Girlpup

Now that it's over, the whole thing is hard to believe, but it made sense at the time. Even now I miss him ... I miss Eliot. I hope he's happy. I think I could have stayed with him a long time but it didn't work for him. We met at a WeWork in downtown Seattle. I was trying to do some freelance writing. We occupied adjacent cubicles. I don't know which of us got there first, but we noticed each other and when I took a break to get coffee I offered to bring him some. He said, "Um, sure...black, no sugar. Thanks." He thanked me again when I set the coffee next to his laptop. Later, he asked me to watch his stuff for a few minutes while he took a call. You weren't supposed to do calls in the open.

The next day he was there again, though we weren't next to one another. We waved and smiled. I brought him coffee again and he introduced himself, Eliot Seaman. "I'm Maddie," I replied. He was handsome, mid-thirties, wavy brown hair, expensive but casual clothes, dark eyes, a two-day stubble just like I love... but he struck me as unhappy. Preoccupied, distracted, maybe resentful -- of whom? Colleagues? Customers? I started watching him, trying to figure him out. I looked for him every day, hoping to park myself nearby, which was usually possible. We had a friendly thing going -- whoever was going for coffee would get it for both of us. Still, we didn't talk a whole lot; we were supposed to be working.

In the second week of our WeWork encounters he asked if I could watch his stuff while he ran home to take his dog out; he wouldn't be long, he promised. I said sure -- I wasn't going anywhere. When he got back he showed me Instagram photos of himself and the dog, a golden retriever. They were cute. I was starting to like him. He explained that he usually worked at home but his kitchen was being redone, it was too noisy to work there and Winnie, the dog, needed more than he could ask the workmen for. He was hoping they'd be done and gone in another week. To me, that meant Eliot might be gone in a week.

The next day he seemed hassled -- he kept disappearing for phone calls. When he asked me again to watch his stuff while he went to Winnie I said, "Hey, why don't I go? I'm just waiting around for emails that never arrive. Give me your address, I'll take Winnie out. You can stay and work."

I could tell he wanted to say yes. "You're sure?" he asked.

"Sure." I wanted to help. I wanted to meet Winnie. Mostly, I wanted to see where Eliot lived and make a connection before his kitchen was done and he disappeared for good. He must have been desperate because he gave me his address, the keycode to his garage, and instructions for Winnie. He said he would text the workmen that I was coming. I felt butterflies.

Winnie was totally cool. She didn't know me but was eager to accept her leash and to romp in the park Eliot directed me to. When I brought her back to the house I walked to the kitchen to tell the workmen we were back; it gave me a chance to snoop a little. I guess I was looking for signs of a girlfriend. There weren't any, but the house was impressive -- Eliot clearly worked in tech.

I insisted on walking Winnie again the following day and it became a routine. I tended to Eliot's dog while he worked. I was bummed when he informed me at the end of the week that the kitchen was done at last and he would be working from home from now on. It implied he didn't need me. Worse, he thanked me in a way that felt final, like I wouldn't see him again. I congratulated him on the kitchen.

For two days I tried to figure out why I was obsessing about Eliot. Part of it was that I had been dumped by a guy a few months before who basically told me I was too focused on me and not enough on 'us' (but he meant not enough on him). He was being an asshole, but his comment bugged me. I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to show that I could focus on someone else and be some kind of model girlfriend. Eliot was perfect because I liked him and he was unhappy. I could make him happy. I would make that my job, like nothing else mattered.

So the next day I went to his house at dog-walking time with a leash from Petsmart and a coffee from Peet's. When he answered the door I said, "Hey! I'm here for Winnie's walk!" and handed him the coffee. "Black, no sugar, right?" The great thing was that he laughed and waved me into the house, and Winnie practically knocked me over. I felt like a dating genius (go for the guy's dog). And then he said exactly what I had been hoping for, why don't we all go for a walk: me, him, and Winnie. But just then I had another flash of brilliance: I said no. "No, you need to work. Let me do this. Winnie and I will be fine. You do your thing."

I was a little surprised that he agreed -- I guess he really did need to work -- so Winnie and I set out for the park. As we walked, I thought about how to play it. Had we gone together, it would have turned into some kind of dating thing between me and Eliot and we'd have to navigate that. This was better: it was just me doing something thoughtful for him. Therefore I should walk Winnie, bring her back, and then excuse myself -- cheerfully disappear and make it clear I expected nothing in return. Just Maddie being helpful.

