Walkie Millie


Henry passed away last fall, November 1st. I'll never forget the day. It was All Saints Day, and it was only one day after my birthday. We had been out celebrating the night before. Maybe we ate too much or maybe we drank too much. I know I was okay to drive, because I was the one who drove us home, safe and sound. We had made love before our final kiss good night and I had thanked him for a lovely evening of celebration. I told him how happy I was to have him be a part of my life for the past ten years. I told him that I loved him; once while we were making love, and once while we just laid quietly next to one another. I remember our last moments together like they happened just yesterday.

We had been dancing at my birthday party. He loved to waltz. We didn't know how to properly waltz like they do on TV, but we did hold each other close. I had my arms around his neck and his hands always roamed somewhere on my back side. He was always feeling my butt. Henry was an ass man. I remembered feeling his cock getting hard while he pressed himself against me and squeezed my butt. That night, we went from the dance floor to the bedroom floor. Our clothes were strewn all about the house because we started to strip as soon as the front door opened.

I had already left my panties in the car. Henry had said he couldn't wait to feel my pussy and I obliged him while I drove us home with my left foot on the gas pedal and my right leg wrapped around the shifty thing. He stroked me and poked me and I moaned about how good it felt. I remember telling him how I couldn't wait to have him lick my pussy with his magic tongue, which is where he started on me on the stairway leading to our bedroom. From the top landing, he mounted me like a dog in heat, humping at my backside. The steps gave him the perfect height advantage as he aimed his cock toward me. From there, we moved to the softness of the feather duvet where I returned his oral pleasure. Then, I took my turn mounting him like a cowgirl on her stallion. I had no idea this was going to be our last ride together. Neither of us knew he had a bad heart. He was only 48.

Millie has replaced Henry on his side of the bed. She lies next to me night after night with her head on his pillow. I think she misses him as much as I miss him. He was our best friend.

Now, there is just the two of us, instead of the three of us. Our family is broken, but we have fond memories. Every once in awhile, she will dig out one of his slippers from the closet and bring it to me. I know that she remembers him because she will drop the slipper at my feet and look up at me with those sad brown eyes that Springer Spaniels have. She will turn and walk away, only to retreat to that round throw rug on the floor next to his side of the bed. She sits and waits. I can't make her understand that he won't be coming back. She always looks so sad laying there waiting for him.

I can only try to keep her amused during the day, but the nights are very sad. They are very sad for both of us. I promised myself and Millie, too, that I would keep going; that we, would keep going. Henry would have wanted it that way.

This is why I walk Millie every night. It's a ritual that the three of us used to do right after supper. But, now that summer is here, I find myself walking later and later into the night. I don't want to be out in the heat of the late afternoon. I'd rather wait until the sun sets and the sidewalk cools. We only walk around the block, but it's not a city block that we pound away at. It's a rural block that measures all of three miles. It's quiet and picturesque, even after dark.

Sometimes Millie and I will meet up with other walkers going in the opposite direction and I will nod my head and say, "Good evening. Nice night for a walk." Occasionally, I'll actually run into someone I know and we exchange pleasantries, but we always keep moving while we are talking. This is, after all, my neighborhood. I've noticed a few new families moving in while my old playmates get married and move out and their parents start to move away to retirement communities. It's the neighborhood that I grew up in. I know almost everyone. I know their brothers, their sisters, their wives, their husbands and their kids. This is where I live in my little town east of the river.

I remember when Henry and I would walk after dinner, we would talk about our day, who we had seen, or where we had had lunch. Millie would always walk on her leash in front of us. Once in awhile she would stop to smell something, squat and piddle a little bit just to let the next dog know that she had been there. That's when Henry would stop, turn to me, and kiss me softly on my lips and hug me around my waist, and say, "I missed you today, Rosie. I miss have my girl by my side during the day. I enjoy our walks at night. I like holding your hand."

