2 comments/ 20882 views/ 1 favorites Do The Dog Ch. 01 By: Gkann Opportunity knocks for those who wait. Sometimes you just don't want to wait. You get fed up with waiting. Those who don't wait get things done quicker. Too right! That was the provocative statement in the mind of Jesse Roche as he waited very impatiently for the 97 bus on the upper level at Billings Bridge bus station, south of downtown Ottawa. He sat on one of two wooden benches in the bus shelter for northbound passengers, trying his best to keep his aggrieved mood to himself. He was peed off already as he walked here from his buddy's apartment that was twenty minutes walk away at Bank and Heron. The original plan between friends was for Jesse to stay at the apartment for the night after a local drinking spree, but an argument with his buddy's girlfriend over a blocked toilet lead to Jesse being shown the door earlier than planned. So here he was, with tired and probably swollen feet, waiting at 2 AM early Monday morning for the 97 to take him to Westboro, to the condo where he lived with his flatmate, Charlie. There he would flop into bed for a torrid sleep; and plan what excuse he would concoct for his boss for being late to work later on. That freaking bitch, he thought, as he looked through the glass of the bus shelter onto an empty Transitway. It wasn't that hard to fix a blocked toilet and you didn't have to stick your hand into any shit. She needed the crap knocked out of her! The one little comfort he had as he counted down the minutes for the bus' arrival was the presence of the other person in the shelter. This was a young woman, in her late teens, he guessed. Goodness knows where she was coming from or going to, but she was dressed in a purple mini-dress, black Doctor Martin boots, and a brown suede jacket. She was pale white, slim bodied, with blonde hair split into two pigtails at the top. Her back was facing him as she also surveyed the quiet Transitway outside the shelter. Jesse did not fancy the boots but the mini-dress was loose, and it ended so beautifully on her mid-thigh. That was oh so sexy! The dress had an embroidered circular print pattern from top to bottom. He ignored the not cool boots and concentrated on the legs. They were of a milky texture, as if he could take a sip if he could get closer. The woman ignored him completely; only concerned apparently with when she would hear the familiar drone of the OC Transpo bus. It was as if he were nothing, not worth even inclining her head a little bit to see what was up. To see if perhaps he was a hot guy and this could be her lucky night. Is she a hooker? Why she acting like that? Then Jesse shook that notion out of his head. No, no. What is a hooker doing here? They would all be plying their goodies downtown, not here. Then Jesse went back to thinking about himself. "Shitty night," he said, and then realised he had spoken out loud. In the dead of the shelter, his voice bounced all around them like a ricochet shot. It broke the young woman out of her spell. She turned quickly, looked at Jesse for a nanosecond and then went back to the window. Oh really? You ain't all that, you whore, he thought wickedly. What's up with those big boots anyway? It spoils that hot dress you got on. And then the girl moved. Her steps were soundless as she walked over to the other side of the shelter in a slightly stunted motion, almost as if she were on parading herself. She stopped, looked at an advert on the wall for Carleton University, appraised it for about ten seconds, and then continued her slow gait back to where she had been standing before. At the last second before she stopped, Jesse could have sworn that she glanced over at him. It was a quick glance; the quickest one he had ever seen. But he noticed it, he felt it. He heard the swish of her bare legs connecting with the still of the shelter air. The sound vibrations bounced off his ear, and tickled his senses. They informed him that she was good, so good. And now she is ignoring me again! Jesse was becoming more wound up. Who do you think you are? Where is that fucking bus? Anger hatched into annoyance which hatched into desire and then into cool dirty lust. A sudden plan formed in Jesse's head, that was oh so bad and yet so freaking exciting. It was just the two of them. There wasn't much else. The shelter had tall glass on all four sides. Behind him, there was a good view of the Billings Bridge Shopping Centre and that area was as still as a cactus in the desert. To his right, there was an open area leading to the stairs that gave access to the lower level of the bus station. Jesse and the young woman had been alone for the last ten minutes and Jesse had not seen or heard any other activity from other areas of the station. Don't give me that attitude. You think you can do better than me? What was going on with those legs? That's the only thing you got going, babe. They needed some warmth, some tender Jesse attention, and then what else could he warm up? He knew how he could do that, and in the process warm himself up to. I have had enough from ignorant, self-important think they are all that women for one night. What the fuck was that? Why is she wearing that dress? No prude or modest woman would dress like that. He