It worked. Eliot invited me in again but I said, "Oh, no. I'll get out of your hair." I escorted him back to the sofa where he'd been doing whatever he was doing. The laptop was there, and a tablet, his phone, a half-eaten bagel, and the empty coffee cup. I playfully herded him to his seat, then turned to leave but stopped when I noticed Winnie. The dog approached Eliot as soon as he sat, poked him with her muzzle and licked his hand, waited for a pat, a fond if perfunctory stroking of her head and behind her ears. Then, understanding that her master was occupied, Winnie settled herself at his feet with her back against his leg. "Good girl," he murmured. I realized two things. One, I wanted that closeness. Two, Winnie didn't ask for much; pats and scratches, sure, and she loved Eliot's attention, but she was content with whatever he gave her and then was just standing by for him. Wow. Winnie could teach me how to be with Eliot.

The next day when I brought Winnie back I asked for a tour of the new kitchen. It was still not unpacked and sort of a mess with boxes all over, nothing put away. Eliot kept apologizing for its condition but also wanted to show it off. He started telling me about features. I stopped him when he got to the espresso maker, a built-in fully plumbed smart machine. "But you haven't even used it!" I chided him.

"Well, not yet..."

I demanded the manual -- I'd already found coffee beans -- and nudged him out. "I'm very good at this. You go on and I'll figure it out." Fifteen minutes later I brought him a perfect Americano, then returned to the kitchen to unpack boxes and start organizing. I couldn't do it all, but I made a decent dent before returning to Eliot. Winnie rose to greet me, licked my hand, then returned to settle at his feet. I screwed up my courage and did the same thing. I said something like, "Oh, Winnie looks so comfortable," and sank to the floor with my legs under me and snuggled against Eliot. You could say he was surprised.

He laughed uncomfortably and asked, "Um, what are you doing?"

"Just waiting til you have a minute to look at the kitchen. You need to tell me where you want certain things. But I can wait."

He gave me an eyeroll and said, "Sorry, Maddie, but I have a girlfriend."

"Is that so?" I asked innocently. "That's great. I hope she's good to you. What's her name?"

"June."

"Because if she ever hurts you I'm going to be very upset," I warned, looking up from his knee.

He raised an eyebrow and said, "I don't think she'd be too happy to find another woman walking my dog, making me coffee, unpacking my kitchen, and sitting at my feet."

I responded simply. "Why not? I'm just trying to be helpful. Does June walk Winnie or make you coffee?"

"June?" He laughed. "Hell, no, she's too busy."

"Well, then she shouldn't complain. I just want you to be happy. Doesn't she want the same thing?"

He shot me a cynical, mischievous look. "You want me to be happy? What if I asked you to take off your shirt?"

I pulled it off in a flash before he could stop me. I sat there in my bra, spread my arms to show off, and gave him a happy smile. It wasn't fake. I was thrilled.

Eliot was flustered. "Jesus, Maddie! I was kidding. I mean, I didn't think you'd do it! Put your shirt on."

"Whatever you say, sir." But before I put it on, I unhooked my bra, slid it off and folded it. I handed it to him primly then took my sweet time replacing the shirt to make sure he got a good view. He fingered the bra as he watched me. I knew it was warm and smelled good. "So let me know when you have a minute to check out the kitchen," I said, and curled back into his leg, now pressing my breast against him.

After that I never wore a bra at Eliot's and I wore tops that made it obvious. I wanted him to know my tits were his if he wanted them. I mean, if you want to make someone happy, share your tits. Really. What could be nicer? Boobs are wonderful, all shapes and sizes, mine included. There's no other body part like them. They're full, soft, round, warm, and totally plush -- no structure, so they jiggle and bounce. And nipples are awesome. Even if I didn't have a clit, I bet I could have an orgasm just playing with my nipples.

Eliot got the message and pretty soon, if he had a free hand when I curled up next to him (like if he wasn't typing), he would cup a boob and pet it and sometimes give a gentle squeeze. Apparently he liked tits -- great! I would encourage him with little sighs and make sure he had access. Not only were my nipples stiff, my panties were damp.

I figured the next thing was blow jobs. I never knew a man who didn't like them. I was sure this would make Eliot happy, too, but the problem was June. He was a very considerate guy and even though he was okay with feeling my tits whenever, he would probably think blow jobs crossed a line. Which they did, of course, which was why I wanted to do it. Once again I took my cue from Winnie. Whenever Eliot patted her, she leaned into it, prodding him for more. I did the same. If Eliot fondled my breast, I'd run a hand over his calf and rub my cheek on his thigh. The first time my hand wandered to his crotch, he removed it and murmured, "No, Maddie." And like a good girl I retreated. "Whatever you say, sir." He wasn't ready.

