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A Woman's View -- by Nan

When I first began "adventuring" with male dogs, the experience was so new, at first sort of frightening but soon so raw and exciting that I became quite promiscuous, which I had never been with men. I seemed to crave and become addicted to the total passion that a lustful dog can put into intercourse. I'm afraid I coupled at times with some pretty ragged looking canines just because I was desperate for sex and they were easy to attract. That period didn't last very long; despite the condition of some of my partners, I never once experienced a "female problem" or vaginal infection. Most dogs, I learned, are vastly cleaner than most men in the parts that count. Today, though, I'm quite faithful to Mike -- and occasionally Mr. Banter, a black Lab-shepherd mix owned by a friend. My eyes are always open, though. I love to visit kennels just to ogle the male dogs and fantasize a bit.

This happens because, sweet men, unless you are a woman who has been mated and tightly tied to a loving dog, feeling the intensity and passion of his thrusting haunches upon you and his hot surges and squirts deep in your belly, you cannot begin to know the feelings he engenders in you. Once this happens to a woman, never again can she view a male dog as just a pet or subservient beast. She knows what he can do, how wonderfully warm and totally female he can make her feel. She can never again condescend to a dog in word or action. Even a strange male dog can affect her with a sense of respect, almost awe, even when no sex is desired or anticipated from him.

And male dogs do respond to us as females, don't think they don't. For one thing, they can smell us and very quickly detect the state of our sexual readiness. Many times when visiting a kennel and being rather stirred by viewing some of the handsome males, I've noticed them become erect when I'm near (when they do, of course, I yearn to pleasure them with my mouth, at least, but seldom can on account of the damn fences). An intelligent male dog often seems to know more about a woman in certain ways than she knows about him. And if a woman puts forth only a little effort to accommodate his own particular sexual needs, he will reward her with hours of sexual bliss.

Here's another thing that may truly label me a freak. I'm convinced that dog semen carries rich mixtures of hormones that can vitally affect a woman's body chemistry. I can only judge from my own experience and appearance, of course. I'm 32 years old, was always decent looking with fairly nice hips and breasts -- but since I started being a serious bitch with canines several years ago, my body seems to have really blossomed -- and not just in my own opinion. I also hear it from many acquaintances (with very few of whom I share the facts of my sex life). My complexion has become much smoother -- I'm often told I "glow" -- and my body curves seem fuller and rounder. My bras are a size larger, but I've added only a very few pounds in the past 4 years. I feel wonderful and energetic (sex with Mike is a workout!). My intuitive feeling is that the lovely juices from his balls that he delivers so copiously into me somehow stimulate and react with my own biochemical system, resulting in production of more female hormones that act in and upon my body.. Even my breath sometimes seems to taste of his semen when we have been together. (Once in awhile a man who kisses me full on the mouth has remarked on an "odd, not unpleasant taste," as one guy put it. Mike's very subtle taste may linger for 24 hours or so after I've been with him. Not many guys would want to kiss me again, I guess, if they knew the source of my occasional aroma.) I realize, however, that this opinion (of his physical effects on my body) may be slightly off the wall. But I'd adore to hear from any other woman out there who may be able to support this or comment about it from her own experience. This whole discussion on my part is mainly to emphasize that never has canine intercourse harmed me; indeed it has probably helped me in some prettty obvious ways.

When I come home from work in the evening, I always greet Mike on his level, drop to my hands and knees. We nose and lick and kiss (unless I've brought a guest home, in which case we just wrestle a bit). Sooner or later during this greeting, Mike lays a paw on my back. He knows never to mount me unless I'm totally nude and presenting my fanny to him, but this simple gesture of his conveys some heavy messages to both of us. It is his way of telling me -- and

We have our petty jealousies. Seeing a man kiss me or even shake hands with me may evoke a growl from Mike, seldom more. But I don't provoke him unnecessarily; if I'm entertaining a man, I usher Mike outside. As for me and my jealousy, I thought the rules didn't apply. But last year, a friend wanted to breed his female retriever Mandy and asked if I'd loan Mike for stud service. In a weak moment I agreed -- and when the day came and I took Mike over to Mandy's yard. I couldn't stay to watch them. I felt desolate, even bawled when I left them together. I hated that bitch Mandy, literally and quite irrationally. Jealousy? You bet. Ridiculous? Of course -- but that's how it goes once you have a stake in total intimacy.