knew what she wanted already. It's about what I want! Opportunity knocks only once? Was that the saying? The exposed legs magnetized within Jesse's mind. He wanted to see where they ended. He wanted to touch where they ended. He wanted to learn what his uptight woman was made of. He wanted to rip of that sullen expression and make her now that Jesse was a man, the man! Don't take my lack of height, my denim jacket, my tight jeans and formal shoes for a joke, girl! Jesse had instantly worked himself up into a writhing ball of wantonness and need. His breathing became more intense as he felt himself hardening from his thoughts. Oh he felt better already! At the last second, he caught a reflection of himself in the windows as he launched his attack. His low cut brown hair was made almost bald by the lights within the shelter. And there he saw her reflection too, and it was looking straight at his reflection. It was too late to contemplate what that meant. This had to be rough and quick! He grabbed the young woman by her neck, held on tight to show he meant business and threw her towards the ground. She felt down instantly, her left shoulder taking the most out of the impact. What now? thought Jesse. I don't even have a freaking weapon! He knelt down and punched her twice in the face hoping to knock her out. It worked, almost. Two swift punches and she lost her will to fight. Her body went loose and her arms flopped around her. He almost felt like apologizing for hitting her so hard, only that he didn't think the punches were that hard. One leg was bent, with the knee in the air, and her dress was up. Make this quick. He glanced up quickly and saw that there was still no-one else around. Freaking epic! This is too easy. He threw up her skimpy dress towards her stomach. This revealed a pair of blue sports shorts underneath. Huh? What freaking kind of girl wears sports shorts under a dress? Nevertheless the legs were bare and inviting, and they ended right where they should end; at the fun part. Oh there was a hint of the sweetness under the shorts. Jesse groaned from lust and excitement. He rose up into a bent position to pull down his jeans. They were his tight fitting jeans so he practically busted the seam as he pushed them down to his ankles. Then he hurriedly pushed down his boxers over his now hard dick. Shit, he needed to put that in and now. Man, this was too slow. Speed up, Jesse buddy! He looked up to get at those silly sports shorts when he saw that the young woman was now alert. Her eyes were open and she looked at him with some attitude. She lifted her bent leg and thrust the boot down hard between his legs. His balls were exposed so she knew exactly where to place her weighted blow. Jesse's waist exploded with pain. It was as if a nail bomb had been sent straight into his scrotum. "You fucking bitch!" he screamed as he dropped onto his side with his hands covering his private parts. "You, you..!" "Now!" The bus shelter then burst into a montage of action, but not from Jesse. All he was aware of was that from now on his world became a world of hurt. From nothing he felt kicks, blows, sharp objects and heavy objects raining down on his body. Whatever way he turned he could not escape. What was worse was that he dared not lose his protective grip on his penis; therefore his assailants had express liberty with his unprotected body. Once he grasped onto a solid moving object and then his arm was instantly assaulted with heavy blows. He tried to squeeze out an apology to stop them but his words came out as frightened screeches and the terrifying assault did not let up. He felt the warm wetness on his blood soaking into his shirt. He rolled around in agony with his bare backside pressing on the puddle of pee he had left on the ground. There was only one thing left. He screamed as loud as he could for help. That went on for two seconds before a kick to his mouth sent his teeth into his cheek. There were two more hefty kicks, which felt like they came from that pair of Doctor Martens, before he lost interest in his life. His last memory of that night was of more than one female voice, whispering in harsh tones, that he was turned over onto his back and his legs were being kicked apart. Do The Dog Ch. 02 WARNING: This novel contains explicit language, violent situations and graphic sexual references throughout. ***** Raheem Ford, back in his hometown of Ottawa after spending a few years in Calgary, meets the sensual but tough talking Amira Cruz while staying at a homeless shelter in the city. Despite clashing violently when they first meet, they soon embark on a wild and carefree romance, living their lives in a similar fashion. Raheem eventually discovers there is more to Amira than meets the eye. Her friendship with women from similar troubled and abused backgrounds has ignited a disturbing night-time activity that at first horrifies Raheem and then draws him in. In the meantime, a series of violent sex attacks are hitting the city. ***** I banged the locker door in frustration. The resulting boom sounded as if a RPG had been launched. It doesn't take much to alert the staff and send them running down from the office to see what was happening. They react like a spider to a fly struggling on a