It had to be because of June. He was comfortable having me around -- by then I was there a lot -- but never when June was coming over. He might say, "Thanks for your help, Maddie. You can go now." One time I finally asked, "Is June coming?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"You don't want me to see her? Or you don't want her to see me."

He laughed. "Very much the latter. I know you're not jealous. But I know June is, or would be if she found out who's been walking Winnie."

He was wrong about me. I was super jealous but merely said, "Okay. Can I come back when she's gone? I was going to fold some laundry."

"I think tomorrow would be safer." He patted my head like he might have Winnie's.

That told me June was going to spend the night and they were undoubtedly going to have sex. It's not like I didn't already know it -- she was his girlfriend, okay? But this time it got to me. When I left, I parked a couple of blocks away and walked back to a neighbor's hedge to watch for June.

She arrived in a silver Audi (so she's rich, I assumed) and was carrying a canvas bag big enough for overnight but also a briefcase-y looking backpack. I had only a moment to check her out before Eliot let her inside (at least she didn't have her own key). She was dark-haired (like me), medium build but not much bust, well dressed, heels, sunglasses -- that's about all I could tell. She seemed grumpy because she didn't dance up the walk eager to see her wonderful boyfriend; she sort of sauntered up while checking her phone. I imagined she was scowling. When Eliot came to the door, he pecked her cheek. When she didn't return it I thought to myself, 'Cold bitch,' and felt sorry for Eliot.

The rest of that evening, back at my place alone, I thought about Eliot and June and imagined them having sex. I pictured them naked and writhing, Eliot handsome and virile and June past her prime; Eliot wishing for oral and June too dumb or mean or prudish to give it to him. I wondered what poor Winnie did when they had sex. Then I imagined myself there at the house with Winnie. I had this sick fantasy that for the sake of Eliot's happiness I would get him ready for June even though he deserved better. She would have gone to the bedroom to wait while I undressed Eliot and folded his clothes. And neatened his hair and rubbed his body and told him how great he looked. Eventually I'd fondle his penis, getting it ready for showtime. I knew I could do it better than June. I could make Eliot harder than she'd ever seen him. I stroked it and then, yes, sucked it. I did it better than Eliot could have imagined; he was overwhelmed by my fellatio. In my imagination his penis was perfect, you understand -- big, but not shocking or gross. I imagined his balls covered with beautiful hair. His penis glistened and hardened, obviously for me not June. In my fantasy Eliot stroked my hair and whispered Oh, Maddie. But it was my duty to stop so he wouldn't ejaculate before he got to June. Faithful Maddie patted his chest. 'I think you're ready, sir.' And steered my Eliot toward the door where his undeserving paramour was waiting. He touched my cheek then went to her. In my fantasy I cried while they fucked. Is that sick?

All right, enough fantasy -- back to blow jobs. It took another week, during which I kept finding ways to make myself useful. In addition to walking Winnie and making coffee, I did whatever laundry he didn't send out, whatever errands I could think of, and started baking now and then, like bread and muffins; baking gave me another useful chore -- cleanup. When he finally allowed me to stroke him through his pants, I knew it was only a matter of time. Still, I had to make the move, which was to lower his zipper. Again he stopped me, but his heart wasn't in it. "I don't think June would approve," he said.

"Oh? I just thought a blow job would make you happy. But maybe June is coming over to give you one?"

He knew where this was going. "Not that I know of."

"No? Well, that means you wouldn't get one. That would be a shame, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, I guess it would."

"June wouldn't want you to be unhappy. And I'm the only one here so it's kind of up to me, isn't it?" He surrendered to my logic and let me open his pants. I fished out his penis and began tickling it. "Just relax, sir, and let me take care of this."

He sighed. "Good girl."

