Part 4

Sometimes persons who have read my previous postings and know my lifestyle say to me: "Nan, you're a bright, shapely, attractive, and sensible woman. You could take your pick of any number of bright, eligible, even rich men to settle down with and have a stable, satisfying life. Why on earth have you chosen instead to become a sex partner to animals, namely dogs? Ugh, Nan. Why do you seek perverted play with a furred creature that cannot begin to give you the pleasure and rewards you deserve as a caring man could? Why have you chosen to waste your beauty, your potential for loving, on a creature that women were biologically not intended for? And then, to cap it off, to write about it and describe your perversion in detail! I just don't understand!"

Well, some people never will understand, no matter what I say, and that's okay. Universal approval is not a priority for me. And of course some people think I'm making up these stories, or that I'm really a dirty old man in disguise... That's okay too if they want to believe those things. All I can say to them is, try it out and see for yourself. But for those who - especially after having read my previous postings ("A Woman's View," Charlie," etc.) - would genuinely like to know more about "where I'm coming from" as a woman, I'll try to clarify some of my feelings and perspectives.

I'm a hot-blooded girl, and the sight of an erect penis on man, boy, or beast - or even pictures of such - can give me tingles from head to toe. But I have never experienced such flat-out pure lust, such sexual frenzy, as when I am tied with a beautiful male dog who is mating me. To begin with, the very idea that my body and odors can put sexual feelings and impulses into this animal's mind is incredibly stimulating to me. That a male dog can find me sexually desirable - this furred, four-footed creature we have trained to be a pet and companion but seldom a lover - makes me flush and squirm with libido. Second, I have seldom experienced such a feeling of being utterly possessed, of being so protected and taken care of, as when a male dog mounts my body, clasps my waist with powerful forelegs, his penis hot and hard, wetting my thighs and vagina, thrusting between my labia with lovely squishes and smacks, our juices mingling. That lovely monster forging deep and wild in my vulva, the rhythmic push of his muscular haunches against my hips, his drive to get closer, closer to me, while I brace against him and prepare myself, emotionally and physically, to receive him fully into my body - oh, what bliss I have experienced from this intensity of both our needs. A woman needs this feeling of a male's intense need for her, and a male dog supplies an abundance of this feeling for her.

I have a theory about women and dogs. I don't know if it can ever be proven or verified, but it somehow feels right to me. I feel that there is something between a male dog and a woman that goes way back in time - that we have unique feelings and physical stirrings for each other. Ages ago, when men and women occupied caves and primitive shelters, men often left on lengthy hunting trips, leaving women to fend for themselves and their children. As protectors in the absence of men, they had dogs, wild, rangy, powerful animals. And maybe the dogs sometimes became more than protectors. During the long, cold, lonely nights, when a woman needed warmth, security, companionship - and yes, loving - maybe, just maybe, dogs became very important surrogates for the absent men. It could never be admitted in the community, of course. Well, it's just a theory. But where powerful needs exist, solutions follow, and sometimes such solutions simply lie at the doorstep. As I say, I love my dog's incessant desire for me. His desire to possess me inflames my own desire for him, and when he locks us together in the physical manifestation of that desire, it feels like a union meant to be. Can we be so sure that this bonding is so abnormal after all? How did the prehistoric domestication of dogs from wolves come about? A lonely woman in her cave or tent . . . a solitary ranger of a wolf smelling somehow familiar odors that stir his massive loins . . . is the scenario so fantastic indeed? We will never know, of course, except by the hints and intuitions experienced as we couple, male and female, in an ecstatic song of sex, an embrace that fills us both with joyous wonder, bringing us back together again and again.

Sometimes dogs still are our protectors, just as they once were. Sometimes when Mike, my golden retriever, has tied me and we're locked together and I feel him surging so strongly into me with every fiber of his strength, I feel so safe and secure - so warmly cherished and "taken care of" - wrapped in his strong forelegs. Maybe that's a crazy thing to feel, but there it is. I always feel so warm and rosy after Mike has mated me, it really brings out the glow. When I go walking in an area where I know the dogs can see me, I sometimes feel their eyes on me, their vision cruising over my hips as I walk, making me feel flushed and a little excited. In short, I think there's a whole complex of special feelings between women and dogs, intuitions and relationships that people don't yet understand.