Now, when I walk, the only thing I say is, "C'mon Millie, stop barking, leave the cat alone and let's go." I don't know why I feel the need to rush her along. There's no need to hurry home. There's no one there. As the summer months roll on and the temperature has risen, I've noticed that I'm in less of a rush to get home. I've even noticed that my walking pace isn't quite as swift. If Millie wants to stop, I don't mind waiting for her to finish smelling whatever it is that a dog can smell; cat piss, squirrel piss, it would all smell the same to me, but not to a dog.

On this one particular night, late in August, we had started out later than normal. It was already dark and it was still in the low eighties. It was hot. The dog was panting and we weren't even walking very fast, but we kept moving along until we got to the Robinson's house. Millie stopped to pee near their clump of bushes next to the sidewalk. I kind of pulled into the bushes myself for fear that someone would see her doing what she was doing to their bushes. I was trying to hide.

The Robinson house is a big white colonial with pillars that lead up to their front door. There's a wrap-around porch with three or four black rocking chairs lined up on it. Mary Robinson always has beautiful flowers planted around the base of the porch and there are two giant urns, one on either side of the steps. It's very picturesque and so very typical of all of the houses here east of the river. There is never a blade of grass out of place. The yards are quiet large and I can see the Robinson's have left their croquet wickets up for the summer. Their lawn is always impeccable.

"The lawn guy must love mowing around those, Millie," I quietly muttered out loud.

As soon as I said that, I noticed a light go on in the upstairs bedroom. I tried to step back further into the shadow of the bushes just in case the Robinsons could see me allowing my dog to piss in their front yard. I'm sure there will be a big brown patch of grass there in a few days and they'll have to have their landscaper in to repair it. Oh, well. It's too damn hot to even care about it.

I stood for a moment watching the figures in that upstairs bedroom. I could hear them laughing. The drapes were fully open and so wasn't the window. I couldn't quite make out the words they were saying, but there was mostly laughter coming from the house. The rest of the house was in complete darkness. The full moon allowed me to see there was a pickup truck parked in the driveway. I assumed Mary's car had been pulled into the garage for the evening.

Millie had completed her duty and started to roam and sniff around the bushes that I still clung to for camouflage. I stood there like a statue, quietly watching. I don't know what came over me, but I was intrigued to watch these two figures walk around the room. Once Mary walked closer to the window, I could see the silhouette of her extended hand holding a glass of wine like she was offering it to her husband, George.

I went to grammar school with George. I knew him well. He was always a nice kid and I always thought he would be a great husband, too. I felt like a peeping Tom, but I didn't care. I wanted to see what they would do next. So, I watched. And, I listened. All the while, Millie sniffed. We were both very quiet.

Mary Robinson walked directly toward the open window and for a second, I thought she might have heard me, but she stopped a few feet in front of it. George approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her and she arched her back and laid her head on his shoulder.

I gasped! Mary Robinson was completely naked! Her breasts were pointed right out to the front yard for anyone to see, but there was no one there but me. Her pussy, although neatly shaved, was dark and just at the right height of the window sill for me to see it. I now knew she wasn't a natural blonde, I suspected it all along. That dark pussy was my proof.

They each had a glass of wine in their hand and I could here her say, "It's so hot tonight. Let me catch my breath. I need some air." She walked closer to the window.

George kissed her neck and her shoulders, never lifting his head to the moonlit yard. As he stood behind her, his hands fondled her breasts and I could tell that he was grinding himself into her back side. They both turned slightly until there were two silhouettes in the window and I could see he was also naked. I was getting warmer myself and I knew if Henry were with me he would be having the same ideas that George Robinson had had right at that moment.

Squarely planted, directly in the center of the window, Mary turned to George and got down on her knees. I knew what she was about to do. I could see his cock was hard and her hand was already in action on it. They both stopped to set their wine glasses on the window sill.

I gasped, again, for the second time. I quickly placed my hand over my mouth in case they might have heard my very audible deep breath. It wasn't George! Who the hell was that in Mary Robinson's bedroom? I didn't know she was having an affair. I had no idea.

I took a step to the right to see if I could get a better look at who was in the bedroom. Millie was sitting right by my side waiting for me. Mary's head went down on his cock and he moved his hips in rhythm to her bobbing head. I stood in awe, just watching from the shadow, like a common peeping Tom. I still couldn't make out who he was. I took another step to the right to get a better look.

