Dog Day Afternoon

Shane, my precocious brindle lab pup, dashed off of his leash and he sprinted, happily panting, towards the object of his desire. The Doggie Play Park, half-full this Spring afternoon with canines in full playground mode and mood, had become his personal Mecca.

I stood on the perimeter, watching, as the various breeds went through their curious introductory ritual of sniffing each others' private parts, which usually isn't socially acceptable until at least the third date in our human contacts. I sipped my bottled water and inhaled the unique aromas that only an urban dog park can evoke, and gazed at the ominous storm clouds gathering over the Delaware River to the southeast.

I did have to admit that this area of Fairmount Park in the shadow of Philadelphia's world-famous Art Museum that had been ordered cordoned off strictly for dog activities was one of the few altruistic and citizen-friendly acts that Philly's municipal government had ever enacted. (Try NOT to get a parking ticket in this city when you visit, I dare ya, it's not possible, such is the Parking Authority's zeal, the only functional entity in Philly's mostly corrupt government.)

After all, any city that allows a statue of a fictitious movie pugilist (Rocky Balboa) next to the steps of the symbol of its testament to classical arts will never be known for its appreciation of true culture. But, I let my curmudgeonly thoughts drift away and focused back to simply enjoying the dozen or so merry dogs at play, sharing sticks and tennis balls.

A border collie, one eye black and the other white, trotted up to me to pay his salutations, or so I imagined. I bent to pet his shaggy mane as he sniffed my sandals tentatively, but before I could reach his head, he lifted one leg and emitted a short burst of pee directly onto my toes before yipping mischievously and sprinting away to join his pals. Yuk.

It is difficult to exude any shred of dignity when dog pee is running between your toes, and more so when you hear the delighted giggles of a woman's voice behind you. "Oh, Remy, bad boy, BAD boy," I heard her say in a European accent with a less than sincere disciplinary tone, trying unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter.

I was inclined to be pissed, literally, until I heard the sing-song delightful cadence within that voice. I turned to see a woman in her early forties covering her mouth with her hands, her very pretty face a disarming blush of pink, light salt-and-pepper curls dangling down onto her shoulders, her chest heaving in suppressed giggles beneath a tight brown T-shirt, taut nipples poking through the cotton fabric. Why did my eyes stop THERE, just what is it about a woman's erect nipples that we men cannot even pretend to ignore?

She jogged up to me, firm breasts bouncing under the T-shirt, and before I could even react, much less speak, she knelt in front of me with a rag and began to clean off my sandal-clad foot, mumbling dolefully in French. "Oh, oh, je suis si si desole!"

She looked up at me, her head just inches from my now slightly stiffening crotch (was Pavlov's dog around here anywhere?), and smiled the sexiest smile, her green eyes dancing. "I am so, so sorry, sir, I am so embarrassed, he has never done that before. Please forgive me?"

She smiled. I melted. "And forgive Remy, too, sil vous plait?"

Now, I don't know about the rest of you male readers out there, but believe me, it is not hard to forgive a beautiful, mature French woman with great tits and sexy gray hair who is cleaning your feet while on her knees with her mouth positioned centimeters from your crotch. As for the dog's verdict, well, the jury's still out.

I looked down at her and thought of running my fingers through that incredibly sexy, disheveled mane of hair of hers. Why don't more women just let their hair naturally turn color? If they only knew how erotically exciting most men my age (fifty-one) find naturally graying hair on a woman. (Or was I perhaps just biased because her head was hovering next to my stirring cock? Hmmmmm. The chicken or the egg?)

She stood up after apparently being satisfied that I was devoid of collie pee, and wadded the rag into a ball. Her sparkling, sensational green eyes blazed into mine as she stood a little too close. Not that I minded.

"The least I can do is introduce myself to a man who was so kind and patient after my dog relieved himself on your feet." She giggled again, and extended her hand. "My name is Genevieve."

I took her hand lightly in my own and as a crackle of thunder roared overhead, I felt a tingle of electricity from just the mere first touch of her skin.

Ten minutes later, the park had become empty due to the torrential shower pouring down from the increasingly angry skies. Except Genevieve and I found shelter in a small cove beneath a huge oak tree, with Remy and Shane hunkered down in the weeds and brush, two wet dogs rolling around, oblivious to the fact that their owners had begun to engage in a long, slow, deep kiss in the sudden solutitude of the urban park.

