the coach said, clapping her hands for attention, making her boobs flop all over her chest. “You all know how we play the game. Our honoured guest has his choice of the first partner. After a delightful, three minute interval, at the sound of my whistle, the partners will change. On and on, until we all are quite satisfied. Right?”

“RIGHT!” came the deafening reply.

“No coaxing, now Lugo!” the dyke warned, releasing Tobor’s collar.

At first the great hound didn’t know what to do. Everybody was so excited. He trotted back and forth on his big, soft pads, snuffing along the floor, looking worried. Then he lifted his leg… and pissed all over Miss Kunard’s water bed, a splattering, hissing stream that pooled right in the bed’s sagging centre.

“God! He could do that on me, anytime!” Twinky cried, fingering herself. Her straight blonde bush was shining with her own fragrant lubricant.

Pam Rumfurd, who was the closest chick to the hosing, squealed, “What a pud! What a pud!”

Then the big fellow lowered his leg and paused with much groaning to scratch his fleas. After sniffing his foot, he scrambled to his feet and inspected the troops.

Poor little Sueann got a hot, wet dog nose right on the hairless cunt. We all laughed at the way her knees knocked together when the animal snorted and gave her juicy slot a long lick. His tongue was immense and pretty doggone wonderful from the way the slender oriental began whimpering and snapping her silky buns.

Then he moved on, leaving her to bite a finger, and flip her hips into thin air. She looked on the verge of tears.

The laugh was on Twinky, then. The dog shoved his soft muzzle in between her thighs and she whinnied ecstatically. She lifted her leg and gave him all the room he needed for a full tour of the grounds. The hot funk really started flowing when dog tongue lapped at her hole, boring up and in for a deep taste. Her baby blue eyes popped way open and her mouth gaped. Tobor knew how to handle himself, alright. His jowls flapped as he stuffed hot tongue up Twinky’s snatch. It was more tongue than the surfer girl had ever had. She didn’t know whether to hump or cry, so she did both at once.

When her hand dropped to caress the nice doggy’s ears, he drew back, snorting long streamers of juice all over the floor.

“Don’t touch!” Miss Kunard warmed, as Twinky began to go after the horny stud, to drag him back to the funky trough.

Tobor ambled in my direction. My heart was bashing against my chest. Oh, I loved him so! I thought about that big horse of an animal up on my back, his long thick choad slamming up me, and my cunt just went all mushy. I could feel the trickles of juice running down the inside of my thighs. And my pussy was SO HOT! Like a little oven, an oven made for baking dog cock.

I felt a ripple of joy surge over my belly as he stopped short right in front of me. Head cocked to one side, drool splattering all over, he looked up at me with his soft brown eyes. And something wonderful happened.

Maybe it was like Lenore Baxter said and I just had a way with dogs, maybe my pussy had some kind of special power.

“God!” Tara cried as the front paws landed on my shoulders, knocking me to my knees. “Look at his cock!!”

That was all I could do! No sooner than my knees hit the floor, than his slimy hot cock was slapping me in the face. I ignored Miss Kunard and her stopwatch, the five other giddy girls, and got down to brass tacks. With two hands I held the squirming pooch prick still and stuffed the flaring, enraged cap in my mouth. It was the biggest hunk of cock I’d ever tried to suck and my jaws started aching instantly. I could barely get even the head of it in my mouth. Ooh, but it was tasty. Such blazing heat! Such a juicy boy he was! And those horse haunches began snapping. And I couldn’t control his flipping cock, there was just too much of it and he was too damn strong. His dick-head bashed into my mouth, doing its best to ram a new opening to the outside world, through the back of my skull. Don’t get me wrong, I do love doggy dick and a little pain never hurt anybody, but Tobor, from that angle was just too damn much.

I kind of collapsed and let the monster sprawl all over me. He rooted around in my forks, whining and nasalising his lust. Then his tongue found my opening and hot tongue lanced up my cunt. I came right then. No bull-shit. Just mind-rattling squirm time in Tobor’s face.

Somehow we got turned around and I found myself looking up at all that lean red meat of his. I took hold of the nozzle and gave his cock a home. It was so much better upside down. His dick flew easily down my throat, and I could handle almost all of it without gagging. It did kind of hurt when the needle nose bumped way down my gullet where I swallow, but the taste and the smell and the feel of his dick lunging in and out of my mouth was so fantastic that I didn’t give a damn.

The other girls were pressed in close, digging the hot action, shouting encouragement to me. Then the old bull-dyke gave me the one minute warning.

I didn’t have much time, but I was determined to get the Dane’s cherry. I gave up his gorgeous cock and removed my shivering forks from under his hot tongue. I got on my belly and then up on all fours in under him.

At the feel of silky back against his belly, and velvety cunt lips in the vicinity of his stiff pod, Tobor locked his forelegs about my chest, cutting off my wind, filling me with the kind of wonderful fear I thought I’d never feel again. God! He was so powerful!!! I could feel his ass shifting, as he tried to find my slot, probing with sizzling tip of his cock in among my tender folds. He grew more and more frantic, his legs hurting me as they twisted my body about to suit his whim. Then, it happened. I guess it was inevitable considering the fact that I was not allowed to use hands to guide him in.

His oozing cock, slippery with my slobber and natural lubricant slid down the crack in my ass and came to an abrupt halt in the pouty floral adornment of my ass-hole.

“OH! NOOOOO!” I cried, as the needle nosed dick neatly, and with no effort, punctured my pore. It slid in, searing my tube, stopping at the point where the cap began to flare out.

I won’t name names but somebody over thirty gave Tobor a slap on the ass.

All of a sudden I was taking ass-splitting lunges and squealing my head off. God, could that big bastard throw a mean screw! He was pod deep in my ass after the second thrust and hauling back with his forelegs, dragging me into his ass flips. My poor little ass-hole stretched like taffy to accommodate the heavy choad. And then the pain sort of faded and it wasn’t half bad.

That dog loved the feel of tight hole around his cock alright, and he gave me the ass fuck of a life time, shaking up my cookies but good. His pecker kept flying through my ass-hole faster and faster and it was so slick and hot I started coming again even though he wasn’t touching my cunt. It was the pressure, I guess. Anyway, I had a tiger on my back and my cunt started squirming and my ass-hole, too, kind of squeezing the long cock as it slid past.

Then old cunt face started blowing her whistle and shouting, “Times up! Times up!” as if Tobor gave a shit.

The girls were spellbound watching all that red dog dick flip up my pore. The top of my head was coming off and Tara was yelling something about Harold, about what if Harold knew who his rival was, who was getting all the jelly-roll. Lord! That made my orgasm better.

It took all six of them to drag the humping Dane off my buns. I kept telling them it’s OK, that I liked it, but they were real freaked out, afraid that he might rip me apart on the inside. His cock made a loud pop as it left my ass-hole. It was all I could do to just sit on the floor, pre-come leaking from my abused pore, my pore flexing like a banshee, my hips still jerking about wildly, my bowels still burning from the friction of his cock.

The intense corn-hole scene had sent the other girl’s libido into outer space. The coach could no more control them than she could control herself. While I writhed, scooting across the floor on a wonderfully aching pore, the orgy began in earnest.

Pam and Rhoda crawling under Tobor’s belly with open, drooling mouths. Twinky was assaulting dog dick head on. Little Sueann had plopped herself down in an armchair, hung her slim legs over the arms, holding her juicy, red-lipped cunt open, for the Dane to lick. The dog waded into her tight twat, tongue tip searching for and finding the source of her mysterious, bitter herb and musk tasting pussy slop. The girl wriggled in joy as hot tongue surged up her tube and her soft buns leapt up from the chair seat to greet the quickening, deepening lunges.

Tara was trying in vain to impale herself on the stick hard, but frantically wagging grey tail. She was standing on one foot, thighs spread, the other foot braced against the inside of her wobbling knee. She’d get the thick tail tip aimed tight… it would’ve been hard to miss those drooping, swollen fuck-ready lips, even in the dark… and Tobor would remember that he was one happy dog and the tail would squirt out of the slot.

Pam and Rhoda were making sloppy sounds in under Tobor’s belly, their butts bobbing, sticking up in the air. They were licking dog cock from either side, tongues lashing over one another, while Twinky sucked and puffed over the juicy red bulb.

Miss Kunard was in a perfect fuck-dither, head snapping from upturned buns and dewy pink twats to dog-lips slobbering over an ecstatic girl’s widely spread and flexing pussy to the mind-boggling sight of a nubile teenager trying to fuck herself with a dog’s wagging tail. As a very distraught Tara tossed Tobor’s tail away in disgust, our dear coach kneeled down and helped herself to a hot meal of Rhoda Lugo’s furry little cunt.

Rhoda shrieked in delight as the lesbian instructress slid five inches of well-trained tongue up her pussy from behind. The brown tressed beauty flipped her ass into Miss Kunard’s face, making the eager dyke’s nose grind into her nasty little bung-hole.

“Jesus!” Tara cried, yanking at her hair, eyes crazed. Then a glimmer of inspiration lit her face and she threw herself on the big dog’s smooth, furry back. She straddled his back, locking her bare and juicing fork onto his backbone, his quivering, jerking musculature. She rode that animal’s silky back like a rodeo cowboy, one hand in the air. Her hot slot slid up and down the smooth fur, leaving behind a snail’s trail of woman goo, and she was whooping and hollering and coming all over him.

Even Miss Kunard looked up from her teen meat feast to see what was happening.

Things were moving right along for us girls… I’d come, Tara’d come, little Sueann had come for about five minutes straight, Rhoda’d come in the coach’s mouth, and Pam, who was licking dog dick and fingering Twinky, was on the verge of some heavy squirming… as was the cock-sucking surfer girl. Things didn’t seem so good for Tobor… it worried me, too… like maybe the big fella had prostate trouble or something.

Tara was thinking the same thing as she swung her loose and very red cunt off the dog’s back. “Hey, girls!” she yelled. “I got a great idea!”

Everybody but the cunt sucking coach looked up.

“Let’s give this doggy some lesbo twat! Who knows, maybe it’ll be the first real male meat she’s had up that hairy thing!”

She had to say no more. It was pile-on-the-coach time.

“Girls! Girls! Dear God, NOOOOO!” she wailed as we forcibly hauled her off Rhoda’s cunt, as we dragged her to her feet. “TWEEEEET!” she blew on the silver whistle.

That gave us all a big fat laugh.

Pam and Sueann pushed the armchair over so the long flat back of it was sticking up, so the seat was facing the floor.

“Girls, enough is enough,” she said, trying to fake us out with her stern teacher voice. She broke down again when we grabbed her wrists and pulled her, belly down on the back of the chair. Her ass stuck way up in the air, her legs dangling between the chair legs, her face going all purple from the blood rushing to it.

While Pam, Rhoda, Sueann and Twinky held the terrified teacher pinned to the overturned chair, Tara and I led the panting dog up the garden path. All we had to do was point him in the general direction. Once his nose caught her cunt stench there was no holding him back.

I kind of felt a little sorry for old Miss Kunard. When Tobor leapt up on her back, she started blowing her whistle in short, panicked bursts. “TWEET! TWEET!”

The big fellow’s hairy haunches were snapping, flipping right into her big womanly buns. His long dong was going every which way, between her ass-cheeks, in under her belly, everywhere but the right place.

I ducked in under heaving dog chest and flailing coach legs, took a handful of educator muff, split it with my fingers, then I took hold of Tobor’s slimy fire-hose.

“Give it to her!” Tara shouted gleefully.

I shoved needle nose into creamy pink gash and jumped for cover.


Tobor hurled himself onto her, driving even the wide pod tip into her uptilted cunt, force-feeding every millimetre of his cock into her. The coach just stiffened, her face turning purple.

“Look at that!” Pam cried, as dog hips shot back, drawing with them a horribly engorged prick, the distended, sucking lips of Miss Kunard’s pussy, and probably the largest hair-pie in Taxco.

“Twee… t!” the lesbo blew weakly as Tobor, eyes on the prize, jowls drooling all over her back, began humping her in earnest… long, cunt rending ass flips that wrung quarts of hot lubricant from her box. His lips were drawn back from his fangs, his soft brown eyes were closed. He was snorting like a steam engine, pumping like a jack-hammer.

Then Miss Kunard’s mouth fell open. The silver whistle stuck to her lower lip for an instant, then fell away. “Oh, ahhh! OOOH, LOVER!!!” she cried, lifting her soft ass into the dog’s dick flips.

The smell in the room was bad, let me tell you. And I mean bad. Thirty-eight year old pussy, once it gets in motion, sure doesn’t smell like anything human. More like wombat cunt, or tapir twat.

I was content to let things just grind on out to the finish, Tobor whining and screwing, Miss Kunard shaking her ass and screwing right back. But, of course, Tara had to get her little pink tongue into things. She and Twinky crept in behind the dog’s jabbing butt, and the two of them shoved their hot tongues right up the flexing ass-hole.

Talk about instant action! That doggy jerked like he’d gotten ten thousand volts. And hot flop was spurting all over the place, actually flying out of her tube from the powerful pressure behind the squirts. Coach had her cheek pressed to the vinyl back of the chair; her face was deep purple; her ass feinting and flipping, tube milking hot doggy come as she orgasmed.

The two of them screwed righteously for some time after their orgasms stopped. Miss Kunard’s muff completely covered in sperm. It looked like someone had dumped a 16-ounce container of Elmer’s Glue-all down her ass crack.

When we finally dragged the happy dog off her, she just laid there on the chair, ass sticking up, goo running down the back of her thighs, for the longest time. We got kind of worried and helped her to her feet. She could barely stand and I swear, at first anyway, her eyeballs were crossed.

“T-thank you girls,” she said in a voice that was a frail, quaking, breaking whisper.

We knew she didn’t mean, thank you for helping her off the chair.

After a group shower and feel-a-thon, it was time to go home. Weird Harold was sitting outside in the woody.

“Hi, Pol, how’d it go?” he asked, sliding a gorilla arm about my neck. I could see by the tent pole in his pants that he’d remembered my little promise about “later”. I wondered if it was the same hard-on as before.

“Oooh, baby…” he crooned in my ear, his animal paws slipping down to cup my tits.

“Hey! Cut it out!” I cried, shoving him off me. I pointed at the large lump in his crotch. “Is that all you think about?”

He crossed his legs trying to hide the erection, his face blushing.

“You’ve got a one track mind, Himmler! You’re sick, sick, sick. I don’t think I want to know you any more…”

“Wow, Pol… I’m sorry,” the big turkey blubbered. “I know you’re not that kind of a girl…”

At that very instant my asshole kind of twitched and I was bathed in warm memories of stabbing dog dick, dick pounding on my sphincter. I thought: “If you only knew, you big tub of guts!!!”

I had to turn away to repress the bubbling rush of giggles I felt rising from my soul. “And don’t you forget it, Harold!” I warned him. “Take me home!!”

“Monster Man” cranked up the Ford and eased out into the street, meek as a lamb. To make him feel even worse about his base desires, I didn’t deny him the ritual peck on the cheek at my front door.

“Oh, wow,” the caveman gushed, rushing away from me to hide his tears, his shame.

Damn! Was that ever a kick in the ass!

CHAPTER FIVE — Wedding Night Blues

June 9, 1971

Dear Diary: Do I ever have some hot news to write about!! No longer am I Miss Polly Oliver! It’s Mrs. Harold Himmler from now on, or at least for the time being. And, even bigger news, Wally Baxter called from Los Angeles and said he may have something for me!!!

Well, first things first. How’d I ever get hitched up with old Weird Harold? It wasn’t easy, really. As you probably gathered, he and I had a pretty strange relationship. But that was only because I couldn’t stand the sight of him.

Anyway, it seemed the worse I treated him, the better football he played. Last season, his final season as a senior, he went absolutely wild on the playing field. God! Could that dude ever break bones! I swear, you could hear the knees knocking together in the offensive back-field all the way up in the stands when Weird Harold took the field. There was talk about outlawing him because of unsportsman-like conduct, but then he got nominated for All-City, All-League, All-National teams and the protests kind of blew away. His last home game he fractured a line judge’s spine when he disagreed with a close call. The local paper, the ‘Langousta Times-Crier’, said the judge deserved what he got.

It was kind of sickening watching the big ape go berserk for old Langousta High, knowing as I did, what a total wimp he was off the field. It was pathetic, too, how pleased he was that college and pro scouts were calling him up all the time, trying to get him to sign up. I never even paid his career the slightest bit of attention, not until the night the Rams made him a solid offer.

Talk about keyed up! Old Harold was really feeling his oats after the big phone call, let me tell you. We’d had this date to go to the Drive-In and when I saw him like that, right away I told him I had a headache and didn’t want to go.

That brought the moron down in a hurry. I let him wheedle and whine for fifteen minutes straight before I consented to accompany him. Mom said for us to have a good time. What a laugh! The Drive-In was playing a double bill of “Deep Throat” and a real sleeper, “Teen-Meat Orgies.” Just Mom’s cup of tea.

Well, Linda was just starting to do her thing when Harold, unable to control his joy any longer, burst out and told me about the Rams. I sat there and stared at him like he was an insect. But, for once he was oblivious. Bouncing up and down on the seat like a ten-year-old kid.

I got this urge, you know, to really lay it on him, make him push a pizza around the parking lot with his nose or something. “That’s wonderful, Harold!” I cried in my best Annette Funicello voice, scooting over next to him in the seat.

