Sandpaper Handjob- Short stories no one likes: The Puppy


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22-20-5 (49) Thank your Jebus for the break. Next up: Dee-troit, Tuesday, 7pm

22-20-5 (49)

Thank your Jebus for the break.

Next up: Dee-troit, Tuesday, 7pm

Short stories no one likes: The Puppy

I bought my wife a puppy last July, while she was taking the bar exam. I knew she would pass, so I went to the breeder and pointed to the runt of the litter. Yellow Lab. Half an hour later I put the sleeping dog in a basket, complete with a red bow on top like you might see in a television commercial during the holidays. I put that basket by the door, waited for her to come home, and hoped that she would forget she was married to a heroin addict.

She pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. I could hear her heels clicking happily on the walk, confirming her success and guaranteeing a call to her mother, aka The Biggest Cunt In The World. I was floating on the couch, stuck to the cushions of our old sofa and doomed to hear every last detail of what was sure to be a two-hour conversation.

But then she opened the door, walked in, and fell in the love with that fucking dog. I hate dogs and cats, but I guess I fell in love with him, too. He was almost perfect, except for his getting into the trash. That was a problem. He did know that shitting outside was good, drinking from the shitter was bad, and barking at niggers was good. All in all, he was cool.

But it was her dog. Never mine, and never ours. Hers. Which was fine. I knew the score the second they set eyes on each other. When the puppy finally fell asleep that first night, Sara took me upstairs and sucked me off. She never gave me oral, which was too bad; she was good at it.

My mother-in-law called the next day. I didn't answer, but I knew Mom wanted to know how the exam went. I smiled and rolled up a bomb.

By September I was getting fucked almost daily. I was more interested in other things, obviously, but pussy was still pretty okay. Sara happened to be fucking one of the partners at the firm and using my dick to finish herself off at night. As God as my witness, I can tell you that if not for the dog, she'd have just come home angry, going to bed unsatisfied with a divorce in the back of her head. (You may be wondering, and you may be a fool. Remember, I was having an affair of my own. I still am.)

Fall was a blur. By Halloween, Sara was traveling for the firm. When she'd call, it was to ask about that fucking dog. Not me. I have trouble getting a good vein, so I sniff my shit. It's not as good that way, but it's not bad either. But I digress. The dog was just fine. I didn't ask about her work dick. I knew it was the lawyer, and that shit is as lame in Tulsa as it is in Houston, or right here in Western P-A, so I did my thing while she did hers.

My nose started to bleed a week before Christmas. It didn't take long for the wastebasket in the bathroom to fill up with Kleenex. It didn't take long for the dog to find the goodies, either. Maybe if I had remembered to feed him, or take out the trash, everything would be alright. Maybe if I wasn't a junkie. Maybe, if, whatever.

Tomorrow's Christmas Eve. Sara's flying in. Her folks are driving down from Pittsburgh. I just shit my pants, and I can feel it spreading on the cushions of the brand new $3000 sofa Sara bought at Lexington's during their Black Friday sale last month. I'm not sure how long the dog's been dead, but the bloody tissue in his mouth is rock hard. He smells really bad, I think. After all, I've been sitting in my own fecal matter for the last twenty minutes or so.

Yeah. The puppy's been dead for a few days now. He's stiff, but kinda squishy, too. I think the shit from my nose killed him. Too bad. He was a good dog. I could clean him up, but I have a good amount of stuff left here. I also think I have a nice vein in my arm to work with again, so maybe I'll fix myself up like I used to. If I wake up in time tomorrow, I might kill Sara. I might kill her stupid parents.

I don't expect to be married much longer.

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Sandpaper Handjob:
You'll get nothing and like it

Picture of the Day

22-20-5 (49)

Short Fiction

Dear Jorgé

Drunk in the Booth

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Sponsored by:

Music

Short stories no one likes: The Puppy

Busta

Sandpaper Handjob: You'll get nothing and like it

Picture of the Day

22-20-5 (49)

Short Fiction

Dear Jorgé

Drunk in the Booth

The Truth

Sponsored by:

Music

Short stories no one likes: The Puppy

Busta

Sandpaper Handjob:
You'll get nothing and like it