ENTRY 1

READY, HONEY?

Sometimes she would wait for him, distracting herself as best she could on her phone, occasionally annoyed by the time they were losing, other times completely absorbed in scrolling through her Instaframe feed. It isn't customary for a canine to get annoyed by time, but she certainly did whenever she felt like it. Other times, like today, he was the one waiting for her.

“Ready, Honey?” asked César, already standing by the door.

He was wearing a dark gray tailored suit—as it couldn't be any other way. Luckily, and thanks to his strict regimen, his measurements hadn't changed in years. Normally, he would have waited upstairs, watching his wife get dressed, touch up her makeup, or whatever else. He never tires of watching her do the smallest things. But today he had to clear a few things out of the car before they could leave for the party.

“I’m coming down!” Miriam answered as she descended the stairs.

She isn't one to exploit her charms, like someone subtly unaware of how desirable they are. She knows anyone desires her, but then again, anyone desires anyone all the time—ALL the time—so her sexual appeal can’t be anything special. She isn't one to exploit her charms, but today, within her chronic understatement, was an exception.

She knew it couldn't look bad on her. She had tried it on several times during its tailoring, even when she went to pick it up after the final adjustments—nothing beyond what is done with any custom garment. But seeing herself wearing it in the room, alone, was perhaps what granted her the calm to intimately appreciate the daring details she had allowed herself in a dress for the first time. Subtle, elegant, but daring nonetheless for her style. Doña Paty had captured her essence perfectly.

She walked down each step with the grace of a grand entrance, like a scene in a movie set in a grand ballroom filled with courtiers and distinguished guests; yet the entire spectacle was meant solely for her husband. She could have come down about three minutes ago, or even caught up with César by the car while he was still pulling out jackets, sweaters, and other clothes accumulating in the back seat alongside some innocent trash. She could have come down earlier, but she waited for her gorilla to walk back into the house to snap the clapperboard.

“WOW!” César gasped as he watched Miriam’s runway walk.

He could rarely recall making an unmeditated, reflexive, involuntary expression. Every detail of the dress forced you to look at the ensemble as a whole, and the full view tempted you to focus on every single detail. This dance of attention made him swear he finally understood the Primordial Motivation.¹

It was impossible for him to avoid running his eyes over her from bottom to top, moving very slowly up the slits of the skirt that started noticeably above her hips. He could count each of her six breasts. Clothing in general rarely managed to pull this off. The top pair was the obvious one: cleavage, emphasis, taking full advantage of them—as they are the largest and most striking, when they are. With luck, the middle ones protrude, but the lower ones carry the stigma of getting lost, whether tucked between folds or pressed down, depending on the garment. Thus, this dress granted them their sacred place on his wife’s abdomen, bouncing gently alongside their “bigger sisters.”

“Doña Paty, you’re worth every penny, every fitting appointment... and every damn display of arrogance!” he thought amid the accelerated, lustful, yet softened beats of his heart.

With only a couple of steps left, and catching the scent of accumulated saliva her husband had forgotten to swallow, Miriam didn't hesitate to bark at him:

“Don’t go drooling on the floor—you weren't the one who mopped today!”

César thought about how irrelevant it was who mopped the floor compared to who should mop it after he hypothetically dirtied it, but he kept the observation to himself. His years in a relationship with Miriam had served as training in holding back hyperliteralisms that would be poorly received. He remains regrettably clumsy, but this time was a success.

¹ From this world's foundational myth.

Of course, Miriam saw this internal debate in full detail. Being a perceptive individual in front of someone so literal is like playing on easy mode; him being her husband makes it like beating the game just by completing the tutorial. And this—yes, sir—is something this [coquer-eared] doggy appreciates like a drink of water when thirsty. Fresh, obviously.

Seconds earlier, during her glamorous grand entrance, she had clearly seen César's inner conflict between tearing her dress off and taking her for hours until unconsciousness while telling the party to go to hell, versus wanting to preserve her just as she looked—protecting her purity, delicacy, and beauty from any threat forever. The third option in his conflict was going to be the clear winner: going to the party with this new piece of lingerie, showing off his wife tonight. For the other two ideas, he had all the time in the world after the social evening, as well as the rest of their lives, respectively.

She usually refrains from doing so out of a sense of respect for her partner's privacy, but given the occasion today, she looked more closely into César's intentions. In this sublayer, as always, she found nothing but pure carnality. Before deciding to get bored and “step away,” she saw herself being taken with the dress still on. She didn't know why, but she found it curious and “stayed.”

The wildness of the primate in his chest and the contraction of his muscles were evident; yet the situation remained calm, slow, and still forceful. She saw herself submissive, immobilized with extreme gentleness and tenderness. It crossed her mind to pounce on him instead, and to be the one to forget about the party... She immediately reconsidered.

Before the chemical signal derived from her psycho-slip could reach her husband's olfactory receptors, she rushed to safeguard the home's hygiene, delivering a confusing message that would save the evening. Besides, agreeing with her husband on this, they had all the time in the world when they returned home.

After a few moments of innocent, restrained caresses and gentle nibbles—exchanging compliments on how good they looked—César returned to the evening's logistics.

“All yours,” he said to his doggy, jiggling the car keys lightly in his hand. “I already put our little mess in the trunk... for good!”

“What?! Why me?!” Miriam's shift in attitude was dramatic. “I drive every day because I have no choice! Even when I'm with you? Why can't you drive?”

“It's not that I can't. It's that you can't stop sticking your head out the window when you're a passenger. Forget how dangerous it is... Your fur is going to arrive completely ruined, and then you won't want us to stay at the party... ever again!”

“Fine, damn it!” Miriam snapped, continuing after a few more curses. “Fucking windows! If they didn't exist, I wouldn't be condemned to the fucking steering wheel! When we get there, I'm going to get completely wasted! My body is going to develop pores just to drain that much alcohol...”

“Sure, Cupcake. I'll gladly drive back. You don't have to excessively poison yourself for that to happen.” After a short pause, César couldn't help but add, “You do know you have pores, right? What you don't have are sweat glands.”

Miriam gave him one of those typical canine huffs, her eyes wandering off with a raised eyebrow. She turned her head, unbothered, like a machine that had finished one process only to start another.

“Pizcaaa! Come down, we're leaving!” she shouted.

In a matter of seconds, the house was subtly filled with the tapping of little hooves that sounded like they were getting a bit long. The tiny domestic pachyderm came running down from her bed upstairs. Miriam and César kept the front door open for her so she could take advantage and pee on the front lawn before spending hours locked up alone while her owners were out.

She diligently did her business on the grass and trotted back inside. Standing on her hind legs, she leaned against each of her owners in turn to receive their goodbye pets before heading back upstairs.

Before getting into the car, César hurried to take the vehicle keys back from Miriam and opened the passenger door for her. With his wife able to read him the way she does, the only form of spontaneity left for him was acting on his ideas as soon as they popped into his head.

“If we're going to pick up your friend, talking to her should distract you from needing to stick your head out,” the gorilla told the doggy gallantly. “I can also lock the window... for good!” he added with a shrug.

“Thanks, Monkey-Pup!” Miriam exclaimed, leaning against César and wagging her tail enthusiastically. She paused briefly and continued, speaking very softly, “...And don't you dare open it, no matter how stupid, damn, crazy piece of shit I get.”