Getting back to the actual mating that occurs, the third and final phase - the most wondrous of all - begins as I feel Mike's knot rubbing hard against me, then feel it slide, so slippery and slick, between my labia, swell against my clitoris, sealing my vagina with his organ. I relax and let him tie me, hold me in the most sexual way possible. He ceases his driving against me, just pins me close, his haunches trembling, tightening his legs about my waist. I sigh and lean back into his loins, feel his tongue wetly love-kissing my neck and back, his knot throbbing and pulsing deep between my legs. Then I feel sort of a hot tickling sensation inside, his first big ejaculations, hot rhythmic squirts jetting deep in my tummy. I hear myself moan, sensing so clearly the closeness of our bodies, our oneness, and I snuggle up into his embrace, push my buttocks further into the curve of his protective loins. He ejaculates several times, quits, then does it again, heating my belly, causing a delightful sense of pressure inside. He shifts his body on me, clutches me even tighter. This cycle repeats several times, and each time the pervading inner warmth and pressure heighten my excitement. Maybe the inner pressure or the pulsing of his knot stimulate my G-spot (if such exists) as well as my clitoris. My movements seem helpless and involuntary - head thrashing, sighing, breast and butt strutting, deep panting breaths - it just happens, I can't control it. The pressure keeps building in me, I want desperately to get away from it yet at the same time want it to fill me completely, the feelings of wondrous ecstatic bliss and frenzy just take over. I don't need to describe for women readers the waves of total sensation that surge through one, as if every pore is opened and drooling and yelling, the body sensitized into one shuddering, squealing nerve of nerves. I know that he, back there attached so tightly to my rear, feels me blast off ballistic, for I can feel my vulva walls spasm against his penis, I feel my labia in suction against his knot, and I feel his body shudder. Since I'm a real squirter when I climax, the feeling of sealed-in implosion I experience leaves me gasping. Oh heavens, what a divine experience. This is why I so often present myself sexually to my dog Mike - because far from abasing or humiliating me, the experience seems to enhance every fiber of my being, turns me into a Wonder Woman, makes me feel glorious! I'm so glad he keeps coming back to me for sex, I feel honored in a sense. Here's a powerful creature who could easily kill me if he had a mind, yet he makes me his sex partner, his lover, and I do feel humbled though not humiliated by this.

I'm reminded of my dear friend Phyllis, an older woman (now 62) who lives in Arizona. Phyllis may look 62 in her face, but her wondrous body is that of a 30-year-old woman. Her heavy breasts stand erect, her slim belly and hip curves are a delight, her lovely rump would stop a bus. Phyllis has been making love with dogs - she owns a kennel - for at least 25 years. She has allowed me to watch her and her big English setter Jack several times, and twice we enjoyed our dogs side by side together. This lady is such a sexpot. All of her male dogs adore her, and she knows all of them (in the Biblical sense). I can see her now on all fours, she and Jack tied so tightly together, her face suffused with bliss, her brown nipples huge and hard on her swaying breasts, her body a lovely blushing rose held by Jack. Phyllis insists that she owes her state of lovely preservation mainly to the large quantities of dog semen she has taken over the years. "It brings out the female hormones, dear," she swears. Something does for sure; if my body looks as good when I hit 40 as hers does right now, I'll be delighted. Phyllis told me that she actually became pregnant by a dog once. I pooh-poohed the possibility of this happening. She didn't argue it, merely said that she had once spontaneously aborted two small masses of tissue that had fur - one even had a vestigial snout - and also apparently human skin. The doctors just chalked it up as anomalous tumors, she said, never knowing that she had had intercourse solely with dogs for the past years. "So never say it can't happen," she tells me - though it's certainly not a very likely occurrence, even she'd agree.

Phyllis and my canine lovers have taught me so much about gifting oneself sexually. It is such an intensely moving experience when I present the most intimate part of my body to a male dog that I know has been watching me and wants to mate me. Sometimes during the day while seated at my desk in the office where I work, I daydream about the lover at home waiting for me. I'm sure he thinks about me too when I'm away. I wiggle in my chair, smiling at the memory of finding golden retriever hairs tangled in my pubic hairs as I showered that morning. Who among my office coworkers would believe that the gal smiling to herself at the corner desk "has a relationship" with her dog. It's a secret I dare not reveal to any but a very few of my most intimate friends (and, of course, to the many internet friends I've gained since I began writing these accounts).