The bozo was so goofy he didn’t even notice. He acted like it was only natural that I’d warm up to him, the soon to be famous football star. Dog-shit! I nuzzled my tits up against his huge chest and nibbled at his hairy ear lobe.

“Oooh! That Linda sure can suck!” I groaned in his ear.

“Uhh… yeah,” he said, looking up at the screen and seeing it for the first time. Moist lips were diving down over arching pink cock.

I squeezed his tit muscles. “Hey, Harold… how’d… how’d you like me to do that to you?”

“Huh?” he said, totally stunned, his ears burning red against my lips.

I groped his coiled fire-hose of a cock.

“Ooh…” he groaned.

“Wouldn’t you like me to suck it a little bit?” I cooed.

“Uhh… gee, Pol…” he said, knowing full well that he was treading on uncertain ground, that my mercurial temperament could, at any second, turn cold and unwilling. “Do you really want to?”

I kneaded his prick into life. It surged down his pants-leg and throbbed against his thigh.

“You don’t want me to see it!” I pouted, letting go of his huge cock-head.

“Uhh… no, that’s not it at all, Pol,” he stammered, clawing at his fly with both hands. “Here… see!”

He yanked the stiff joint from his crotch, waving it about for me to see. Goddamn! Was he ever hung! Like a gorilla for real. The head looked like a boa constrictor’s, wide and flat and oozing creamy stuff from the slot. His shaft was pink and thick and unused looking, like a baby’s, only huge and swollen. The up-curving shaft stuck lewdly from his fly; the hot bulb bobbed an inch or two from the steering wheel’s horn button. It made my jaws ache just to look at that thing.

“Can I touch it?” I asked in the husky tones of Annette.

“Wow, sure, Pol!” he exclaimed, kind of scooting over closer to me.

I reached out and took it in my hand. The bozo shut his pig eyes and clenched his teeth. “It’s so hot!” I squealed in delight, giving it a quick flip through my fist.

“Ooh, God!” Harold moaned, unable to keep his hips from shifting.

I worked my thumb over the velvety folds of his nerve bundle, making him really start to squirm. “Do you like that?” I asked in mock astonishment.

“Wow, YES!” he cried.

I gave him a few more long, wringing strokes. By the time I was done, I had the cretin wheezing and his pre-come was dribbling down over the back of my hand.

“I’ve never done this before…” I lied apologetically, “so if I do something wrong, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

Harold, his beetle brow sweating, upper lip curled back from his teeth, nostrils flared, just nodded vigorously. His big paw of a hand came down on the back of my head and pressed hard, forcing my mouth in the general direction of his cock-head. That pissed me off no end, so after making a big deal of moaning and groaning while I brushed his velvety dome against my lips, I opened my mouth, took his prick cap inside and bit down on it hard. I mean chomped!

You should’ve seen that ape sit up straight! Like someone had slipped him an electric enema. His pig eyes were clamped shut and his face was all screwed up with pain but he didn’t dare complain for fear I’d change my mind and let go of his tumescent dick.

“Does that hurt?” I asked through clenched teeth, shaking my head like terrier with a rat!

He couldn’t speak. He just shook his head “no”. His hands were strangling the steering wheel.

His pre-come didn’t taste too bad, not as good as doggy spunk, but I’d had worse from Wally Baxter. I decided to get the show on the road. I let go of his dick head and looked up at the screen, sliding the shaft through both my hands. “Let’s see… uhh, yeah,” I said, pretending to take a lesson from the ascended mistress of cock-sucking. “Well, here goes nothing…” I said.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could and let my drooling tongue lash over his pud-cap and nerve bundle, lubricating the way for my throat. Then I took him in. And I mean TOOK. Like a pro, a fifty-year-old hooker. I shoved the head past the back of my tongue and swallowed him whole. My lips dove down over his shaft, clear to the coarse hairs at the gross root. I didn’t gag once!!

Then I let it all slide out from between my tightly closed lips. “How was that?” I asked breathlessly.

“Ohgodohgodohgod…” Harold mumbled. Before he could collect his thoughts. I swallowed him again, twisting throat about his shaft, making tongue vibrate against his balls.

His orgasm was on its way. I could feel the tell-tale shifting motion of his nuts, the flexing of his dick tendons. Giving him one more juicy thrust for good measure, I tore his already wriggling cock from my mouth and held it aimed straight up.

“Uhnff! Uhnff!” Harold snorted, eyes shut, hips snapping, cock spitting white strands of splooie almost high enough to touch the head-liner.

That goon could really send up a gusher! Hot sperm flopped all over his original equipment wood steering wheel and dash board, obliterating the odometer, the speedometer, the oil pressure and generator gauges. Long, ropy streamers of the stuff clung to the windshield and turn signal lever, to the knobs on the radio and the rear view mirror.

Weird Harold snuffled and quivered for the longest time, deep in a joyous swoon. When he finally came around and looked at the awful mess he’d made of his car’s interior, and his still flexing cock in my hot little hand, he moaned and mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out. “How’s that, Harold?” I said loudly.

“M-marry me, Pol. Please!” he croaked, flinching like a gutless puppy.

“Let me think about it,” I said, surprising myself even more than poor Weird Harold. “Why don’t you mop up this… mess? I have to go to the ladies’ room,” I informed him, showing him a glistening gob of pearly squirt nestled between my first and second knuckles. I held my hand far away from my body as I slid out of the car, as if the goop were something not only perfectly hideous, but alive as well.

I didn’t give him my answer that night. I had to talk to Tara first. I stalled the bozo without any trouble, changing the subject and stimulating his interest at the same time by asking him how I compared to Linda Lovelace.

The dumb asshole really started blushing then, but he had the gall to ask: “Wow, how was it for you, Pol?”

“I nearly puked,” I told him. “Don’t you ever wash that thing?”

That put the bastard in his place.

Tara and I had our pow-wow the next morning before school. I told her what’d happened and when she stopped laughing she said, “Marry the creep!”

I figured my old pal had been hitting the aerosol spray for breakfast. “You’re not serious,” I said.

“Shit, yes, I am!” she exclaimed. Her blue eyes looked more alive than they had in weeks. The freon propelled aerosol shortening she’d been snorting really put a glaze on her peepers. I swear you could fry fish on her corneas.

“What’re your plans for the future?” she demanded.

“You know… modeling, Hollywood,” I told her.

“And what’s a little marriage to a rich real estate broker’s son gonna hurt any of that? Huh? You tell me.”

“God!” I said, “You are serious!”

“Sure!” Tara put an arm around my shoulders. “Think about it, Polly. All his daddy’s money… and when you get the itch to move on, guess what?”


“Yasss, yasss, and alimony, baby,” she chortled. “It can’t hurt your career to be momentarily married to a great violent bullock of a football star… not with the TV coverage he’s going to be getting in the fall… Monday Night Football, Howard Cosell, Frank Gifford…”

“Jesus! But I’d have to sleep with it!!” I cried, shaking my fists in her face.

That seemed to take some of the wind out of her sails. Then she was beaming again. “According to state law, sweet-cheeks, you’d only have to do it once…”

Suddenly it didn’t seem so bad. I mean, it didn’t seem good, but the idea didn’t make me gag like at first. I looked at Tara and grinned, “I’ll ask the folks.”

I needn’t write anything about how my mom felt about the proposal. I think the shock of it was what killed my pop. He was too stunned to even put up a show of protest.

So, Dear Diary, I guess I was destined to be a teenage bride. The Bride of Frankenstein. Weird Harold and I had one hell of a wedding, though. His dad got a special deal on the upper floor of a funeral home over on Ardmore, the Little Chapel of the Burnished Prawn. What with all the limousines pulling up in front, it looked like a Mafia chieftain had bitten his last linguini. The booze and food were great. Jack-in-the-Box did the catering, along with Cut-Rate Likkers.

My mom ran around like a chicken with its head chopped off, shouting, “Isn’t it wonderful? I’m so happy!” to no one in particular. My pop stood in a corner, getting stiff-ass drunk, his face kind of olive green. Mr. Himmler, the land baron, was a squat barrel of a man in an orange and blue plaid sports coat, maroon bell-bottom slacks, white leather shoes with lots of tiny pin holes in them. For a wedding present he gave us a five bedroom, split level home over in the creek development. Mrs. Himmler looked like the mummy unwrapped. Pasty pale face, hideous auburn flip wig. The only time a life-like expression came over her sour puss was when her hubby jumped up on the buffet banquet table, and started singing “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah” while dancing and making his toupee swivel round and round on his head. The expression was one of pure horror.

About half way through the actual ceremony, the L.S.D. tab I’d taken for a pick-me-up started letting-me-down. And I began to get antsy about the ‘culmination of the contract’, or in plain English, Harold’s big pud in my twat. I’d told myself long ago that I’d never let him get a piece of my ass and I hated like hell to go back on that solemn promise. I remember looking up at the giant asshole as he mumbled the sacred oath. He looked like a cartoon gorilla in that tuxedo, all sloppy drunk and it was barely one in the afternoon.

While the ceremony was interrupted briefly for my mom to rush in and mop up my husband-to-be’s drooling chin (“Isn’t it wonderful?”), I looked back to my bride’s maid for moral support.

The lewd wink Tara gave me helped get me past the official mumbo jumbo. Then it was time for more drinky-poo, and scads of Jack Tacos and onion rings, and then the wedding pictures. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her until most of the guests had staggered out, stumbled into their cars, and roared off towards the nearest freeway on-ramp.

“You look great!” Tara cried, real tears running down her apple cheeks. It was hard as hell taking a piss in that wedding gown, let me tell you. “Uh-huh,” I said, trying to keep my veil dry.

“I got a present for you,” she said, taking a brown paper wrapped box from behind her back. “Hey, you didn’t have to…” I said.

“Oh, yes I did!” she protested. “After all, I got you into this mess…”

“What?” I asked, not understanding what that had to do with a wedding gift.

“You’ll see,” she said, handing the box to me. When I started to rip off the paper, she said: “No! Wait till later. Wait until tonight, just before you go to bed…”

I still didn’t see what the big deal was, but I agreed to do as she asked.

Harold’s dad got us a special deal on a honeymoon suite, too. A whole weekend at the Bide-a-Wee Motel in the magnificent foothills overlooking Interstate Super-highway 5. Just the sight of the diamond-tufted, Magic Fingers equipped, circular bed sent me into hysterics. When I saw the mirror on the ceiling I started bawling like a baby.

Harold didn’t know what to do. He was two-thirds zonko on all the Jack Colas and Creme de Menthes he’d guzzled. He kind of stuttered and rushed to the door, then rushed back, then back to the door. “Hey, don’t cry, Pol,” he finally said. “I’ll be real gentle with you…”

God, did I ever wish I was some place else when that creep sat down on the bed next to me and put his ape arm around my shoulder.

“Don’t be nervous, Pol,” he whined through his nose.

The asshole had the biggest boner of his life stretching the hell out of his rent-a-tux. I wanted to die. I wanted to scream. I wanted to puke.

And I jumped up from the bed and ran into the bathroom and did just that.

“Are you alright?” Harold asked, a safe distance away.

I could hear his fly unzip and the rustling of his shirt tails as he whipped his eager cock. “I’m fine now.” I said, lying. “Uh… could you hand me that present from Tara.”

I was just playing for time, hoping that the cretin would pass out before it was put-out time. He handed me the box and I closed the door and locked it without thanking him.

Here I was, a girl who’d gladly let dogs of all sizes and breeds unload their ducts in my cunt, actually physically sick at the thought of letting my husband do the same thing. If he really was a gorilla, I thought I could’ve actually enjoyed it. Maybe I could close my eyes and pretend.

Even to me it sounded horribly pathetic. I took my anger and frustration out on brown wrapping paper. When I saw the illustration on the box, my heart skipped a beat. When I read the garish, red and blue label, I could’ve jumped for joy. Tara, my savior!!! And I understood what she’d meant by saying it was her fault, implying she had a duty to me. A duty to save my sweet little cunt!!!

I tore open the box, and there in all its life-like, hair rimmed, flesh coloured, vinyl glory was the ‘Phony-gina’. Satisfaction guaranteed or triple your money back. Lordy, lordy, lordy. I picked the thing up and was amazed at the silky, real skin texture of the lips and tube, the crispness of the swatch of Dynel pubes.

“Come on out, Pol. I’m already in bed,” Harold called.

“Just a second, honey,” I said, reading the operating instructions frantically. The artificial cunt sort of hung in this harness thing right over your mound. It fit real snug up against the lips of your twat so there was no tell-tale gap. I ran the sink’s hot water tap and, when the steam was really billowing, following the instructions, I filled the hollow plastic pussy lips and the double walled cunt tube with hot water. There was this little bulb thing that got taped to your armpit. It made the whole thing tighten and flex like a real twat, and it also controlled the flow of a special ‘Phony-gina lubri-cunt’ that was included in the package.

The only thing I worried about was the angle of the tube. I’d seen lots of pussies up close, and explored them with various long, wiggling parts of my anatomy, and the tangent this fake cunt took was absolutely out of the question. It sort of snaked up over the top of my mound, over my tummy, angling in the direction of the ceiling. I tightened up the clear plastic straps and prayed to God that Harold knew as much about cunt as I knew about Quantum Mechanics.

I slipped into my rose pink peignoir, my mom’s wedding present, and checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. The “Phony-gina” bulged out between my thighs more like a false cock than a pussy. No matter how much I hunched over it looked pretty damn obvious.

“Ohh, Harold-lover,” I called in my best imitation of Sandra Dee, aroused-but-frightened. “Are the lighty-poos on?”

“Yeah. Do you want me to turn them off or something?” he asked, puzzled. Then it sank in to his thick skull… all the Doris Day movies he’d seen as a pre-teenager… “Wifely Modesty”, it was called. The shy bride baring for the first time to any man her nubile and willing body. Ho-hum. “Wow, just a sec, Pol. I’ll hit the switch,” he shouted, bounding from the bed.

Then the springs creaked again and he asked meekly, “I can leave the night light on, can’t I?”

“Is it very small?” I asked crankily.

“Oh, yes!”

“Alright. Are you ready?”

“OH, YES!”

“Here I come,” I said, hitting the switch on the bathroom light and then opening the door. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dark.

“Do you want some help?” he asked, the bed creaking.

“No! Stay there, I’ll come to you,” Sandra Dee cooed. By squinting, I could make out the outline of the bed. I could just see his face sort of grinning at me from the pillow, and then things got better and I saw the great tent his cock was pitching in the centre of the round bed. Ham actress that I am, I played the scene to the hilt.

“Hey! Who’s that in bed with you?” I demanded.

“Huh?” Harold said. “Oh! Just a friend.”

“Show me,” I said, walking to the side of the bed.

Harold peeled back the covers and unveiled his mammoth organ. He laughed a moronic, heh-heh-heh laugh.

“Ohh, darling!” I gushed. “You’ll kill me with that thing!”


I slipped under the covers beside him, my skin crawling at the touch of his clammy body next to mine.

“Aren’t you going to take off that thing?” he asked, turning on his side, his big gorilla hand sliding to squash my tit.

“Ooh, not tonight. It’s too soon,” I cooed, pretending to enjoy his clumsy nipple twiddling. That explanation, ‘Wifely Modesty’, seemed to satisfy him again. I had a real winner there.

“God, I love you so!!” he half-coughed, half-grunted, his hands trying to shove my tits in under my armpits.

“I’m so glad,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster under the circumstances, and re-routed his paws to the artificial part of my anatomy.

That really gave the bozo a charge. His hands struggled to get in under the nightie, ripped it in the process, and then I felt his fingernails on my naked thigh.

“You’re so beautiful!” he cried, squirming in closer to me so that his big, hot pud-cap nudged my kneecap. “Oooh!” he whimpered as I took hold of his cock. “I washed it,” he said contritely.

“Uh-huh,” I said non-committally, having no intention of bringing my mouth anywhere near it ever again.

His hand slid over more and then, blissfully, I couldn’t feel it any more. I could sort of vaguely feel the weight of it, but there was no sensation of being mauled.

“Oh, golly!” he croaked, his pud doing push-ups in my palm.

I guessed he’d got a feel of that wonderful imitation pubic fuzz. I gave the bulb a quick nudge. Under his untrained, inexperienced fingertips, ‘my’ clitoris swelled up like a pencil stub.

“Goll-ee!” he exclaimed, running his finger down the steam heated crevasse. “It’s so hot!”

I nudged the bulb again and rewarded his spatulate finger tip with a trickle of ‘Lubri-cunt’. I nearly cracked up laughing right then from the way he sucked in his breath at the feel of the warm, perfumed safflower oil.

His finger squirmed lower, pushing aside the swelling vinyl cunt-lips, searching for ‘my’ hole. When he was in the general area. I let out a real crazy, wild woman moan, flipped my hips, and gave the bulb a hard squeeze.

“Oh, baby…” Harold nasalised, as the plastic opening puffed out, enabling him to cram a finger inside the slippery, hot tube.

This was the touchy moment. If he didn’t realise anything was wrong now, he never would. God! Only a complete nitwit would believe a chick’s cunt felt like that!

“It’s so tight!” the complete nitwit groaned, jerking his finger around.

His prick was oozing all over my thighs and I figured it was time to get the show on the road. Time to consummate the marriage. I started groaning and moaning like a collie in heat, making his finger flying and out of my ‘cunt’.

