by JD Chambers
Still, I’ll risk humiliation today just like I did yesterday. Hopefully my apologies went a little way with Ted and he won’t act like he needs Arthur-repellant this time.
Really, I should take the hint, and not be sitting out here alone in my car, gathering up my nerve to try again.
Dave approaches the front window with a customer, pointing to rows of those weird big-headed plastic things that Ted tried to sell me on for my brother’s birthday yesterday. I don’t want to get caught stalking in my car, so seeing Dave through the window finally kicks my butt into gear and out onto the sidewalk. A bell rings as I push through the front door, causing Dave’s head to turn. The smile that shines there reminds me exactly why I couldn’t stay away. Dave looks genuinely happy to see me.
“Arthur! Hi.”
The customer loiters behind Dave, her eyes darting between us, then returns to the plastic figurines after deciding there’s nothing interesting to see. I have no idea what she sees, but I see a puppy who is practically wagging his tail, he’s so overwhelmed. It makes my next sentence very hard.
“Hi, Dave.”
Pathetically, it’s two words that I’ve practiced over and over on repeat the past couple of days. Both because I like the way they sound, and because I don’t want to slip up and call Dave “Puppy” in front of his co-workers.
“I’ll be back at the counter if you need any other assistance,” Dave tells the still-browsing customer, who barely acknowledges his existence. Ridiculous. How could anyone ignore Dave? He draws me to him like sprinkles to a cupcake.
Dave leads me back to the register, where another customer waits to be rung up.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” I ask. I know others work here, but Dave seems to be the only one working at the moment, and the last thing I want to do is overwhelm him.
“No, I’m glad you’re here.” Dave’s shy smile practically vibrates through his whole body, and I want nothing more than to help calm my puppy, but I can’t with a customer watching.
As soon as the kid leaves the store, the other customer still off browsing somewhere, I come around the counter and place a hand on the back of Dave’s neck. The nervous shaking stops, but I feel goose bumps erupting under my palm. I love that I can affect him so easily.
“Is this okay?” I keep my voice low, and Dave’s whimper is so soft it’s practically a sigh.
“So good.”
We stay just like that, for minutes or hours, I’m not sure. Only that I know it’s perfect.
“I was going to text you.” Dave’s quiet voice breaks the silence. “I’m ready.”
“I didn’t mean to rush you. I want you to be sure. I just … even if we don’t … I still want to spend time with you. I came here to try to convince you to go on a no-strings-attached date. I just really like you, Dave.”
“I like you, too. And I’m ready. I’ve been trying it out on my own.” The words spread across my body like a wildfire, unable to contain the heat the images evoke. Jesus. “I love being a puppy, but I think I need a handler.”
I congratulate myself on my restraint at not leering, “I’ll be your handler.” Admittedly, I do think it. But Dave starts shivering again, and I know he needs sincerity, not jokes.
“And you want me? To be your handler?”
Dave nods, his eyes so big and hopeful and trusting that it almost shakes me to my knees.
“It would be my honor, sweet boy,” I say, my hand gently kneading the muscles of his neck. I glance around the store, just to make sure we’re alone – well, except for the endlessly browsing customer – before leaning in to kiss Dave’s temple. The man sighs and sags into my touch.
So fucking perfect.
Eventually, a door in the back slams and a voice calls out that he’s back from lunch, breaking the spell of the moment.
“Tonight?”
“I work to close, but we could do coffee afterwards? At my place?”
I get the underlying question causing the timidity in Dave’s voice. I can’t keep the gravel out of my own, I’m so worked up as I answer. “Tonight. Text me your address and I’ll bring the coffee.”
I have no idea how I make it through the rest of my day without exploding. I went directly to Game Over after my shift at the bank, so I don’t have work to distract me. I’m too nervous to eat, but I force-feed myself a turkey sandwich. I don’t want to be low on fuel tonight.
