by L. A. Knight
Carmella leaned over Cabot as they wheeled him away. “Nice try, Truman, but that’s not the kind of saddle I ride. Maybe they can fix you while you’re in the hospital.”
DOG TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE
LESSON SEVEN: EXERCISE
“I have a dilemma, listeners. A friend of mine—an older gentleman—seeks the company of a controlling, egotistical woman who won’t give him the time of day. I’m asking all you dog lovers out there for a solution; give me a call at 561-222-WOWF, or you can text a solution to star-WOWF on your mobile phone.
“Looks like we have our first caller; Eric from Lantana. Talk to me Eric.”
“Dr. Beach, life is like a penis—simple, relaxed, and hanging freely. It’s women who make it hard.”
“Well said, Eric. And if it wasn’t for women, men would spend their entire day flaccid on the couch, drinking beer. Next caller: Felicity from Weston. Felicity, do you have a solution for my hard-up older gentleman?”
“I was just wonderin’ if this older guy knows how to mow a lawn. ‘Cause if he does, I’ll let him do me doggy style.”
“He doesn’t mow lawns, Felicity.”
“What about Eric? He sounds like a guy who could trim a mean hedge.”
“Good-bye, Lynnie. Stacey from Wellington, one of our regulars. Help me out here, Stacey.”
“Nancy, it sounds to me like you’ve got two Alpha dogs in the mix. My advice is to have the male take on the role of the submissive partner.”
“How does he do that when the female refuses to engage him?”
“Does she engage in other male-female relationships?”
“In fact, she’s allowing two other males to hump her leg, if you catch my drift.”
“So you have a bitch in heat, but she’s particular. All your friend has to do is figure out what these other two males have that he doesn’t have and get it.”
* * * * *
THE WHITE K-9 van was already parked by the curb when Nancy arrived home from work. Spencer Botchin greeted her with a limp, a band-aid covering the bridge of his nose.
“My God. What happened to you?”
“Your friend, the English Springer Spaniel. She doesn’t need a man, she needs a muzzle.”
“Spencer, I am so sorry.”
“Ah, no worries. I’ll be in full assault gear when we reconvene later tonight. Meanwhile, I’ve brought along a few accessories to help rid your dog of his separation anxiety. Exercise is the key to keeping your pet mentally and physically fit, Nancy, and Sam could certainly stand to lose a few pounds.”
“Isn’t walking exercise?”
“Walking is bonding time, and with your schedule I suspect you skimp on that, too. Face it, Nancy, your dog is lethargic. He sits at home all day lacking stimulation, surrounded by a sensory-blanketing wood fence while he yearns for his pack. What Sam needs is something to jolt him out of his sedentary ways. Exercise can do that, provided we make it both fun and challenging.”
Spencer opened the van’s rear doors. The cage holding Tilda was gone, the space now occupied from floor to ceiling with a variety of equipment.
* * * * *
AT PRECISELY 6:13 p.m., Jacob Cope parked his Volkswagen van in the driveway. He felt tired and depressed, stuck in a job that kept him Just Over Broke, his new career dependent for the moment on a woman more interested in having sex with him than promoting his act. He envisioned himself as a hamster on a wheel—perpetually running but getting nowhere.
The idling van began to heat up, forcing him to engage reality once more. Shutting off the engine, he pushed open the rust-encrusted door and slid off the torn seat cushion. Sleepwalking his way up the driveway, he ignored the newspaper lying on the front stoop and keyed in.
Jacob wiped the bottom of his sandals on the new door mat and entered his home. He bypassed the bathroom and trudged into the kitchen, surprised to find the sliding door’s drapes closed.
Seated in the dark was Nancy.
“Nance? What are you doing?”
“Shh. Listen.”
The two of them listened to the dog barking out back. “Doesn’t he sound happier?”
“I don’t know. I guess. Why are the drapes closed?”
“It’s a surprise.” She opened the curtains, revealing a yard filled with colorful plastic equipment.
“What’s all this? Looks like you robbed a McDonald’s play area.”
“It’s a doggy obstacle course. Let me show you.”