“Oh. I knew you’d be like this,” Harold whined, a peculiar cringing tone to his voice.

Then he startled the shit out of me by ducking his head in under the covers and heading right for the sloppy vinyl cunt. He must’ve got the idea from a — as he called them — “Prono Flick”. I was scared his hands would rub over the straps and he’d catch on to the game, so I locked my thighs shut, stiffened up like a board, and told him that I wasn’t ready for anything so risque as cunt-lapping, that he had to realise I had feelings, too, that it’d take time for me to really loosen up to him. The cretin swallowed the bull-shit instead of the plastic cunt, and came out from under the covers. I got him all wheezing again with a few quick pud tugs and some absolutely wacko whinnying.

“It won’t hurt. I promise,” he said, lurching into the saddle of my crotch.

I felt like saying: “You’re damn right! I won’t feel a thing!” But I kept my trap shut. I was just glad he wasn’t grinding that fire-hose into my real cunt. Jesus! The weight alone was enough to kill. He kept groaning, “Oh, baby… Oh, baby…” over and over like a stuck record, his hand fumbling, trying to stuff cock head in the slick hole.

The idiot couldn’t manage it, so I reached in between my buns and gave his crank a yank in the right direction. He sucked in air between his clenched teeth when his pud-cap made contact with steam heated orifice. It must’ve been a real thrill for him. He was so excited he could barely get his hips going. I felt sort of embarrassed for him. It was weird laying there with the old thighs spread, having some gorilla trying to hump you when you can’t feel a thing. I decided to really lay it on him, make him squirt pronto.

“GOD! Take me!” I shrieked, spreading my thighs so far apart that my knees touched the bed. “Fuck me good!”

Harold’s butt started grinding then, and he was really panting up a storm, screwing the hell out of that ‘Phony-gina’. I was kind of scared that it wouldn’t hold up under the kind of wild rutting abuse he was heaping on it, but actually I had nothing to fear. Later, when I re-read the guarantee, I saw that the same model was used in bovine artificial insemination.

I egged Harold on, talking dirty to him, telling him how great his pud felt, how it was ironing out all my wrinkles, trash like that. He was huffing and puffing like he was going to bust a gut and I was giving the control bulb these frantic squeezes, so the cunt swelled and shrank, fluttered, like a real cunt about to orgasm.

“HUMP ME!!” I screamed, throwing my thighs around his waist and mashing the bulb as hard as I could between my arm and the side of my chest. I could feel the whole unit sort of jerk every time I hit the bulb and I prayed it-wouldn’t split a seam and send hot water all over the bed.

Those powerful, vise-like pulses were the last straw as far as Harold’s will power was concerned. He snorted and snuffed, pumping and pawing the sheets, as he unloaded his balls into the artificial cunt.

“OH!” I cried. “OHHHHH! YES! GIVE IT TO ME!!”

I couldn’t help but think what a kick Tara would’ve got if she could’ve watched my performance. It was a good thing it was real dark in the room so I didn’t have to keep a straight face when I told him how great it was. He sort of moaned, real satisfied like, and rolled over. He was asleep and snoring almost instantly. I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom where I removed the wonderful device. I didn’t throw it away, even though I knew that I could beg off screwing him indefinitely with excuses about: being sore, not to mention the usual headache, backache, and nausea, because it held such happy memories for me.

Some wedding night, huh?

The really great thing happened a few weeks later, when Wally called me up and told me his company was going to be looking for a very special girl about the time I graduated. It was a job in TV, doing commercials. He said he was sure I’d get the job if I’d come down and give it a try. I told him I’d be there with bells on.

He was kind of surprised about my marriage and asked if I was sure my hubby would approve.

I laid it right on the line to old Wally, told him Harold could shove it to his ass if he didn’t like it, that I’d divorce him so fast his head would swim.

Then we said goodbye and the really hard part started. The waiting until graduation.

CHAPTER SIX — Gourmet Pooch

August 23, 1972

Dear Diary: Gosh, I don’t know where to begin. Things have been jumping since I graduated in June. All my dreams are coming true! Whoa, slow down girl… calm yourself or the story will never get told. From the beginning, and cool…

Weird Harold was really freaked when I told him about Hollywood and the commercial try-out. He “put his foot down” and said no wife of his was going to get involved with all those L.A. faggots. I said that was fine with me and that he’d hear from my lawyer in the morning. Old Groveling Bear shit his pants when I started packing. He got really mealy mouthed, whining and whimpering about how he didn’t mean it and not to leave him.

Asshole! To teach him a lesson he’d never forget, I told him when I got back from my screen test I wanted permanent separate bedrooms. That really got him good. Of course, we already had separate beds. I made sure they were installed in our new house before I set foot in the place. Anyway, Harold stopped sniveling and went into a sulk. I loved his sulks. They meant he’d keep out of sight and out of mind.

Not that he’d been around enough lately to cramp my style. The giant turkey himself was in L.A. more than he was in Langousta, what with his big negotiations with the Rams. For some reason the talks had bogged down after he got out of high school. Something about his not being “vicious” enough on the field. I guess they expected him to cannibalise his victims or something.

Pop was in the hospital, undergoing exploratory surgery, but Mom insisted that she be allowed to accompany me to the screen test. I was so stunned by her callousness that I didn’t tell her to go fuck herself, like I should’ve. All the way down on the plane I had to listen to her detailed instructions on the proper carriage, smile, and table manners of a successful model… things she knew absolutely nothing about. When I put on the stereo earphones to block her harping, nagging chatter, she assaulted every passenger in earshot, telling them about me, about how wonderful I was, about my big break in commercials. If her safety belt had been six inches longer, I would’ve strangled her with it.

Wally Baxter and Lenore were waiting for us at L.A. International. They totally ignored my mom and rushed up to me giving me big sexy hugs. Wally had lost some hair. He had deep widow’s peaks but I kind of liked them. He was super tan as usual and when he squeezed me I could feel something hot and hard pulse under his Bermudas right against my mound. Lenore hadn’t cut her hair, I was glad to see that. And she’d gotten if anything a little bigger in the tit department. Later, she told me it was from the pill. She was wearing a loosely weaved knit top and I could see the large mocha-coloured nipples I’d loved to suck on as a kid. They brought a lump to my throat, let me tell you.

“This is how you dress for work?” I asked the beaming ad man.

“Hey, Polly, things are casual down here,” he said, stroking the wrinkles out of his Arnold Palmer style knit golf shirt.

“Especially when you’re on unemployment,” Lenore said shrewishly.

Wally gave her a look that was intended to kill. “Yeah, I got the sack,” he confessed to me. “But that’s got nothing to do with this deal I called you down about…”

On the way to the studio, Lenore was saddled with Mom in the back seat, while Wally explained things to me in the front. It seemed this nationally known, canned dog food company had commissioned Wally’s agency to do a customer survey to find out who was buying their products and to direct a new ad campaign towards them. Wally got hold of the results before the dog food people, put two and two together and called me. I wasn’t too clear on what the “two and two” were, or how he decided that I’d be what they’d want, but it was a little late to be suspicious… we were pulling up at the security gate of Sokolow Studios, a huge, block-long complex of beige stucco, aircraft hangar looking buildings somewhere east of Western Avenue.

Wally explained to the uniformed guard who we were and what we were there for. After a short phone call and a check of a list on a clipboard the sentry waved us past. After a bit of driving around, we found “Sound Studio D”, which was where the tests were being held.

Once we were inside the monstrous cave of a building, Mom went nuts with her helpful hints and keen insights. Lenore, with keen insight of her own, dragged Mom off to the water cooler and stuffed a Thorazine down her throat.

Wally introduced me to Major Scampi, agent for the company and director of the screen tests. Major was his first name, not a military rank. He was sitting in a director’s chair. He wore a pair of those funny riding pants with the over-sized thighs, knee high boots, a Venetian gondolier T-shirt… large red and white stripes… and a dark blue beret. When he stood up to kiss my hand, I saw how short he was. He had a hump on his back, too.

“Charmed, charmed, my dear,” Scampi said, patting my hand. His brown bug eyes kind of rolled over me, starting at my cunt and stopping at the firm peaks of my tits. “Show her to wardrobe, won’t you, Wally-baby? The other girls are already there.”

Wally ushered me to the costume room. A dried-up old bag handed me a string bikini that looked like three knots in a piece of drapery sash. It was opaque and white and the kind of thing that could get a girl arrested up in Langousta. What the hell, I thought. When in Babylon…

The dressing room was crowded with girls in their late teens, blondes, redheads, brunettes. Girls with one other thing in common, aside from their ages… They were SEX-Y! I’d never seen such oodles of smooth baby fat, high, round buns, downy, fragrant muffs… not even in my cheer-leading days back at old Langousta. Every one of these girls was a silky smooth, stone soul fox. I tell you, it brought out the dyke in me. I must’ve been gawking pretty openly because the girl on my left, a tall, big-breasted blonde with a beauty parlour natural paused in rolling her tiny, white cunt cover, the string bikini bottom over her abundant black snatch.

“This is your first time, huh, baby?” she asked, putting a hand on her jutting hipbone. She had a pair of hips that would not quit, shaped like a lyre, sleek and curvy.

“Uh… yes,” I managed to say, staring at her swaying, pink tipped jugs.

She stretched her arms up over he head — just for me — and the droppy tips of her soft tits lifted, arching magnificently. “You’ll get used to all this, sister…” she said, indicating the plethora of pulchritude.

The word “sister” sent chills up my spine.

“… it’s the out there you got to worry about,” she continued. “Those Goddamn mutts!” She turned her luscious back on me to display a double row of teeth marks in her plump right buttock. “I was here yesterday. Got those beauties from the sponsor’s registered trade mark, Chef Fido, right in the middle of the screen test. That black sonofabitch attacked me without warning… Goddamn psychopath! I was bending down, reaching for his dish, saying my one big line, and the next thing I knew the script girl, key grip and cameraman were trying to get his jaws off my ass. My agent threw a shit fit, of course, and he bullied Scampi into re-shooting my test today with a different Chef Fido. It’s a hell of a way to make a living, sister.”

I made sympathetic noises while I got undressed.

“Hey, you got a nice little muff there,” the blonde said, bending down to adjust her sandals and letting her nose just graze my fuzz.

That shook me up good. It was all I could do to keep from grabbing her by the ears and dragging her face into my box. “Are all the chicks here switch hitters?” I asked.

She looked at me aghast. “Switch? Christ, no. We’re all straight… straight homos,” she said with a laugh. “Come on, lets get this thing over with…”

Well, at least, I figured I had one thing up on most of the chicks… I wasn’t scared of dogs. As we filed out of the dressing room, we were each given a slip of paper with our one big line on it. God! You should’ve heard all those half nude cuties mumbling the words, trying different versions, different inflections out on the insipid phrase.

The line was: “Chef Fido’s Gourmet Pooch is doggy dee-lishus!”

A chick in glasses made us go single file through a door marked “Make Up”, where a natty little twerp dusted our tits and asses with anti-shine powder and sent us on our way. Another line formed at the entrance to the actual filming area. Wally and Lenore waved at me and held up crossed fingers as they dragged my tranquillised mom into the studio. Was Mom ever wasted!

I could hear this wild, nervous barking coming from the studio. Despite my non-fear of dogs, the crazy, in-bred savagery in the yapping made me jumpy. And Major Scampi’s voice, a high pitched shriek, shouting instructions at the girls being tested didn’t help at all. The distance between me and the door way dwindled and then, way too soon to suit me, Big Blondie said, “Well, here goes nothing, sister…” and undulated into the studio.

I peered around the doorway and saw giant, expensive looking cameras, a maze of overhanging lights, and a set made to look like the average kitchen in an average $75,000 house. Big Blondie was consulting with Scampi, taking her stage directions. Over in the corner, sitting on a purple velvet throw cushion was a black poodle. No ordinary poodle, either. For one thing he was a giant. Must’ve stood 30 inches tall at the shoulder. For another thing, he was wearing a huge, white chef’s hat. He was trimmed in the usual poodle lion style, only on him it was really effective. I mean that dog had muscles and then some.

He took one look at Big Blondie and started in with the howling. “WOO-WOO-WOO-WOORAHH!” he articulated most distinctly.

Major Scampi looked like he was about at his wits end, what with the dog’s baleful outbursts and the unprofessional efforts of the assorted teeny-bobbers.

“No, Goddamnit, you stupid cunt,” he snarled, “you’ve got it ass-backwards! Bend over and then reach for the can…”

When she’d gotten the little choreography bit together, the dog handler, who looked exactly like Mr. Clean, earring and all, brought Chef Fido over. The introductions were brief and to the point. Mr. Clean slipped the choke chain off the big dog, and the big dog went for Blondie’s throat. End of screen test.

After the agent was dragged away, screaming lawsuit, it was my turn. I figured the vibes were so bad I didn’t stand a chance so I just kind of relaxed and, as Tara would’ve said, “fluxed with the flux and flowed with the flow.”

“Alright, honey-buns, get that keester over here,” Scampi growled.

I’d watched Blondie go through the routine so many times I knew it by heart already. But Scampi felt he had to go over everything with me, step by step, so I humoured him. We did a quick run-through without Chef Fido and I amazed the director by being letter perfect.

“Alright!” he exclaimed, turning to the dog trainer. “Come on, you nelly… get that black turd over here… and keep the fucking choke chain on him this time!”

Scampi looked up at me and grinned this big, phony grin. “Heh-heh-heh,” he said, “you aren’t afraid of doggies, are you? Heh-heh.”

“No,” I answered matter-of-factly, watching Mr. Clean give commands to the huge poodle.

In psychology class, Mr. van Demis taught us about Pavlov and how he taught dogs to drool at the sound of a dinner bell. Mr. van Demis didn’t say a word about girls teaching themselves to drool at the sight of a dog. Lordy. Did I ever have an urge to bend over and take a long, loving look at Chef Fido’s monster parts! In his white hat, he was about the sexiest thing on four legs. I mean it. He had this glistening black nose and a pair of black eyes that sparkled underneath his curly bangs. God, it was his tongue, though, that made my pussy pucker up. It was long and creamy pink and covered with the tastiest bumps and ridges. I could imagine that thing drilling into my cunt, his sweet drool easing the way. Suddenly I got scared that my twat would give me away, you know, start gushing lubricant and stain the white bikini. It felt so wet down there!

“Miss… uhh?” Scampi said, faltering. “Oliver…” I prompted. “Polly Oliver.”

“Yeah, meet Chef Fido… Let him sniff your hand, honey.”

I was prepared to let him sniff more than that, for as long as he wanted. Mr. Clean gave the dog slack and, nails screeching on the linoleum, Chef Fido lunged at me.

“Hole-ee-shit!” Scampi cried. “Would you look at that!”

I held my hand right in front of my cunt and the sweet dog bathed it in his hot drool. Ooh, he was a darling. I could tell from the way his nostrils flared that it wasn’t just my hand he was sniffing, either. His pom-pom of a tail was wagging and his eyes were twinkling.

“Ooh, what a good boy you are!” I cooed to him.

“WOO-WOO-WOO-WOO-RAHH!” he howled, raising his muzzle skyward.

“He just wants some love, that’s all,” I said to Scampi, kneeling down and pressing my thighs against his super-silky and super-dense curls. I rubbed his ears real good and he sat down, plopped right down on the linoleum and bathed in the attention I lavished on him.

“Goddamn! That’s a happy dog!” Scampi said. “That’s the way Chef Fido’s supposed to look. Let’s do a take before he changes his mind. Places! Places everybody! This is a take. Camera!”

Everyone froze in their assigned positions.

“Action!” Scampi cried.

Let me tell you, I was walking on air as I strutted through the sliding glass doors at the back of the kitchen set. I let it all hang out. Not lewdly, mind you, but very young, demure, new-at-all-this-sex-stuff but loving every minute of it… the kind of tight, tender thing that would drive a paedophile into a deep coma.

One of the camera men groaned out loud, but Scampi made the “keep rolling” sign and strangled his megaphone, glaring daggers at the offender.

Chef Fido was supposed to be responding to the ultra-high frequency whistle commands of Mr. Clean. I couldn’t tell if he really was or not. Everything just seemed to come together. It was like the happy poodle could read my mind.

I walked over to the long, ceramic tile counter, stood on tiptoes to open a high cupboard — while an overhead camera leered down the front of my tiny bikini top — and selected a can of Gourmet Pooch. The label read: “Canard a l’orange aux cerises.”

Pausing to smile lovingly at the be-hatted poodle who was sitting calmly and wagging his tail, waiting patiently in front of his cut crystal food dish, I inserted the wide, flat can in the electric can opener and zip! Off with its top! Then I picked up the sterling silver tablespoon from the counter and dipped it into the wonderfully aromatic contents of the tin. The smell actually made my mouth water.

Following the stage directions, I left the can on the counter top and leaned down towards the dish. I could feel the floor camera zoom in on my cleavage. God! I didn’t realise the incredible strain that was put on the flimsy top when I reached up sideways and over my head for the can. My nipples stuck out of the postage stamp cups like gumdrops under saran wrap.

I got hold of the can without having a tit burst free, and dumped the rich, golden brown sauce, crisp bits of duck skin, strips of boiled duck meat, and bright red cherries into Chef Fido’s crystal dish.

The dog looked up at me with eyes full of something more than love or hunger for food. His nose was maybe six inches from my already aroused pussy. I wasn’t worried, though. To the folks at home, the deliriously happy dog face caught in the overhead camera would seem full of adoration, not carnal desire.

