Walking the Dog — Chapters 1 and 2

I often thought, while I was in high school, that one day, perhaps in graduate school, maybe later, I'd write a paper titled, "Regional Differences in Social Customs: A special case study." Of course I never would, couldn't in fact. Such a paper would never be published and if it were, would irretrievably damage any professional standing I wished to have. Plus I'd be in trouble at home.

Such thoughts - career, scholarly papers, and more - occupied my mind during those odd moments every teenager has in between boredom and frenzy. Other thoughts occupied my mind also. I was in love, my sweetheart was a member of one of the Families in town and therefore special, and the next few weeks would see substantial, perhaps insurmountable changes in our lives. Tracie would be eighteen on Saturday.

Tracie's family was great to me. Tracie and I spent a lot of time together, and they often left us entirely alone for hours at a time.

Tracie's mother, who I always thought of as Mom, was named Barbara. Sometimes friends called her Barbie which was okay with her. Everyone got the joke. Mom was blonde, well-endowed and at forty-one still very good looking. Tracie looked a lot like her mother but didn't have the same figure. Slender, almost boyish, Tracie wore her hair short, unlike her mother's which was straight and long to the middle of her back. Tracie's dad was Mike, but I always called him Mr. Johnston. Mr. Johnston was my English teacher in high school, well-liked but a disciplinarian. He was forty-three, six foot one, led an active life so his face was tanned and had lines at the outside corners of his eyes. If he wanted to, I bet Mr. Johnston could have had his pick of any of the women in town his age and quite a few of the girls in school. There was something about him that made women get that look when they saw him.

Tracie was their oldest child; she had a younger sister, Trish, fifteen and a menace. Mike, the little brother, was dark-haired and favored his father more than his mother. Mike was ten and a pain in the ass at times. If you have a younger brother you know what I mean.

The Johnston home was in the best section of town. The Johnstons weren't ostentatious; Mr. Johnston drove a Ford, not a Lexus. But inside the house the real wood paneling gave a warm feel. There was a library, small, but a room devoted to books alone none the less. Upstairs were five bedrooms; another, a guest room was downstairs off the kitchen. Sometimes on the weekends the Johnstons let me stay there. And not a word was said if Tracie slipped down and joined me in bed.

Tonight, Tracie and I were in the recreation room. The huge plasma TV was on, some movie Tracie chose, but we were otherwise occupied. The rest of the family was in the dining room playing Scrabble. The Johnstons were Scrabble fiends. Tracie had the best vocabulary of anyone I ever knew.

While the movie flickered around us, the TV set was that big, with sound almost muted, Tracie and I were on the couch with a blanket over our laps (and not because the room was cold).

Tracie was smart, just about the smartest person I'd ever met. I was going to college but I had to work at it, to keep my grades up, to do well on the SAT's (I'm a year younger than Tracie) and keep focused. Tracie was always on the Dean's List, did so well on her SAT's I'm not even going to give the score, you wouldn't believe it. Colleges were clamoring to get her to go to their school. And she didn't even work hard at it.

So you're wondering how a junior like me got a smart and beautiful senior girlfriend? I wished I knew. Okay, I had an inkling. But still. I was incredibly lucky.

The one thing we never talked much about was the decision Tracie had to make on her eighteenth birthday or much about plans afterward except in very broad terms. So what did we talk about? School, siblings, the book we were both reading (don't laugh - Finnegan's Wake), and, ummm, sex.

At this point I'll just say we had a very good sex life for teenagers. Incentive (we were madly in love), opportunity (the Johnstons weren't ogres), and motive (if I need to explain the motive you need to be reading something else, something like . . . oh I don't know).

Tracie had unzipped my pants (under the blanket) and I hers and our fingers were very busy as we cuddled and kissed. Tracie was an expert in drawing pleasure out. We could go for hours, cresting that wave, until finally she'd deliver the masterstroke with her lips, quickly and efficiently. Mom was a cleanliness freak and it would be embarrassing to explain a splotch on the throw.

We were kissing; my eyes were shut. I was trying (and succeeding) to give Tracie as much pleasure as she gave me. We reeked of sex. My whole body was doing that, I've been having great sex for hours, little shimmy - blurry vision, fast heart rate, whole body moving in and out of other dimensions, a little shaky.