As the rain cascaded down around us, we remained sequestered under the haven of the century-old tree's branches, and our kisses became more urgent, hungry, impassioned. Genevieve's hips began to slowly sway and grind into my own, and I took her cue and reached my hand beneath her tight shirt and tweaked her nipple with my index finger and thumb, and then switched to the other nipple and I felt her tiny palm snake onto my impossibly stiff shaft.

She leaned her head back and her eyes bore into mine with lust. "Mmmm, tres grand, tres agreable," she murmured as she stroked me with fervor, hidden from view though the heavily-traveled Benjamin Franklin Parkway was only fifty yards away. "It feels huge."

She stared at me pleadingly. "It has been a very long time for me," she explained bashfully. I nodded, still tweaking her nipples, exchanging fingertips over each one as she moaned lightly. "I live just a few blocks from here. Do you have some time to perhaps come home with me?"

Well, hold on, lemme check my schedule. Yep, seems that I do have some free time. Imagine that.

The rain had abated enough for us to walk briskly to her stately row home on the quaint city block of Twentieth Street, between Parrish and Brown Streets, and we walked hand-in-hand while holding the two happy pooches tightly with our other hand.

On the way, Genevieve quickly provided a up-to-date biography which included the fact that she was married to a French stock broker who traveled extensively, and was away for weeks at a time, while investing in a harvest of mistresses abroad. Genevieve had been faithful, yet lonely, she explained. I pressed my fingertip to her lips in a gentle shushing motion as we reached her door.

"No further explanation is necessary, beautiful Genevieve. He is not here now. We are alone in the world today. Just us."

We navigated the steps of her brownstone home and she let the dogs loose, and they dashed to the kitchen, where she shut the door. I remained by the front door and pushed it closed behind me.

She looked at me, again almost bashfully, and said softly, "I am very, very wet," before bringing her arms to her T-shirt and pulling it over her head, exposing her sizable breasts on an otherwise slim, lithe frame.

She cupped them together and raised her right breast to her mouth, and her long, pink tongue snaked out and lashed at her fully erect nipple, protruding from immense dark brown areolas. "Do you like my breasts, John? Vous fait?" My own hand dropped to my crotch and I stroked my bulge through my shorts to express my ardent appreciation, while I removed my own shirt and dropped it to the hardwood floor in the vestibule. We stood in front of each other naked from the waist up, Genevieve sucking on her own tit while I grasped my still-imprisoned cock.

While her gaze alternated from my eyes to my cock, and back again, she gracefully stepped out of her tan capri pants, kicked them to the floor with her own sandals, and next peeled her pale yellow thong down her lean thighs, exposing a small triangular tuft of salt-and-pepper pubic hair, shaped in a "V" over her puffy vulva. Even from the distance of a few feet, I could whiff her sweetly musky scent of sex.

She pirouetted, bent down, grabbed her ankles, and displayed her gaping anus, before turning to again face me, and with two fingers, pulled her labia widely apart. With the middle finger of her other hand, she began to leisurely caress the circumference of her engorged clit, clearly visible even through her thick, pink folds. The dogs barked playfully in the kitchen, the sound echoing through the house.

Genevieve stared at me seductively, fully aware she had me unequivocally mesmerized by the blatant exhibition of her sensational body to me, a complete stranger less than an hour ago. She motioned with a nod of her head and a raise of her eyebrow. "Your cock," she whispered, tugging on her clit.

"Show it to me. I need to see it."

I pulled the zipper down, unbuttoned my shorts, and exposed my throbbing manhood, more than seven thick inches pulsing and twitching in my hand like a bucking stallion. Genevieve groaned. "Beautiful, mmmmm, beau."

We stood just meters apart, mutually masturbating in silence for a moment or two, basking in the scandalously delicious sensation of intense foreplay, still without touching the other, when Genevieve dropped to her knees for the second time since I had known her, this time with an even more intimate purpose than cleansing my foot of urine.

She crawled like a feline towards me until she grasped my cock in both of her small palms, her eyes boring directly into my own. "So thick," she purred, pulling on my shaft vertically until it rubbed against my belly button.