One question I've been asked by some internet readers -- and one that I've often asked myself -- is, can a woman really be "in love" with a canine sexual partner in the same romantic way that she would be in love with a man or another woman. I confess that I have real mixed and changing feelings on this question. During my workaday life when I'm away from Mike, my feelings for him include adoration, respect, friendly and caring and sexy thoughts -- but romantic love? Not really. Yet on the other hand, during our most intimate moments when he ties me to him and our bodies become one wedded pulsing unit of passion, and the ecstasy of our union floods my being with such bliss -- at such times he becomes my king, my total joy, my utter love. Whether he is dog or god could make no difference to me, we are simply gloriously one, and the gifts he transfers to me from his beautiful body are unspeakably precious. And when he is clasping me so tightly, I sometimes turn my head over my shoulder to see his marvelous head, and I croon to him softly and he licks my smiling lips and tear-wet cheeks. And when I do this I often feel inside me, where he is, another powerful welling, more hot spurts and squirts that lead invariably to belly tremors, then an all-out, panting and weeping, head-thrashing, leg-kicking, breast-strutting, absolutely total shuddering orgasm that surges in waves from my belly to toes to fingers to nipples to earlobes and back and forth in electric rushes of pure radiant energy. And I know then how wondrous and glorious a thing it is to be fully female. At such times I have yearned for the true joining of sperm and egg in my womb, which of course can never happen. But I know at least that his reproductive cells bathe mine in a wonderful dance that I feel in every fibre of my being. So am I "in love" with him? At times it seems very much like it, to be sure. The whole thing seems outlandish only when he is not in view. Anyhow, again, I'd love to hear any thoughts or opinions that might help clarify my own thinking on this.

And I guess this is really all I have to say today. It's hardly a "story" as such, except as part of my ongoing saga. I'll delight to reply to anybody who has something interesting or meaningful to say to me. I won't respond, however, to rote "Hi babe, what's up?" drivel.

What is it like being tied to a dog by his penis knot during intercourse?

This is one of the most frequent questions I've been asked, especially by women, after my previous postings: "A Woman's View" and "Letter from Don".

Being tied is to me the highlight of my sexual relationship with my beautiful golden retriever and lover Mike. To me, this is the main event, the reason why, the source of sexual joy and passion both for me and, I'm sure, for him too. The knot itself, when swollen with dog lust, can be a rather intimidating piece of work, especially on a dog with large "equipment" (the size of dog provides only a roughly general index to the size of his erection, I've found -- I was once tied very tightly by a beagle). How can that thing of tennis ball size or larger possibly go into me -- and why would I want it there?

Well, to begin with, Mike's knot is usually not that big when he comes knocking at my gate (or, more accurately, comes barging in -- Mike never needs a second invitation when I "present" to him -- that is, lift my gorgeous fanny in front of him). His first thrust makes me gasp, its hotness and hardness always catching me by surprise even though I'm dripping wet with anticipation. His objective is to push that monster knot into me, and to help do it he provides plenty of slippery juice which, along with my own wetness, soon slides it in. Now I can feel the warmth of his big balls pressed close. Once lodged in my vagina, his knot grows. I can feel him swelling my labia, pushing against my clitoris, locking me tight as my entire body seems to clasp around him. Then, as his knot begins to pulse and I feel the heat from his first jets of semen spread deep in my belly, is when our lovemaking really begins. The feeling of pressure, both from his swollen knot and the increasing amounts of semen pressing into me

"God, he had such a load I thought it was going to come out my mouth," one woman wrote me. "You could see my stomach bulge, I swear, and when he finally pulled out there was cum all over the place. I am sure glad we did it in the garage."

It's a blissful feeling in itself, entirely apart from my orgasms, this feeling of tightness and pressure against him, such a feeling of wholeness and oneness, simply a male and female being together in the closest possible way. This is when I often begin to sniff and cry because these moments seem so beautiful to me, his desire for me as he grips me in his strong forelegs so wonderfully tangible in my body -- and my desire for him so evident as my vaginal walls contract and embrace and kiss and bathe his male bigness in my most intimate womanhood. All this I can feel, every trickle and squirt and spurt that he gives me, because his body heat is hotter than mine. He is doing his best to impregnate me with little golden retrievers, but since his sperm and my eggs are not on genetic speaking terms, I must be content with the glorious impregnation of his love.

And I feel myself, in every waking hour, pregnant by him in this manner. In my job I must travel frequently and be away from him often. And very often, when away, I yearn for him, literally ache for his body, the grip of his strong paws, his beating heart on my back as he clasps me, the thrust of his muscular haunches, his fur against my hips and thighs, the juicy slap of his body against mine -- and the tie, the tie, the tie that binds us so closely. Am I in love, would you say?

And often, dining out or partying with an often very charming and sexy gentleman during these times away, I am thinking instead of him, my canine lover at home, thinking of his body, the feel of us moving together in sexual union, the sweetness and ecstasy of our connectedness -- and wondering if he is fantasizing about me too. My party companion, of course, doesn't dream of what's going on in my head. And if he and I should by chance find ourselves later that night in a bed together, even then I am yearning, longing, for Mike, my sexual master. Once a woman has experienced this kind of love, as I've said before -- really experienced it to its literal fullness -- there is no way she can just put it out of her mind or not desire it again. By its very nature, the sex between dog and woman has duration. Owing to the tie, it cannot be "wham bam thank you ma'am". He is with her for some time, and for most of that time he is a very powerful and intense sexual performer. A lover who gives a woman five or six shuddering or shrieking climaxes in the space of half an hour or so is not apt to be forgotten. He is, on the contrary, apt to be yearned for in one's needy hours. So the tie, my friends, is dangerous -- it may remove you from your own kind, to some extent; it will definitely enlarge your horizons (as well as your labia).

