Southpaw
[This might be part one of a series.]
**
At first, back then, all I knew about him was the obvious stuff. He was a Dalmatian. He was nineteen. He was still pretty green - he'd just joined up with us about six months ago. Everyone knew he was left-handed - some of the humans called him Southpaw. However, I knew that his real name was Connor.
I also knew that he had grown up on a large farm. I'm from the slums of the capital city, so, I tend to believe in the stereotype that city boys are experienced and farm boys are naive.
The first day we connected - the day our friendship began - we met by chance in the shower room. I know. I know what you're thinking - this is going to be one of those kinds of stories. Well, sorry, it's not - not this one, anyway. Trust me, I've got plenty of those kinds of stories (and some of them do start with a shower).
This story isn't about sex, but it is sexy - to me, anyway. It's a memory I cherish, and, well, it's one I paw off to, sometimes. After all these years, I still love Connor, and I'm still physically attracted to him - but I look back at the first time I saw him naked . . . and that memory still excites me. Of course, that's just the shallow and selfish part of the story. There's also a selfless part, because I did something nice for Connor. I tried to help him - but let's be completely honest, yes? The way that I helped him . . . well . . . it actually did help, he did feel better afterwards - but I got something out of it too. That wasn't my intention, true - the selfless part is that I did think of him first - I did want to help - but the selfish part is that (for me) the whole thing was a turn on.
Anyway, enough of all that rambling.
I was in the shower room. I'd just finished scrubbing my fur, and I was rinsing off. I stood under the water, eyes closed, relaxing. I was taking my time - because I knew the hot water was in no danger of running out. The base we lived in had some faults, sure - too many to list here - but lack of hot water was not one of them. And then Connor came in. We'd met before, and we'd made small talk a few times, but the two of us hadn't chatted or gotten to know one another. When he came in, I glanced at him and thought, There's that cute Dalmatian. Then I went back to rinsing off my fur.
After a few moments, I realized Connor was just . . . sitting on the bench that ran along one wall. He still had his pants on, and he was staring at his towel like he'd never seen it before, and didn't know what it was.
"Oh," he mumbled, noticing that I was noticing. "Sorry."
He stood up and began to shake off his pants, then his shorts. His paws were trembling. I noticed patches of dirt smeared into his fur, here and there.
"No reason to apologize," I said. "Your name's Connor - right?"
"Yeah," he said. "And you're Jack."
"Yep."
Connor went to one of the showers and turned on the water. His paws started shaking even more, and a bottle of shampoo flew out of his left paw. I dashed forward - careful not to slip and fall on the wet tiles - and caught it.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Oh! Yeah. I am. Thanks." He wouldn't make eye contact.
I gave him back his shampoo, but he couldn't control the shaking, and he dropped it.
"You sure?" I went back to my shower, and turned it off. Then I went back to Connor.
"Yeah, it's just . . . I just can't talk about it."
"Okay," I said, picking up his shampoo.
"It's just . . ." he said quickly, and paused. Then, "It was supposed to be a routine patrol. You know?"
"Oh," I said. "Okay. Yeah. I do know. I've been on lots of patrols that were supposed to be routine - but they sure weren't."
Connor looked relieved. I glanced again at the patches of dirt. Through his short fur, I could see a few scratches, as well. Something bad had happened.
"It was horrible," he said, quietly. "No one - no one died, and there were only a few injuries. But. Shit. Sorry,"
"Sorry? For what?"
"Just . . ." Connor was at a loss for words for a moment. "For falling apart like this? I dunno. The others - the others were all laughing, making jokes - afterwards. Not during the patrol, but after - after we got back, everyone was laughing and making jokes. I just couldn't, but I tried to fake it, and I feel so - weak - god, you must think I'm pathetic for falling apart ."
"The others were making jokes and laughing because they're just as shaken up and falling apart as you are."
"C'mon," Connor shook his head.
"Believe it or not - it's true." I said.
"Well, okay, but they're all in the bar - and I'm here, and I can't even hold a fucking bottle of shampoo," he seemed to be on the verge of tears. Whatever had happened, it really shook him. "I'm just so freaked out," he went on. "But I shouldn't be! I'm an adult, I've seen things, been through shit, I'm supposed to be this big, tough dog . . . sorry. I'm really sorry you had to see all this."
"Okay, stop apologizing," I tried to make it clear I was joking. Of course, truth be told, he had nothing to apologize for.
"Sorry about that, too," he said with a grin. Good. He was also making jokes.
I decided to take charge.
"I'm going to do something nice for you, and you're going to let me," I said, firmly.
"Huh? What're you going to do?"
"Nothing bad. Trust me."
He looked down at his paws - which were still shaking, but not as much - and said. "Okay. Yeah."
I gently nudged him under the spray of water. As he stood there, letting the water take off some of the dirt and sweat, I briefly went over to the shower I'd used. I wrapped my towel around my waist, and grabbed my sponge. I shook out a blob of shampoo into the sponge, then I returned to Connor. To his surprise, I reached over - and began scrubbing his face. He was about my height, maybe one or two inches shorter. I ran the sponge over his nose, then I rubbed shampoo into his muzzle.
"Close your eyes for a second."
I scrubbed the rest of his face, then the top of his head. When I got to his large, floppy ears, he said, quietly. "You don't have to do this, you know."
"I know. But I want to," I replied. "And you already agreed to let me . . . so . . ."
