Sunday, May 16, 2010

Rex Likes Poodles

Tapping into what he was thinking as he sat out beside the sidewalk staring intently at a passing Poodle’s wagging hindquarters, scratching absently behind one ear, most people would say Rex was just a dog.  Most people would be misreading him.  Rex was more than met the eye.

The Poodle turned the corner and left little for him to remember her by other than strong whiff of some expensive shampoo.  She left his brain.  Rex tended to live in the moment, even while his brain was planning for the future.  He yawned, languorously, got up and stretched, drawing out the moment while waiting for an impulse to strike him. 

Other dogs fretted over where the next meal was going to come from, which female in the neighbourhood was in heat (and which ones they might stand a chance with), whether or not they were going to get in trouble for making a mess of the living room.  Rex wondered whether or not, if you told a girl dog you thought she smelled like warm honey, she'd let you have your evil way with her faster than if you told her you thought she was pretty. 

Rex was bored and thinking, as he often did, about why humans did what they did.  Such a fascinating species Homo sapiens sapiens.  So complicated versus Canis lupus familaris, the "domestic dog."  

Satisfying a sudden itch Rex rubbed the right side of his nose vigorously with the back of his right paw.  A few Bulldogs waddled by, several cougars slinking, a couple of sabre-toothed tigers, many of them casting him a sidelong glance, a tentative sniff in his direction, but there were no Poodles in sight.

He pulled out his iPhone, checked for news from his online dating accounts and put it back in his shirt pocket.  His jeans were pushing his ‘package’ to one side and he shoved his hands in his pockets to rearrange things as surreptitiously as he could while leaning against a wall on a busy street in the city's bustling business district.

Another Poodle approached from up the street, her teased-out mane framing an attractive, though not striking, set of features.  Her snout was a bit long for her face, he mused.  She looked at him as he started his assessment down at her clacking wedges and worked his way up the A-line skirt, the ringless left hand, narrow waist, smallish B-cups and long neck, sipping her like a iced cocktail in a tall glass.  She rewarded his attention with a frigid glare.


Rex smiled wryly, tipped his head and, as she came within range, said “If that hem was an inch shorter, I’d have asked you out.”  Her face went blank, the glossed lips parted slightly, her eyes shifted ahead then came back to his as she drew near, her stride faltering just a little.  Her head swiveled towards him, then she thought better of it and, with renewed purpose, continued down the sidewalk, her hips swaying just a tad more than a moment before.  Rex took in her hindquarters for a moment, then looked up at the gathering clouds, wondering if it might rain and chase the Poodles, Pekingese, Whippets and curvy Terriers off the street (the Bulldogs and cougars didn't meet his highly specific set of predilections).  

He glanced idly back at the Poodle.  She’d reached the corner and took the opportunity while waiting for the light to look back, as though accidentally.  She met his eyes briefly, then away, then back again.  He held up his thumb and index finger about an inch apart then pointed at her hem and winked, smiling.   She flushed, broke into a big grin with a coy dip of her chin and tripped off across the street tugging self-consciously at the seams of her skirt.  “Another happy customer” he muttered and strode back up the street towards his office, his thoughts returning to the project he'd abandoned earlier when the scent of Poodle shampoo and warm sunshine had drawn him out of his den.

Rex didn't really care if they were married, single, desperately in love teens, desperately depressed mommies -- or 'lipstick lesbians,' for that matter -- he just wanted to sniff them, his muzzle lifting their skirts from behind, his wet snout probing the narrow space bridging their thighs, a muffled cry escaping their startled mouths.  He loved that moment when he sent their eyebrows skittering upwards unbidden, the animalistic recognition of a potent combination: a potential mating partner in close proximity combined with his open acknowledgement of their sexual appetite.  Rex liked getting a rise out of women and he really didn't care if it was shock, amusement, bemusement, or instantaneous attraction, he knew how to lead the dance and loved learning new steps, the latest being the 'bossa nova' with a Venezuelan terrier he'd met on the subway returning from a black tie affair downtown.

Those he showed little interest in huffed at him and said he harboured a deep and disturbing disrespect for women.  They misunderstood him.  Noting their frustration, occasionally he'd stop next to these angry, attention-challenged females and lean in to explain himself, giving them his 'muzzle nuzzle,' his nose lifting the hair over their ear, his lips brushing the cup, his whispered words leaving them flushed and a tad more frustrated, but decidedly happier than they'd been a moment before: "I like the way you smell," "You should wear this colour often, it shows off your eyes," "Your mother wouldn't have approved of how flimsy that top is, you bad girl!"  Sometime he got slapped.  Not often.  Sometimes they changed their opinion of him.  Most of the time they felt friskier than they had in awhile.

Yes, Rex loved women.  He wasn't a sex addict -- he was an aficionado, a connoisseur, a sipper of long, cool cocktails and short, spicy concoctions alike.  Rex was a lover, not a hater, and loved nothing more than pleasing a woman.  Deeply.  Repeatedly.  Near-numbingly (but not quite).  Rex was a lot of other things, too, but he just wanted you, dear reader, to understand this about him upfront.

How do you like Rex so far?  He certainly likes you...

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