His ears twitched ever so slightly as the whistled command to eat was repeated a third time. Then he dove into the food with a vigor that was truly amazing.

I held the can, with the gold and green label showing, just below my jutting tits. And, following the script with undisguised relish, I sniffed it deeply, then, as if I could not control myself, deny myself a little naughtiness. I dipped a long nailed fingertip in the can, picking up a dollop of orange sauce and using the moist tip of my tongue, licking it into my mouth.

“Chef Fido’s Gourmet Pooch is doggy deelishus!” I exclaimed, giving my stiff finger a last wet lick.

“Cut!” Scampi shouted.

The overhead camera man was staring down at Chef Fido and me, mumbling, “Oh Jesus, oh Jesus…”

I looked down at the smiling dog and nearly swooned. He had the biggest, most gorgeous erection I’d ever seen! His cock was about the size of a two hundred pound black man’s, only glistening and juicy, and a deep pink like his tongue. The head on it was shaped just like a human pud, cap, nerve bundle, and all, except it had that fantastic ‘skinned’ look, that savage, raw meat style that I’d grown so accustomed to.

I reached out and rubbed his curly chest, my palm aching, temples throbbing, unable to resist the temptation to touch his hard cock. As my hand slid lower, Mr. Clean came up with the choke chain.

“Oh, crap!” he said upon seeing the engorged tool of his charge. He glared at me, his shaved head glowing red in embarrassment.

“Ha-ha-ha,” Scampi laughed, pointing at the blushing man. “Jealous… jealous…” he chided the trainer.

Then the hunchback turned to the line of fidgeting girls still waiting for their big chance. “Send those prick teasers home. We’ve found our little dog lover,” he said, grinning at him.

Wally and Lenore rushed up and congratulated me. Mom was passed out in her seat.

“What’d I tell you, Scampi?” Wally said, wringing his hand. “Great little actress, huh?”

Scampi winced at the pressure applied to his hand. “Yeah, I got to hand it to you, Baxter. This little muff’s really got it.” He gave my bottom a friendly squeeze. “Shall we talk turkey?”

I just looked blank, so Wally explained that it was time to negotiate a contract and offered to be my agent. Of course I took him up on it. I mean after all, I owed him a lot.

We signed a standard five commercial deal, with royalties and everything, and an option to renew if the campaign was a success. I left the studio a very happy, very wealthy girl.

“Wow, Wally,” I said once we were back in his car. “That sure is some crazy dog food…”

Wally smiled at me. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait ’til you taste their rack of lamb persillade or the pigeon farci bohemienne, and then talk to me about crazy…”

“Hey, I really don’t get it,” I told him. “I mean, I can understand the skimpy bikini… sex sells things… but haute cuisine dog food?”

“Look, Polly, it has to do with the survey my ex-employers did for Gourmet Pooch’s parent company, Philo Phoods Ltd, but the real news flash has been in the papers for months. Who do you think actually eats all those tons of Puppy Nuggets, Dog Burgers, Bowser Banquet…?”

“Oh,” I said, seeing the light. “You mean dog food is really for people. I read those articles about the old folks on Social Security…”

“Sure you did. So did the directors of Philo Phoods. That’s why they got us to do a consumer research project, to see if it was only old folks… to get a line on their market.”

“We found out that just about everybody, age and race and location-wise, dips into the liver and kidney now and then. So, to put a collar on the market, Philo came out with the dog food to end all dog food… Gourmet Pooch.”

“Gee, but how can they sell it so cheap?”

Wally chuckled. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. How the hell is a dog supposed to know if he’s getting sliced breast of duck, or restructured vegetable protein? And even if some low life human could tell the difference, in order to complain to the authorities, he’d have to admit that he habitually ate dog food… not likely.”

“Besides, Philo’s chemists are damn good. They could make shit taste like pumpkin pie if they got the go-ahead. You tasted that sauce. It must be ninety percent alcohol. One can will really make things mellow, baby.”

“It was real tasty, alright,” I said. Then I asked, “But exactly how do I fit in?”

Wally looked at me strangely, kind of like he was looking into me. It was a look that brought back childhood memories of flashbulbs and doggy breath. He seemed to shiver, shaking off whatever lewd thoughts had flooded his mind. “You are a swell looking piece of ass, Polly,” he said enthusiastically. “You look like the girl-next-door should’ve looked… all tits and ass and seething with hormones. Hot-to-trot, but sincere. The kind of wholesome, decent kid who’d throw everything she’s got into a fuck, a suck, a hand-job. The kind of kid nine-tenths of our market would mortgage their homes to get their paws, male and female, on. On top of that, you got this rapport with dogs, a closeness the audience can actually see… in your eyes, nose, the quiver of your lower lip. You don’t have to go down on Chef Fido in front of the camera for all the viewers… give their diseased little minds a subtle hint and let them do the rest. Same thing with the little taste of Gourmet Pooch you took. You do it in a naughty, provocative way, like it’s sex… not only are you giving the paedophiles a great show of tongue, but you’re showing them that you’re one of them, that sleek, foxy young broads eat dog food, too. That it’s sexy to eat dog food…”

“Wow, that’s really something!” I exclaimed. My head was spinning.

When we got to the Baxters’ house out in San Fernando Valley, the first thing I did was call home. Harold listened silently to my great news, interjecting an occasional “Uh-huh.” When I finished, he said in a flat voice, “Your father’s dead.”

I went totally hysterical, dropped the phone, started screaming. Wally picked up the receiver and talked to Harold while Lenore tried to comfort me. Mom was coming up from the Thorazine, blinking her eyes.

“Pop is dead!” I shrieked at her.

“Oh, really?” she said smiling. “That’s wonderful, dear. Now about your first day at the studio… if I were you, I’d wear that green velvet jumpsuit…”

I couldn’t believe it. On and on and on the old bat jabbered. At first I thought it was the after effect of the drug, that she was still disoriented, but no… later, when I told her we had to fly up and make funeral arrangements, she said for me to go ahead, that someone had to stay down here and look out after my interests… that she didn’t mind.

Wally and Lenore really were towers of strength. Wally stayed with Mom and Lenore flew up with me to help. It was a good thing, too, because Harold was still sulking and was no help at all.

We got Pop in the ground and then flew back to L.A. for my first filming date. Harold informed me at the airport that he, too, would be in L.A., closing his deal with the Rams. Lenore reluctantly gave him her phone number. On the plane, she turned to me and said, “Poor darling, he must have an awful lot of money…”

I explained the way our marriage was run, told her about the wedding night, the whole thing. I had her in stitches all the way to L.A.

The only words my mom uttered concerning Pop’s funeral were: “How was it, darling?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but started telling me about various producers and agencies she’d been contacting, all the important people she’d met, people who could further my career.

Wally sighed and shook his head exasperatedly. I couldn’t wait to get in front of the cameras again. I was even more anxious to see my co-star, Chef Fido. The Baxters were between dogs… I forgot to mention that. Dear Romeo had passed away and they were still recovering from the loss. So, anyway, it’d been quite awhile since I’d had some dog stick, and I was determined to get my hands on that poodle’s pud.

When we walked onto the sound stage, Chef Fido gave me his “WOO-WOO-WOO-WOO-RAHH!” greeting and dragged his cursing trainer over to us. The big bozo couldn’t control the animal any more.

Chef Fido jumped up on me, put his paws on my shoulders and washed my face in hot, doggy drool. Something pendulous and furry brushed my knuckles. His pod! I scratched his shoulder blades vigorously, delighting in the soft feel of his coat.

“Do I have time to take him for a walk?” I asked my grinning director.

“Sure, honey-buns,” Scampi said, his eyes telling me that he understood, that he knew exactly what I craved so desperately. “Take your time… we still got scenery to set up.”

I took the chain from the unhappy trainer and led the poodle off into the darkness of the sound stage. “Easy, lover,” I cooed, trying to make my voice calm as he began licking the back of my calf. He was one horny doggy, alright. The touch of sizzling tongue on my thigh sent my cunt into a shuddering fit.

There just didn’t seem to be any place private to take him and I was ready to go down on all fours in the parking lot when I saw the “Ladies” sign on a dingy door. Chef Fido kept nuzzling under my short skirt, rubbing his wet nose over my thighs and sniffing at my ass crack. It was driving me out of my mind. I pounded on the door and when there was no answer opened it.

Not exactly the Ritz. A single bowl, a gritty sink, one bare light bulb. I made Chef Fido come in with me and closed the door, locking it with the little metal hook.

“Just a second, darling,” I begged him, trying to struggle out of my coat and keep his flea-nibbling lips off the crotch of my panties I threw my coat on the floor and put a shoe up on the toilet seat. God, was he ever hungry for my pussy! Snuffling and whining, the big dog mashed his muzzle into my mound. The flurries of joy he gave me with his nose made a deluge of slick cunt-stuff seep from my slit.

The rush of fragrant moisture really sand-bagged him. He started whining and yowling and his tongue kept flipping in and out of his mouth in these frantic, darting lunges. He rained the brief tongue touches on the spreading stain of lubricant welling from my hole. Every touch fanned the flames licking up from my swollen, dewy fuck-mouth, licking over my belly and tits.

I struggled to roll down my sopping panties, got them only part way down before Chef Fido’s snorting nose surged between cunt-strap and cunt, wet nylon and wetter flesh.

“Ooooh!” I cried to the grubby walls, to the bare, yellow bulb. His tongue lashed over my folds, sucking up the gushing juice and plastering my fuzz to pussy-lips and ass-cheeks with his doggy drool. My hips started grinding, powered by a need of their own.

The smell in the tiny room was dank and feral… of hot, musky cunt and the ripe compost heap of doggy desire. I let the big dog eat me, let him thrust his long, wonderful tongue into my hole. His soft curls brushed the inside of my thighs, tickling, teasing, even as his powerful tongue flew up my tube.

Then I started to slip off the seat. My knees were all rubbery and I knew I had to have his cock in me. I tore my panties from my thighs and sat on the toilet seat, spreading myself, slouching way down and holding my thighs apart for him.

Chef Fido was an old hand at the quickie in the ladies’ room. He gave my ass and cunt one last slurp and jumped up, putting his forepaws on my shoulders and his muscular body between my thighs.

I felt his red hot meat graze my folds and I came. Came! Blubbering and moaning into his curly dewlaps, while his hips shifted, while slimy dick-head rooted around in the top of my slot, searching, searching for the opening. With trembling fingers I took hold of his mammoth choad. It was so slick! So searing hot! I guided it lower and he growled at me as his cock strained to bend. He growled and showed me his fangs and I felt the wonderful terror, the marvelous cringing heebie-jeebies. God! What an animal! I raised my knees higher, whimpering in my supplication, in my heat.

“GRRRRRR-ROWW!” he snapped at my throat as his cock-head slid into the pocket.

His hips began jerking, began stuffing dog dick in and out, and his jaws closed about my neck, feet shifting to get the most advantageous angle.

Then, with bristly lips and needle fangs against my Adam’s apple, he began to screw me. He pulled no punches, gave no quarter. My body was his to use to abuse and he sensed it, he reveled in it. His strong hips drove his cock deep in my cunt, driving back my folds, making me shudder with ecstasy. I could feel the white hot head of his cock pulsing, throbbing against the back wall of my cunt. I locked my thighs about his silky back and let him ride me. I must’ve come a half dozen times before I felt him stiffen.

Then he was roaring his fury at my throat, his hips pumping, thrusting cock turning my pussy juice into a fine lather.

I could feel his thick cock pulse against the tightly stretched tube of my cunt; I could feel the gobs and gobs of dog squirt flying up his dick. My cunt went into terminal spasm at the first feel of molten come splattering over its walls. I came and came, even as he did, my sweaty little buns flipping up from the seat to greet his insane lunges.

As his orgasm faded, so did his savagery. Chef Fido released my throat and gave me a wonderful face washing. We had to wait until his hard-on went down to get disengaged, so I just sat there and enjoyed hot tongue and doggy drool all over my face, and the feel of his ribcage between my thighs.

“All better?” Scampi asked with a feral grin as we returned to the set.

“All better,” I said.

“Damn but he’s a happy dog!” the director said.

Chef Fido wagged his pompom tail and said “WOO-WOO-WOO — WOO-RAHH!”

CHAPTER SEVEN — Animal Circus

February, 1973

Dear Diary: It seems like a million years have gone by since I last picked you up… but it’s only been six months. The most marvelous six months of my life.

First of all, the Gourmet Pooch commercials got a fantastic reception. After some trial runs in Baltimore and Portland, Philo Phoods decided to give them to all the networks for prime time viewing. And then the magic started happening. Variety raved over Chef Fido and me, saying: ‘Beauty and the Beast… Boffo!’ Advertising Weekly called the commercials ‘masterpieces of advertising art… mouth-watering on all levels…’ And the plaudits weren’t just from the trade papers, either. Mr. and Mrs. America had taken us into their dog food gobbling hearts. Philo Phoods had to hire five clerks just to sort the fan mail. My face and body were suddenly plastered over the glossy front pages of the movie magazines and the decidedly un-glossy front pages of the cheap, exploitation tabloids. I had offers up the ass… offers of marriage, of co-habitation, of one-nighters, of movie contracts, of other commercials. The S.P.C.A. wanted me to host a show on dog abuse. The New York Times asked me to do a nationally syndicated pet advice column. I found myself, at age 19, standing at the end of the rainbow… I was a hot property.

I moved out of Langousta in September and bought a little fifteen room, split level house in the Valley. Unfortunately. Harold decided to pull up stakes and come along too. God, what an insect he is! He rationalised his tagging along on my bikini strings by saying he thought he stood a better chance of closing the Ram deal if he lived down here. I told him he was full of crap. That if the bozos wanted him, they’d sign him. What the hell difference did it make where he lived off season? I told him I thought they were just stringing him along, waiting to see what the next crop of college prospects looked like. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. He took it real hard… mostly because he knew it was the truth. Jesus! He was in no shape to play any kind of football… all he did was lay around the house and mope. He was fifty pounds overweight and looked like hell. It made me want to puke to look at him.

I already had an attorney draw up plans for a divorce, but I was waiting until the right time, career-wise, to spring them. According to Wally, an ill-timed divorce has been the downfall of many an aspiring star.

Mom, too, was a real pain in the ass. She was living with us at the Valley house, spending her days on the telephone, bothering agents and producers, fucking with the minds of writers and costume designers. Her nights were the time when she really “took care of business”, cornering executives in posh restaurants, directors in hotel lobbies, always “for her baby”, always push, push, push. I guess Hollywood is full of cruddy hangers-on like Mom. The people Wally and I do business with just laugh her off, so, so far, she hasn’t hurt me. So far.

I just have to write down something about the bash Major Scampi threw last weekend to celebrate the completion of another series of one minute spots for Philo. Even by Babylon standards, it was a humdinger. I swear Scampi must’ve gone down Sunset Strip with a dust pan to get his guests. Transvestites, hookers, speed-freaks, transvestite-hookers, speed-freak-transvestite-hookers, not to mention the business riff-raff… the swish execs, dominant dactylos, paedophile producers, the gamut of Tinseltown dementia. And to top it all off, he invited Harold and Mom.

I nearly haemorrhaged when I heard they were coming, but Scampi gave me that phony grin of his and said, “Heh-heh-heh, ree-lax, honey-buns. I got something for everybody.”

That’s what bothered me.

Scampi’s pad was up in the Hollywood Hills, in a very exclusive, very secluded section. It was perched on the top of a super-steep hill, and the ascent was made via private elevator. As Chef Fido and I rode up in the glass box, the wonderful, twinkling carpet of lights that is Tinseltown spread out before us, lights only slightly dulled by the encroaching ocean fog.

“That’s all ours, darling,” I said to the big dog. He gave my bare knee a sloppy, hot lick. Scampi’s butler, a six-foot-six-inch black Jamaican, answered the gigantic double front doors in sequined, day-glo orange leotards and a black, gum rubber tu-tu. I could see it was going to be Mom’s kind of party.

The chef and I waded into the melee in progress in Scampi’s living room. Two Western Avenue hookers were having a fight to the death with La Cross enema bottles, while the mob thronged and circled, placing bets, shouting encouragement.

More rushed up to me towing an Emmy award winning writer along by his spiked choke collar. Chef Fido growled at the canine impersonator. “God! Isn’t this just bizarre?” she gushed at me, yanking the writer’s chain, causing the chrome spikes to gouge deeply into his throat and his face from the neck up to turn a purplish grey.

“I mean, have you ever seen anything so… so bizarre?” she repeated, gesturing about with super-exaggerated shock.

Obviously, the word “bizarre” was going to be her word for the entire evening. She probably picked it up from some of the servants. I wondered how many times I was going to have to hear it? At one party a few weeks back, she picked up the word “outstanding” from an Air Force first lieutenant, a fighter pilot loaded on fresh plasma. She repeated the moronic word over 1,300 times in a four hour period.

“No, Mother,” I said, trying to get her nails out of my shoulders.

“This is the famous Mr. Weakwill, dear. You know, last year’s Emmy for writing ‘Thunder in My Guts’?”

“… uh, that’s Wheatfield,” the nude, runtish and bespeckled man corrected meekly.

Mom jerked his chain so hard that her puka shell necklace broke. Mr. Wheatfield dropped to his knees and made a gargling sound, his tongue swelling alarmingly.