A wet pussy feels like nothing else in the world. That in and of itself should tell one it is very special. Tracie's was magic magnified. I was in heaven, three fingers as deep as they could go and spread as wide as they could be. My thumb hovered over her clit. So close it was touching the surface atoms of that joyous little lump. Any minute Tracie's clit would decide that she and my thumb should be more intimately familiar.

That's when Mr. Johnston gave a knock to the doorframe and said, "Jas, it's time to walk the dog."

Tracie held me tight. "We need three minutes, Dad."

I heard him walk off, took my hand from Tracie's cunt and leaned back. Tracie was under the blanket in nothing flat and I was filling her eager mouth.

It's okay to say eager. Tracie was accomplished in so many ways. Always eager to please in any manner possible. Sometimes, afterwards, she'd analyze what we did so she could do better. I'm not sure I helped much in those discussion in my post-orgasmic daze but it only got better. I was a ridiculously lucky seventeen-year-old.

When the lights were done flashing and I could breathe again, I touched Tracie's head, opened my eyes and watched her tuck me back in and zip me up.

"I love you," I said.

Tracie sat up, grinned at me so her lips lifted and eyes danced and said, "I love you too, Jas."

We kissed and I got up to walk the dog.

Walking the dog was something that boyfriends of daughters and sons of Families did. It was a custom that had its purposes as you'll see. And it suited us. If I didn't walk the dog, I don't think Tracie would ever get her homework done or chores done around the house. Not that she had to do much.

Tracie stood, used the remote to turn off the TV, faced me and her dark violet eyes held mine. "I'll see you later," she said.

"You'll be here?"

"Of course I'll be here, you nitwit. Now go." She fluttered her fingers at me.

I met Mr. Johnston in the entryway where my bookbag was. He handed me a sheet of paper; I stuffed it in my pocket.

The paper had the itinerary. Walking the dog wasn't a casual affair. Out, does its chores, back in. No indeed. Mr. Johnston's itineraries were often quite long with detailed instructions. I'd check it out on the porch.

I put my bookbag on, took the leash from Mr. Johnston's fingers. He never said anything one way or the other. He expected me to do a good job. Tracie would never pick a fool for a boyfriend.

Mrs. Johnston, Mom, waited by the door wearing her plush red robe and black high heels. We hardly ever spoke while I walked her. I was too young, for one reason. For another, what would she say?

I led her out onto the porch, took the itinerary from my pocket and looked at the first item.

23 Maple was a block away. I'd been there before plenty of times. Monday night was poker night.

Mom heeled well. This is sounding strange as I write it. Barbie heeled well. It was a cool spring night but not as cool as a week ago. Not too cold for the bathrobe Barbie wore. In the summer she'd be naked. So I suppose. I never paid much attention to the Families until last fall. That's when I first met Tracie and my best friend, Frank, got a new girlfriend, Lori, who looked like she was going to become Family. Lori was sixteen but already had made her decision. Not officially of course. That happened when you were eighteen. Lori lived as if the decision were already made.

The porch light was on at 23 Maple. I knocked on the door. I knew from experience the doorbell didn't work.

When he opened the door the first thing I noticed was all the cigarette smoke. He got a big grin on his face, turned and said to the others at the table in the middle of the room, "She's here, boys."

Mom, umm, Barbie left her bathrobe by the door as I unclipped her leash. She walked slowly to the table and whatshisname slapped me on the back. "Why don't you get yourself a beer, Jasper."

One of them rose from the table and stepped to where Barbie stood a few feet away. He put his hands on her shoulders, looked at her face for a moment and smiled. I could see that smile over her shoulder and could see the smiles on the faces of the men at the table. Whatshisname beside me said, "Go get yourself a beer, boy."

Barbie knelt and I could hear a zipper as I walked past.

In the kitchen I dumped my bookbag on the table and sat. The men were all grunting in unison in the other room. It sounded like an asthmatic giant with constipation.

Chapter 2

There are rules for everything. Some are spoken; some are unspoken but known by everyone just the same. Our town was no different. I'm not sure if what I'm describing demonstrates a regional variation or a micro variation within a region. I'm guessing the major distinction and what set home, which was normal to me and peculiar to outsiders, apart was the Families.