"It's the landscaper," a deep voice came from behind me in the shadow.

Yet, another gasp came from deep within me this time. I swung around quickly to find a man in the shadow standing only about six inches from me. I was shaking. A million thoughts raced through my head in lightening speed. How long had he been standing there? What was he doing there? Was he watching Mary, too? Where the hell is Millie? Why isn't she protecting me? Why isn't she barking?

"Millie, come!" I pulled on her leash to get her closer to me and the man in the shadow stepped forward into the moonlight where I could see who he was. It was George! It was George Robinson standing in the dark bushes in his own front yard. I looked at him; I looked up at the opened window, then back at him, again. I felt like I was watching a tennis match and didn't want to miss where the ball was going.

"George? You scared the shit out of me! What are you doing out here?" I was still trying to keep my voice down to a whisper so the two lovers in the window wouldn't hear me.

I looked up one more time. Mary had turned to face the opened window again, no doubt to catch a summer breeze the way her breasts were flopping around. I found myself to be mesmerized by the sight of her naked body in the window. I never knew she was such an exhibitionist and I never knew she had had a boob job.

I was getting aroused myself just watching these two get it on in the window. She was bent over from the waist while she reached her outstretched arms to the cast iron radiator in front of her. She was accepting her lover's cock from behind. I could see that she was raising her hips higher to reach his cock. His hands were on her hips and we could hear her grunts echo through the still summer night until he came. It was the landscaper who yelled out next into the still summer air.

I turned to George with a dumbfounding look on my face, "What are you doing out here?" I was still whispering, "Who is that with Mary and what they hell are you doing hiding in these bushes? You scared the fucking crap out of me, ya know."

He spoke in a very soft, low baritone voice with no expression in his voice. "I come out here every Thursday night, Rosie. I watch them. I'm pretty sure Mary knows I'm here, too. I think that's why she coaxes him to the window. I've noticed as the nights get hotter, she gets closer to the window. She never used to leave the lights on, but lately, I can tell she's not hiding anything any more."

"You know about this?" My voice was getting a little high pitched, but I was still whispering.

"Yeah, I've known about it for awhile. I suspected something when the landscaper showed up in February with some new plans for fancy garden beds out back." His eyes never moved away from the second floor bedroom window.

"But, I don't understand why you are standing in your bushes. Why aren't you doing something about the affair? Don't you want to stop them?"

My eyes were glued to the free x-rated scene. The two lovers were now in an embrace. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and his hands were firmly planted on her ass as they held each other close. Their wine glasses sparkled on the window sill in the moonlit night.

"I'm supposed to be bowling tonight, Rosie. I told her I joined a summer league that meets on Thursday nights. I needed to find out if my suspicions were true, so I made up the story about bowling in a new league for the summer just to see if she took the bait to continue this affair."

I started to relax a little bit, even though I was still standing in the shadow of the bushes. I don't know if I was comfortable talking to George in the dark summer night air, or if I was comfortable knowing that he wasn't there to hurt me. We kept talking about what was going on his bedroom.

"George, are you going to get a divorce," I asked.

He took a deep breath before he answered me, "I thought, at first, that I would. But, week after week, I come out here and watch them. I think it turns me on, Rosie. I found out that watching them excites me. Sometimes, I take my penis out and just jerk off while they stand there in the window doing it."

I could tell even in the dark night that my face just turned seven different shades of red to hear him say that. I quickly thought back to where he had been standing behind me in the bushes just a few moments ago. Maybe he had had his cock out when I approached the bushes. Perhaps I had interrupted him during an ejaculation. I tried to surreptitiously glance down to his manhood to see if his fly was open. I could see that it was not, but there was a growing bulge beneath his pants.

I could suddenly feel the inside of my shorts getting damp, damp to the point that I believed there was moisture actually dripping down the inside of my legs. There was a familiar tingle in my pussy that I hadn't felt since Henry's death. George could tell that I was becoming uncomfortable with the conversation as I inched closer to the sidewalk and out of the shadow of the bushes.