But I do understand how nervous a woman can be when first visualizing the act with a dog partner. That knot can look very intimidating, and it can feel pretty uncomfortable too until one relaxes and just surrenders sexually to him. We women are built to handle much larger than a knot in our nether regions, after all. One must reconcile to the idea that, during intercourse, one becomes wholly his. He insists upon it, demands to possess one entirely, and one will not coax or train him otherwise. Generations of strong hunting canines power this driving haunches seeking to plant his seed in one's body. If a woman can arrive at the attitude of complete submission, of joy in the fact that he considers her a worthy and desirable female to mate with, then -- and only then -- does the feeling begin to delight. Delight so overwhelming, sometimes, that she will find herself sobbing in ecstasy, striving for new exciting ways to please him with her body.

Jennie is one of my human friends, one who knows exactly what I'm talking about -- for Jennie is also a fond lover of canine masculinity. I was the one

She was a very nubile 19 when that happened (now she's a nubile 21), blonde, real peach, baby fat in all the right places. We worked together in the same office. The way it happened was this. One time when I had to go away, I asked her to take care of Mike for me. She came over to my place and I started telling her all the stuff about what to feed him and when, when to take him for a walk, etc. etc. -- and it was like speaking to a wall, albeit a very pink and precious one. She was totally focused instead on my love's big juicy penis, which had become erect almost the moment she stepped into the room (I later found out she was ovulating that day). She couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Finally, in exasperation at her inattentiveness to what I was saying, I blurted out, "So go ahead and kiss it."

"Oh Nan, I couldn't do that," she says. "Kiss that thing, are you kidding?"

"No, I'm not," I said. And I licked his erection a few times just to put a glow in his eye. Ms. Peachy's eyes bugged wide. She swelled her perky bosoms and decided she'd, well, try it.

Once she had her lips on it, of course, she couldn't stop -- "He's just yummy, Nan!" She coaxed him to serious orgasm, thick white jets of his semen all over her face, in her hair, down her shirt while I watched his big balls jump and pulse. I licked some of him off her face and drenched my panties in the process. I don't know what there is about him that inspires all this female lust -- I guess his passion and obvious lust for us.

Now I'm a pretty jealous gal and normally don't like sharing the love of my life with another woman or even a female dog, for that matter. And I'm not normally bisexual -- but Jennie does turn me on to some extent. A few days after my return from the aforementioned trip, I invited her over again. I knew something had happened between them because when she came in the door she took one look at Mike and started peeling her clothes. He grinned at me, the cur. Neither of them asked me anything, oh no, they didn't need me. She sticks her pink perky ass in the air, Mike rises nobly to the occasion and is atop and inside Ms. Peach in about 3 seconds. I marvel at the motions of his muscular flanks and haunches as he drives into her -- I don't get to see this with him and I unless I use a mirror -- and it gets me very steamy. Jennie is moaning and whimpering, hanging onto a chair as he pushes -- and I get sort of under them both and start fondling and kissing her rather lovely breasts. Also, from that angle, I can see Mike's penis pushing in and out of her, his body smacking wetly against her. I watch him push his knot into her. She's strutting her breasts at me -- extremely pink-nippled now -- so I know she's OK with that too. I know Mike is squirting in her like crazy right now -- and sure enough, she starts oohing and aahing and swinging her head and butt all over the place and says, "Make him quit, make him quit," when that's the last thing in the world she wants. In fact she's trying to back into him -- her slim little belly is developing a decided bulge with the pressure of his semen load in her. He finally jumps up on her calves, and then all hell busts loose. She comes and screams and comes and screams again. Mike, so nonchalant, licks her neck -- this is what women do under him, he knows --they scream, so what! By this time I'm so wrecked myself I'm kissing her lips like there's no tomorrow and we're both in a total sobbing frenzy of lust -- I had always thought I was the only female who ever went berserk like that. She's sucking my nipple like a little pink puppy and my orgasm shatters the night sky -- I literally become the fireworks. Next thing I know, she's embracing me on the floor -- Mike is off her -- and she's gushing him out all over herself and me too, and he's tonguing our backsides like Mr. Mop, and it tickles and we're laughing so hard we pee. Oh my -- adventures at Swan Manor, I guess! Anyhow, when she leaves, she's even pinker and bouncier than when she arrived, and I -- the ancient 30-year-old -- am wiped out. Yes, I was once Ms. Peach but have, um, ripened somewhat, as it were. Our dogs seem to keep our figures blossoming, however.

Jennie and I go for long walks sometimes, and we're always looking for handsome guy dogs to ogle. The best ones are usually on leashes, being taken for walks by people. Maybe these dogs can smell the state of our lascivious souls --

About twice a year we go visit a big kennel some distance away, and we're like two kids in a candy store, giggling and ogling the shepherds, danes, labs. retrievers, and rotes. Sometimes we spot a delicious hunk only to discover that "he" is a female, who eyes us disdainfully. The males smell us coming, though -- poor sex-starved guys -- and some of them get pronounced erections when they check us out behind their fences. By the time we finish a walk-through, maybe smooch through the fence with a couple and wiggle our fannies at 'em (if nobody's looking), Jen and I are just streaming down our thighs (though lately we've taken precautions by bringing some maxipads!). Then it's a relatively silent trip home, both of us thinking about our beautiful dogs and aching for their powerful embraces, their warm bodies pressed tight against us. And later we'll talk for days about some of the dogs we saw at the kennel and daydream about being with them -- not necessarily even to mate with them, just to be close and caring next to them. (Incidentally, men e-mailers ask me so often about where to meet women who are into canine relationships. Kennels are an excellent place to find us, guys.)