“That’s a good boy. Do find every one of them, won’t you?” Mom said to the groveling man. “And don’t drool on them so…”

Then she smiled at me and batted her oversized false eye lashes. “Mr. Weakwill says he might be able to cook something real special up for you, sweetheart. Emmy material…”

I excused myself quickly, before she could work the magic word into the conversation. I had to say hello to my host.

“Hey, sugar tits,” Scampi shouted. “Glad you could make it!” He was dressed in a satyr costume that would not quit. I couldn’t figure out what they did with his feet to make them end in the dainty cloven hooves. Or with his legs either, for that matter. From the waist down, including dick and balls, Major Scampi was a he-goat. And he was naked except for the shaggy coat of wool on his thighs and impossibly slender legs. “You like it! I can tell,” he said, pirouetting, making lewd pelvic thrusts at his guests.

“Hey, everybody!” he shouted over the din. “Beauty and the Beast are here!!” Then to the blindfolded servant standing by the projection booth: “Asshole!! Get in there and kill the lights! It’s show time, kiddies! For the first time anywhere! You low life scum are going to see Beauty and the Beast in their latest effort for good old Philo Phoods.”

The far wall, made of oak panels, hexagons within hexagons, split right down the middle: the two sections rolling back on teflon bearings to reveal a glittering white movie screen.

About this time, Weird Harold made his presence known.

“Hey, Pol!” he said, waddling over to me. He was wearing a huge, tent-like Hawaiian shirt — fuchsia palm trees against turquoise sky — and bermuda shorts. He seemed very excited.

“Do I ever have some great news!” he cried, manifesting his latest form of nervous tick… the rubbing of the side of his index finger back and forth over the ball of his thumb… with both hands.

“Really?” I said, giving the tub of guts ninety-eight cents worth of my million dollar smile.

“Yeah. I talked to my dad,” he said, “and he thinks the bowling alley idea is great…”

The bowling alley idea was Harold’s alternative No. 57 to professional football.

“… he said he’d front me the capital I need to get things started.”

“We’re in business, baby!” he said, opening his bloated arms, actually expecting me to rush to him, to congratulate him.

I just stood there and stared. I couldn’t believe the asshole. “We’re in business…” What kind of crap was that? The swollen turd thought he was going to take me away from all this? That my career was some female whim, some interim income while he got his bowling alley together? Male chauvinist insect! He said that to me… a woman making almost a million dollars a year.

I looked at his fatness and his puffy arms and remembered what a holy terror he’d been… the delight he’d taken in mayhem and physical violence… somewhere under all that flab ‘Monster Man’ still lurked. The idea seemed very funny to me and I began laughing at him. He was shocked at first, stood there frozen with arms still outstretched, then, very slowly he let them drop to his sides. Something hard and metallic glinted in his pig eyes and then the lights went out.

A square of light cut through the gloom, illuminating the screen, and then the show began.

All the street trash, the trade folk, the hangers-on groaned in unison as the first few feet of film rolled by. Even I had to admit it, the opening was a real barn burner. Somewhere in the dark Scampi was grinning like a friend… probably already had his cock up somebody’s… anybody’s something.

The opening shot was an overhead view of me in a sunken tile bath tub. It was one of those vaseline on the lens, romantic shots. The colour of the tiles was chosen to match the colour of my nipples, rosy pink. I was laying on my back in the tub, my head tilted up into the camera, eyes closed rapturously. The water effect was really dynamite. It looked like steamy hot water and bubble bath but actually it’d been some kind of special glycerine solution. It made my legs and arms and hips and tits look so slick, so fantastically firm yet malleable. And the little icebergs of bubble suds drifted about my slippery contours, now hiding, now revealing the faintest hint of rose pink at my tits, rose pink under white froth, a suggestion enhanced by the hue of the surrounding tile. A long, tanned thigh slid in and out of the water, bubble continents shift. Oh, something dark there between glistening forks. Something tangled and mysterious; something slicker and hotter than the steamy fluid engulfing it.

“Ooooh,” the audience sighed as one person, all barriers of social class, degrees of dementia, perversion, inversion forgotten as my co-star entered from screen right.

He was stunning in his dense black fur against the pink tiles. He wasn’t wearing the chef’s hat.

I still had my eyes closed. The heat of the fluid had brought the rose to my cheeks as well. My right hand dipped into the water, disappearing under bubble bergs, to where? The studs refused to tell, but suddenly my right breast, slick and shining, flattened, pushed up so lazily, so sexily. My mouth parted ever so slightly. Did a sigh escape? Suddenly I was aware of the lush, romantic background music, violins and violas. My bubbly, slippery hand crept from the water to the tub rim, to rest palm down fingers splayed.

As Chef Fido’s muzzle moved towards my hand, the overhead camera, in a series of mind-rattling jump cuts, closed in on us, framing the glistening fingers and the wet dog nose.

Again the audience groaned en masse. Music crescendoed. Extreme close up shot from the front floor camera giving almost clinical detail ol’ Fido’s tongue, huge slab of juicy pink meat studded with ropy blue veins and taste bud gooseflesh, surging from drooling black dog-lips, bright whiskers, curly furred muzzle, sliding between my index and middle fingers to lick the bubbly miniature crotch.

My exclamation of surprise, and uninhibited delight, my husky “Ohhhhh!” was underscored by two dozen violins playing the same staccato note an octave lower. The sound leapt from the screen, my open, moist mouth, and sent shivers up every spine in the room.

Again, Chef Fido caressed my fingers. The overhead camera had panned back to give a view of the delirious dog’s face as he lapped. Black eyes glimmered, shimmered beneath long black lashes and a mop of silky curls. God! It looked like there were tears welling up in them, tears of joy!!

Then I spoke my first lines… breathy and tender: “Ooooh, is my big strong boy hungry?” I turned my palm face up. Jump cut zoom to juicy pink fan lashing over the soft hollow.

“Ummmm, yes you are,” I said, rising to sit up in the tub.

The front camera moving in for a discreet medium close up, showing all of my tits but the nipples, showing black dog face, huge in my small hands, showing dog tongue flipping out to lick up the front of my long, slender throat.

“Oooh,” I moaned. “Just a second, boy.”

The camera framed Chef Fido’s face as I rose from the water, droplets tinkling. Did his shining eyes move up and down? Were they travelling over my slick and naked flesh? What kind of hunger did they really reveal? The implication of the single, almost subliminal sequence was heart-stopping.

Then the camera cut to dog’s eye level following his curly head and my bare legs into the kitchen. The only sound was the noise of wet feet and doggy toenails on linoleum.

Cut to shot from behind of me reaching for a cupboard door above the counter. Again discreet, showing bare, supple back down to the crack in my ass, a back whose only adornment was a tuft of frothy studs nestled on one slim shoulder.

Cut to my rosy checked face. “Only the very best for my strong boy,” I said, beaming down into the lens.

Extreme close up of can label: ‘Chef Fido’s Gourmet Pooch Coquilles St. Jacques meridionale’.

Cut to Fido’s mouth, black lips dewy with drool, long tongue lolling, while the sound of an electric can opener is heard.

Then, hair streaming about my face, the screen shows me leaning down to pour the food into the dog’s dish. My arms and hair are the only things covering my nude body.

Cut to Fido gobbling the shell-fish like a maniac, wolfing the food down and slavering all over the empty bowl.

Cut to shot of me from the nipples up. The label faces the audience. I look into the nearly empty can. My mouth moves. The tip of my tongue visible between my white teeth. Again the crazy, jump cut zoom to fill the screen with green and yellow can and my long nailed fingertip delving inside, coming up with a great gob of Gourmet Pooch. The extreme close up follows my fingertip and its golden burden to my pursed lips. Maroon painted fingernail slides into puckered lips. My tongue tip is visible lashing around and around between finger and lips, as the digit slips into my mouth to the third joint. Music comes up as I withdraw my finger slowly to reveal vanished dog food and a finger shiny slick with my slobber.

“OH!” I exclaimed, my startled face filling the screen, mouth agape, tongue pillowing my fingertip. My eyes suddenly have gone all soft and dreamy. To erase any doubt as to what has just transpired, my husky murmur fills the room: “Ooooooh, darling!” The words cutting through the thick air like a machete through mozzarella, cleaving it in twain, mirror halves of waxy white sphere falling away from the partition of cold steel with a hiss, the hiss of a hundred and fifty near-orgasmic Los Angelinos sucking air through clenched teeth.

While the audience is still whimpering, the camera cuts to the final shot, the denouement. Chef Fido is in his white hat and I am hugging him. We are framed from the neck up, our heads ear to ear. “Chef Fido’s Gourmet Pooch is what he wants,” I coo to the camera.

Fido turns his head and gives me a long, wet lick from chin to temple, radiating insane joy.

“Ooooh!” I cry, shuddering as the shot fades out.

When the lights in the room came up, they showed that the commercial’s effect had been too much for some of the guests. About half of the overpowered ones were diving into the huge buffet hand over fist, gorging themselves on chunks of pheasant, double handfuls of broccoli in Hollandaise sauce, their mouths shining with grease and studded with capers. The other half were overcome by another hunger. Cocks and cunts were thrusting all across the room, cocks into cunts, cunts into cunts, cocks into anything. One Public Relations man, torn between conflicting desires, was busy screwing a roast duckling.

“Something for everybody,” Scampi said right in my ear, his mouth full of spinach and bacon salad. He pointed towards the buffet table and my blimp of a husband.

Harold was leading the glutton brigade, shoving and pushing his way past the riff-raff to get at whatever exotic dish caught his fancy. He mowed down the opposition and waded into a huge bowl of tabouli, an Afghanistani cracked wheat salad made of bulgur wheat, chopped parsley and green pepper, minced green onion and fresh mint with a dressing of olive oil, lemon juice and salt. When a Sunset Strip fringe freak tried to elbow his way between tabouli bowl and Harold, my husband hit him in the face with a fist full of salad. The kernels of cracked wheat sprayed all over the room, along with the unfortunate fellow’s front teeth.

Scampi’s finger pointed at the other side of the room, where my mom was in seventh heaven. She’d found and cornered one of Tinseltown’s biggest producers, a bondage nut. The poor man had gotten himself hog-tied early in the evening and his mistress had split, leaving him gagged and bound in a corner like the dirty laundry. Even for a stone masochist, Mom was a bit much. I could see him wince and struggle frantically with his bonds every time her mouth formed the word “bizarre”.

“What I got for you, honey-buns,” Scampi said, “is something extra special. Come on.”

I followed the short, hunch-backed satyr through the munching, fornicating throng. He led me to a long hallway, past door after locked door. Finally, he stopped and turned to me, reaching into the wool on his hip. From a hidden pocket he produced a single key which he handed to me.

“This is the only key to the door,” he promised. “Once you lock that door behind you, you won’t be disturbed.” He gave my ass a very un-fatherly squeeze. “Have fun, sugar tits,” he said.

I watched him canter down the hallway, waiting until he disappeared around the corner before fitting key to lock. I wondered what he had planned for me. He knew all too well of my fatal attraction for man’s best friend. My hands were shaking so I could hardly get the damn door open.

I forced myself to calm down and, holding my breath, turned the knob. I slipped in and locked the door behind me without turning on the lights. Then I inhaled. Ooof! The smell of something sharp and sulphuric filled the room. It was a stench, under-pinned by an animal odour, also unfamiliar, but definitely male.

I leaned against the door, trying to make my eyes adjust to the dark. A sound came from my left. A rustling sound and the sharp click of cloven hooves. Jesus!

There in the dark, with the stink of sulphur burning my nostrils, with the grating hoof sound echoing in my skull, I could think of only one thing. It filled my mind like a geyser of lava, roasting my brain, turning grey matter to the consistency of melted cheese. The Devil! My fingers clawed at the door knob… I cursed Scampi and his demented jokes… and then I froze. A pair of golden eyes glared at me from the dark, caught in the narrow beam of light shining through the keyhole. God forgive all my sins! The pupils were black rectangles!!! The inhuman… no, UNEARTHLY shape of those baleful pupils made me weak with terror. My teeth chattered. My mouth went dry.

Something hard, rough and dismayingly hornlike brushed my inner thigh, sending shudders rippling over my body.

I thought, No, don’t be stupid. How could Scampi do a thing like this? Even Scampi wouldn’t be able to summon the Devil as a party guest.

Then the brimstone stench wafted up stronger and something hot, raspy and very real touched my knee. The yellow eyes were on a level with my cunt. Either the Devil was kneeling, or he was mighty short. I had bedded down with enough lower creatures to recognise the feel of an animal head burrowing between my thighs. And that’s exactly what was happening.

Hot, slobbering, bristling lips, flat front teeth, and wet nose nudged at my cunt, the horns pushing my mini-skirt all out of shape.

I slapped at the wall, trying to desperately for the light switch.

The griding front teeth found my panties, and began to my astonishment and delight, to nibble the hot crotch. I could feel the horns grazing my inner thighs and the gnashing teeth were actually tearing my panties, actually shredding them, and I could hear the sound of masticating jaws. He was eating the panties right off me. The feeling was insane, and very, very exciting. Whatever stinking beast was attacking me, Devil or not, he was getting my juices going.

When my crotch hung in long tatters, plastered against my thighs by his copious drool, he stopped eating fabric and turned his attention to the source of the musky flow. His tongue so scratchy and un-doglike, rasped up between the lips of cunt, making ecstatic contact with my erect clit.

I cried out and parted my thighs for him. The strange, flat fronted teeth, teeth of a herbivore, nibbled at the puffy lips of my twat, tip searching for and finding the pulsing hole.

I leaned over the hot, rank-smelling body and felt coarse fur, bony backbone, deep ribcage, long straining neck, protuberant shoulder-blades and hipbones.

The scratchy tongue bored up into my tube and I screamed as the crazy tool waggled inside me, scraping slick folds and tight convolutions, making me fall into an orgasmic fit.

I pressed my face into the gritty hair moaning and running my lips over his backbone. He was so hungry! His tongue uncoiled inside me like one of those New Year’s party favours, the whistle, that when blown, makes a long paper tube unwind, shooting out with a green feather on the end, announcing with sound and colour, “WHOOPEE!”

He “whoopeed” up me so many times that I slobbered all over his knobby spine, chewing on his hairs.

Then, my groping hand hit the switch and the small room was filled with light. I blinked down at the furry creature eagerly tonguing my snatch; its horned head buried under my skirt.

God! A real goat! His grey back was all matted from my drool. His party favour tongue driving my cunt to the brink of madness time and again.

“Ooh, baby!” I crooned to the sexy animal, letting myself slip, back against the door, to the floor. He tried to maintain his penetration, but couldn’t. I looked at my snatch, absolutely ravaged, panties shredded, cunt rasped tender and raw from his long cat’s tongue. Then I looked under his shaggy belly. God, everything I had heard about goats was true… and then some!

Mr. Billy had the largest, hardest piece of cock for his size that I’d ever seen. It was deep red, needle-snouted, and up-curving from his gross, matted pod. And the balls! Sweet Lord! They hung down a foot from his body in a super smooth black sack, great bloated orbs the size of baseballs.

I slid a hand under his belly, whispering words of love and took hold of his juicy cock. Automatically his narrow hips began to flip, thrusting the slippery pud through my fist. It widened out at the base like a cone and as I let the blazing head pass through my palm I felt the evil barb at the helmet brim, the hook of sinew and gristle that would hold his spurting dick deep in even the most recalcitrant she-goat.

I was no recalcitrant she-goat. I wanted to feel his slimy joint deep in my cunt. I rolled to my stomach, kneeling, and stuck my ass up in the air, waggling it, spreading my legs, pleading with the horned creature to mount me, to take my fuck-ready twat.

I looked around my ass just as he sniffed my butt-hole, snorting deeply. Then his tongue uncoiled and rasped over the wrinkled skin of my sphincter, sending waves of excitement over my mound.

“Yes! Yes!” I whimpered, reaching back and spreading my tight buns for him, making my ass-hole open with a smack.

Goat tongue bored up my ass seesawing over the tender opening, making my thighs tremble and my cunt rumble in anticipation. I wept from the intense pressure, from the friction of sandpaper tongue on smooth bunghole, from my need for his cock. After a wonderful, agonising, nerve-rattling eternity, I felt sharp hooves on my back, coarse goat hair rasping over my buns.

He was mounting me! I thrust my hand under my cunt, groping for and finding the needle nozzle of his cock-head. His hips began pumping once, driving slimy shaft through my clenched fist. All I had to do was move my fist until it covered my swollen, drooping cunt. Hot goat pecker made contact with my tube, plunging past the sloppy fuck-mouth, and I let go, jerking my hand away as the feel of hot twat about his cock sent Mr. Billy into a veritable fucking rage.

One second he just had his dick tip in me, the hot nose-cone was searing my opening; the next, he was pod deep in me, his blazing prick head battering my diaphragm, the thick base stretching my cunt-lips to the splitting point.

God! Could that little grey goat ever screw! His ass moved so fast and so hard that before I knew it I was humped right into the door. My head bumped into the solid wood every time his cock flipped. My cunt was blubbering and gushing about his speed-ball cock and then, I was coming again.

My pussy clamped down on the flying dick and milked it hard. And even as the wings of joy lifted me, hot goat spurt gushed into my quivering box. And then did he ever go berserk! I thought he was going to drive me right through the door with his terrific lunges.