He reach for my arm and lightly touched it, "Oh, I'm sorry, Rosie. I've completely startled you by surprising you like this. I apologize. Let me make it up to you by walking you home. Please. I promise to be good." He made the motion of crossing his heart and giving me the Boy Scout sign of three raised fingers.

"You could walk me home, George. I would like that. Millie is usually all the protection I ever need, but tonight she didn't even bark when she saw you in the bushes." I laughed and pointed toward the sidewalk up ahead, "Maybe there are more men hiding out around the corner watching their wives."

I tugged on Millie's leash to have her follow us as we headed toward my house. George was quiet for a long while until we came upon his car parked at the curb around the corner.

He pointed to his parked car and started his confession with, "I park my car over here after the sun sets. Then, I walk to my house. I wait in the bushes until they shut off all the lights downstairs. I used to bring my binoculars with me, until I figured out it was Joe Pappas screwing my wife. Can you believe it? My wife is upstairs in my bedroom screwing our Greek landscaper. At first, I was furious. I was going to go straight in there and demand a divorce. Now, this is going to sound weird to you, Rosie, but as I watched him fucking Mary week after week, I could tell that she was really enjoying it. She enjoys sex with him much more than she ever enjoyed it with me. Besides being furious, now I have become jealous and envious of his loving making techniques. So, I started to watch them every Thursday night while they think I'm off in the bowling alley. I felt like I was there in the bushes taking lessons on how to make love to my wife in a way that would please her. Almost every week they would try something new. Tonight it was that rear entry thing in the window. Last week, they were fucking on the front porch in the rocking chairs. Sometimes they screw on the couch in the front parlor. I can see her legs sticking straight up in the air."

"How long has it been going on, George? Do you know?" I was almost afraid to interrupt his speech. We kept walking and he kept talking.

"It probably started last summer. Now, that I think about everything, I remember he was at our house almost every day last summer, planting something, or trimming a tree, or mowing the grass. I didn't know he was checking out my wife's bush at the same time and I was paying him for it."

Trying to console him as best I could, I said, "Well, your yard does look very nice, lately."

He stopped walking for a brief second and turned his head toward me and said, "Yah, and the best part is, I never have to mow the grass, or shovel snow any more. He's become a year-round landscaper."

"Don't get me wrong, Rosie, becoming a voyeur has really helped me out. We still make love, Mary and I, and it's usually on Friday nights. I try to repeat what Pappas had used on her the night before. She thinks I'm being psychic," he chuckled.

"Oh, here's my house already, George. Thanks for walking me home. I hope you know your secret is safe with me. You and I have been friends for too long to have this creepy little incident come between." I started to walk up my sidewalk.

I thought he was going to shake my hand goodbye, but instead he lifted my hand and kissed it, then patted it with his other hand saying, "I'm glad you are home safe and sound, Rosie. Henry would be glad to know it, too. Good night, Millie." He reached over and patted Millie's head, leaving her tail wagging for more. He turned and I watched him disappear into the shadows of the long sidewalk, again.

That was the last night that Millie and I would head out after the sunset, in spite of the sweltering temperatures of the day. I was sure I didn't want to run into George Robinson hiding in the bushes, again.

Day after day, as soon as my dinner was completed, Millie and I would start out on our walk. I still walked passed the Robinson's house every night. Sometimes George would be sitting on the porch, and sometimes Mary would be out in the yard cutting flowers for her table. They always waved and I would return the gesture. Once in awhile, I would stop and talk to each of them for a few minutes. They seemed to be getting along fine with each other and I was sincerely happy for them.

This one particular night, I was still sitting at the dining room table finishing my dinner when I heard a knock on the screen door in the kitchen. Millie barked and went running to the door before I could get there. Her barking stopped quickly, which meant there was a familiar face standing outside and I started to relax as I approached the room. By the time I got to the kitchen, Millie's tail was wagging while she danced her little jig in circles. It was George Robinson at my screen door.

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byYoursSINSerely© 11 comments/ 35388 views/ 2 favorites

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