And we always get back to the tie. If it were not for the tie, the wonderful tie, I would probably have no interest in mating with dogs. The tie makes it all loving and sexy and complete. When Mike "dismounts" me, I know I have been lovingly, most thoroughly mated. I feel like a woman renewed. I feel satisfied and sweet and serene, even though my belly may do flipflops for awhile and I may drip him for several hours if I'm not careful. The tie, how I love it, how fulfilling it is to a woman, what a beautiful way of uniting two lovers together. If male dogs didn't exist, some woman would have to invent them. But they do, they do exist -- and this woman, for one, is so happy that they do.

I was 27 -- about 4 years ago -- when I first experienced being mated by a dog. I will never forget him, a big black Lab. Joe, my boyfriend at the time, and I had talked about doing this for some time. I had long been fantasizing about it but was still feeling rather leery of actually doing it. Finally I resolved to give it a go. Joe helped us. I played with Mr. B (that was the Lab's name) and let him sniff and lick me until I was very squishy indeed. Then I kneeled and spread my knees and, with Joe's help, Mr. B mounted my rear. I felt him inside me, very hot and rigid and juicy, and he just kept driving, knew absolutely what he was doing. I had to hang onto Joe or Mr. B would have pushed me clear across the room!

Then I felt this enormous knot sliding into me. It pulsed and swelled even bigger inside my vagina, sort of uncomfortable until I just relaxed. We were locked tight together, and every time I shifted my weight or moved my fanny, he'd grip me harder with his forelegs around my waist. Then I began to feel his ejaculations -- oh my god, my belly started doing flip-flops and I felt my body clasping and sucking against his hot penis. I felt the heat of his forceful squirts radiating through my belly and down my thighs, thought my nipples would burst. I was panting and so excited, Joe was kissing my lips and I was kissing his penis too part of the time. Finally the pressure made my belly start spasming uncontrollably, Mr. B was still coming in me, and I absolutely lost it. Electric orgasms washed over me in waves from earlobes to toenails and I sobbed, Joe said I screamed. Mr. B wouldn't let me go. Joe was so excited he orgasmed all over my face, almost drowned me, so here I was crying, gasping for breath, blowing semen bubbles, such a total mess and so blind and blissed out I thought I would die.

Joe held me in his arms, tried to quiet my hysteria, I don't know for how long. Next thing I remember he was literally carrying me like a little girl to our bedroom and there made love to drenched Nan. What a wonderful, totally

Next morning I had a super clean-up job to do -- the bed, the floors, even the walls. After Mr. B let me go, it seems, I literally showered just about everything in sight -- the knot doesn't let anything escape! -- though Mr. B had already licked and cleaned up a lot of it. I felt sort of strange, almost shy around him that morning, after the way he had made me feel. I didn't think I could ever treat him again as just a pet -- and I was right.

I've never had a regret about doing this. Mr. B that night made me feel so absolutely fulfilled as a woman it's hard to describe. This event was such an utter revelation to me -- that a dog could not only have powerful sexual desires for a woman but could perform intercourse with her, resulting for her in feelings of immense pleasure and such deep, sweet satisfaction.

I immediately sought more information about what I had just experienced. I didn't find much; later there would be resources on the internet, but at the time such resources were scarce. Joe and I talked about it constantly, and he arranged further sessions between myself and Mr. B whenever possible (neither of us owned the dog). Oh, that wondrous dog, my first canine lover. He taught me so much about sex, about my own capabilities -- and yes, about the extent of my lust. I could hardly wait for the occasions when I could strip for him, offer my body to him without reservation, feel the strong grip of his forelegs as he mounted me and tied me tightly to him, feel the hot rush of his juices in my body, thoughout every fiber and crevice, feel the pressure of my ecstasy mount until it spilled over the top and I kicked and thrashed and moaned and sobbed beneath him as orgasms shook and shuddered me. I felt my body clasping his big squirter in multiple interior seizures again and again, and he moaned and whimpered too with the exquisite pleasure my body gave him -- which further compounded my own sexual elation. A dog! Mr. B!

Joe went wild too, watching us -- and some of the nicest times between Joe and I occurred in bed after I had coupled with Mr. B. I would still be in a state of weeping euphoria, my belly doing flip-flops, my swollen labia dripping and occasionally erupting little squirts of Mr. B"s semen, my nipples on fire -- in short, a total mess of a female -- and Joe would rub my belly, hold and rock me gently, crooning and kissing me softly, helping me wind down from the marvelous plateau (usually adding his own semen to me in the process!). Later, after Joe and I split up (for various reasons, none of them involving dogs), I really missed this lovely afterglow time.