Terry texts me to see if I want to hang out tonight, and I politely decline. Actually, I tell him that I’d rather go to a Nickelback tribute band concert. I get a middle finger emoji in return.
Still in the text app, I flip back over to my messages from Dave earlier.
Puppy: I’m looking forward to tonight.
Arthur: Me too. How do you take your coffee? Will you be hungry? Should I bring some food too?
Jesus, I sound as excitable as Dave can when he’s all cute and wound up.
Puppy: No, I had a lunch break not long ago. I really just want to spend time with you.
I’m so eager, I get to Dave’s apartment early and wind up waiting in the parking lot, coffee carrier in the passenger seat. When Dave’s old car pulls into the spot beside mine, I can’t help but watch in fascination as Dave closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the driver’s headrest. He’s making the whole car vibrate. Truly, if Dave were a dog, he would be a Chihuahua.
When he finally gets out of the car and sees me in the parked car next to his, he clutches his chest after jumping six feet in the air.
“Shit, you scared me.”
“I can tell,” I say, trying to rein in my laughter. “Don’t worry. You were adorable with your car freak-out.”
“Oh my god,” Dave says, burying his face in his hand, which I swiftly remove before following him to his apartment. I don’t trust him not to watch where he’s going when he’s this ramped up.
I enter his apartment and set the coffees down on the kitchen counter. It’s a small place, but neatly kept. I pull the cups from the cardboard carrier and hand the one marked with a heart to Dave. It’s the fault of the goofy blond barista, who hung on my every word as I waxed poetic about my date tonight. Romantic baristas, I think with an eye roll, not idiotic bank tellers with big yaps.
Dave leads me to the faded maroon floral couch, finally noticing the decoration on his cup, and he shoots me a smirk.
“How was the rest of your day?” I ask, definitely not to distract him from the heart.
“Pretty good. That one customer who never could make up her mind left and came back twice. I finally got her to admit that she had no clue what any of the stuff was, and to just get the thing her nephew specifically asked for in the first place.”
“And why wouldn’t she originally do that?” I blow into the small sip hole, trying to cool down the coffee, even though it already feels pretty cool through the cardboard. Force of habit, I suppose.
“She likes to be unique and creative with her gifts, she said.” Dave laughs. “She showed me the text from her nephew. It was very specific. And even said, ‘Don’t ask for help. This is what I want.’ I think he’d been burned by her ‘creativity’ before.”
“Shopping for people is the worst.”
“Eh,” Dave says, taking a sip and waving for me to wait while he swallows. Like I’d do anything but hang on the man’s every word. “It’s not so hard if you pay attention. But when it’s for someone you don’t know well, yeah, that can be bad. Unless you don’t mind being the gift card guy.”
“Right? It feels like such a cop-out. But it’s always what I rely on. Especially with my family. I have no clue. And I do pay attention,” I say, maybe the tiniest bit defensively. But what do you get for scuba-diving human genome research biologist parents? Or your hypercritical twin brother who already excels at everything, including flying small aircraft as a hobby? Can’t exactly wrap up a Cessna and put it under the tree. At least Westley is easy. “My family is difficult.”
“Are you out to them?” Dav
e asks, then blushes. “Sorry, that’s really personal. You don’t have to answer.”
“I don’t mind. And yes. I’m not exactly subtle. Never have been. They don’t really care. They have plenty of opinions on other things, but my sexuality is not one of them.”
“That’s good.” Dave takes another sip of his coffee and twists the cup around in his hands, and yeah, I suppose it is.
My family isn’t close. My parents are wildly successful workaholics, who only remember that we exist if we too are getting recognized for being wildly successful workaholics. My older brother plays along, or actually buys into it. We don’t talk much. After the thrill of having someone look just like you wore off at age five, we have kept in very different circles. I don’t know if other twins really have that twin telepathy or some deep connection, but I can guarantee it doesn’t exist between Andrew and me. The last time I spoke to him was two Christmases ago, when I went home simply to spend more time with Westley, the one family member I do get along with. Andrew blessed us with a FaceTime chat on Christmas Eve. You’d think Santa had come early, my parents were so excited.
