Chapter 1: Mongrel Love

October 14, 1966

Dear Diary: I've been looking at your first page for over an hour now. Such a pretty page with pastel birds and flowers around the edge. Pretty and so blank, so perfect. I'm afraid to start, afraid I'll make some awful mistakes right at the beginning and ruin you.

I guess the truth is I don't know how to begin. I have a lot to write, I know that. A lot better stuff than that icky Jane Hawser. But the starting is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

It was that icky Jane Hawser who got the rest of the girls in Miss Meredith's seventh grade class interested in keeping diaries. She brought hers to school and let us pass it around during the ten-thirty "Nutrition" break. She has a real beautiful book, sort of Chinese-looking with a big brass lock.

"A diary is for a girl's innermost secrets," Jane Hawser said. "Things too wonderful to share."

Which got me to wondering why she let everybody read it. So, I took my turn flipping through the pages. It was full of stuff about boys mostly. She's turned thirteen and her Mom lets her date. Even older boys. A lot of things happen on dates, according to her diary.

I wasn't surprised to find out that she let Billy Rodgers, who's in High School, touch her between the legs. I was surprised that she'd let everybody read about it in such detail, though. All that stuff about him slipping his hand into her panties, his finger going right in her pussy and coming out all wet. And how her face got real hot and flushed when he moved his finger around. Right in the balcony of the Meralta Theatre, too! Then he showed her his parts, how swollen they were. He told her she'd done it to him. Then, when she touched his thing, he said he loved her and wanted to marry her.

I guess that's the part she wanted us to especially catch.

I'd never let anybody read my diary. Nobody. What good is a secret if the whole class is in on it? And besides, the "hot stuff" Jane Hawser wrote about is pretty tame compared to what I've done. And I'm still only twelve.

Which brings me to another problem: my Mom. She's an awful snoop, always going through my things. I've caught her rummaging through my drawers and searching my purse, for what I can never figure out. Drugs? Cigarettes? Who knows? She just acts like she's been sleepwalking or something and says, "Oh, goodness me! Now what was I looking for?!"

It's going to be hard to keep her from finding this diary. And I know she'd break it open so she could read it. God! I haven't even written anything secret yet, and my hands are shaking. If she ever found out some of the things I like to do, she'd kill me! I mean it. No, actually, what she'd do would be to tell my Pop... and let him kill me. Oooh, somehow, that makes it even more exciting, more dangerous.

I guess if I'm going to start, I should start right at the very beginning. The first time. That was when I was just a kid. Nine years old. With Fluffy.

Poor old horny Fluffy was a funny mixture of dogs, dachshund and poodle. He had very short legs and was long in the body. His fur was curly like a poodle's and sort of a dingy beige... on a poodle it would've been called Champagne. He was so cute as a puppy but he grew up ugly. Mentally, he never grew up. But I loved him anyway. He slept at the foot of my bed and followed me everywhere.

I got him as an eighth birthday present and by the time I was nine, Fluffy was as big as he was going to get in the height department. I didn't care. I wasn't very big either and it made him easier to play with.

Fluffy was always getting into something smelly... rolling in garbage or mud or on a dead cat. It was my job to keep him from messing up the wall-to-wall carpet, which meant doggy baths sometimes twice a week. It was at one of these scrub sessions that I discovered how much my Fluffy was growing in another department.

I remember real well: he'd gotten into some green paint that'd been left open in the garage and it'd taken three washes and rinses to get it out. He was sitting up in the tub, all dripping wet, his long tongue lolling out, his brown eyes bright and deliriously happy despite his damp condition.

Like Mom insisted, I was only wearing my white panties, so I wouldn't mess up my good clothes. I'd just let the water out. As the water-line dropped and the dirty scum, sort of a greenish- grey, ran down the drain, I was shocked to see a strange thing on the end of Fluffy's wee-wee.

I leaned over the hair-littered tub for a better look. This "new" thing was red, long and shiny and wet looking, but a different kind of wet than from water. More like greasy. It seemed to be growing out of the end of his wee-wee. It was pointed at the end and kind of slid in and out of the hairy wee-wee holder as he breathed.

I wasn't scared or anything like that. I was just curious about Fluffy's "new development." I touched it just under the needle tip with the bar of soap. Instantly the red thing surged out from the furry sheath, drooping slightly. I jumped back, but when nothing happened I reached out and touched it again. Fluffy licked my face with his hot slobbery tongue. It was definitely a "thank you" lick. I remember how funny, how tingly it felt, just then, to have his tongue touch my lips.

I rubbed harder with the soap and the red thing grew longer and harder so it didn't droop at all but stood out straight and pointy. At the time I was pretty dumb. I didn't even know that it was his cock I was fooling with. Anyway, I worked up a good, thick lather on the underside of his cock, and I was amazed and delighted to see the silly effect it was having on him. His hips began to snap spastically and his eyes half-closed and his upper lip drew back from his teeth, just like when I itched him in a real good spot. He started to breathe funny, too. Like wheezing almost and he grunted every now and then. He licked me again and kept licking me on the mouth. He bathed my lips in his hot, doggy drool, pushing them apart in his eagerness. I opened my mouth a little and Fluffy ran his bristly lips across mine. Our tongues touched and my mouth was full of his doggy taste. I squirmed. A tingle raced from the tip of my tongue to the fork between my legs. The sensation was new and exciting.

Dropping the bar of soap, I carefully reached out and took the swollen length of Fluffy's wee-wee in my hot little hand. It was red hot and very slippery. It felt delicious! Even then, though no one had told me, in the back of my mind I knew I was doing something very bad, a no-no, but that made it much, much better.