Today I find that I can't maintain a relationship with a man if I feel I can't share with him this aspect of my life. I go strictly by intuition in this matter. I want to be able to share with him this joyous element of my existence. Some men will go along with it for awhile but become edgy and impatient when they discover that this isn't just a temporary "crazy" phase Nan is experiencing. No, as I keep emphasizing from the bottom of my heart: Once mated, really mated, to a canine partner, a woman can never be the same. Oh sure, she may forsake such relationships for various practical reasons of convenience, but -- despite a load of possible guilt feelings -- she will never forget the certain him who, though a dog, once made her feel more of a woman than any man ever did. She will dream and daydream about the event, even as she tells herself it is a sordid, sinful thing she did, an act she should despise and despise in herself for ever desiring. She may even physically ache for the feel of a dog's body, a deep, inner yearning she can neither ignore nor satisfy.

I know all this not only because I experienced such feelings at a low point in my life -- but because I frequently hear from women who are still fighting this battle within themselves. Nobody knows the percentage of dog-owning women -- especially single women -- who often or periodically offer their bodies in sexual love to their canines -- but I personally believe (to judge from my mail) that the figure is much higher than one would guess. Such a relationship must necessarily be guarded, must be one of the most intimate, closely held secrets of a woman's life. She cannot take chances on sharing it with even close friends, for fear of being labeled a pervert of some sort and of being ostracized. And she must make very careful preparations not to be disturbed or discovered by anyone during the actual event of intercourse with her dog. Yet even these constraints cannot deter her desires and needs as a woman, and she is willing to chance the dangers of discovery simply for the wondrous rewards of uniting, of ecstasy, of love. I feel such empathy for these women, though I personally know few of them. Even I myself, who have publicized details of my canine love life far and wide on the internet, am extremely reticent and careful around home. Most of my friends and acquaintances, as well as my own family, simply could not deal with such knowledge, and I take great pains to insure that they never will be confronted with it.

But back to the "story of my life." Mr. B soon disappeared from my life; his owner moved away, and I've never seen him again. Those first weeks without him I felt destitute and empty. I felt I desperately needed another dog. For a period of several weeks (my "promiscuous" period) I formed a real attachment to stray dogs. Something about their wild, usually unkempt appearance turned me on. I'd go roaming the streets at night, wearing a skirt but no panties so a dog could smell me approaching easier. I found several dogs this way, found to my delight that, once beyond the rather hasty preliminaries, they needed me as much as I needed them. Most of them were so wise -- they knew just what to do and how to proceed. The only tricky thing was watching out for somebody discovering us, for we usually copulated on the ground behind a bush or parked car, and once the dog tied me, as he usually did, I couldn't get loose for awhile. Once a policeman did discover us -- fortunately the dog, a big rangy mutt, released me quickly -- the cop thought I had been attacked by him and wanted me to go to the hospital, but I refused. After one of these stray-dog encounters, with my back and sides scratched up and dog juices running down my legs and filling my shoes, I'd squish home in a haze and a daze of happiness, a dirty wild child (almost 30 years of age!), my longings satisfied, my womb warm, my breasts tingling delightfully. Oh yes, and sometimes I'd be itching with fleas!

I haven't had a stray dog in a long time, but I can still drench my panties thinking of those days and some of those strange, furtive encounters. Today a person observing this clean, attractive, well-dressed woman, walking to work or having lunch in the cafeteria would hardly identify her as that street slut with filthy hands and knees who was so passionate for a dog she couldn't wait to hoist her bare fanny to any passing stray. I can hardly believe it myself.

Then one night I got turned around real quick -- by a dog. He was a yellowish, evil-looking cur who was skulking around in an alley. I saw he was a male. As I approached him, he growled and looked as if he might attack. I went back into the alley, away from any likely intruder, and he followed. I turned my back to him and lifted my skirt, got down on hands and knees in the dirt and presented to him, wiggling my bottom at this terrible creature. He was about Airedale size, his fur matted and ragged, his eyes red-rimmed, his odor awful. He approached and I felt his nose and tongue on my backside, then wetly between my legs. I flipped my ass again and he mounted me. I felt his hot penis slide into me, felt his hindquarters pumping furiously as his forpaws scratched my sides and his hot breath panted hard above me. Groaning in pleasure, I opened to him. It felt blissfully familiar, and I ignored the hurt of his scratching (I don socks on my lovers today). My itching nipples seemed to burn holes through my t-shirt. "Tie me, oh tie me!" I begged aloud, but he just kept driving, grinding me into the dirt, shoving and pushing, scraping my skin, gripping me ever tighter in his filthy paws. Finally I felt a big ball of a knot nudging me, then it slipped into my vagina, and almost immediately a flood of heat surged through my body and I knew I had a bellyful of puppies. But then, when he was just beginning to make me happy -- this awful dog! -- the brute pulled out of me, nipped me hard on a buttock, and walked away. I couldn't believe it --- never before had a male dog treated me that way. I stared after him, frustrated, weeping, so mad I was practically spitting, calling him every evil name I could think of while his hot semen streamed down my thighs and my body ached for relief. He disdained to even look around -- he had taken me just long enough to shoot his balls off once, then bit me and left. I hated him, I loathed him, I wanted to beat him, stone him, kill him. I sort of staggered home, where I showered off his and the alley filth and examined my wounds -- bleeding paw scratches all over my back and sides and a bleeding booty where he'd bit me. "Okay, Nan," I told myself, "that's enough slumming." I went and got a tetanus shot and never went looking for skanky junkyard dogs again -- even though I felt pretty desperate sometimes.