“What about your parents?”
“No,” he answers a bit too hastily. “I’ve never done anything with a guy, so I never felt the need to tell anyone. Only Craig, at the store, knows.” He twists in his seat, as if he wants to face me, but he can’t bring himself to look at me. “I told him about the other thing, too. He’s got piercings, which is kind of kinky, so I thought he might have some advice.”
Ah, and there it is. Having even the most oblique reference to it spoken out loud, just floating out there in the room for anyone to grab onto it and hold it, makes Dave’s fidgeting worse.
“And did he have any advice for you?”
Dave shrugs. “His advice pretty much amounted to: be safe, communicate, and have fun.”
I reach out and take his hand, giving it a squeeze. “It’s actually really good advice. I’m very pro-all of those things.”
Dave cracks a smile and looks up at me through thick, dark lashes. My heart thuds against my chest.
“You said you bought some stuff.”
Dave nods, so I take a slow breath and draw out the words to try to make them less scary.
“Would you like to show me your things, Puppy?”
Dave takes a shaky breath but nods. I’m pretty sure I have the goofiest grin plastered on my face, but who the fuck cares? My puppy is trusting me with this, and I feel like I grow two more feet, which would be awkward since I’m already so fucking tall.
Dave gradually rises from the couch and retrieves a box from under his bed. He pulls out the items, one by one, and lays them on the rickety coffee table that matches the couch in garage-sale chic. It’s like being granted a glimpse inside Dave’s mind, the persona that he locks away and has only gifted a tiny part of to me. And then my mouth goes and fucking ruins it.
“It’s blue,” I say. I don’t know why I’m surprised that Dave has picked such colorful items. There’s nothing that says a human puppy has to be plain colors.
“I like the blue,” Dave says, uncertainty in his eyes. The next words are muffled from his head dropping low. “It makes me feel pretty.”
I really wish I could kick my own ass sometimes. This time especially.
I hook a finger under Dave’s chin and raise it until our eyes meet. “It’s perfect. And I bet you are a very pretty blue puppy. Blue. Good name for a dog.”
The sadness in Dave’s eyes is gone in a flash, replaced with a sparkle that betrays how pleased my compliments have made him. “I wanted a puppy name. Dave’s not a good name for a puppy.”
“Do you like Blue?”
Dave’s head nods so vigorously I’m surprised it doesn’t give him a headache.
“Do you … want me to try them on for you?”
I honestly can’t decide whether I want to wrap Dave up and cradle him tight or fuck him up against a wall.
“Yes.” My words drip with my enthusiasm, but I have to be a good handler and a good partner. “But first we need to talk. I want to make sure everything we do tonight is exactly what you want.”
“O-okay.”
I pick his hand back up and hold it between mine. I like having a connection, any connection, to him. And I want to put him at ease.
“Nothing bad. I just want to make sure everything is open between us. I’ve never done puppy play before, so we can learn together. Tonight, I thought maybe we could play a little and then spend some time relaxing, maybe watching a movie or show? Let you just enjoy being a puppy for a little while. No training. No expectations for after, either.”
“Sounds perfect.” Dave’s leg jumps up and down in place and I have to refrain from forcing it still. “Although, we could still do something after?”
“If you want. You let me know how you feel later on. And you need to pick a safeword.”
Dave’s leg falls still and he pulls away on the couch a little. “Why would I need a safeword with puppy play?”
“You’re going to be in puppy headspace, but you still need to have a way to let me know if anything I ask for or command is too much. Sure, we don’t think it will be now, but you never know. And it’s better to be safe. I don’t want to ever, even unintentionally, do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
Dave appears to think it over before relaxing back into my side. “Red is easy to remember. And yellow for getting iffy.”
“Then I think it’s time I met Blue,” I say, using extraordinary effort to keep my voice level.