I felt a flush creep up in my cheeks as I slipped the dog cock in and out of my closed fist, and Fluffy began whimpering softly as he snapped his hips into the tight ring. He stood up in the tub to get a better angle and began slipping and scrambling on the wet porcelain.

I reached out with my free hand and grabbed him and hugged his wet body to me. His curly fur tickled my naked chest: my little pink nipples puckered and stiffened like they never had before. I pressed my face into his damp neck and worked his dick harder. My fist traveled up and down the length of his cock, milking it cruelly. As it slogged in and out of my hand the sound of the dog's breathing grew more and more hoarse.

I slid my hand up between his rear legs and as I played with his cock, I groped for his bulging brown nuts. They'd always fascinated me, but I never knew exactly what they were for. They were upright against the base of his rear end, hard and hot and more than a handful for me. I squeezed them gently and Fluffy's hips went into overdrive, flipping wildly. I pushed away from him, my own breathing ragged. my little bee-sting titties covered with loose dog fur, and looked under his heaving belly.

The slimy tool in my hand jerked, a ripple of feeling raced from root to tip, bringing with it a fountain of creamy yellowish white stuff that spurted from the tip and flopped to the floor of the tub. It kept on shooting and shooting and I was scared for a second that he was peeing, but it didn't look like pee-pee. It was so hot and thick and some of it got on my hand as I held him. When the stuff stopped coming out, Fluffy stopped jerking around. I let him go and sat down on the sopping wet bathroom rug. I looked at the gooey gob of his squirt on my middle finger. It glistened in the soft light. I looked at the quickly disappearing length of Fluffy's cock. Its pointy nozzle held a similar blob of creamy stuff. I raised my finger to my nose and sniffed the smell of doggy come. It was marvelous. Musky and sweet like perfume and nasty, too. Real nasty. I opened my lips, moistening them with my pointed tongue. Then Mom called from the hallway right outside the door, and asked me what was taking so long and how I shouldn't have the door closed.

I lunged for the faucet and rinsed off my finger and sent the slimy stuff swirling down the drain. I had a towel around my happy mongrel before Mom opened the door.

After that, almost every time Fluffy got a bath, I gave him a good rub, too. Every time Mom wasn't around. Sometimes late at night he'd hop up into bed with me... also a no-no... and I'd make the red thing come out by pinching the tip of the hairy sheath or by bouncing his balls in my palm. It got so I didn't have to do hardly anything to get him "in the mood" for a cock rub.

It took a long time for Fluffy and me to graduate to better things. It was a Sunday morning and I was ten. Mom and Pop always did the weekly grocery shopping on Sundays and Mom always tried to drag me along. I remember I pretended to be fast asleep when she shook me. I refused to budge even when Mom threatened me with an ice water drenching. I felt so warm and cosy and it was pure joy to ignore Mom's shrill orders. I only stirred from the comfort of my little bed when I heard the station wagon pull out of the driveway.

If things went as usual, I had two whole hours alone in the house. I liked being alone. Well, not completely alone. I threw back the covers and Fluffy jumped up on the bed. He licked my face and wagged his long, curly tail. I pushed him away and got out of bed. I was wearing my long flannel nightgown. I walked over to the closet and opened it. Fluffy hopped down from the bed and followed me over to the closet.

"Nope," I said out loud. I wasn't ready to get dressed yet. I yanked the nightie up over my head and admired myself in the full- length mirror.

My body was really changing. I didn't have any boobies to brag about yet, but there were plump humps of flesh under my rosy nipples. And between my legs, over the pudgy mound of my wee-wee, there grew a downy spring of golden hairs. Just a few, but I was very proud of them. They formed a little bridge across the fat lips of my pussy.

I bent down to pick up my nightie and got a cold, wet surprise. "Fluffy, you bad dog!" I scolded, touching myself on the poop-hole where he had poked me with his nose.

Fluffy scooted under the bed quickly, ears back, hind legs flattened out frog-style, as he scrambled for cover. His wet, black nose peeped out from between the fringe of the bedspread.

"Oh, come on, Fluffy," I said. "I'm not going to hit you..."

The little dog came part way out from under the bed. I could hear his mil thumping wildly. "Come on, you silly," I coaxed.

Fluffy bounded out. I patted him on the head. What he'd done hadn't really hurt anyway. It sort of tingled. "Let's go get something to eat," I told him.

The two of us ran downstairs to the kitchen. I felt wonderfully naughty running around the house naked. I always imagined the gas man or the mail man accidentally looking in the window and seeing me naked. I imagined them getting a big red hard-on like Fluffy, too.

I poured myself a big mug of milk and mixed in some chocolate powder with a tablespoon. Fluffy sat up and started to beg.

"Oh, alright, Fluffy, you can have a cookie," I said, reaching for the box of dog biscuits. I stood there with my hand on my bare hip. "First, you've got to do a trick. Roll over!"

Fluffy dropped to his stomach and started to roll over. I squatted down and caught him by the paws just as he turned on his back "Stay!" I said.

I held him there a minute and looked at his cock and balls. His big brown eyes twinkled. Like magic his red dick began to slip out of its holder. Letting go of a paw, I grabbed the slippery shaft and slapped it gently against his belly. He kicked his back legs real jerky-like and his cock got hard fast.

"Good boy," I said, straightening up. I reached for the mug of milk and sat down at the kitchen table. Fluffy just stayed there on his back, cock stiff and ready, hoping I'd come back and finish the job But I didn't. I sipped my milk and slouched down in the chair.

Suddenly the look on his face and his big red dick hanging out seemed very funny to me and I choked on a swallow of milk, spitting it up. Then, the mug tipped and wave of brown fluid ran down over my soft belly and into the fork of my legs. "Eeeeeek!" I squealed at the shock of it.