The flurry stopped as suddenly as it began and the he-goat was panting, leaning heavily on my back. I tried to shift his weight and got a delicious and terrifying surprise. His cock, thanks to the barb at the head was buried root deep in my cunt and wouldn’t budge an inch. My tube squirmed about the still stone-hard shaft and goat-boy got the impression that I wanted to escape. An impression that stimulated his already inflamed libido.

Before I knew it, hot and horny goat cock was pumping away again, churning up my juice. It was wonderful the way his ass snapped, sending every inch of his choad flying into me and jerking out, over and over and over. And then I squealed and my cunt started tugging at his dick-head and his big balls flexed and goat come gushed into my box, flooding it, overflowing it, joining the gummy, coagulating stream that hung between my thighs.

Over and over again we enacted the ritual… wheezing goat and whimpering woman, both fucking up a storm as orgasm lashed their senses… lust fading slightly as come-joy ended, woman shifting gooey buttocks, making fear noises, trying to shake the barbed prick loose from the folds of her cunt… goat feeling squirming meat about his cock, instantly in the mood… wheezing goat and whimpering woman grinding out a wild two-step on the floor.

I lost count of his squirtings, of my own convulsive climaxes. They all blended into a long fuck frenzy that lasted until dawn. Before the night was over, I got his cock so tired that it went limp enough for me to get the barb out of my folds. I rolled on my back, and after sucking him hard, took his rank, sheep-dip, body between my thighs, his dick into my floppy loose cunt, missionary style, locking my legs about his back, riding his tube-steak into the sunrise.

I’ve heard stories about how tough goat meat is. Let me tell you, by the time I got done fucking that horny little bastard, he was so tender even his Goddamn hooves would melt in your mouth.

CHAPTER EIGHT — Polly’s Wild Safari

January 15, 1974

Dear Diary: I just re-read the last entry in this book. It’s hard to believe that I wrote it almost a year ago. When a person is busy, time just seems to slip away. And God knows, I’ve been a busy girl.

The semi-nude, wet-look commercial I described last time really took TV land by storm. After the first nation-wide network screening, people all over the country were flooding their local stations with phone calls, demanding to be told the time and date of the next showing, asking if super 8 millimetre copies could be purchased for home users. There were of course the usual hysterical protest from strict religious sects, moral cranks, and the editorial department of TV GUIDE (See: “An In-Depth Analysis — Why Bestiality Sells Us Dog Food”, in the December 13, 1973 issue).

Certain unmentionable TV comedians and late night talk show hosts made the ya-hoos belly laugh with jokes about me and the chef… but when the two of us appeared on their shows, and they had to confront us face to face, we ripped them apart with our sincere love-for-the-weaker-and-endangered-species, ecological horse shit. The ones who tried to make funnies after we made our appeal for humanity to lower forms of life found themselves on the short end of the rating stick. The people were behind us, rooting for us, even though they hadn’t the faintest idea what we were really about. To some it was obviously the dog food munching kinship, to others the animal sex… but for some reason, their numbers expanded to include folks who’d never tried Chef Fido’s Gourmet Pooch, who’d never sampled the delights of a Doberman on the waterbed. The time was ripe for us, that was the only way to explain it. Like it’d been for Frank Sinatra, the Beatles. The papers actually started calling it ‘Fidomania’, and me, ‘Fido’s girl’.

The sales of Gourmet Pooch quintupled during the first eight weeks after the release of what the trade papers called ‘The Wet-look Trilogy’, three one minute spots on the same general theme: bath tub, beauty and bowser. In fact, by the following May, Philo Phoods was unable to keep up with the demand. They converted some of their other food plants, their ‘Chilli Bonanza’ and ‘Beef Strudel’, human food processing centres over to Gourmet Pooch, but that was just a drop in the bucket as far as picking up the supply. In the end, they had to build an entire new Chef Fido Food Complex outside Rock Ridge, Iowa. Covering a solid square mile of America’s heartland, the new plant has the capability to turn out ten thousand cans of paella valenciana every six minutes, eight thousand cans of gnocci alia romana every two minutes.

I signed an agreement with Philo that stated should I ever decide to star in a major TV series, they would have the privilege of sponsoring me. For the right to continue our highly profitable relationship, they paid me three million dollars. Of course I didn’t see a fourth of the money, what with taxes, legal fees, agent’s fees, but, still, it was a lot of money for doing absolutely nothing.

Philo Phoods wasn’t the only one throwing up new buildings. Weird Harold actually conned his father into giving him all the money he needed to put up the Sunray Bowl near the beach in Santa Monica. Typically, he picked the wrong side of Pico Boulevard to build on and, instead of getting the keen, clean, lowbrow, nouveau riche clientele of Palisades attorneys and Olympic Avenue fabric merchants in their maroon double knit trousers and white shoes, he was shocked to discover that most of his business was coming from dope pedlars, hookers, and bevies of switchblade toting teenagers. Oh, he made money alright, but he was constantly in trouble with the Vice Squad. I mean, he didn’t encourage the pill pushing and cunt hustling… not old Weird Harold… but he couldn’t really come down heavy on the local players without cutting his own throat. He kept saying all this stuff about how he could clean up on the bowling business if he could get rid of the Sunray’s bad reputation. “After all,” he’d say, mostly for his own benefit, “it’s the only forty lane alley north of Lincoln Boulevard.”

Yes, he and I are still living together, man and wife in name only. He has a room close to the kitchen. I have a room close to the little zoo I’ve managed to collect over the months. Most of the animals were gifts from admirers. Anyway, Harold and I pass each other in the hallways now and again. He’s absolutely sure “things will work out between us if we just give them some time.” And he goes into a rage every time the word “divorce” comes up in our brief conversations. He really freaks me out sometimes. I think, when the time is right for cutting the big blob loose, I’ll let someone else break it to him, like the 6 O’Clock News, while I am safe some place far away.

Mom, unfortunately, is still living with us, still pushy, pushy, all for her little girl. She can’t abide Harold’s new enterprise… all of a sudden, bowling is too declasse for her, and she thinks that the Sunray could somehow hurt my career by getting me associated with “human garbage”, as she calls Harold’s bowling buffs. I don’t think there’s a restaurant or bar in Hollywood that will admit her any more. Secretaries at all the big media corporations are wise to her voice and hang up on her automatically. And still she persists. She waits outside the bars for the chance to collar a network big wig, outside Western Avenue massage parlours to tug on the coat-tails of TV station managers, vice presidents, camera men, for God’s sake.

I don’t understand it. She can’t think that I need to pester the ass-holes for anything… I mean I could have whatever they have to give by making one phone call. Ever since I started in on the new TV series for Philo, she’s gotten so much worse. I think she thinks that she’s useless, that now that I have everything she can’t give me the next best thing… a righteous pain in the ass. I swear to God if she slips any further downhill, I’m going to have to take some kind of drastic action.

Anyway, I mentioned the TV show, so the cat’s out of the bag. We’ve been filming for about six weeks now on location in Zaire, Ecuador, and Tasmania. The format of the show, on the surface, is your typical Sunday early evening, ‘Nature and Ecology’ sop… right down to the disclaimer at the end of the show stating that “not all the scenes were shot in the sequence shown in the program, but they do reflect generally accepted scientific facts about the lives of the animals depicted…” Which means we catch the wild animals in metal nets from helicopters, drug the living shit out of them, and when they show signs of coming around, we toss them out in front of our cameras and let them strut their stuff.

What makes us different from our competitors? Well, first of all, there’s little old me. No, they don’t let me go around in the swamps of New Guinea with just a gob of soap suds on my shoulder. I wear safari clothes… a khaki, short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned to the navel, and with no bra, of course… and a pair of super tight khaki shorts, so tight, in fact, that one of the film processing boys claimed, using a magnifying glass on the publicity stills, he count every hair on my pussy. So much for Dr. Marlin Perkins and Bill Burrud.

Philo Phoods gave me a lot of static about the role Chef Fido was to play in the show. They, of course, wanted their trademark right up front, my co-star on every fucking program. I put my foot down. I was Goddamn sick of being called “Fido’s Girl”, even if it had made me a millionaire several times over. My fan mail and movie magazine coverage was living proof that by myself I had enough sex appeal and audience drawing power to carry the emcee spot. I didn’t need the black turd any more. My plan was to use a different animal co-host each week, depending on the exotic country the show was about… that way, by showing a new animal face each week, I would remain the show’s undisputed star. Under duress I finally agreed to do the Chef Fido Gourmet Pooch commercial spots with Fido, but with the stipulation that the impression be given that I was the dog’s supreme mistress… he would always be sitting in a servile position at my feet when I stood, and when I sat, he would be laying on his belly. There would be no more nudie scenes in bath tubs, showers or swimming pools. All the ads would be filmed on the same set as was used for our show openings and closings, a rough and ready den-cum-library with knotty pine walls, a big leather armchair, and oak trees visible outside the single, large window. Chef Fido would be treated no differently than any of the other animals on the show… not that that was any worse than I’d treated him before… but I felt it was important to convey a feeling of equality among the guest stars. Why should a black poodle be given special attention over, for instance, an orang-utan?

Aside from what I’ve mentioned so far, the other thing that set us apart from the run-of-the-mill nature show was our content. We didn’t pull any punches… none of that pussy footing around the North Woods in shoe-shoes, using radio receivers to locate radio-transmitter tagged badgers deep in their winter hibernation. “Little is known about the winter sleeping habits of our friend, the badger. To find out more, scientists from Langston Institute of Hibbing, Minnesota devised an ingenious plan using new and sophisticated electronic tagging techniques and the badger’s natural weakness for Heath Bars. We’ll show you the amazing results of their research after these few words from Industrial Indemnity…”: no sir! We knew what the folks at home wanted and we gave it to them. When we did a show on the sex habits of the American bison there was none of this radio collar bull-shit. We used choppers to herd the buffalo into steel pens where we gassed the hell out of them. Then our crew separated the males from the females and, after some discussion, we picked our stars using a bull dozer to load them on the back of a pair of flat bed trucks. We drove the groggy creatures out to our super scenic location and injected them with powerful sex hormone stimulants, then dumped them off the trucks onto what the script euphemistically termed their “bison boudoir”. While the two monstrous creatures fucked the living daylights out of each other, with full colour and stereophonic sound, yours truly circled the juicy thrusting, bending low with hand held microphone, showing a bit of bare titty, while rattling off the standard Nature show mumbo gumbo about wild instincts and the danger of man’s encroachment on nature’s domain.

Hey, the entire crew from continuity girl to make up man to executive producer knew we had a winner going for us. We were tapping the id wishes of millions of normal, healthy city bred Americans. People who know next to shit about Nature or her wild creatures, people whose perverse and grotesque imaginings invented a world of happy mice, ducks who wore gloves and sailor suits, baby elephants who flew by flapping their ears, insects who tap danced. In a word, anthropomorphism, or the giving of human qualities to the inhuman, animate or inanimate. Well, Goddamnit, if a woodpecker can read a Sunday paper, why doesn’t he ever get horny, why doesn’t he go down to Chirp City and knock off a piece of fallen sparrow? Huh? The answer, of course, is that in the tiny, vodka soaked minds of Rand Corporation nitwits he does! Everybody knows animals have no shame. They do it right in the open, in the daylight. Squishy-squishy and hot flop all over the dichondra. Only trouble is, thanks to freeways and neon lights and The Jefferson Airplane, all our wonderful, uninhibited, singing, dancing, FUCKING wild creatures are getting creamed, rubbed out, decimated.

But why the long face, America? Think you’ll never see the mating lunge of the white rhino? Wrong! Think you’ll never witness incest among juvenile baboons? Not so! Think the foreplay of jaguar is something they’ll never show on TV? Again, wrong! It’s all coming right into your living room this fall on ‘Polly’s Wild Safari’.

Our preview showings of the first program, ‘The Mystery of Baboon Mountain’, in selected cities across the country resulted in riots, pandemonium, and civil disobedience, so all of us, from the lowliest electronics technician to Major Scampi himself, sat down and talked out the re-editing. Mostly, we toned down the orgasm sequences, cut out the slow motion, psychedelic come puddle scene altogether, and inserted more bare boobs shots of me. Also, the sound man re-mixed the main sound track, bringing up my voice and lowering the grunting, juicy, humping sounds of the baboons. When we re-showed the program to different test audiences of the same cross sectional make-up in the same cities, we got the kind of response figures we’d hoped for. Nothing even bordering on destruction of private property, just sweaty palms and upper lips, spontaneous erections and, in some cases, ejaculations, as well as much knee crossing, seat dampening, and a new record for trips to the theatre rest-rooms.

Philo Phoods was so sure that we had the number one show of the season that even before the first network airing, they went into major production of Polly’s Wild Safari dolls, bumper stickers that read: ‘I’m a WILD one!’ and a line of snazzy, complicated parlour games based on each installment of the program (‘The Secret of Rhino Ravine Game’). The Polly dolls were constructed under the supervision of a clinical psychologist, a Freudian, and the matching animal dolls… white rhino, baboon, tapir, etc… under the expert eye of the head curator of the Copenhagen Zoo. In all, pre-premiere expenses for the exploitation products alone, ran over ten million dollars.

Regardless of the crass, mercenary side of the TV thing, I’ve got to admit that it had its romantic side, too. I got to meet a lot of new and exotic creatures. Of course, I always found the time to sneak off into the bush with the male co-host of the week and do a little in-depth research. Not that I fucked all the animals that wanted me. Take that gruesome white rhino, for instance. Have you ever seen a rhino with a hard-on? No, I guess not. Well, anyway, it’s enough to make a girl give up the fast life and join a convent. A yard and a half of tube-steak as big around as a fifty-year-old spruce packed in its own armour plated pod. No, thanks. Pain, as you may have gathered, Dear Diary, in moderation is fine by me, but not suicide.

And, of course, yours truly fell head over heels in love during the shooting of the first episode. ‘The Mystery of Baboon Mountain’. It had to happen, I suppose. Me being more than a little naive about the ways of baboons and very vulnerable. We called him Nordbert and he was a full-fledged adult male, Papio hamadryas, or sacred baboon. We found Nordbert and his entourage of thirty wives, juvenile males, and nurslings deep in the mountain jungles of East Africa. From the first time I saw him, through binoculars, I think I knew I was in love.

For a baboon, he was quite large, weighing about a hundred and fifty pounds and standing three feet tall at the shoulder. He had this incredible mane of long, frizzy hair… hair banded in tiny bars of black and white, that from a distance made him look merely grey… His hair parted in the middle of his sloping forehead, very close to the prominent brow ridge, and fell, merging with the fur on his narrow shoulders. When the darling was angry, which was most of the time, he’d ruffle out his mane, making it stick straight out like a crazy thing, making him look three times as large as life. He’d also open his long, narrow snout, so much like a dog’s, and show razor sharp ivory daggers curving up from upper and lower jaws. Did he ever have some lethal looking canines!

Like I was saying, the first time I saw him, he was busy dominating his tribe like a little Hitler. All of the lesser baboons would flee shrieking their heads off when he lumbered towards them with his swaggering, all fours gait. From what I understand, baboons go into heat all the time, so old Nordbert was used to getting ape pussy whenever he felt like ripping a piece off. Hey, I got to say something about ape pussy… I mean what it looks like. Glue a pink vinyl inner-tube about a foot in diameter to your ass, then soak it in a tub of clarified butter, and you got yourself some ape pussy. Anyway, while I was watching, old Nordbert decided it was time for a little fucky.

The females, no matter how swollen up in heat they were, would only offer their juicy twats to him under what looked like threats of instant death. In order to screw them, first he had to corner and catch them. He was a sneaky bastard, alright. He had his eye on a small, newly ripe female eating from a bundle of green grass she’d collected. The ape girl had this dreamy far off look in her eyes as she munched contentedly.

Nordbert circled around the far side of the boulder against which she was leaning… and like a frizzy grey skyrocket, he came hurling up over the top of the rock to land, snarling and showing his fangs, on all fours.

Not realising she was trapped, the female’s head snapped back and forth, desperately searching for an exit. Nordbert didn’t give her long to look. He gave her a back-handed cuff with his right hand that sent her screaming, smashing into the rock. No sooner than she’d ricocheted off the boulder she was dropping into the servile, present twat position; all fours, with juicy pink inner-tube ass held high in the air.

Nordbert climbed into position behind her and I got a dizzying, split second view of his entire cock. It was pale pink, shaped like a human prick except for the skinned alive look… it had a bloated bulb at the end and tapered out towards the base. It was a very straight cock, jutting out like a ruler from the dense overlay of fine hairs on his squat looking dick sheath.

I’ll say one thing for baboons, when it comes to screwing, they don’t screw around. Nordbert took hold of the nervous filly’s fur with both hands and sort of waded into her cunt. No feel around for the hole first… not that he really had to with an inner-tube for a target. Anyway, I could tell when he made contact because the female started screaming her head off, looking over her shoulder at him with this panicked expression on her face.

Old Nordbert couldn’t have given less of a shit about his momentary partner’s comfort or feelings. His low-slung baboon ass was rocking back and forth with the kind of smooth, rhythmic grace that can get a girl squishy in no time. I could see the pink stump of his dick punching into the ape cunt. His hips moved like they were on ball bearings… I mean this old ape obviously had fucked a few thousand pussies in his time and he knew how to treat them good.

Suddenly his snout was all wrinkled up and he was showing his fangs again. I guess it was come time because his dick really started flying… I could see practically the whole length of it sliding into the cowering female’s twat.