7
Dave
I change in the bathroom, wanting the privacy to get into puppy headspace without the nerves of changing in front of someone else. Somehow, just presto – appearing mostly naked instead of performing a striptease, seems less stressful.
My hand stays unmoving on the doorknob while I take a deep breath. I told Arthur to get comfy when I left, but I don’t know just how comfy that means to him. Arthur arrived in shorts and a polo that stretched across his chest in a very, very pleasing manner. I don’t know how much more stimulation I can handle while only wearing a jock and having my tail in. I’m in danger of constantly popping wood as it is.
I take one more look in the mirror and give myself a short bark pep talk. Or pep bark. I giggle at my own puppy puns. Probably the first signs that I’m losing it, but what a fucking way to go. The puppy’s chest stands taller, because he knows he’s a good puppy and has every reason to be confident. If Arthur doesn’t like the puppy part of me, well then Arthur is obviously the one with the problem.
I open the door and drop down to all fours. I crawl into the room, but before I make it to the couch, Arthur’s shoes and socks stand in my way. They smell of sweat and man, but not in a bad way. In a curious way. I’m usually too distracted to be interested in smells or the other small details of the world around me, but when the overloaded Dave side of my brain clicks off, a curious puppy clicks on.
“Oh, Blue,” Arthur says. “You’re a very pretty puppy.”
A deep feeling of contentment settles within me on first being called Blue. I smile and bark a happy bark, then turn to wag my tail for Arthur. It’s fun, and I’m feeling playful, which might be why the sock is calling to me. Dave might have thought it was gross, but Blue is all about that sock. Lying there. In wait, probably. Something needs to be done about that sock.
I take it in my mouth and shake it, back and forth as fast as I can, then drop it. Crouching low with my chest almost touching the ground, I watch that sock. When it suddenly moves, I jerk back, before remembering I’m a brave pup. And pounce.
“Ow, Blue!” Arthur says, pulling his foot back and rubbing where I accidentally nipped his toe. Well, there are always casualties in sock wars.
I grip the sock in my teeth and shake it again.
“Blue.” Arthur draws out my name, his voice sounding sterner than it did before. “Drop it.”
I raise my eyes to see Arthur pointing at the ground. I
turn my head to the side. I don’t want Arthur taking his sock. It’s a dangerous sock. Who knows what havoc that sock might wreak if left there, without being properly killed?
“Drop it,” Arthur commands with a snap of his fingers.
Woefully, I drop the sock, but I mourn the loss for half a second before I hear the words “Good boy.” Suddenly I know I’ll drop any sock, anywhere, anytime, just to hear those words again.
Arthur reaches down and scratches behind my puppy ears, and I lean into it without even meaning to. When Arthur’s hands begin to stroke down my bare back, I swear I can feel the touch everywhere. I notice the low whining before I realize that it’s coming from me. Arthur continues with his praise, telling me I’m good and pretty until I’m so filled up with butterflies that I think they’re going to burst in a fluttery haze from inside me. I flop onto the floor on my back, legs in the air to keep my tail comfortably in place, wiggling just to try to contain the tingly joy spreading everywhere. My belly is exposed, and my cock obviously tenting my jockstrap, but I don’t even care that Arthur can clearly tell how hard this is making me. It feels too good. Something this good can’t be real.
“I think you forgot a very important part,” Arthur says, his voice strong and commanding. I cock my head, and my whole body flushes when I finally notice the collar in Arthur’s hands.
Yes. Fuck yes. Please, I want to be owned.
I get on my knees and lean onto Arthur’s lap, wagging my tail behind me.
“We need to get a name tag for your collar, Blue. Then everyone will know what a good boy you are.”
And who I belong to.
Arthur’s fingers caress my skin as he brings the collar around my neck and fastens it. He puts two fingers between the collar and my neck to make sure it isn’t too tight. I stretch and twist my neck to get used to the feeling.
