will someone please fuck my dog?
My bitch is in heat again. Her canine snatch is puffed-up like a baboon's ass. She smells like sardines baked in feces. Dried dog blood is splattered all over as if the apartment were a stove top where tomato sauce has been boiling too long. She licks her bleeding gash all day and seems confused.
Back in college, my tubby girlfriend and I had a cat-in-estrus whose yowling and screeching were so maddening, it nearly drove me to my first-ever act of cruelty toward animals. An ice cube placed on her kitty coochie didn't stop her. Neither did a skillfully applied pencil eraser. So we hooked her to a leash and walked her down a dark Philly alley, hoping her ear-splitting wails would lure some neighborhood tomcats to come and shag her into silence. No such luck.
I'm looking for a well-hung Portland canine—or a normally endowed Asian or Mexican man—to come and satisfy li'l Cookie's deep-womb yearnings. Please e-mail me if you can do the job.