And then she let out a screech that set my teeth on edge and somehow broke free of the big ape’s grip. Squealing and shrieking her terror, the young female bolted for the top of the boulder. A long, gooey trail of baboon sperm and fear inspired piss gushed from her behind as she made brief contact with boulder top and bounded away.

Nordbert was really mad. His thick cock belched ape come every place but the place he’d intended to deposit it. Howling, he scrambled after her, kill-rage in his tiny, close set, pig eyes.

What a stud!

Our first face-to-face encounter was not so dramatic. As usual, the crew had stormed into the baboon stronghold in their gas masks, tossing knock-out grenades left and right. When they dragged our hero out from under the heap of snoring apes he was about as randy as a sack of ready-mix concrete. There was a big stink between the Philo zoologists and Scampi about whether to shoot up the apes with sex hormones. It seems that apes, according to the zoologists, are pretty much always hot-to-trot. Scampi was adamant. He said this location shooting was eating the hell out of his production budget and that he wasn’t going to take any chances about blowing a crucial fuck sequence. As long as he had the glandular go-go juice for these living compost heaps, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to shoot them up with it.

For the opening and closing of the show, we had to film a live and non-stupefied baboon making ga-ga and goo-goo in my arms. Not easy. We decided that the best bet would be to shoot the fuck sequence first and try and exhaust the horny devil into the proper state of mind.

After injecting Nordbert with the concentrated hormone extracts, we turned him loose on a half-dozen nubile females and rolled the cameras. It was like letting a fox loose in the chicken shed. He went on the wildest fuck rampage imaginable, howling, baring his teeth, leaping from presenting female to presenting female, shoving sloppy pud into them, coming, leaping to the next one even before he finished squirting. Jesus! Did the ape come fly! And the sound track was really insane. Six orgasmic female baboons screaming their heads off every time he’d ram it to them, every time he’d send hot monkey spunk up their tubes, every time he’d whip his cock out. And Nordbert was bellowing, grunting, growling, frothing at the mouth in his fuck fury.

The zoo boys kept saying they’d told Scampi so, but the hunchback kept on grinning, digging the action no end. And the camera kept rolling, taking it all in.

Things, fuck-wise, sort of wound down after a couple of hours. Nordbert was mounting the oblivious, glazed eyed females haphazardly, humping thin air half the time. Finally, he stopped flipping his hips and sat down. Even when the crew members walked up in their special padded protective suits to herd away the catatonic females, Nordbert didn’t move. Had he been in his right mind, the king ape never would’ve allowed such a thing. He would’ve torn the crew apart, protective suits and all, before he’d have let his wives be stolen from him.

The zoo boys lifted the unprotesting Nordbert onto a litter and carried him to the mobile den-cum-library set. After the make up boys were done touching up his mane, he was placed on an ottoman at my feet.

“Let’s make this a quick one, guys,” Scampi told the crew. “No re-takes. When this bastard snaps out of it, all hell’s gonna break loose.”

The cameras rolled and I leaned down to pat Nordbert’s head, allowing the front of my khaki shirt to fall open and exposing all but the nipples of both boobs. Then I rattled off the standard, Jane Goodall garbage about patterns of dominance in baboon tribes. The whole time I was smiling, showing tit, stroking the fierce animal, my pussy was juicing up a storm. Watching the king ape at work had given me the sex chucks and bad. The hot, musky stink wafted up from my damp crotch. I could smell it. By the mischievous looks on the faces of the camera men and light crew, they could smell it. I wondered why the hell my tasty little twat wasn’t getting through to lover boy? Was he too tired? Too zonked to recognise hot pussy when it was waved under his nose?

The opening and closing scenes were shot without incident. Nordbert remained in his awake but detached state. I was despondent. It was plain as day to every member of the crew that I’d been coming on to Nordbert and that he wasn’t having any of it. That just didn’t happen to Polly Oliver. When she had wet pants, all of God’s creatures with the equipment got boners.

I was sulking in my mobile, Winnebago dressing room, when one of the zoo boys knocked on the door. I didn’t want to see anybody but he refused to go away.

“Hey, Polly, it isn’t your fault,” he said, smiling.

“Oh, shut up!” I snapped.

“Really,” he continued. “Baboons have good noses but as far as sex goes… they rely on sight. The sight of those big swollen cunts…”

“Huh?” I said.

“Yeah, like I said, it wasn’t your fault. If you want to interest Nordbert, you’ve got to have a bright pink ass. I brought some things maybe you could use…”

My heart soared. After the sweet, zoo boy explained what I had to do, he split. I tore off my clothes and, bending over and sticking my ass up next to the mirror, I took the day-glo paint and sex scent compound he’d worked up, and painted a huge pink circle on my ass. I covered my buns and downy fuzz and my swollen cunt lips. Then I waggled my bullseye butt in the mirror, ready for baboon.

I put on a robe and opened the door of the Winnebago. The go-fer I hailed over to me started to grin when I told him I wanted Nordbert brought to my dressing room and pronto. He grinned but he sure knew how to shake his tail. He was back with another odd job boy and they were carrying a litter in which sat the still-groggy, King of Baboon Mountain.

“That’ll be all for now boys,” I said when they deposited him in the centre of my bedroom. “I’ll call you when I want you to take him back.”

The two youths left, but not without much eyeball rolling and tongue waggling at each other. I knew they’d give their right nuts for the chance to watch the show, but I needed room to work.

As soon as the door closed behind them, I got down on all fours in front of Nordbert. He didn’t seem to even know I was in the room with him, or, for that matter, that he was not in a room and not up among the outcrops he called home.

“I bet the King of Baboon Mountain never had a blow job,” I said to the blinking, hairy ape. His lion-head cocked to one side as if he heard a noise in the distance.

With lungs burning up with passion, I crawled in between the baboon’s forelegs on my belly. At the feel of my head squirming between his legs, he sat back on his haunches, evidently thinking I was a submissive female come to groom him. I pressed in further, brushing aside the long coat of creamy coloured belly fur aside with my nose to get at his compact pod and balls.

When I saw his parts, a hot rush of cunt juice burbled up from my hole and rolled down the inside of my thighs. He was so magnificent! His balls and sheath were covered with the densest, softest fur. At the top of his ball pouch there was a hole, a hole rimmed by a hairless circle of pink flesh.

I squirmed closer and saw, to my delight, lurking just on the other side of the opening, the fat juicy head of his cock. Without hesitating, I pressed my lips to the orifice, lashing my tongue around and around the bald band of skin. The flavour of ape cock exploded high in my sinuses, ravaged my taste buds. It was sharp and rank, like a steaming compost heap, with a biting edge of chlorine.

Then the dick head inside the pouch began to move. What a thrill to feel the juicy thing nudge against my tongue, my lips, as it peeped out into the world. Not that I let it see the light of day. No sooner than it emerged from hairy cocoon, still limp and tentative, than I gobbled it into my mouth, sucking it, relishing the slick, skinned meat feel of sloping head as it passed over my tongue, as it grazed the roof of my mouth.

“Ummmmm,” I hummed about the rapidly stiffening shaft, my head bobbing, forcing lips up and down the slimy rod.

Oooh, he loved every minute of it! I could tell by the way he put his hand to the back of my head, clutching my hair, and began jerking my face, my lips, faster and faster.

The sugar-sweet taste of his pre-come filled my mouth and he was holding my head in both hands using my mouth and throat brutally, as he’d used the tender cunts of his submissive ape wives. He thrust his cock into me in lightning quick jabs, his hips rolling in that fluid, rhythmic fashion that had turned me on so much before. If I got excited watching his ass move through binoculars, imagine what being on the sucking end did to me! I gobbled his cock greedily, loving the skull rattling impact of super straight ape cock bashing into the back of my throat.

The more I blew him, the more he seemed to snap out of his fuck daze. Suddenly his hands left my hair and began exploring the strange, short-haired creature giving him the time of his life. I shrugged out of the robe and gave him a real treat. Hairless pussy! By ape standards, anyway. Ohh! That devil knew just how to handle a female. His hands roamed all over my back, delighting in the feel of my soft skin. They slipped down to grope my ass-cheeks, and he leaned forward, stuffing even more of his cock down my throat. He twiddled my ass-hole inquisitively with a fingertip, then sniffed the finger. The hormone extract hit him right where he lived. Before I knew it, I had a thrusting digit up ass-hole and cunt simultaneously. Could that primate ever throw a mean finger fuck!!! Not only did he know how to twist his fingers to wring out maximum satisfaction from a tight tube, but he put his face right down close to his work and slurped up the juicy fruit of his efforts with a hungry and hot tongue.

When I came the first time, my ass and cunt clamped down on his plunging fingers, making him snort in surprise. Then he was surprising me, flooding my mouth, throat with his gummy ape squirt. I swallowed every precious drop, taking his furious lunges between my tightly clamped lips. He really gave a girl a king-sized serving, too. It was all I could do to keep up with the spurting flow.

To my delight, after the last bubble of nut milk passed from his dick head to my tongue, his cock remained hard as an iron bar. I had big plans for that joint of his.

I squirmed free of his hands, trying to get turned around in proper presenting position, but old Nordbert thought I was trying to escape. He went ape-shit with his snarling, snapping show of fangs. He scared me shit-less. I kind of went limp while he walked on my back, and then, very slowly, I lifted my day-glo buns in the air.

Nordbert took one look at the pink bullseye, one whiff of the hormone concentrate, and howling like a banshee, began mounting me. Now I knew why the females screamed when old Nordbert climbed into the saddle. He was a real monster. Clawing at your sides, fangs buried in the back your neck, Jesus! I started screaming, too. That wonderful fuck-terror flooded me as ape yanked my ass towards his thrusting cock, impaling me on the slimy helmet on the first try.

Did he ever sock it to me!!! Maybe ape cunt feels different, looser or something, anyway, he went utterly berserk. Those smooth hips started shoving hot ape cock up my snatch faster than I ever believed possible. He had me coming all over myself in a matter of seconds.

I flipped my ass back into his thrusts, making the delicious friction of cock against slick cunt folds, even more tasty. I was shrieking my joy into the shag carpet, the wildly humping ape on my back, my cunt sucking, milking his plunging prick, when he started to come a second time. Hot primate spunk gushed up my tubes, spurted out over the inside of my thighs in long, sticky strands.

Then, Nordbert ripped his cock from my convulsing hole, leapt from my gooey buns to the back of the leather armchair. Roaring and howling like a maniac, his cock dribbling sperm like a leaky water faucet, he flailed his long arms in the air… the ape triumphant.


June 27, 1975

Dear Diary, America didn’t let us down. After the first episode of ‘Polly’s Wild Safari’ aired last fall, she embraced us with open arms, just like we knew in our hearts she would, just like all the research boys with their computer print-outs predicted. After the third installment, we were the undisputed ratings leader for all networks in all time slots. Philo Phoods dumped all the ‘Polly’ products on the market and sat back, chuckling, while our audience gobbled them up.

Even the prissy-ass bastards at TV GUIDE couldn’t knock that kind of instant success. The tone of their articles shifted after the first Neilsen figures came out, from sneering contempt at “exploitation at the lowest level conceivable” to “phenomenal success, no doubt due to the complete integrity of everyone involved”.

Wally and the staff felt that being on top of the heap, TV-wise, was just a start, that I should branch out into other areas of the entertainment business. So, yours truly is on her way to becoming a movie star. That’s right!! I signed a ten year, ten picture contract with Sokolow Studios for more money than some countries take in, as gross national products. Right now, we’re doing three re-makes of the old ‘Sheena of the Jungle’ series… only updated and sexed up so they’re barely recognisable. The first picture, ‘Sheena vs the Mafia’, is due to be released in September.

That’s all of the mediocre news. I’ll hurry through the bad stuff and then go on to what I’m absolutely itching to write about… the really fantastic news.

First, about Harold. Last time I wrote about how he was always talking about doing something to get rid of the bowling alley’s bad reputation around town. Well, the bozo’s actually gone out and done it… in his own inimitable, ass-hole fashion, of course. Three days ago he held this press conference, at which he told the national media boys what kind of royal screwing he was taking at the hands of the Vice Squad.

Ho hum, right? Sour grapes from a well-known loser-about-town, right? Yeah, well, that’s the way I had it figured, too. When he first told me about the conference — the night before it was to be given — I freaked out, hollered I’d divorce him if he didn’t call it off. I shouldn’t have put it like that. He started breaking the furniture into kindling with his bare hands, then said he’d do the same to me if I ever mentioned the word again. Hey, like I said, he scared me. And I don’t mean the kind of scared like I get under the flipping ass of a Great Dane, or a snow leopard. I wouldn’t mind dying in the grip of an oversexed orang-utan… but getting hit by a garbage truck would be preferable to having Harold strangle me. Anyway, I told him I was joking about the divorce and made him describe the hot scoop he was going to give the media. After he told me the lightweight, whining scam he was going to lay on them, I relaxed. He sounded like your garden variety L.A. kook with an axe to grind. I was sure the reporters would laugh him off. Sure they wouldn’t bother doing the routine check on who his wife was… There was no connection between me and Harold outside the files in Sacramento… I’d used my maiden name exclusively ever since I came to Hollywood.

And they did laugh him off… up to a point. Up to the point when the big lummox stopped sniveling and started naming names and dates and large sums of money paid out the Vice Squad for “protection” by his clientele. He even had the bastards’ badge numbers! The newsmen swarmed over him, then.

Was I ever mad?! Ooh-wee! I was on the phone to Wally instantly, trying to figure out an angle, a quickie way out of the marriage. There was no time for the legal way of cutting him loose, even though I had great grounds — the contract had never been consummated — because the reporters would be digging for ‘background’ information within the hour. The trip Wally laid on me was so obvious, so perfectly simple, that it had to work.

My agent and savior made a couple of long distance phone calls, withdrew a large sum of money from the corporation account, and took the next jet to Sacramento and, thirty minutes later, a private plane to Langousta. The genius got right to the root of the problem. There were only two copies of the certificate — I had the original in a safe deposit box — one was in Sacramento and the other was in the court house in Langousta. He bribed two very willing, very underpaid civil servants — one in each city — and with his own eyes saw the documents burn to ashes. To make absolutely sure, he visited the local paper and ‘borrowed’ the bound volume of back issues that contained the paper’s only copy of the article they did on our wedding ceremony. After razor-blading out the entire ‘Social Whirl’ page, and burning it, he returned the book to the city editor, who in turn returned it to the dusty shelf.

Ooh, Harold-baby, what you don’t know!!! We were never married, Monster Man. You don’t have to worry about a divorce any more. Ha, ha, ha.

Discretion being what it is, I’ve decided to break the news to him gently and from afar. I fly to Tanzania next week for some location work on the second Sheena film, and while I am safe in the bosom of Mother Africa, I’ve made plans for Wally to sell the house, the cars, the furnishings right out from under Weird Harold. I thought about sending him a xerox copy of this book, but that would be too much… even Africa wouldn’t be safe if I did that.

The other bad news is about Mom. She’s real gone and done it this time. She’s gone off the deep end. When the hot-shot network producers and the movie barons took to taking their bodyguards along with them wherever they went… for the sole purpose of driving her away… when the police began following her to the supermarket in a prowl car to make sure she didn’t bother anybody… well, she just flipped. Somehow she got hold of some dynamite and wire and stuff and… yes, she made a Goddamn bomb!! As if that wasn’t enough, she then acquired an illegal and very definitely stolen U.S. Army ordinance automatic rifle. In broad daylight, on the corner of Hollywood and Vine, at gunpoint, she commandeered the limousine of Latham Bernooli, and kidnapped the made-for-TV-movie czar.

She forced the driver and bodyguards to get out of the car on the Hollywood Freeway and made Bernooli drive her away. Then she directed him to a hideaway she’d rented in Malibu Canyon. After tying him up and threatening him with the bomb and machine gun, trying to get him to offer me a twenty year contract… and succeeding, she called a local radio talk show and made her demands… Either I was to be made queen of the U.S.A. or she would blow up Latham Bernooli…

Luckily for everybody concerned, one of Wally’s staff was listening to the show while driving to work and she alerted him to the probability that the mad bomber was my mom. According to the radio reports, she wore a Frankenstein mask during the actual abduction so the driver and bodyguard were unable to give police a clue to her identity. There were some pretty tense minutes, trying to get to Mom before the police, but Wally came through again. The bomb was wired improperly so it would detonate when Mom pushed the plunger as our ‘Safari’ troops charged through the door. Mom calmed down after the doctor sedated her. And Bernooli was unhurt, if a bit ruffled. To smooth things out, I had to agree to appear in one of his incredibly dull pictures… with the stipulation, of course, that final script approval be left up to me.

The bomb lady was never found. Bernooli was unable to help police, insisting that he had been blindfolded the whole time, despite eye witnesses who swore they saw him drive the limousine away. The cops chalked it up to either a movie-land publicity stunt that went haywire, or the Mafia boys throwing a scare into one of their turkeys. Either way, it was none of their business.

Mom was very lucid after the episode. I mean if you didn’t know what she’d done, you’d never suspect her of anything of the sort, not in a million years. Regardless, the whole damn thing came too close to wrecking my career and the careers of hundreds of tag-along idiots who depend on me. I am a big business now, a Goddamn corporation in my own right, and no one, not even my own mom can he allowed to hurt me.