But that foul brute, it turned out, taught me an important lesson. He taught me respect, taught me to become much more sophisticated and systematic in my search for canine partners. Foreplay became important to me -- fondling, kissing, tasting, playing, tussling, letting a dog identify me as a physically desirable partner. Whereas previously my main interest had been focused solely on a dog's penis and size of his knot, I began to look more at the whole animal, how friendly he was, how totally attractive he was as a dog and a male, how attracted he seemed to me. I developed a sensitivity somewhat similar to the normal antennae of heterosexual women toward men. Yes, a handsome male dog can cause my heart to flutter and my legs weaken -- and often such a dog is completely aware of this. I know he is by the intensity of his stare at me -- I just sense it, somehow -- and the feeling is often confirmed as I see the beginnings of an erection swelling from his loins. I deserved that treatment I received from the alley dog -- I had approached him without respect, with only my own needs in mind. He

disciplined me hard, taught me that even his scuzzy self was worthy of regard, that as a privileged receptacle for the living seed of a noble race, I had better mind my manners and my attitudes. I have tried to do that ever since -- the protocol of sex with a dog is always important -- and have never regretted it.

One of the most important items in that protocol is his tongue, a versatile, marvelous sex organ in itself. Today the sight of a male dog's tongue can get me steamy and aroused -- it's a lovely, pink, penislike organ that can by itself fulfill a woman's sexual needs by its licking, probing, caressing. For me, an important part of foreplay is kissing and French-kissing my dog. This may sound repulsive to some people, but I have learned to love it, love the intimacy of tasting, kissing, sucking his tongue. My golden retriever Mike has taught me to become even more of an oral, osculatory person than I was before. I love his mouth, his taste, and he loves my lips and mouth as well. Kissing Mike is a delightfully wet, erotic experience. Sometimes, seeing a strange male dog with tongue draping from his mouth, I feel almost shy and embarrassed because it seems so overtly and explicitly sexual a sight. I realize that's entirely my own reaction unshared by most people; it results from my own sexual interactions with dogs -- but I can't help it. I know what a dog's tongue can do to me, the

After my promiscuous period, I'd go to kennels, borrow a dog for a few days just to see how well we adjusted together, coax him to mate me if he would, then try another, maybe six or more different ones in as many months. So I guess I was still being promiscuous -- but more systematically, at least. Not all male dogs, I found, can be taught to desire a human female -- and not all of those that can are able to take her the distance, as it were. But many can and, if given the chance, will. Like human males, male dogs come in all sorts and degrees of intelligence and ability. I've learned over time to spot a good prospect from a dismal one and am rarely wrong, though I'm no longer promiscuous.

I love looking at dog pictures too. Oh dog, I want to say, do you know what you have done to me, how dear you are to my body and soul, how beautiful a thing it is to be mated by and with you? I do not want to be a female dog for you, a bitch, but a bare, warm, human woman receiving your body into mine in an act of love so strong and sweet that it causes me to swoon. Thank you for your warmth next to me, your lovely fragrant kisses, the cascading sperm from your body in my belly. Thank you, oh thank you, my love. Thank you, Mr. B. Thank you, Mike. Thank you, all my sweet, irrepressible lovers who have known me and tied me to you. And yes, thank you, Mr. alley dog, wherever you are.

I'm a hot-blooded girl, and the sight of an erect penis on man, boy, or beast -- or even pictures of such -- can give me tingles from head to toe. But I have never experienced such flat-out pure lust, such sexual frenzy, as when I am tied with a beautiful male dog who is mating me. To begin with, the very idea that my body and odors can put sexual feelings and impulses into this animal's mind is incredibly stimulating to me. That a male dog can find me sexually desirable -- this furred, four-footed creature we have trained to be a pet and companion but seldom a lover -- makes me flush and squirm with libido. Second, I have seldom experienced such a feeling of being utterly possessed, of being so protected and taken care of, as when a male dog mounts my body, clasps my waist with powerful forelegs, his penis hot and hard, wetting my thighs and vagina, thrusting between my labia with lovely squishes and smacks, our juices mingling. That lovely monster forging deep and wild in my vulva, the rhythmic push of his muscular haunches against my hips, his drive to get closer, closer to me, while I brace against him and prepare myself, emotionally and physically, to receive him fully into my body -- oh, what bliss I have experienced from this intensity of both our needs. A woman needs this feeling of a male's intense need for her, and a male dog supplies an abundance of this feeling for her.