It's easier to explain some of the rules than to relate the history of the Families, their primitive origin and evolution over more than century to what they are now.

A basic rule is that Mom was off limits to me just as much as I was off limits to her. I was too young. Once I was eighteen, and if I had no ties with Tracie, then Barbie would be available for my use like the other heads of Families, female and male, would be.

It's because of Mom's choice that Tracie is a member of a Family. It's because of Barbara Johnston that her Family has the house they do and opportunities available to every Family. Excellent healthcare. College for the kids. A privileged lifestyle and prestige in the community. Mr. Johnston didn't make enough as a high school teacher to obtain all these things.

Other rules were associated with the Day of Decision and for some later on the Day of Dissolution. Barbara Johnston could decide to no longer be a head of a Family. The Johnstons would move to a more modest home. The kids could still go to college but the family would have to pay for it. Mr. Johnston's insurance premiums would go up dramatically.

There's lots of other stuff but I'm sure you aren't here to have me recite small town Levitticus. Just be aware that while I walked Barbie to the addresses on the itinerary, we never touched except inadvertently. She never spoke to me but I could tell by the way she smiled at me she appreciated my efforts. There'd be fresh homemade cookies hot from the oven when Tracie and I went to her home after school.

Mr. Johnston was also appreciative. Some boys walking the dog played pranks, made rude comments or did (or tried to do) the forbidden. And others tried to weasel out of the chore.

It was a chore. Mom and I got back to the Johnston's at three a.m. My homework was done, I'd read beyond where Tracie and I'd agreed in Finnegan's Wake and made notes in the margins of my copy for discussion. Three a.m. was about average. There was a night we got home at eleven and Tracie was still awake. That was a special night, much like the special nights on weekends and holidays when I stayed in the guest room to be woken by Tracie in the morning.

I unclipped Mom's leash, folded it over several times and handed it to her. Mom glowed. That's the only was to describe her. Every line had left her face. Her eyes were bright and moist, lips open and red and swollen in the way lipstick attempts to mimic. Mom's hair was tangled and her bathrobe was barely closed. She gave me a nod, opened the door and looked back at me over her shoulder.

"I'll see Tracie in the morning."

She smiled and went in shutting the door after her. The porch light remained on for a couple of minutes. I left when it went off.

I lived about a mile and a half from the Johnstons. Just my father and me, mom died four years ago. That's one of the reasons Mrs. Johnston is so special to me. She's not like my mom at all, but she's a mom, mother to the girl I love. She treats me with humor and dignity.

Kids who walk the dog receive dispensation in school. The adults cut them slack because everyone knows what walking the dog entails. It's hard work.

You're smiling. Just imagine what it would be like to walk someone like Barbie or Tracie. It's summer. It's still light outside (not that it matters) and you're having a casual stroll. Mr. Crane has taken a short break while mowing, the two of them, Mr. Crane and the Family head, are working up a sweat, and some out-of-town bozo drives by, stops, and thinks just because he has a dick he can too.

No way. Unhunh. Verboten. No no no.

It's the job of the walker to, calmly and patiently (it usually takes several tries), tell the out-of-towner to get lost. That's a rule. A big one. Because of diseases and stuff. Because who knows, there are a lot of crazies out there.

Another rule was that I reported to Marge, by phone, and told her who and when. Recordkeeping is important in case there is an accident. People can be such dumbasses and as far as it only involves just them, then fine and dandy. But if someone is a dumbass, knowing who and when is vital. So far there hasn't been a major problem.

A mile and a half at three a.m. was lonely. Almost everyone was asleep. The houses were dark. No cars on the roads. It was quiet. My footsteps sounded unusually loud.

It was easy to think about stuff at three a.m. Usually I was thinking of Tracie. Partially because walking the dog can be awfully . . . distracting. I have to be there, or close by. So I'm seeing and hearing and I'm seventeen, a healthy male with urges and desires, just like everyone else. (Tracie said more than anyone else but she was a cute liar.)

If I hadn't promised Tracie to save myself for her I'd be wanking off in the bushes or at home when I got there. It gets that bad.

My best friend Frank's girl, Lori, is sort of how I met Tracie. What made me think of that was I was close to Lori's house. It was on this street, a couple of homes down.

