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Spot The Dog (standard:Suspense, 2798 words)
Author: AtticusAdded: Oct 24 2002Views/Reads: 2774/1866Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Joe tries to get on with his life after a tempestuous relationship with Troy, unfortunately the past has a habit of creeping up on him.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

him, preferring to slobber all over his Gucci jeans, and chew at his 
Prada shoes.  Nonplussed, Joe would answer the telephone if whomsoever 
was ringing called back, as he needed to get himself a cup of Earl Grey 
immediately; his exertions with Bruno on the moors had tired him out 
immensely.  He also wondered if the mongrel that Bruno had played with 
on the nearby grassland was all-right; Bruno had tended to play a bit 
rough with him, and the dog's owner had been quite abrupt with Joe in 
retrospect.  Never mind though, as Bruno cost absolutely nothing - no 
local breeders had puppies to sell (or refused him the right to 
purchase a puppy for reasons unknown) - Joe had retrieved Bruno from 
the local dog sanctuary.  And for that he was exceedingly grateful. 

The dog sanctuary had been so nice in 'phoning him as soon as a suitable
dog came in, and Joe had simply jumped at the chance of getting hold of 
Bruno.  Dear Bruno, the great soft git; Joe already adored him, he was 
fabulous to be with, and was, in just two days, developing a great 
appetite for fresh meat.  Bruno went through pounds of fresh meat each 
day, and he especially loved raw meat, but Joe didn't care because he 
was looking great as a result of all this healthy eating.  And anyway, 
he could hardly feed Bruno fresh fruit could he?  Well that would be 
like feeding liver to horses.  It just wouldn't go down a treat. 

Joe especially loved Bruno's appetite for life.  Bruno was up and about
at five each morning, licking Joe's face because he loved him (wasn't 
it amazing how dogs attached themselves to you after such a short 
time), and then became so eager to go out for the longest of walks.  
This life, in Joe's eyes, after the divorce, had become blissful, 
enigmatic, and memorable.  Just when Joe had begun to despair about 
life altogether, Bruno had helped him rediscover his yearning for life. 
 Also, despite feeling a tad guilty about Spot, he believed that you 
could now give him the choice between four Spots and one Bruno and 
still he would, rather regretfully though, choose Bruno above Spot.  
However, Joe felt, curiously, that this level of happiness couldn't 
last and, one day, sure enough, the telephone rang again. 

Joe had been doing some spring-cleaning (even though it was December)
and decorating (Bruno had, playfully, decided to flay the bedroom 
cushions).  Joe loved nothing else than cleaning and re-decorating, so 
he was in fine fettle and the most humorous of humours.  Bruno was 
lying on his clean bed-linen, snoring like an old man, and Joe was 
reflecting on how happy he actually was, and also on where he would go 
shopping for new bed-linen.  So, when the telephone rang, Joe felt 
quite disgruntled; his day had been completely disrupted by some 
unthinking and uncaring individual.  Thus, Joe picked up the receiver, 
and curtly snapped, "Yes?"  He sensed it was a woman before he had 
heard the voice; he could almost smell her odour down the receiver; a 
plummy, sickly scent which reminded him of his mother.  God how he 
disliked women, especially his nagging mother, Barbara, or Barbi as her 
tatty friends called her.  And you could guarantee that it was always a 
woman who 'phoned you when you least needed the disruption to your day. 
 Putting the telephone to his ear, he heard, "Hello, Joseph.  It's Mrs. 
Davenport.  Troy's mother." 

Joe just hung up.  He couldn't help himself.  The relationship with Troy
was over, and he didn't need Troy's family ringing him up again and 
again, reminding him of his heartache and how much of a philandering 
bastard Troy was.  Joe sat down, and loosened his shirt.  When the 
telephone rang the second time, Joe simply pulled the cord out of the 
socket with a snap.  Why couldn't some people understand that he needed 
to be alone?  Troy's mother knew perfectly well that their relationship 
was over, so why wouldn't she leave him be?  He needed his own space 
nowadays, just him and Bruno, and, as a result of her unwanted 
intrusion, he would certainly get the phone disconnected tomorrow.  
That way nobody could contact him; he couldn't imagine anyone coming 
out into the middle of the North Yorkshire Moors in the middle of 
December, so he would probably, if he disconnected the telephone, be 
left, finally, in peace.  But for now he had things to do, duvets to 
discard, cushions to repair, more cushions to buy, and wasn't it almost 
time for Bruno's walkies?  It certainly was.  So, with a huff and a 
puff, Joe collected Bruno's lead, and went out to think some more about 
what Bruno would like for tea. 

Upon his return, two hours later (Bruno was a tad reluctant to return to
his master), Joe was alarmed to see a red Astin Martin parked outside 
the house.  Who the hell could that be?  Joe got Bruno on his lead (he 
didn't want any more accidents), took a deep breath, and walked towards 
the house.  A woman was sat in the car, and, as he got nearer, could 
see that it was that old bag Mrs. Davenport.  "What the hell does she 
want?" Joe thought; out loud, to his consternation.  As he approached 
the vehicle, she got out of the car, and stood facing him.  She was 
wearing a fake leopard-skin coat that went right down to her ankles.  
Joe thought that she looked like a tramp, and her clothes were, at 
best, very last season.  There were tears in her eyes though, which Joe 
thought was odd.  Joe supposed that she'd just remembered to re-do her 
roots after a four month lapse, and was upset about it; women got upset 
about stuff like that.  But that didn't explain why she... 