"So long," she gasped, beginning to lick my fat balls as she rubbed my shaft with vigor now, one hand in a corkscrew motion, the other pulling just beneath my purple cockhead. I placed my own hands on the back of her curly gray locks, which immediately evoked a pleased growl of lust from Genevieve.

"Yes, fuck my mouth, John, control me, push my head onto your marvelous cock, I need you in my mouth."

She whispered up at me once more before her warm mouth descended and engulfed my entire length and girth in three or four tight swallows. "J'ai besoin de sucer votre coq, John!"

She alternated deep-throating me and licking my swollen testicles with such talent and passion that, regretfully, I could last only a few minutes until I shot an enormous load of semen deep into her mouth, six, seven, eight shots of thick, milky seed.

She caught and swallowed the brunt of the sticky ejaculate, yet spit out some onto her heavy breasts, and she stood up and grabbed me by the back of the head, catching me by surprise as I was still recovering and preoccupied by the cum still trickling and dribbling down my shaft.

"Suck my big tits, John, suck them, let me feel your mouth on my skin." I obliged and obeyed willingly, sucking the residue of my own semen off of her heaving tits.

She raised my head back up to her mouth and we shared my seed on our tongues as we kissed wildly. She took my palm into her own and placed it between her parted legs as I lowered my head back down to her breasts, lightly biting on the nipple as Genevieve squealed. Then I lapped around her huge areolas while I popped a second finger up into the tight canal of her cunt, almost immediately finding a spongy mass of flesh on the inner wall of her saturated vagina, and I stroked it teasingly as I could feel her kegel muscles tightening around the invading digits.

I dropped to my knees, intent on reciprocating the intense oral pleasure that she had just provided to me, and I cupped her buttocks in my hands and pressed her cunt into my face, and within a few minutes of savoring the flavors of my cunning linguist, she nearly fell to her knees, her cunt exploding in a warm splash of warm, ivory-colored ejaculate from her cavity, coating my entire face, as I eagerly consumed her sex nectar.

I ran my tongue repeatedly and gently from her clit to her anus, over and over, rhythmically, softly, inserting my fingers into her forbidden brown-puckered hole when consuming her pussy, and easing three digits inside of her cunt when licking her asshole.

I haven't met a woman yet who doesn't turn to a quivering mass of Jello-like protoplasm while being the recipient of this type of oral homage, and Genevieve was even more responsive than most, lifting her leg over my shoulder to provide me with unfettered access to both her pussy and ass.

Each time my lips moved first to rim her and then to tongue-fuck her asshole, I wiggled three fingers, all in opposite directions, inside of her wildly convulsing cunt, paying particular attention to massaging her G-spot. With each extraction of my fingers, her cunt spurted small streams of fluid down onto my face and all over her thighs, and I watched excitedly, stroking my own cock with my free hand, as her stomach heaved in blissful contractions, accompanying each repeated orgasm.

I genuinely love pleasuring a woman in this way, and for some reason it gave me special pleasure this time because Genevieve was a stranger and I seemed to instinctively know my way around her triggers.

At one point, when she finally opened her eyes to peek, she saw me rubbing my own pole back to its full length, and gasped, "Oh, you're stroking yourself, too? That is so fucking hot! How many hands do you have anyway?"

As Genevieve still struggled to catch her breath as she returned to earth from her countless orgasms, I took her hands in one of mine and clasped them behind her back, and raised my leg into the small of her back and gently pushed her, face-first, down onto an ottoman that sat next to an antique leather chair in the corner of the living room.

I situated her torso so that she was stretched lewdly with her ass in the air, only her palms and the balls of her feet on the hardwood floor, her stomach crushed into the upholstery of the ottoman, and I slapped my resuscitated cock on the flesh of her milky white ass.

"Do you want this big cock, Genevieve? Where do you want it? Tell me, tell me where you want my cock."

I ran the tip of my cock, which was again leaking pre-cum, around the rim of her lovely anus, anticipating the pending penetration.

I wanted that tight ass as my eventual target. Yes, I would have that tight ass today of this horny, mysterious, married French beauty, but not quite yet.