He followed her outside, wondering what the elaborate set-up would tally on next month’s expense ledger.
Nancy yelled, “Sam, come!”
The German Shepherd hustled over to her right side.
“There’s a good boy. Let’s show Daddy what we can do.”
“Daddy?” Jacob grinned. “I like that.”
“We begin with the doggy crawl.” Nancy directed Sam through a three-foot-high, six-foot-long porous plastic tube. “Good boy! Then it’s a quick run around the zig-zag.”
Sam raced after Nancy, following a serpentine pattern created using bright orange cones.
“Then it’s the Rover Jump-Over, set at beginner’s height.”
Sam leapt over the two-foot-high soft plastic hurdle.
“Up and over the Teeter Totter . . .”
The dog walked up, then down the kid’s toy, maintaining its balance.
“And finally we end with our reward—a dip in the wading pool.”
Wagging his tail, Sam climbed inside the foot-deep, plastic kiddie pool and rolled in the water, cooling himself off.
Jacob clapped. “That’s awesome. We should enter you guys in America’s Got Talent.”
Nancy wiped sweat from her face. “Pretty wild, huh? Spencer says it builds the dog’s confidence and self-esteem, plus Sam will be a lot healthier if he loses ten pounds. And he loves it, don’t you boy?”
The dog wagged its tail from inside the pool, waiting for Nancy’s next command.
“How much did all this cost?”
“Nothing. Spencer is lending it to us while Sam gets over his separation anxiety. Speaking of which, I have a surprise for you inside.”
She led Jacob back inside the house to the spare bedroom.
Nancy’s home office was gone, replaced with a treadmill, bench press, and assorted dumbbells.
“You set up a gym?”
“I’d rather you joined a gym, but I know you don’t like crowds. Jeanne’s friend had the equipment in her garage and wasn’t using it, so it didn’t cost us a thing. And I’ll use it, too.”
“Um, thanks.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Is this your way of saying I need to lose weight?”
“It’s my way of saying you don’t seem happy. By working out regularly you’ll feel better about yourself, less anxious. Exercise stimulates your brain to release endorphins, engaging your pleasure centers.”
“I’d rather just have sex.”
“We’ll have sex after you walk a mile and do a few lifting exercises.”
“A mile?”
“Okay, half a mile. But do it at a brisk pace.”
“You know, Nancy, this sounds really great—but I don’t have any running shoes.”
“Check the closet. Size 10½ Nikes.”
“Thought of everything, did ya?”
Nancy kissed him. “I love you, Jacob, and I want you to be happy. I gave Sam a chance. Try this. For me.”
He opened the closet door. Slipped off his sandals and put on the white athletic socks and running shoes.
Unsure, he stepped onto the treadmill.
Nancy started the machine, showing him how to set his speed and incline. “How does it feel?”
“Feels pretty good.” Like a hamster on a wheel . . .
“You look great. Remember, half a mile without stopping. I need to freshen up, Helen asked me out to dinner. Back in a second!”
Nancy hurried into the master bedroom, her adrenaline pumping. This is great . . . we can w
ork out together, lose weight, stay in shape. He’ll be less anxious, easier to deal with—plus he’s gained a good ten pounds since we’ve been living together, so a little exercise can go a long way. Maybe he’ll get his confidence back . . . get a job again with a major investment firm. This is a win—win.
Nancy changed into a skirt, heels, and a blouse. She brushed her teeth, touched up her make-up, spritzed a shot of perfume across her shoulders, and then emerged from the master bedroom to check on Jacob, three minutes and fifty seconds having elapsed.
He was gone.
“Jacob?” She hurried into the kitchen, suddenly fearful. He’s been depressed—is he suicidal? She searched the house . . .then found him lying in the kiddie pool—
—drinking a beer.
DOG TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE
LESSON EIGHT: TOYS & ACCESSORIES
Helen Cope stared at her reflection in the lighted passenger visor mirror. “Look at my eyes, Nancy, it’s like they’re permanently bloodshot.”
“I didn’t want to say anything, but you look exhausted.”