"Joseph.  Sorry to bother you.  I need to talk to you." 

Joe wondered what she wanted to talk about, but smiled anyway, and let
her into the house - after Bruno was safely ensconced in the kitchen.  
He might, you never knew with him, mistake Mrs. Davenport for an actual 
leopard and want to fight. 

"Come in, Mrs. Davenport.  Great to see you again." 

"Joseph.  I'm not here to socialise.  In fact, I hoped I would never see
you again.  We need to discuss Troy." 

That named irritated the hell out of Joe, the sound of its articulation
made him re-remember the past all over again, and he didn't like the 
recollection one little bit.  But, ever the gallant gentleman, and ever 
the curious busybody, Joe made Christine a cup of tea - not Earl Grey 
though, as that was his favourite tea, and he couldn't possibly share 
that particular delectable beverage with the likes of her. 

"Joseph.  I haven't heard from Troy for some time now.  Over three weeks
in fact.  And I'm worried to death about him.  Have you seen him at 
all?  If you have, I need to know.  I think something's happened to 
him.  I know the two of you split up, I just wondered if, perhaps..." 

"Ooh. Christine.  I am sorry.  It must be awful for you.  I wonder where
he's gone.  He isn't here, that's for sure." 

"I see.  Joseph.  When did you last see him?" 

Joe had quickly become vexed by her whining on about her darling son,
Troy.  How the hell could he tell her where Troy had gone?  Troy was an 
absolute law unto himself, and he could be in any public toilet this 
side of London.  And this was a bad time for him.  "Ages ago.  We split 
up.  You know that."  Joe began to scratch his forehead because it 

"So you've heard nothing from him?"  Mrs. Davenport scratched her head
too, which looked peculiar, the two of them scratching their heads.  
Perhaps they had nits, Joe thought. 

"I've heard nothing at all."  Which he hadn't.  But added, out of
respect, "I didn't expect to actually." 

"Joe.  If you hear anything, will you please call me?  I'm terribly
anxious about him.  This is very out of character for my Troy, as you 
may well know." 

"Of course I will.  But he doesn't even know I'm here so I can't see
that he will contact me.  If I heard anything though..." 

"Thanks.  I appreciate your help.  I'll await a call from you."  She
brushed back her hair.  That was one annoying habit, and she'd been 
doing the same thing for years.  Joe was surprised that no-one had told 
her to stop flicking her hair like that. 

"And please, if he decides to call you, if you find out that he's safe
and sound, will you tell me?" 

"I will Patricia, I will."  Joe thought otherwise; she didn't deserve
anything else. 

Once she'd gone, Joe made himself a proper cup of tea, and threw away
the mug she'd used.  He then sat down to ruminate upon Mrs. Davenport.  
She was so strange and uncouth.  He completely failed to see how she 
could be so successful with men, but recognised that she most certainly 
was, undeniably so, even though she probably charged for her services.  
And if she didn't she should because she could make a bundle.  Slut.  
Oh well, Joe thought - simultaneously Bruno jumped onto his chest, and 
nearly caved his rib-cage in - Joe realised that it was time to finish 
unpacking; he'd left this last job for nearly three weeks now.  How 
forgetful and lacksadaisical can you get? 

Walking into the dining room, Joe stared at the final trunk for a long
time.  He hated moving house vehemently, but absolutely craved 
unpacking the final trunk; there was something sentimental in the whole 
process; a way of letting go of the past, and embracing the future.  
So, he opened the large, wooden trunk, cringed as the hinges creaked on 
themselves when the lid swung backwards, and then peaked into the trunk 
to discover the contents.  Bruno was sniffing in anticipation behind 
him, and Joe kicked him out of the way violently. 

Picking up a bottle of valium, Joe emptied ten of the little blue pills
onto the palm of his sweaty hand.  He picked up Troy's genitalia out of 
the trunk, the only remaining part to remind him of Troy's existence, 
and slipped the pills down the length of the shaft.  With a sniff, he 
flung the final piece of meat to Bruno, watched the dog devour the 
flesh, and shut the trunk with a loud bang. 

"That'll teach you, Troy.  You'll never do the dirty on me again, that's
for sure." 


The next evening, about half past eight, Joe slid the zip up on his
black, leather pants, turned to the full-length mirror hanging on the 
wall, and admired the view; a chunky, well-proportioned physique, and 
one that would most definitely be attractive to many gay men.  Knowing 
this, Joe smiled to himself, picked up his peaked cap, went to his MR2 
which was parked just outside the house, and got in. 

Approaching the club with more than a hum of excitement coursing through
his veins, Joe licked his lips in anticipation; who would he leave with 
tonight?  Who would the lucky man be?  He would have to wait and see. 

Stood at the bar, glancing around him in all directions in order to eye
up the totty, Joe noticed a man, roughly 35 years old, looking at him 
intently whilst stroking his groin.  Well that's a come on if ever I 
saw one, thought Joe.  Smiling, Joe approached the man; steadily, 
confidently, determinedly. 

"Hiya.  My name's Troy. "Mine's Tom." "I wondered if, well, you fancied
a fuck." Smiling back, the man nodded affirmatively.  Grinning from ear 
to ear, Joe realised just how easy this cat and mouse game was to play, 
and also how good a player he was.  If only Spot were here to admire 
his success. 

(c) Atticus Smith, 2001 1 



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