Lots of guys write to tell me how much they would like to share with a woman her canine love life. But in my personal life, I've found very few guys who can deal with it on any long-term basis. Most of them seem utterly unable to comprehend that a woman's sexual affair with a dog may be more than just a temporary "stopgap" (as it were) until the right guy comes (as it were) along. For me, at least - and for several women I've known - the reverse tends to be more true: The man is the temp until new sparks fly between she and a canine he. One of my correspondents (a guy) suggested to me a possible explanation for this: "I have long believed that women can love a man unconditionally and without judgement. I don't know of any men who can do the same thing with women....A dog, however, can love unconditionally and without judgement too. I can easily see why a woman would prefer the company of a dog over a man." Well, I'm not sure I fully agree with these sweeping statements, but it's an interesting idea.

But I certainly don't want to label all guys the same. One guy I had a two-year relationship with did in fact prove the exception to my usual experience. Jack (I'll call him) was caring and gentle, seemed to sense my needs and feelings exactly on the occasions when Mike mated me. Jack would "stand guard" beside us when Mike tied me, making sure we weren't interrupted, answering the phone or the door, just taking care of the mundane things when Mike was taking care of me and I of him. And an hour later, maybe, when I was a wet mess, still trembling from my orgasms and kind of out of it, Jack would hold me nude in his arms, caressing my wet bubble-butt, gently massaging my back and belly and breasts, easing me back down to Earth. Often after sex with Mike I'll insert a tampon just to hold some of his semen in me awhile longer, and sometimes Jack would do this for me. Then later, lying atop Jack in bed, I'd remove the tampon just before he entered me, soaking us both with wonderful Mike. And soon I'd have a wondrous mixture of male sperm swimming in me, beautiful juices so dynamic yet soothing and lotion-like to a woman. Unfortunately Jack was a married guy (all the best men are, it seems), and we finally had to split.

Most women who own a large male dog do not, of course, do with him what I do with Mike (and occasionally other dogs as well). Yet surely the thought of it must sometimes occur to them, even if immediately rejected or repressed. I mean here's a creature so obviously male that it must make her shiver at times. And a male dog can smell a female, believe me, whether she be dog or woman. And react accordingly. Yet most women, of course, will never allow themselves to know the unique physical and emotional experience of being tied to a beautiful animal that can't get enough of her. Some women do fantasize about it, and I hear from many of them, women who will probably never bring themselves to actually "do it" with a dog. Yet the very fact that so many women think about it, turn it over in their minds, tells me that the appeal resides deep inside a woman's psyche, maybe is even part of the basic psychological-sexual complex that defines her as a woman - probably not all women, but at least some of us. Have you ever seen a woman "flirt" with a dog? I'm sure you have, though maybe you didn't register on it at the time. I've watched women, some of them very proper and conventional people, caress male dogs so sensually with their eyes. Some, no doubt, aren't even aware they're doing it - for this impulse/appeal/whatever it is seems to come from very deep unconscious sources.

But once a woman gets used to thinking of male dogs as possible sex partners, she starts behaving rather differently around them - and the dogs, believe me, sense and know it (again, possibly a confirmation of the age-old history previously mentioned). I pride myself to some extent on being able to spot a woman who is having ongoing sexual relations with a dog. It's in the way she looks at him, the way she walks and even sits when she is with him - a certain posture and bearing, more than just a butt-strut, that I can't easily describe but which really hits me in the eye when I see it - which, granted, isn't often...but often enough...you'd be surprised!. (Walking down the street with Mike and Jack, I'd tell Jack, "Don't let me butt-strut, o.k.?" And sometimes he'd say, "Hey, you're butt-struttin', bubble-butt." I didn't want to exhibit myself as Mrs. Dog, though I probably exaggerated the whole thing. Anybody who wasn't keyed into it would hardly notice, of course.) But I think some women - not necessarily dog partners either - may unconsciously bend a little and "present" to a big male dog every time one looms on the horizon - I suspect myself of doing this at times. It's a devious instinct that I've only grown aware of by observing its manifestations in myself and - pretty frequently - in other women, young and old.

So yes, I know that male dogs were made for female dogs and vice versa. But sometimes it's hard for me not to believe that they were made for women as well. Because the most exquisite pleasures of my life have occurred within the strong forelegs of a canine lover clasping my waist, feeling his passion, so raw, so sweet. Looking at his lovely sensual mouth, his big clitoris caresser of a tongue, his enthusiastic tail on his muscular business end, all these thrill me from inside out, give me goosebumps. "Don't butt-strut, Nan." Hmm, easy for you to say.

But when he ties me to him in a knot-bond whose strength surges waves of electricity through me, flushing my face, erecting my nipples to absurd size, sensitizing every inch of my skin, I must ask: How can such bonding be wrong for a woman? From my scalp to my toenails, I awaken anew and know the honey taste of womanhood. And that, for me, is what it's all about.