“Who wouldn’t be with my schedule? Up at six every day to get the boys off to school, followed by four hours at the real estate office. Then it’s grocery shopping and running errands before picking the boys up at two. Clean the house; yell at them to do their homework while I make dinner before driving them to another baseball game or hockey practice or karate lesson. And weekends are just as bad. If it wasn’t for caffeine and Vivance . . .”
“What about your social life?”
“Social life? You’re kidding, right? Vinnie and I used to have a mandatory date night every Saturday, now we come home from the boys’ games and fall asleep on the couch. Don’t get me wrong, I love watching my sons’ compete, but tonight’s the first time in four months I ate dinner with someone who wasn’t wearing a uniform.”
“What about . . . you know—”
“Sex? Who has the time? I’m usually in bed by nine-thirty, while Vin stays up all night watching Netflix. Wanna know my biggest fear? In ten years Austin will be off to college, and then it’ll be just me and Vin—except I’ll be going through menopause while younger women continue to spread their legs in front of my husband, who by that time should be going through his own mid-life crisis.”
Helen’s lower lip quivered.
“Hey, come on now. A double-X never crawls back into her womb; a double-X attacks the problem. You’re a beautiful woman, Helen Cope. What’s missing in your life is your Y.”
“I’m sorry; I’m not getting the whole X -Y- Z deal.”
“The Y is You and your own purpose for being. The Y is the man in your life who has forsaken his marital commitment. Instead of treating you like a princess, Vin’s turned you into the castle wench, the chauffeur and chef . . . the team manager. Tonight, we’re going to change all that.”
“We are? How?”
“Behavior modification.”
“This is more of your dog training stuff, isn’t it? That crap may work with your boyfriend, but Vincent and I have been married fifteen years. Even a Twinkie has an expiration date.”
“Vin’s still a man, Helen, and like most men he’s a creature of habit.”
“You got the creature right.”
“I’m serious. We need to shake things up; we need to get Vin to look at you as his own personal sex goddess—someone who’s suddenly come into possession of a forbidden carnal knowledge that will ignite his loins. By the time we’re through, he’ll be chasing you around the house like a panting dog begging for its master’s attention.”
“You’ve got me panting. So how do we do all this?”
“Prong collars.” * * * * *
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Nancy turned off the main road into a parking lot, a flashing pink neon sign reading: SEX EMPORIUM.
Helen followed her inside, slipping on sunglasses to prevent someone from recognizing her. “I can’t believe you actually brought us here.”
They walked through aisles of triple-X DVDs, past display racks filled with inflatable dolls, vibrators, dildos, and contraptions that dated back to the Renaissance.
Helen stared at a glass gizmo which was equipped with a two pronged penis-shaped insertion. “Oh my God, do women actually use these devices on themselves?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” A black saleswoman approached, the masked female dressed in a leather Bat Girl outfit and spiked heels. “Welcome to the world-famous Sex Emporium, home of the whopper with sleaze. Can I interest you ladies in Dr. Z’s latest dual Nipple Pleaser? The convenient Y-converter allows for simultaneous vacuum control and . . . Mrs. C.?”
“Wanda? You work here?”
“I’m one of the minority owners. And no, that ain’t a black thing . . . well, actually I guess it is, since it got me a small business loan.”
“Does Vin know about this?”
“Hell, yes. Who do you think he comes to for the latest DVDs?”
“So, it’s not enough that my husband dabbles in strange women’s vaginas all day, now he has to watch porn too?”
“Listen, ya’ll don’t have to worry about Dr. C., he’s what we call a sniffer.”
“I’m afraid to ask . . . but what’s a sniffer?”
“Ever see a dog sniff another dog’s ass? Looking at strange buck-naked old women with leaky vaginas all day can affect a man’s libido. Watching porn helps Dr. C. achieve hootie balance after sniffing dogs’ asses all day. It’s the quiet ones, like his brother Jacob that you got to watch out for.” She turned to Nancy. “Hi, I’m Wanda.”
“I’m Nancy. The quiet one’s girlfriend.”
“For real? Well . . . oh shit.” Wanda looked over Nancy’s shoulder. “Can I help you, Mrs. K?”