I have a theory about women and dogs. I don't know if it can ever be proven or verified, but it somehow feels right to me. I feel that there is something between a male dog and a woman that goes way back in time -- that we have unique feelings and physical stirrings for each other. Ages ago, when men and women occupied caves and primitive shelters, men often left on lengthy hunting trips, leaving women to fend for themselves and their children. As protectors in the absence of men, they had dogs, wild, rangy, powerful animals. And maybe the dogs sometimes became more than protectors. During the long, cold, lonely nights, when a woman needed warmth, security, companionship -- and yes, loving -- maybe, just maybe, dogs became very important surrogates for the absent men. It could never be admitted in the community, of course. Well, it's just a theory. But where powerful needs exist, solutions follow, and sometimes such solutions simply lie at the doorstep. As I say, I love my dog's incessant desire for me. His desire to possess me inflames my own desire for him, and when he locks us together in the physical manifestation of that desire, it feels like a union meant to be. Can we be so sure that this bonding is so abnormal after all? How

Sometimes dogs still are our protectors, just as they once were. Sometimes when Mike, my golden retriever, has tied me and we're locked together and I feel him surging so strongly into me with every fiber of his strength, I feel so safe and secure -- so warmly cherished and "taken care of" -- wrapped in his strong forelegs. Maybe that's a crazy thing to feel, but there it is. I always feel so warm and rosy after Mike has mated me, it really brings out the glow. When I go walking in an area where I know the dogs can see me, I sometimes feel their eyes on me, their vision cruising over my hips as I walk, making me feel flushed and a little excited. In short, I think there's a whole complex of special feelings between women and dogs, intuitions and relationships that people don't yet understand.

Getting back to the actual mating that occurs, the third and final phase -- the most wondrous of all -- begins as I feel Mike's knot rubbing hard against me, then feel it slide, so slippery and slick, between my labia, swell against my clitoris, sealing my vagina with his organ. I relax and let him tie me, hold me in the most sexual way possible. He ceases his driving against me, just pins me close, his haunches trembling, tightening his legs about my waist. I sigh and lean back into his loins, feel his tongue wetly love-kissing my neck and back, his knot throbbing and pulsing deep between my legs. Then I feel sort of a hot tickling sensation inside, his first big ejaculations, hot rhythmic squirts jetting deep in my tummy. I hear myself moan, sensing so clearly the closeness of our bodies, our oneness, and I snuggle up into his embrace, push my buttocks further into the curve of his protective loins. He ejaculates several times, quits, then does it again, heating my belly, causing a delightful sense of pressure inside. He shifts his body on me, clutches me even tighter. This cycle repeats several times, and each time the pervading inner warmth and pressure heighten my excitement. Maybe the inner pressure or the pulsing of his knot stimulate my G-spot (if such exists) as well as my clitoris. My movements seem helpless and involuntary -- head thrashing, sighing, breast and butt strutting, deep panting breaths -- it just happens, I can't control it. The pressure keeps building in me, I want desperately to get away from it yet at the same time want it to fill me completely, the feelings of wondrous ecstatic bliss and frenzy just take over. I don't need to describe for women readers the waves of total sensation that surge through one, as if every pore is opened and drooling and yelling, the body sensitized into one shuddering, squealing nerve of nerves. I know that he, back there attached so tightly to my rear, feels me blast off ballistic, for I can feel my vulva walls spasm against his penis, I feel my labia in suction against his knot, and I feel his body shudder. Since I'm a real squirter when I climax, the feeling of sealed-in implosion I experience leaves me gasping. Oh heavens, what a divine experience. This is why I so often present myself sexually to my dog Mike -- because far from abasing or humiliating me, the experience seems to enhance every fiber of my being, turns me into a Wonder Woman, makes me feel glorious! I'm so glad he keeps coming back to me for sex, I feel honored in a sense. Here's a powerful creature who could easily kill me if he had a mind, yet he makes me his sex partner, his lover, and I do feel humbled though not humiliated by this.

I'm reminded of my dear friend Phyllis, an older woman (now 62) who lives in Arizona. Phyllis may look 62 in her face, but her wondrous body is that of a 30-year-old woman. Her heavy breasts stand erect, her slim belly and hip curves are a delight, her lovely rump would stop a bus. Phyllis has been making love with dogs -- she owns a kennel -- for at least 25 years. She has allowed me to watch her and her big English setter Jack several times, and twice we enjoyed our dogs side by side together. This lady is such a sexpot. All of her male dogs adore her, and she knows all of them (in the Biblical sense). I can see her now on all fours, she and Jack tied so tightly together, her face suffused with bliss, her brown nipples huge and hard on her swaying breasts, her body a lovely blushing rose held by Jack. Phyllis insists that she owes her state of lovely preservation mainly to the large quantities of dog semen she has taken over the years. "It brings out the female hormones, dear," she swears. Something does for sure; if my body looks as good when I hit 40 as hers does right now, I'll be delighted. Phyllis told me that she actually became pregnant by a dog once. I pooh-poohed the possibility of this happening. She didn't argue it, merely said that she had once spontaneously aborted two small masses of tissue that had fur -- one even had a vestigial snout -- and also apparently human skin. The doctors just chalked it up as anomalous tumors, she said, never knowing that she had had intercourse solely with dogs for the past years. "So never say it can't happen," she tells me -- though it's certainly not a very likely occurrence, even she'd agree.