It was almost as perfect as I imagined it. His dick had heft and heat that don't show up in a fantasy. This was real; it was Eliot's and I was giddy to finally have it. I had to remind myself not to get carried away, to stay focused on Eliot, to give him the best he ever had -- in a whole different category from anything June might attempt. I think I succeeded. I slurped and teased and nibbled; I licked the head like ice cream and petted his balls and stroked his thighs. He was passive at first, letting me do all the work, which I was happy to do. As he got closer to coming, his skin got damp and his breathing got heavy. He began thrusting, though not aggressively; I think he just couldn't help himself and that made me glad. I knew I couldn't deep throat him -- he was too big and I had never done it, though it occurred to me I should practice somehow in case he ever wanted it. Things had gotten sloppy by the time he was ready to come. I intended to take it all in my mouth so he would know he was welcome. That's what happened -- warm jets flooded my mouth and I swallowed everything. Mission accomplished. I licked him while he recovered. "You see? You needed that." I rose to fetch a warm washcloth and towel. I decided my service would include cleanup, too.

Blow jobs became a regular thing. We both looked forward to them -- they made him happy. I got better at knowing what he liked and he grew accustomed to first-rate cock sucking. When I came into the house I'd sing out, "Does anybody here need a blow job?" And he would laugh. Or I might look for him after finishing some chore and ask hopefully, "Do you have time for a blow job, sir?" Sometimes he turned me down because he had to finish something or start a meeting. "Maybe later." And I'd say, "Why don't we set a time." He'd laugh and say, "Okay, 6:30." "Right. Banjo Judy at 1830." Then I'd pull out my phone and say, "Hey Siri, remind me to give Eliot his blow job at 6:30." Corny, yes, but it was fun.

I wasn't sure how much June knew about me. I was pretty sure from things Eliot said that she knew he'd found a dog walker. But I was pretty sure she didn't know the dog walker was unpaid and was sucking her boyfriend off every chance she got -- tits out preferably. We laughed a lot. He never took it farther -- he never tried to get in my pants -- but I didn't mind. I was making him happy and I just knew June wasn't. It was her own fault and served her right. But then, suddenly, Eliot stopped being happy. He'd been enjoying my service so much that it was jarring to see him obviously down. "Is everything okay?" I asked. "Is there anything I can do?" I wasn't teasing him -- he was serious so I was serious.

He drew a breath. "Maddie, what are we doing?"

"What do you mean? I thought we were having fun."

"We are. That's the problem. You know I have a girlfriend [he didn't say her name], and yet we do all this. And you never complain when I go to her. Why is that, Maddie? Why do you do this?"

"Well ... I want you to be happy." I was nervous because he sounded almost angry with me, frustrated at least. Like I was making him unhappy, which was so unexpected, so opposite from my intent, that it sort of freaked me out. "Would you be happier if I left?" I asked. My voice was unsteady. "I'll leave if that's what you want." [Please don't make me leave.]

He continued to stare at me but his look softened. "No, I know that. I love that you do things for me, Maddie. But what's in for you? It can't be just my happiness."

Without much thought I said, "I want to be like Winnie..." He narrowed his eyes. I blushed and started over. "Okay, that came out wrong ... but not totally. I want to be loyal, faithful, obedient ... dependable. If I demand anything in return, that ruins it -- then it's not a gift, it's a trade. It feels better to just give, to do things for you -- to make your coffee, do your laundry, give you orgasms. I want to give you me, with no strings attached." Then I added, "I promise you can have June, too, if that makes you happy."

He didn't reply. On an impulse, I left for the kitchen to find Winnie's leash, the one I'd bought at Petsmart. When I came back, I made it into a loop and placed it around my neck. I pulled it snug and presented the end to Eliot. I said, "I'm yours, sir, however you want me."

I hoped for a smile, but didn't receive one. He inspected the leash briefly, then handed the end back to me. "I need to think about this."

Shit.

I left and didn't hear from him for four days. It was mid-December, cold and rainy -- the weather sucked. I was alone in my little apartment and hated it. I thought about Eliot constantly and envied Winnie. I imagined her curled at his feet in front of a fire. Lucky Winnie. In hindsight though, the break was a good thing because I needed to think, too. Eliot was asking good questions -- why was I doing this? What did I want?

I wanted Eliot, but not exactly. I wanted to be Eliot's. There were lots of ways to be his. I could be his princess, or his servant, his little girl, his pet, his toy. Any or all of those. It was up to him. Then I wondered what if he hurt me. Was I still his then? Or scarier, what if hurting me made him happy? I decided it wasn't okay for him to abuse me, any more than it would be okay for him to abuse Winnie. If he did, I would leave. But he wouldn't, that's the thing -- he wouldn't. Not Eliot. Eliot was a good man even when he was unhappy. It made zero sense that being bad would make him happy. I decided I would be his devoted pet -- his Maddie, his Girlpup. If he would allow it. If he would give me a chance. If he would just call me.