Helen and Nancy turned to find Ruby Kleinhenz standing outside a dressing room. The Cougar was wearing a black see-thru baby-doll negligee, her bra-covered breasts protruding through the outfit’s open cups.
“Wanda, do you have this in red? I need it for . . . Helen?”
“Ruby?” Helen feigned being pleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here every week. The question is—what are you doing here?”
“You know . . . this and that. Have you seen Dr. C’s latest dual Nipple Pleaser? The convenient Y-converter allows for simultaneous vacuum control.”
“You mean Dr. Z. Your husband’s Dr. C., and I own two of them.”
Wanda stepped between them. “We don’t have the teddie in red, but we just got in something hot—a Chemise with nipple clamps and clit and anal loops, and I’m pretty sure it comes in red. Why don’t ya’ll wait in the dressing room and I’ll bring you one to try on.”
“Perfect. Size 36-D.” She winked at Nancy, then sashayed back to the dressing room.
Nancy’s face flushed bright red. “Wanda, we’re gonna need a shopping cart.”
* * * * *
AT PRECISELY 9:36 p.m., Vincent Cope arrived home, having completed his one late night office shift for the week. Parking his Lexus in the garage, he entered the kitchen carrying his briefcase and an aching lower back.
“Hello?” He hung his keys on their peg by the coffee maker. Checked the stack of mail on the counter.
“Helen? Boys?”
No reply.
Any empty house? Is it possible?
Heart pounding, he opened his briefcase and removed the new DVD from its brown paper wrapper. “Mary Todd-Lincoln: Lesbian Hunter. Probably more historically accurate than they know.”
He dashed upstairs to the master bedroom. Opened the door—and screamed!
Helen, dressed in a leather S & M outfit, was lying above the four-post bed in a love swing.
“Helen? Have you lost your mind?”
“This is what you want, isn’t it Vincent? To live out your fantasies?”
It’s a trap, it’s a trap don’t say a word. Sweet Jesus, look at her tits! Propped up like ripe melons . . .
“Well? Don’t just stand there gawking at me with
your mouth hanging open, say something.”
“I, uh . . . nice outfit. Is that new?”
“It came with the love swing. Come closer, I won’t bite.”
His heart beating wildly, his trousers tightening, Vincent Cope inched closer. “Love swing, huh? Good color. Goes with the lamp shades.” Jesus F-ing Christ, she shaved!
“Silly, it’s not a throw pillow, it’s an accessory that allows you to move me while you thrust in and out . . . in and out of my hot . . . wet . . . pussy.”
Vinnie broke into a cold sweat, his voice high-pitched and stuttering. “Love swing . . . what a great idea.”
“I hope you like it. Wanda tells me it’s endorsed by Dr. Ruth.”
“Wa . . . Wanda?”
“You remember Wanda. Your own personal porn dealer!”
He pivoted, attempting to hide the DVD behind his back. “I . . . I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”
“Lying to momma, huh? Just for that, I’m going to beat your ass raw.” Wielding a leather riding crop from behind her hip, Helen snapped it across Vinnie’s right hip.
“Ow! Are you crazy?”
“Shut-up and take off your clothes.”
“Wait . . . for real? Please say it’s for real, because if this is a joke—”
“The boys are sleeping over my sister’s. Now get over here and ride me like a mule, you big dumb hairy orangutan.”
“Oh, hell yes!” Vinnie kicked off his shoes . . . “baby, you look unbelievable.” He quickly pulled down his pants and underwear without unbuckling his belt. “God, I love you, I love you so much. And I respect you. Totally.”
“Tonight you get to disrespect me.”
“Oh dear God.” He tore off his shirt without unbuttoning it—“Wanda’s definitely getting that raise, no pun intended.”
—and rushed into his goddess’s outstretched legs.
* * * * *
“COME ON, FAT boy, work up a good lather! I want you nice and sweaty when you fuck me from behind.”
Nancy smacked Jacob’s bare ass again with the riding crop as her boyfriend jogged at a brisk pace on the treadmill—naked, save for his jock strap, white socks, and Nike sneakers.