“You must’ve tossed it outside,” she says while flicking a few random curls of hair from her eyes. In the light, those eyes appear as black as milkless coffee, and as they bore into me, the ache in my balls tingles and pings as if I’m on the precipice of an orgasm.
“I wonder if he knows?” I ask, and with that, we poke our heads out the window.
“Look,” she cries, “he’s seen it!”
From his spot by the launderette, the dog has clapped eyes on the fish. The fish in question has landed right outside the entrance to our apartment block. Luckily, no one has stepped in it, and for once there appear to be no cats around ready to make off with a stolen treasure. Head down and nose to the ground, the dog skips through those walking along the sidewalk before looking both ways to cross the road.
“Ooh, what a sensible doggy!” Meeko chirps.
Smiling at the sight of the sensible boy, I rest my head on her shoulder while gently massaging my balls. They’re beginning to throb, and I’ve got a stomach ache to match, yet with the sun on my face and the scent of her body enveloping me in its magic, I know the pain is merely transitory, and in no time at all, it’ll slip from my body like the beads of sweat that roll from my brow onto the floorboards beneath my feet.
“Look at him waiting for the cars to pass!” she says, “I’ve never seen a dog do that before, have you?”
Kissing the flesh of her left shoulder, I turn and watch as he manoeuvres his way through the traffic. One bad call and he’ll be dogmeat, and yet with a cheeky grin spreading across his face, he makes it to the other side as if he’s done such a thing a thousand times before. Wagging his tail, he glances up at us as we watch him from our window. Letting out a polite bark, he zones in on the smelly fish while licking his lips. Turning my nose up at the thought of him eating it, I don’t begrudge him enjoying his free meal, however.
“I wonder if he’ll eat it where it is, or if he’ll take it somewhere else,” she thinks out loud.
Watching him intently, I guess he’ll eat it on the spot, and sure enough, as soon as he reaches the oily mess directly beneath us, he begins to lap it up as if he’s not eaten in days. The fact that the fish is off doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest. I don’t think I’d make a good dog; I’d be too picky with what I’d eat and starve within a week. Meeko, too. Considering the amount of food she goes through, if she went a single day without eating, chances are she’d be in a coma.
“Maybe we should give him a drink?” she enquires, “perhaps some beer as a treat.”
“You can give him some of yours then,” I say, “I ain’t sharing mine.”
“Such a meanie,” she frowns, but when I make to grab her bottle and take it downstairs, she slaps away my hand.