Date: Sun, 24 Dec 2006 10:41:45 -0500
From: "xanadu99@earthlink.net" <xanadu99@earthlink.net>
Subject: Bert

The following is a work of fiction.

Bert

Several years ago I was a graduate student at a university in a small
Midwestern city.  Spring was at hand and I wanted to stay around for the
summer to make use of the library and so get a leg up on my thesis.  But my
fellowship did not cover the summer and the dorms would be closed for most
of the summer anyhow.  And so it was with some interest that I noticed a
card on the grad student bulletin board in the student union posted by a
faculty member in the history department.  He was looking for a
"responsible" graduate student to house sit for the summer and to look
after his dog.  It included a small but respectable stipend in addition to
a place to stay, enough to keep me alive through the summer.

So I called the number on the card and next day was being interviewed by
Professor David S. at his house in a wooded area out of town.  He was about
40, a bachelor, and a really neat guy whom I'd seen around campus but had
never met.  He showed me around the house and the large enclosed yard, and
of course I was introduced to Bert, his dog.

Bert was a mixed breed, medium size, an intelligent and beautiful mutt with
greyhound somewhere in his past.  We hit it off, especially after a few
tosses of the Frisbee in the back yard.

Anyhow, I got the job, and one Tuesday in the latter part of May, I arrived
at the house at the appointed hour.  The professor gave me the house keys,
some last minute instructions, and was picked up by a cab for his run to
the airport.  He'd not be returning until the end of August.

I set myself up in the guest bedroom, stuffed my small supply of summer
clothing into the empty dresser, and soon had my computer hooked up for
note taking and some preliminary drafting.

The first week passed uneventfully.  Bert needed to be fed just once a day,
I made sure his indoor and outdoor water bowls were always full, and every
day in the cool of the morning I ran him ragged in the back yard chasing
sticks and the Frisbee.

And then one afternoon something happened that changed the summer for me.
Anyone who has lived in the Midwest knows how bloody hot it can get in the
summertime, and the house was not air conditioned.  So I took to wearing
nothing but cutoffs (sans underwear) in the house and yard.  I'd gone out
to the yard to sit on a lawn chair under a big ailanthus and was peacefully
reading a book on modern American literature when Bert came trotting over
and unprompted shoved his nose inside my shorts and his invasion struck
gold first thing.  And then he began to lick.

It took only moments for my Thing to start springing to attention, which
caused it to emerge from the shelter of the cutoffs.  This made Bert even
more alert and more vigorous in his attentions.

"Bert," I said, "you dirty little rascal.  Where did you learn your
manners?"

To simplify matters, I simply slipped off the shorts and lay on the grass
giving Bert free rein.  I remember wishing that in addition to that tongue
that he had human lips.  But the tongue was really all I could stand
without screaming in pleasure.

As Bert worked on me I could see his own Thing emerging from its sheath,
fiery red and pointed and throbbing.  He paused then and went to work on
himself.  While he was at that, I became aware that my bladder was ready to
burst from all the iced tea I'd been drinking.  So I let loose and urine
came splashing over my belly and chest.

Bert noticed of course and came over to investigate.  He dipped his tongue
tentatively in a pool on my navel, trembled a bit at the saltiness I
suppose, and then decided he liked it enough to lap it up.

I rolled over and raised up my hips, and pulled my buttocks open for his
inspection.  Old Bert jumped at the chance and did such a job on my
puckered hole that I almost lost a load on the spot.

Enough of this, I thought.  Time to reward this bugger.  So I sat up on the
grass, reached over and grabbed his Thing, by now quite prominent.  It was
wet and slippery and I gently massaged that stiff muscle.  As I did so I
could hear a low rumbling growl in his throat, not menacing but pure
animal.  Soon his knob came popping out of the sheath, and the slit under
the head of his Thing began to squirt a thin milky load while his hips
humped convulsively.

With this Bert sat down crookedly and began to lick himself furiously,
lapping up any semen he could find.

My own predicament could no longer be ignored.  I stood up bare-ass nude
under that tree in the bright of day with the sun dappling on my skin
through the green leaves my Thing stiff and throbbing, my nipples aching,
my hand working the shaft, my back arched backwards, buttocks tightened and
I threw back my head and heard inside my throat that same animal growl,
this time from me, and I lost track of sight and time and knew only the
wild insistent thrust of my hips.

When at last my eyes cleared I could see milky strips glistening on the
grass, and I sank slowly to the ground and slumped on my back.  Bert, that
ever fastidious friend, came hobbling over, his Thing still waving back and
forth.  He sniffed my softening Penis and then carefully licked up the
semen still running out from its tip.

And so the summer went, with Bert and I engaging both inside when rainy and
out when dry, two or three times a week, always at his initiative, not
mine.  Somehow I never felt right starting it up.

And so of course as good things must, the summer drew to a close and one
day an e-mail arrived: the professor would be back the next morning.

right on schedule a cab pulled up at about 11 next day and out he hopped
with his large bag in tow.  Bert greeted him like there was no tomorrow and
he plopped on the sofa and asked me how things had gone.  We reviewed what
little there was, we settled up financially, and the time was drawing near
to bid them all farewell.

Bert, ever sensitive to my mood, came over as if on cue.  And of course he
shoved his nose into my shorts and began to lick.  I tried to pull his head
out but he was hell-bent on one last entertainment.

I guess I flushed and Dr. S. stared and then began to laugh uproariously.

"Bert," he shouted, "you shameless hound.  Fickleness is your middle name."

I flushed some more and the professor , still laughing, said, "Now you'll
have to stay for lunch, and then, if Bert is still interested, we can all
go out in the back yard and play... Frisbee, that is."  He smiled broadly
and looked at me appraisingly.

And so we did.