Stolen Facebook Illustration

I already posted this story a while back but I had never finished it. Now it’s closer to finished than before and since  I have a few more readers than before I thought I’d throw it out to sea once again.

It was a brisk October day, a high sun gently drying the fallen leaves. It was the kind of day that always draws me towards a big, woodsy park, preferably with a pond full of ducks. My seeing-eye dog, Fru, shares my enthusiasm for these autumnal afternoons. Her destiny has been quite unlikely. Neither her breed, a camel colored Afghan, nor her usefulness seem fitting to her official title “Seeing-eye Dog”. She has a particular blend of elegance and clumsiness that is not usually sought out by professionals for the handicapped but I have been overjoyed to have her in my life. The fact that she is now going slowly blind as well breaks my heart and I feel a certain responsibility in the matter.

My blindness was for the most part my own fault. I do not think I was genetically programmed to lose my sight. I never believed that masturbating could actually lead you to sightlessness. That “l’amour en solo” could make you blind as a bat, that countless hours of softly rubbing and not so softly rubbing, grinding, writhing and moaning could cause serious handicap. Unfortunately I was mistaken. As for Fru, (short for Frustrated Beaver) I think she was contaminated by the barely audible yet audible buzzing of my ultra-silent vibrator. She has been known to perform a rather guilty looking wheel barrel imitation and humps an occasional pant leg (and bien sûr the joys of oral sex hold no mystery to her, fortunate enough to be able to procure them without any searching for a possible partner) but otherwise she has done nothing to deserve such a cruel fate.

As we awkwardly approached the duck pond, smelling and feeling our ways along, we were surprised by the darting presence of Tum, (short for Tumescent Stud) sight-impaired Border Collie, the seeing-eye dog my friend Juan owns. They live down the street from me and are both almost blind for much the same reason as I am. This makes Juan and I quite compatible, both of us understanding the difficulties of going blind and the slight guilt mixed with solitary euphoria in how we got that way.

The Onanists’ Tail cannot be about me as I have no Seed to waste on the ground or anywhere else. I have wasted more than enough Precious Time though, even if you can’t see it dribbling along on the side of the sink or under the sheets in a humid gym sock…it’s there just as real as Seed unsown. So on this tart October day in the park, we were two blind people led by blind seeing-eye dogs. There was maybe no coincidence in our paths crossing. As our dogs began an ancestral sniffing ritual we too began a silent olfactive voyage. My neighbor smelled like Sport Cream….kind of minty and fresh. He told me he had a backache because of Tum who was constantly pulling him around chasing squirrels and a Chihuahua named Chloé he was quite enamored by who lived on our street.

In true Altruistic Hedonist form, I quickly proposed my services. I instructed Juan to take off his shirt and jacket and lay down in the grass under a big tree by the duck pond. As the dogs frolicked around together joyfully, I hiked up my skirt and straddled my nice smelling neighbor. I slowly massaged his back As is the case with most C.M.’s (Chronic Masturbators) I am quite skilled in massage, given my own personal tenacity for seeking out points of tension and the means to release them. I found Juan’s shoulders to be rather tense and very nice to touch. In spite of my blindness I could envision their muscular curves and had an uncontrollable urge to bite the left one but I managed to keep myself inside the bounds of decency. Not for very long though…

Something in the up and down back and forth motion of the massage made me start to move, just a little at first. I was hoping it would be imperceptible and it was (I think) for a moment but Juan is no fool. He figured out what was going on but didn’t seem to mind. A cool breeze caressed our skin and I started to gently rock, at first on the waistband of his jeans and then on one of his vertebrae. I felt like such a swine yet it was a beautiful feeling. My Hello Kitty panties were getting all wet and all I really wanted was to take them off. After a few seconds of hesitation, I slyly lowered them and they were off in no time.. The beautiful feeling was instantly intensified. Juan made no comment about my undisciplined behavior. I suppose he could have said something fowl like, “Hey you cum-guzzling sperm-belching gutter-whore…what do you think you’re doing???” but he didn’t. I was relieved at his laissez-faire attitude, so much like my own.