I moved the sponge up and down his slender neck. I noticed that most of this Dalmatian's black dots were on his chest and neck. On his back, as well? I wondered. I'd find out in a moment. Hoping that he wouldn't mind my doing so, I held his left paw in my own. With my right, I began shampooing up and down his left arm. Here, I noticed the first of the scratches. Not too deep, no, but it sure didn't feel good when the shampoo got into the wound. After that, I washed his right arm. Both of his arms - and paws - were mostly white, having only a few black dots. His biceps were fairly large, no doubt from growing up on a farm - they felt firm, solid, as I went over them with the sponge.
"Okay, turn around."
Connor's back was heavy with black dots, just as his chest and stomach were. Looking down, I noticed quite a few dots on his butt, as well. Up 'til that point, I'd been able to ignore how attractive Connor was. When I started shampooing the fur on his back, working my way down, I couldn't help but get a little excited. Suddenly, I was glad I'd wrapped my towel around myself. There was quite a bit of dirt and sweat on his back, so I ended up adding some extra shampoo. Connor, I noticed, stood up straight while I scrubbed his back, but his head was tilted forward and he'd placed his paws on the tiled wall. Finished with Connor's strong, straight back, I ran the sponge along his tail, which had exactly one black dot on it. Typical of Dalmatians, the tail was thicker at the root, and it curved up slightly at the tip.
And then - almost holding my breath, wondering if he'd stop me at this point - I worked the sponge into the fur on his butt. He didn't stop me. I don't want to say I lingered here, but I did take a little bit more time. Part of me regretted that it was the sponge - and not my paw - that was massaging the shampoo into the fur. No surprise, his butt was firm, tight, not sagging at all (he was, after all, a farm boy who ate a healthy diet and worked out once or twice a week). Quickly, I ran the sponge along his taint - I ran it up, from the base of his balls. and then I made sure to get a good amount of shampoo into the crack of that firm butt.
Connor gasped, and his head snapped upright, and he said "wow," quietly - but he didn't protest.
Of course, I only had the sponge on his crack very briefly. If I had taken any more time (like I wanted to), I'm sure he would've said something.
(I suddenly realized that what I really wanted to do was to kneel down, put my tongue - not the sponge - into that crack. I wanted, suddenly, to lick, and eat out, that butt, with its black spots - one of which ran into the crack, disappearing into a place I very much hoped to explore someday. I realized all this, then I pushed that hunger aside.)
Collecting myself (now my paws were starting to shake). I decided to shampoo his legs from behind. That way, I'd put off for a moment the, um, front parts.
Of course, washing his legs meant that I actually had to kneel down - just not for the reason I wanted. Connor looked down, and watched as I moved the sponge up and down his legs, working the shampoo into the fur, taking my time, making sure all the dirt and grime were scrubbed away. His left leg was nearly all white, I saw, while his right had at least ten black spots. His arms were much more evenly matched. His legs, like his arms, were nicely muscled. Firm. In shape. When I got down to the feet, Connor lifted them, one at a time, so I could scrub them.
"Okay," I tried to keep my voice steady, I think I succeeded. "Turn around, and, um, rinse off the back."
I added more shampoo to the sponge. Steadying myself, I started scrubbing the short, dense fur on his chest, working the shampoo in. His chest was deep (but not wide, like some dogs I knew).
Shit. I suddenly realized I'd done his arms, but not his armpits.
"Lift your arms up?"
He did so, and I massaged shampoo into the pits, which were incredibly sweaty. I wanted to inhale the smell of that sweat, not wash it out, but I wasn't there for that.
Maybe someday, I told myself.
I went back to his chest, running over it quickly, then I began shampooing the fur on his taut stomach. I've always liked Dalmatians, with their short, white fur and round, black dots. By the time I got to Connor's stomach, I was starting to really appreciate the interplay of colors on his body.
"You know," he said, "You can, um, stop if you want to."
"Do you want me to?"
"No, but - it's just that - if you want to stop, you can."
We made eye contact - and that - there - that was the point where, if anything more than a scrubbing was going to happen, it would've happened. I wouldn't know this until much later, but - Connor and I both were glad that nothing more happened. At the same time, however, we both regretted it.
But, no, this wasn't about that. It wasn't about getting off, though part of me wanted it to be. By that point, my paws had run that sponge over nearly every inch of his firm, muscular body, and part of me wanted to get him off, wanted to spray the walls of the shower room with his spunk. Watching his wet fur lose the dirt and grime, being so close to him - yeah, I wanted to take him by the paw, or take him in my mouth . . . or take him to the bench, and bend him over while I mounted him.
But this was about a young dog - that I didn't know very well - who'd just been through something terrible. It was the first time he'd been through something like that, and he needed - just for a moment - somebody to help him calm down, clean up, bring himself back.
So I moved a little closer, and I looked down. His plump balls had a light dusting of white fur. His penis was maybe six inches long, it was slender, and it was white, the same color as his fur. I sucked in my breath, just a little, and I felt my stomach quiver (and thank god I was wearing that towel). Connor, I noticed, was looking down and following my paw as I ran the sponge along his balls, gently washing them. He lifted his cock with his paw, so I could get to them easily. And then I slid the sponge along his groin, and down to his penis. I covered his dick with shampoo, the shaft, the head, all of it, and it twitched when the sponge caressed it, but it didn't get hard.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I broke the "spell" by snapping his stomach with the sponge and announcing, "Okay, rinse all that shampoo off."
And I stepped back a pace, to let him do so.
As he was toweling himself dry, I said something like, "See you around? Want to get together sometime, hang out or whatever?"
He said something like, "Of course, sure, any time." And I turned to leave - but he ran up behind me, and gave me a fierce hug - a very quick one.
"Someday I'll do something for you," he said with a shy smile. "And you'll have to let me."