Phyllis and my canine lovers have taught me so much about gifting oneself sexually. It is such an intensely moving experience when I present the most intimate part of my body to a male dog that I know has been watching me and wants to mate me. Sometimes during the day while seated at my desk in the office where I work, I daydream about the lover at home waiting for me. I'm sure he thinks about me too when I'm away. I wiggle in my chair, smiling at the memory of finding golden retriever hairs tangled in my pubic hairs as I showered that morning. Who among my office coworkers would believe that the gal smiling to herself at the corner desk "has a relationship" with her dog. It's a secret I dare not reveal to any but a very few of my most intimate friends (and, of course, to the many internet friends I've gained since I began writing these accounts).

Lots of guys write to tell me how much they would like to share with a woman her canine love life. But in my personal life, I've found very few guys who can deal with it on any long-term basis. Most of them seem utterly unable to comprehend that a woman's sexual affair with a dog may be more than just a temporary "stopgap" (as it were) until the right guy comes (as it were) along. For me, at least -- and for several women I've known -- the reverse tends to be more true: The man is the temp until new sparks fly between she and a canine he. One of my correspondents (a guy) suggested to me a possible explanation for this: "I have long believed that women can love a man unconditionally and without judgement. I don't know of any men who can do the same thing with women....A dog, however, can love unconditionally and without

But I certainly don't want to label all guys the same. One guy I had a two-year relationship with did in fact prove the exception to my usual experience. Jack (I'll call him) was caring and gentle, seemed to sense my needs and feelings exactly on the occasions when Mike mated me. Jack would "stand guard" beside us when Mike tied me, making sure we weren't interrupted, answering the phone or the door, just taking care of the mundane things when Mike was taking care of me and I of him. And an hour later, maybe, when I was a wet mess, still trembling from my orgasms and kind of out of it, Jack would hold me nude in his arms, caressing my wet bubble-butt, gently massaging my back and belly and breasts, easing me back down to Earth. Often after sex with Mike I'll insert a tampon just to hold some of his semen in me awhile longer, and sometimes Jack would do this for me. Then later, lying atop Jack in bed, I'd remove the tampon just before he entered me, soaking us both with wonderful Mike. And soon I'd have a wondrous mixture of male sperm swimming in me, beautiful juices so dynamic yet soothing and lotion-like to a woman. Unfortunately Jack was a married guy (all the best men are, it seems), and we finally had to split.

Most women who own a large male dog do not, of course, do with him what I do with Mike (and occasionally other dogs as well). Yet surely the thought of it must sometimes occur to them, even if immediately rejected or repressed. I mean here's a creature so obviously male that it must make her shiver at times. And a male dog can smell a female, believe me, whether she be dog or woman. And react accordingly. Yet most women, of course, will never allow themselves to know the unique physical and emotional experience of being tied to a beautiful animal that can't get enough of her. Some women do fantasize about it, and I hear from many of them, women who will probably never bring themselves to actually "do it" with a dog. Yet the very fact that so many women think about it, turn it over in their minds, tells me that the appeal resides deep inside a woman's psyche, maybe is even part of the basic psychological-sexual complex that defines her as a woman -- probably not all women, but at least some of us. Have you ever seen a woman "flirt" with a dog? I'm sure you have, though maybe you didn't register on it at the time. I've watched women, some of them very proper and conventional people, caress male dogs so sensually with their eyes. Some, no doubt, aren't even aware they're doing it -- for this impulse/appeal/whatever it is seems to come from very deep unconscious sources.

But once a woman gets used to thinking of male dogs as possible sex partners, she starts behaving rather differently around them -- and the dogs, believe me, sense and know it (again, possibly a confirmation of the age-old history previously mentioned). I pride myself to some extent on being able to spot a woman who is having ongoing sexual relations with a dog. It's in the way she looks at him, the way she walks and even sits when she is with him -- a certain posture and bearing, more than just a butt-strut, that I can't easily describe but which really hits me in the eye when I see it -- which, granted, isn't often...but often enough...you'd be surprised!. (Walking down the street with Mike and Jack, I'd tell Jack, "Don't let me butt-strut, o.k.?" And sometimes he'd say, "Hey, you're butt-struttin', bubble-butt." I didn't want to exhibit myself as Mrs. Dog, though I probably exaggerated the whole thing. Anybody who wasn't keyed into it would hardly notice, of course.) But I think some women -- not necessarily dog partners either -- may unconsciously bend a little and "present" to a big male dog every time one looms on the horizon -- I suspect myself of doing this at times. It's a devious instinct that I've only grown aware of by observing its manifestations in myself and -- pretty frequently -- in other women, young and old.

So yes, I know that male dogs were made for female dogs and vice versa. But sometimes it's hard for me not to believe that they were made for women as well. Because the most exquisite pleasures of my life have occurred within the strong forelegs of a canine lover clasping my waist, feeling his passion, so raw, so sweet. Looking at his lovely sensual mouth, his big clitoris caresser of a tongue, his enthusiastic tail on his muscular business end, all these thrill me from inside out, give me goosebumps. "Don't butt-strut, Nan." Hmm, easy for you to say.

But when he ties me to him in a knot-bond whose strength surges waves of electricity through me, flushing my face, erecting my nipples to absurd size, sensitizing every inch of my skin, I must ask: How can such bonding be wrong for a woman? From my scalp to my toenails, I awaken anew and know the honey taste of womanhood. And that, for me, is what it's all about.