This is just my way of giving something back for all I’ve received here. I hope I’ve posted it in the right place.
A Story about bondage and unrelenting love
Tolerance please, some bondage implied.
I think Bob (not his real name) is a normal guy and he is quite successful in his chosen pursuits. But even Bob couldn’t do it all; he needed a helper. And sometimes a working relationship turns into something else. Rather than me telling you this tale I will let Bob (not his real name) tell it in his own words.
I’m Bob (not my real name) and I’d like to tell you about this whole relationship from my side. You should know that I’m not a pervert or anything like that. Sure, I’ve got a few quirks but don’t we all?
It started a few years ago when I found I needed a helper to do some of the dirty work. You know, the stuff that is necessary but gets your hands and feet muddy and wet. Looking for my helper in a bunch of prospects that seemed eager to work and had lots of energy I needed certain qualities: stamina and strength. After all we would often have to work from dawn to dusk. But that would not be enough. My helper would have to have a certain look. Not necessarily what others would call beautiful; I didn’t care what people thought. But in some way he had to be beautiful to me. A quirk? Okay, maybe, but not a perversion.
Perhaps it was his eyes; I’m not sure what attracted me to him. Or what made him outstanding in that crowd of candidates.
Introducing myself, I reached out hesitantly to touch him, “I’m Bob,” I said. He didn’t reply but didn’t withdraw either. With a masculine firmness he leaned into my hand.
“Come with me,” I said confidently.
He sat comfortably in the passenger seat of my pickup and was soon fast asleep. Looking at him slumbering there, I said to unlistening ears, “You’d better enjoy that now; my helpers ride in the back of my pickup when we go to work.”
Over the next few years we worked together. Often I became frustrated with his inattention. And sometime he was just a disgusting slob. If we were to be around other people he would have display some decorum. I tried to make him understand. To be effective he had to know who was the boss. I even thought about getting a whip.
And many times I wondered if I had made the right choice. Especially the time he stole from me. No, it wasn’t a big deal; it was just my lunch. But if he would steal a sandwich what else could I expect.
Then it happened. After working one cold, wet, October day we finished successfully just before dark. Shivering, wet and exhausted we arrived at the truck. For some reason, perhaps pity, I let him sit in the front seat of the pickup that evening. I don’t regret my actions nor will I defend them. It just happened.
Turning on the headlights I looked straight ahead into the gathering darkness and started my truck. Humming a haunting tune I poured myself a cup of hot coffee and placed it on the dash. Then out of the corner of my I eye I caught him starring at me, his wet, shinning black hair slicked back toward his powerful neck, his big brown eyes, soft in the glow of evening. He looked beautiful.
Gazing back at my beautiful partner, for now he was no longer my helper but a full-fledged partner, I smiled encouragingly. He leaned his head in my direction.
Hesitantly at first, his face came closer to mine. With a sudden burst, his long tongue snaked out of his mouth and licked my ear.
A smile burst over my face, so wide and so deep and so genuine, he knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself. And I didn’t. I reached over and ruffled his head. And rubbed his big floppy ears. And roughly patted his wet shoulders. He loved it. Standing up in the passenger seat his tail banged rhythmically against the door.
“Good boy,” I rubbed his wet shoulders more and patted his head. I grinned even broader.
Not saying a word, he wagged his tail knocking over the coffee. “Next time you’re riding in the back,” I said.
The following day I bought him a new collar and a stuffed toy.
Thank you Bob (not your real name) for telling us your story. You seem like a pretty normal dog kind of guy to me.
http://gallery.fishbc.com/gallery/view_photo.php?set_albumName=Bird-Hunting&id=Simon_and_Oscar
http://gallery.fishbc.com/gallery/view_photo.php?set_albumName=Bird-Hunting&id=Roland_and_Skipper
http://gallery.fishbc.com/gallery/view_photo.php?set_albumName=Bird-Hunting&id=Duane_and_Billie
http://gallery.fishbc.com/gallery/view_photo.php?set_albumName=Bird-Hunting&id=Simon_and_AltaKen
A Story about bondage and unrelenting love
Tolerance please, some bondage implied.