I've known Frank since forever. He and Lori had been steadies since last summer. They knew each other before then. Hell just about everyone, who wanted to, knew Lori. She took Frank's virginity then mine on the same night and we weren't the first.

It's funny. Girls like Lori and guys who can be with girls like Lori, it's funny how they eventually end up together and sticking. Frank had every intention to stick and I knew Lori felt the same. If Lori made the decision she looked (and intended) to be making, then Lori would become a head of a Family - it's not always (but usually is) hereditary.

Another sidetrack. I'm blatantly heterosexual. That's my bias. But you should know guys can be Family heads. And don't make assumptions. Mr. Johnston was gay. He loved kids, wanted a family, and had one without the usual obligations. He was a perfect father.

Lori's lights were out. Her bedroom was in front at the left. She was either in or out and it wouldn't matter anyway because I was saving myself for Tracie. I'm pretty monogamous. There are no obligations on Tracie's part, that's just the way it was for her too right now.

There was no reason to wait at the stoplight. A block more and then an alley. My father and I lived in an apartment over his garage. He made his living repairing cars and did a good job too. The only problem was the exhaust fumes during the day. I was in school or over at Tracie's so that hadn't been a concern since last fall.

My father snores. I shut the front door quietly, made my way through the dark to my room and shut the bedroom door. The light on, I undressed, left the room to go to the bathroom, came back and set my alarm to seven.

I turned out the light and usually I'm out like the light but tonight I was thinking about how I met Tracie. Might as well be honest. It was because I was horny.

It was a home game but I can't remember with whom. I was under the bleachers with Frank and Lori and a zillion other guys - okay, maybe eight. Frank and I had done Lori first (first time that night for me that is), he from the back, me in her throat. Lori was accomplished. We both took a while and when I was done I stepped back, holding my pants partway up, a bit wobbly. I'm not so good on my feet, I get dizzy.

Someone tapped me on my shoulder; I turned away from Lori and the next two. Somebody I didn't know well said, "A girl was asking about you."

I pulled up my pants and fastened them. "Who?"

"Tracie Johnston."

Everyone knew Tracie Johnston. She was Family. I must have looked unusually stupid because he said, "You know. Barbara Johnston's daughter. Her father's a teacher."

I gave a nod. Still looking dumb no doubt. Mr. Johnston taught English. I had him this year.

"She's behind the concession stand, waiting." He looked away from me, moved closer to the action around Lori.

I told Frank I'd see him later and walked around the back of the stands to an aisle. The concession stand was always crowded. I worked patiently through everyone in the press by the stand and went between the tree and the board wall of the stand to the back. It was a narrow squeeze. The tree offered shade from the sun's heat in early fall and late spring and would never be cut.

There was no one there. I sat on a bench, almost in the dark, the crowd was screaming but that was a different world than here.

A door opened at the back of the stand and a person stood bathed in light. They shut the door and came toward me, wiping their hands on their apron. Her face wasn't entirely in shadow and I could see a smile.

"Jasper," she said.

I stood. "Everybody calls me Jas."

"Jas." She was so close I could smell her. Hot dogs, relish and something else.

"Jas," she said. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

I shook my head.

"Want to try me?"

I nodded once, then not sure that was enough, nodded twice more.

She smiled again. "I have to get back. After the game? Here?"

"Sure," I said. I immediately kicked myself for being too nonchalant. "With bells on." Where did that come from?

She stood in the doorway. "What do you like?"

I stood there with my mouth open.

"Coke or Pepsi? I'll save a drink for you."

"Water," I said.

"Water it is." She looked at me for a moment and shut the door.

I sat back on the bench and didn't move for two hours. Tracie Johnston liked me. Tracie Johnston who was Family and a senior liked me.

I found out afterwards she'd seen me with Lori earlier. And Tracie had thought I had a cute ass.

Read the next two chapters

Walking the Dog Page
Chapters 1 and 2 | Chapters 3 and 4 | Chapters 5 and 6
Chapters 7 and 8 | Chapters 9 and 10 | Chapters 11 and 12
Chapters 13 and 14 | Chapters 15 and 16 | Chapters 17 and 18
Chapter 19

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