The groan of unadulterated lust that roared from her chest emulated the sound of the thunder that we had heard while in the park. Her voice had lowered several octaves, consumed my pure sexual desire, and her reply was succinct, concise.

"My cunt," she growled in her accent that alone could keep me stiff. "Stuff that magnificent cock deep and hard up my tight cunt."

She added a postscript as I began my almost frantic invasion of her pussy.

"Fuck me like you've never fucked a woman. Split me apart with that thick cock, fill me, I've always wanted one so big. Do me."

Twenty more-than-frantic minutes later, her torso was buried between the plush cushions of her couch after being twisted and contorted into every conceivable position of her body and nook-and-cranny of her living room, and I let loose my second volcanic orgasm deep into her churning cunt, which by now was convulsing in virtual non-stop spasms.

When we finally recovered from undoubtedly the hottest and most intimate fuck that I had ever shared with a woman whom I had known for less than two hours, she rose and attended to the dogs in the kitchen. I watched her firm, mature ass wiggle and bounce as she walked, seeing the mixture of our cum and love juices cascade down the back of her thighs, and running onto the curve of her buttocks.

She returned with a towel and a smile, as I admired her thoroughly just-fucked-hair flowing down her flushed cheeks.

"Come, we must shower, I promise not to pee on you if you will do me one favor before you must go."

I made a Boy-Scout-honor signal to indicate my pledge to serve. "Anything, sweet Genevieve, what is your desire?"

She gazed at me with intensity. "I want you to fuck my anus after I suck you back to life. I need to be fucked anally."

"Dans mon ane," she repeated in her native tongue, apparently to punctuate the request. It sounded palatable in either language.

Forty minutes later, Genevieve was once more on her knees, toweling off my cock that had just cum for a third time. This burst was deep in her bowels as she braced herself on the porcelain walls of the shower and screamed in blissful ecstasy as her sphincter threatened to crush my cock as she thrashed about and came like a faucet. She sucked lovingly on my cock tip between rubs of the towel.

She looked up at me with those disarming green eyes, her hair matted against her pretty face, a woman who oozed the unmistakable aura of having just experienced incredibly erotic and intense sex.

"You have come in my mouth, in my pussy, and finally, in my ass. You are a spectacular lover, John, I shall not forget you, merci, merci beaucoup." She kissed me on the cheek and began to dress me as she herself remained naked.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her tenderly. "It is I who should thank you, Jenny. That was truly the most erotic afternoon I have ever had. And you are the most incredible lover I have ever known. I have never cum so hard, so long, so intensely in all parts of a woman as exotic and beautiful as you."

Shane bounded back to me, sensing our visit was coming to a close. I looked at Genevieve in all of her naked glory one final time, taking special note of the wet, silver curls above her still puffy cunt. I hoped it would not be the last time we would be lovers, and asked with my own pleading puppy-dog eyes, "Will I see you again?"

She hugged me with an unspoken yet subtle message. This time her body did not rub against mine, she had become suddenly a bit aloof, non-committal.

"We shall see, John, there are no promises. Fate brought us together today, but I have mixed feelings about seeing you in the future."

She continued slowly. "You see, I don't want to become like my husband and his philandering ways, I still love him. I just needed a man today, I needed sex to feel attractive, and I could not have chosen more wisely with you. You are wonderful. But, I hope you understand. "

I did, but I didn't. But it doesn't matter what I think. I've understood at least that much when it comes to women.

Two weeks later, I returned to the dog park with my pup. However, before I departed my car to let Shane loose, I saw a pair of familiar figures in the distance. Remy was chasing his beloved lacrosse ball, and Genevieve was cheering him on delightedly.

However, the ball tosser was a tall, thin handsome man who hugged Genevieve lovingly between throws. At the sake of culturally profiling, he looked like the consummate Frenchman. Her husband, I surmised. I watched for a bit, long enough to watch them walk arm-in-arm in the direction of their house after Remy had exhausted his chases.

Even from so far away, I could see a ring on Genevieve's finger, gleaming in the sun. She had not worn it the day we had met.

Shane whimpered in the back seat as he watched his canine buddy disappear, realizing he would not be sharing in the fun this day.

"I know how you feel, bud," as I patted his head soothingly.

"Yep, I know just exactly how you feel."