I think Bob (not his real name) is a normal guy and he is quite successful in his chosen pursuits. But even Bob couldn’t do it all; he needed a helper. And sometimes a working relationship turns into something else. Rather than me telling you this tale I will let Bob (not his real name) tell it in his own words.
I’m Bob (not my real name) and I’d like to tell you about this whole relationship from my side. You should know that I’m not a pervert or anything like that. Sure, I’ve got a few quirks but don’t we all?
It started a few years ago when I found I needed a helper to do some of the dirty work. You know, the stuff that is necessary but gets your hands and feet muddy and wet. Looking for my helper in a bunch of prospects that seemed eager to work and had lots of energy I needed certain qualities: stamina and strength. After all we would often have to work from dawn to dusk. But that would not be enough. My helper would have to have a certain look. Not necessarily what others would call beautiful; I didn’t care what people thought. But in some way he had to be beautiful to me. A quirk? Okay, maybe, but not a perversion.
Perhaps it was his eyes; I’m not sure what attracted me to him. Or what made him outstanding in that crowd of candidates.
Introducing myself, I reached out hesitantly to touch him, “I’m Bob,” I said. He didn’t reply but didn’t withdraw either. With a masculine firmness he leaned into my hand.
“Come with me,” I said confidently.
He sat comfortably in the passenger seat of my pickup and was soon fast asleep. Looking at him slumbering there, I said to unlistening ears, “You’d better enjoy that now; my helpers ride in the back of my pickup when we go to work.”
Over the next few years we worked together. Often I became frustrated with his inattention. And sometime he was just a disgusting slob. If we were to be around other people he would have display some decorum. I tried to make him understand. To be effective he had to know who was the boss. I even thought about getting a whip.
And many times I wondered if I had made the right choice. Especially the time he stole from me. No, it wasn’t a big deal; it was just my lunch. But if he would steal a sandwich what else could I expect.
Then it happened. After working one cold, wet, October day we finished successfully just before dark. Shivering, wet and exhausted we arrived at the truck. For some reason, perhaps pity, I let him sit in the front seat of the pickup that evening. I don’t regret my actions nor will I defend them. It just happened.
Turning on the headlights I looked straight ahead into the gathering darkness and started my truck. Humming a haunting tune I poured myself a cup of hot coffee and placed it on the dash. Then out of the corner of my I eye I caught him starring at me, his wet, shinning black hair slicked back toward his powerful neck, his big brown eyes, soft in the glow of evening. He looked beautiful.
Gazing back at my beautiful partner, for now he was no longer my helper but a full-fledged partner, I smiled encouragingly. He leaned his head in my direction.
Hesitantly at first, his face came closer to mine. With a sudden burst, his long tongue snaked out of his mouth and licked my ear.
A smile burst over my face, so wide and so deep and so genuine, he knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself. And I didn’t. I reached over and ruffled his head. And rubbed his big floppy ears. And roughly patted his wet shoulders. He loved it. Standing up in the passenger seat his tail banged rhythmically against the door.
“Good boy,” I rubbed his wet shoulders more and patted his head. I grinned even broader.
Not saying a word, he wagged his tail knocking over the coffee. “Next time you’re riding in the back,” I said.
The following day I bought him a new collar and a stuffed toy.
Thank you Bob (not your real name) for telling us your story. You seem like a pretty normal dog kind of guy to me.
http://gallery.fishbc.com/gallery/view_photo.php?set_albumName=Bird-Hunting&id=Simon_and_Oscar
http://gallery.fishbc.com/gallery/view_photo.php?set_albumName=Bird-Hunting&id=Roland_and_Skipper
http://gallery.fishbc.com/gallery/view_photo.php?set_albumName=Bird-Hunting&id=Duane_and_Billie
http://gallery.fishbc.com/gallery/view_photo.php?set_albumName=Bird-Hunting&id=Simon_and_AltaKen