I’ve made plans, through Wally and a doctor Major Scampi suggested, for Mom to be put out to pasture. I should’ve done it long ago, I guess, but I didn’t have the stomach for it. Not that it’s some shambles of an old folks home… no way. I’ve seen pictures of it and read the brochures. It’s ultra modern, tucked away in a secluded mountain valley in the Sierra, and it has the tightest security system available outside a federal prison. I was assured… in writing… that my mom would never again set foot on Hollywood Boulevard, not in this life.

Wow, it seems like everything’s coming together at once, doesn’t it? Real neat. The same day old Harold gets the bad news, the same day the house is to he sold and its contents auctioned, I have arranged for Mom to he whisked away. No big deal, no hubbub… the sanatorium orderlies, dressed in business suits will drive up to the house in an unmarked, late model sedan and inform her that I’ve been slightly hurt in an accident at the studio and that I am asking for her.

Once they get her in the car, they will gas her senseless and she’ll wake in padded cell. Like I said.

The only thing is, the nitwit has been doing a lot of heavy rummaging around down at the studio… just like the old days, looking for God knows what. I guess I’ll have to keep this thing under lock and key until she’s safely tucked away.

So! On to the good news I’m in love! No! I really mean it this time. All the other male animals in my life, the wild and wonderful affairs I’ve had with creatures in every possible ecological niche, pale beside the nova heat of my first true love. I’m serious. Never have I had the kind of rapport with another animal… and I don’t just mean we come at the some instant, though we do… I mean, he can read my thoughts and I can read his. Whenever he lumbers into the room, my legs go to rubber, my cunt starts juicing and puckering, my tits ache at the nipples and my palms begin to itch. And I know I affect him in the same way. It’s easier to tell with him because he doesn’t wear pants. His gross pink cock shoots out of his furry black pouch and aches upward in a lewd salute.

His name is Kong and he’s a hundred and ninety pound, coal black, Central African Mountain Gorilla. We met during the shooting of ‘Sheena vs the Mafia’. He was my animal co-star and what with all the times we were thrown together on the set, and in my dressing-room when it was too rainy to film, things sort of happened between us.

I think he knew I had the hots for him from the first moment he set his big brown eyes on me. I have to hand it to him, he played it pretty cool for those first few days… not letting on that I turned him on, too.

But when ‘it’ happened, there was absolutely no stopping us. We’d finished shooting for the day and I was back in my Winnebago dressing room, trying to shower the accumulated grit off my tits. I heard the door open and shouted over the roar of the hot spray: “Who’s there?”

When no one answered, I figured that whoever it was had heard the shower and decided to come back later when I was finished. I went back to lathering my glistening body unaware that I was being observed.

Kong, the wily devil, had slipped away from the animal compound after bending the steel bars of his cage, and crept over to my Winnebago. He peeked through the crack in the bathroom door, watching with growing excitement while I made frothy suds slop all over my cunt.

I should say that it was not unheard of for the widow of a local tribesman to take in a baby male gorilla for companionship, especially if the couple had been childless. According to the native bearers, often as not, when little gorilla ceases to be a baby, he is taken into the cold marriage bed as a husband, and is trained in the arts of love, African style. It is said, by the bearers, that such a gorilla, though he be returned to the wild to take a mate of his own species, will always prefer to mate with a human if given half the chance.

Well, standing there in the nude in my shower, I was giving the big brute more than half a chance. He took it, too.

I didn’t see the door opening behind me, but the cool breeze on my back sent a shiver up my spine. At first I thought it was one of the gofer boys, stage-struck and deep in pubescent ‘crush’ going for broke. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But when there was no nervous giggle betraying his presence, I got the distinct impression that the intruder was not only no boy, but no human as well. There was something ominous about the shape of the thing as I tried to make it out using the corners of my eyes. Ominous.

“Whoever you are, go away!” I said, my voice a shrill squeak.

Something moved behind me and I whirled around… coming face to face with almost two hundred pounds of gorilla. The scream I let out in that instant would’ve done Fay Wray proud.

Not that a gorilla’s face doesn’t have its nice points, once you get used to it, but I wasn’t used to it, yet. I screamed right into his face, making him wince at the sharp sound.

His head with its giant sloping brow sat on the powerful shoulders with the barest hint of a neck beneath. It looked like an ebony, over-sized football balanced on a kick-off tee. His huge brown eyes, set too close together to appear really humanoid, were slightly bloodshot, but still bright and alert. His nose was the most startling thing about his face. It was shiny and black and sort of melted looking with great soft holes for nostrils that covered most of the lower half of his head. The fur was sparse around his eyes and nose, but the rest of his head was all shaggy like a fat man with a beard and long hair. His chin wasn’t much to brag about, mostly hidden as it was by the bristly overhang of his immense upper lip. His ridiculously tiny and shell-like black ears were hidden very high up on the sides of the sloping dome, at a level well above his beetling brows.

He raised his massive, fur-coat arms and put a black skinned finger on my right nipple. A delicious shudder raced from my blushing nubbin straight to my clit.

“No!” I said, pointing to the open door. “Get out of here!”

The gorilla smirked at me, making his upper lip puff in and out.

“What do you want with me?!” I cried, trying to cover myself.

I squirmed aside as the big beast reached out for me. He put his right hand up and cupped some of the hot water from the shower nozzle. It seemed to fascinate him. He was so enraptured by the hot, steamy, tingling spritzing that he didn’t even seem to notice that his arm was getting soaked.

I figured the time was right to make a break for it. I was wrong. Even as I tried to slip around his brooding bulk, his other arm swung up and smacked palm down against the shower stall, trapping me between the solid wall and solid gorilla.

The water rushed down on us, spraying all over the floor as Kong moved into the shower with me. He put his other hand to the wall and I was bracketed by shaggy arms. I stopped trying to cover myself and put my hands to his bald, black lit muscles and pushed. I never felt so helpless in me entire life. It was like trying to hold back an avalanche.

“OH, GOD!” I cried, gargling the hot water, as the smooth skin of his ape chest slid over my bare tits. Then the silky, hairy lower body touched me, pushing me, pinning me to the slippery wall gently.

His huge primate face loomed in front of me, was it smiling? I made one last futile attempt to wriggle free and ended up getting my arms pinned to my thighs. Gorilla mouth moved close to mine, water droplets clinging to the coarse whiskers.

Then he kissed me! I swear to God. Like he’d been doing it all his life. His thin lips puckered up and he mashed them down hard on mine.

What thoughts were going through my head when the ape lips parted and an immense, red gorilla tongue surged into my mouth? First, despite my orientation, sexually, fear and loathing… gorillas never, never brush their teeth… then, as the choking mouthful began to slide in and out, as the pebbly upper surface rasped the roof of my mouth, as the hot flow of his animal juice rushed down my throat, I began to warm up to him.

It was hard work sucking on his tongue. Not that he wasn’t the perfect gentleman about it, but there was just so damn much of it! It slipped all the way down the back of my throat to the little valve thingee that lets me swallow, slipped all that way filling my throat to the splitting point with red hot meat. His jaws were gaping open, turned sideways about three inches from my open, aching mouth… he wasn’t even giving me all of it! He waggled his tongue, long distance, the pointed tip tickling the little swallower valve, making me wish for the first time in my life that I’d been born something other than human.

He drew his tongue back a bit and put his hot mouth on my face. His lips encompassed my chin, cheek and nose as he gave me a loud, smacking kiss.

And his big hands weren’t idle either. I shivered time and again as they traced crazy patterns down the soapy sides of my ribcage. He seemed to delight in the way I shuddered against him, responding to his every touch.

Then his hand picked up the soap. He paused in his deep tongue fucking of my throat to examine the sweet smelling bar. After deciding that it was not good to eat, he began to mimic the action he’d seen me make earlier. He rubbed the bar of soap against his barrel chest. When the white froth appeared, he sort of chirped with joy and really went to town with the soap. In a matter of seconds, he had his entire front side, from neck to toes, glistening in bubbly suds. He looked so funny I couldn’t help but laugh. Imagine a man in a floor length black bear coat who’s just fallen into an open vat of tapioca pudding.

Then he pressed his sudsy self up against me again, and suddenly there was nothing to laugh about. It felt so absolutely breathtaking I could barely stand it. Super soft fur, slick with suds, rubbing over the entire front of my body, my tits mashed into his chest, his belly ground into mine, his groin rotated slowly around mine, soapy fur on the soft parts!!! I was ready for more of whatever he had in mind instantly.

What with his crotch rubbing up against my mound, it didn’t take too great of an imagination to figure out just what it was that he was after. Something very stiff and very long nudged my right hand. Also it was sizzling hot.

When I took the head of his slippery dick in my palm, Kong made these whistling, cooing noises, nuzzling his mouth into my nose, eyes, ears. He was such a tender, loving creature underneath the layers of muscle… Lord, it made my heart ache with joy.

I took his up-curving pud between my hands and rolled my palms together, rolling the gross cock head back and forth vigorously… a trick I’d picked up from old Nordbert. The slick head and shaft twisted about deliciously in my grip. And he adored it, too, I could tell from the way he began to lick my nose and eyes and flip his hips, ever so gently.

His huge hands squirmed around behind me and worked their way between my buns and the wall until he clasped a firm cheek in either hand. Oooh, it felt so wonderful to be held by him. Even as I held his primate pride in my small hands! His fingertips searched for and found the juicy entrance to my cunt.

Talk about talented! That Kong knew exactly what and when to diddle. He traced light delicate circles around and around my ass-hole with one fingertip while teasing the entrance to my cunt with the other. He’d slip just the tip of his wide, spatulate finger in my hole and corkscrew it back and forth, pausing to first sniff, then lick the funk from his black pad.

He had my cunt fountaining and my ass-hole doing pucker ups… and he knew I wanted more, so much more. I’d given up the cock rolling in favour of some one-handed tip to root stroking while I fondled his immense, fur covered ball pouch with the other hand. He took it all in stride, leaning back like a stone Watts player to check out my small white fist pumping up and down his hard meat.

He winced again, and kind of hunched down, and like a burst fire hydrant, his cock started gushing quarts of boiling spurt. It shot straight up in the air, spiralling in great gooey comets of white high over our heads. I held my mouth open and closed my eyes. The hot, sticky rain of gorilla sperm fell on me, coating my hair, my eyes, my cheeks, my nose, filling my mouth and re-filling it as I swallowed again and again. I looked up at the flat features of the ape stud whose cock I held. He was blinking at my tongue gyrations and come slurping lip work in awe. The geysers still exploded from his dick slot, only with less pressure behind them. I dropped to my knees and took the oozing choad in my mouth, sucking the last few cup-fulls of ism straight from the faucet. It was delicious stuff… by far the best, human or animal that I’d ever had the privilege of sampling… tasted like banana-creme pie only tangier, with a touch of the old compost heap. I slurped and slobbered all over his huge, dome of a pud-cap, pumping up and down the shaft with my fist, kneading his ball pouch with my other hand.

The big brute loved the attention I was giving his cock, leaning down to peer at my lips as they drove down over the skinned head.

I’ll say one thing for gorillas… once they get the old bone up, it takes some real doing to get it down again. Even right after the heavy session it showed no sign of the slightest softening. I blew him until my lips felt like a pair of buttermilk pancakes, letting him use my head like a cunt, guiding it with his hands so his cock head could slide way back in my throat. He seemed to sense that I was tiring of the game and lifted me up from the shower floor… right into his arms. I dangled there, deliriously happy, nuzzling into the soft fur of his thick neck, while he twiddled and probed between my legs, searching for and finding my juicy hole.

I threw my legs apart and let him do as he pleased, watching with rising excitement as the shaggy wrist twisted and turned, as the black finger came back from my slot shiny with my foxy cunt nectar. Oooooh, he was such a darling! He had me humping and shaking my ass, making my cunt dive down around his finger… even while he still held me high in the air.

When a gorilla decides a girl has had enough foreplay and is ready for the old pink banana, he lets her know alright! Kong kind of started grunting in his deep, basso profundo voice of his and then he took his finger from my cunt. No matter how lasciviously I writhed in his arms, no matter how much funky juice I scooped up and rubbed into his cavernous nostrils, he would not change his mind.

He turned me around, facing into the stinging spray of the shower, handling me like I was some kind of a doll instead of a hundred and ten pound human being. He made me straddle his shaggy thighs, backwards, with my knees on the outside of his, with my cunt rubbing up against the slippery shaft of his dick. I was afraid for a second that he was going to let me fall… but I was wrong. Whoever the lucky black bitch was that trained my gorilla lover, she did a righteous job on his fucking manners.

He held me by the waist with both hands, the long fingers locking around my middle like a living belt. Then he tilted his hips back, getting his cock head squarely in my pocket.

Ooooooh! The feel of red hot ape dick nudging into the entrance of your cunt is a thrill no real honest-to-God woman should do without.

The powerful fingers tightened about my waist, lifting me up and onto the stiff bulb. I started to scream again as the gorilla let my own weight drive his cock into my tube. The immense head of it pushed back my folds as they had never been pushed, stretched my tube like nothing before. I felt my cunt muscles strain to stop the progress of the tube-splitting pud-cap, strain to lock about the head in a strangle hold.

“Uuuuuhhhhh! UUUHHHH!” I wailed, struggling against the steely fingers that held me, that began to tug ever so gently, to draw my tearing cunt-mouth down over the gruesome shaft.

“OH! GOD!! GOD!!!” I bawled as my cunt sphincter began to flutter, as the pressure of my own weight and the gradually increasing pull of ape hands, broke the power of my pussy grip. Slowly but surely, his entire cock was sliding into me, mining me for any other creature. It was like being a virgin all over again.

The tight tube about his cock must’ve given old Kong near terminal thrills from the way he started gasping for air, grunting, and licking up, and down my spine.

Finally, after the incredibly painful ride down his dick shaft, my pussy lips touched the base of his wide cock, nestled in the dense fur of his ball pouch. At the first feel of ape hairs against clit, cunt-lips, ass-hole, I started to come like never before.

The tickling spray of water across my stiff nipples couldn’t put out the skyrockets that were ripping my mind apart. My cunt clamped down on the base of his cock and began quivering and flexing, spasming and quaking like there would be no tomorrow.

Kong’s mighty hands lifted me, breaking even the convulsive, sucking grip of my cunt mouth in its come throes. Using me like a toy, he lifted and lowered my trembling tube up and down his cock. The friction was insane! Hot ape meat slithered over my tumescent folds, dragging out my coming to the point of pain, to the point where I began to grope frantically between my own sloppy buns for his upright balls… Something had to happen. He HAD to come or I would die there, impaled on his long cock.

I mauled his nut-sack, delighting in the way it made him stiffen and use me faster, harder, my cunt bashing into his sopping wet bag.

“GGGGGRRRROOOOORRR!!!” he bellowed, jerking me up and down like an old fashioned butter churn. My pussy flew up and down his pole as quarts of his sperm washed the walls of my torn tube, soothing it in sticky heat, creamy radiance.

I began jerking my hips, making him take even faster, cunt pumping and sucking, teasing the come from his orgasming dick. He came and came until the gummy stuff not only hung in long yo-yo-ing gobs from my twat and inner thighs, but pooled in great, sticky puddles under his feet.

We stayed in the shower until we were both totally fucked out, until I looked like a prune and he looked like he’d been drowned for about a week. Then we hopped out and dried off.

As it turned out, we had a lot in common aside from the fantastic sex thing. During the whole time we were on location in Tanzania, we were inseparable. Every night my gorilla would quietly bend his bars apart and sneak into the Winnebago; just before dawn he’d reluctantly go back, get in his cage and re-bend the bars. We had some wonderful times out there in the bush, too.

Even with our incredible ‘rapport’ I had trouble convincing Scampi and the bozos at Sokolow Studios that Kong was the fella to be my leading man in all three of the Sheena flicks. I had even more trouble getting them to agree to my taking the gorilla home with me like one of the family. In the end I put my foot down, and insurance or not, Kong came along.

I am going to miss my big black baby. He’s going to be flying out to the African filming site a day or two early to get used to the climate. The company veterinarian advised me to do it, said it would be easier on him in the long run. Stupid doctors! I’ll be without the light of my life for two whole days… Ooooh! Kong, you bad, bad boy you’d better stop that!!

On second thought, I’ll stop writing this, and let you, my darling primate, go right ahead.

So ends the last entry in the diary of Polly Oliver. She was found dead two days later by a janitor at Sokolow Studios. The following is a newspaper account of her tragic demise.

From the Langousta Times-Crier, page one headline story.


Dateline Hollywood. Tragedy has struck in Tinseltown! The Grim Reaper had taken one of Hollywood’s brightest stars, Langousta’s own, Polly Oliver.

The Emmy-winning actress’ mangled body was found in her dressing room at Sokolow Studios by a janitor.

Police are now surmising that she was attacked by Kong, a 19O pound, Mountain Gorilla, her co-star in the as yet unreleased film, ‘Sheena vs the Mafia’, who shared an adjoining dressing-room.

The killer ape is now the target of the most massive man-hunt ever staged by Los Angeles Police.

“We’ll get the bastard!” declared Chief of Police Buttram Wankie. “Make a Goddamn rug out of him!!”

Miss Oliver’s husband and mother, both residents of the San Fernando Valley, were too grief-stricken to answer reporters’ questions.

As many Langoustans will remember, Polly Oliver’s career in show business started right here in the Brewster Elementary School Follies of 1965…

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