spider web at any suspicious sounds that could indicate a bout of rowdiness and aggression from the residents, even if the end result was limited. "It might be in the laundry," said Rob helpfully, one of my dorm mates and one of the more decent guys in the building. "Nah, that's gone, and those were my best pair of pants too!" My bed was empty except for the pillow. The sheets and the blanket had been taken up by the cleaning staff, as they did every morning to put into the house laundry. That was a beloved pair of Guess jeans, blue, straight fit, and they matched my dark brown Timberland shoes almost perfectly. The last I remember was taking them out of the locker in the morning before going into the shower room. I must have left them on the bed when I went over to the Kitchen for breakfast. I was over there for about thirty minutes, munching Bran Flakes, peanut butter and jam toast and watching the sports news on the flat screen TV on the wall. "Go tell the staff and make 'em search the laundry room," Rob advised. It sounded hopeful, and I thought he should know, since he had been here longer than me. So I hot stepped it along the hallway, past the shelter managers' offices and the washrooms, to the shelter staff office at the front of the hallway. I told them what happened. One of them, a portly but kind gent called Chris, escorted me promptly to the laundry room. There were two large wheelie type bins in there with all the dirty sheets and blankets they had collected that morning. They were waiting for someone to place them into two large, aging washing machines. I did not fancy the idea of digging my clean hands through all those soiled sheets that guys had rolled in, farted in, rubbed against themselves, blown their noses into, wiped themselves on or even (gulp!) masturbated on. But I wanted those pants. I could not afford to lose them, not now. I did what I had to do. As Rob looked on, I held my breath and waded into what I did not want to know. I shifted fitted sheets, flat sheets, blankets and pillowcases to the side, making a bigger mess than what was there already. After ten slow minutes my work was done. I left a lovely mess of linen, but no pants. "Shit!" I cursed. "Some dirty bastard has my pants!" Chris shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry buddy. We'll keep an eye out for you." I nodded and left the room without waiting for Chris. I hope the bitch who stole my pants loses his thieving hand in a nasty way. I was into my second week at The Good Shepherd, one of the four main homeless shelters in Ottawa, with three of them situated within a 1 km radius of each other in the downtown area, off Rideau Street. Ottawa is my home city; I was born and raised here, me and my younger brother. At the age of eleven, my parents divorced. My dad headed to Calgary to try and make some oil money while I stayed with my mom and brother in Ottawa. We moved from a three bedroom house in Orleans into a two bedroom apartment at Merivale and West Hunt Club in the west of the city. My mom was still an attractive woman and quite young looking for her early thirties. Before long, other men noticed she was single and available; she remarried within two years of divorcing my dad. The new husband was a guy she worked with, he was ten years older and he was white. I could not see how that was going to work; especially when she became pregnant for him at thirty-five. I was thirteen years old; I called him by his first name, Kevin. He was a good guy really but had I reached my teens. I followed my peers and got a bit rebellious. I could not take Kevin scolding me or giving me any punishment. That lead to conflict with my mom, and things came to a head after Grade 12. After one big bust up where I physically attacked Kevin, I was told to leave. I was run out of the family home, because of that old asshole. I cursed him to the ground. I stayed at a buddy's home for a few months, before finding a batchelor flat rental. I struggled to work and maintain a roof over my head. After a few years of that, I got in contact with my Dad. I was on my way to Alberta before he had to chance to know why I had called. In Calgary, I received a lukewarm reception from my dad at his three bedroom house that he shared with two other guys. He acted as if I was some zit to be erased and fast, if not permanently. He was enjoying freedom from the chains of marriage and had girlfriends coming out of his ears. Calgary looked better than Ottawa in the summer time so I hung around, finding mostly manual work through a temping agency, then I was working with my Dad. A couple of brutal winters soon sent me running like a gazelle escaping from a lion. That and a fight with my Dad, although not before I begged some money from him, having to practically shove my birth certificate in his face to convince him, the tight asshole. I bought a coach trip to Montreal, where I had family on my mom's side. Here again, I was treated as if I was one of the ten great plagues, and so eventually found myself back in Ottawa. With a big smile and a few juicy horror stories, I got myself into mom's good books, although Kevin was now just cool towards me and not the street kind of cool either. A month later, I had a big bust up with him and got thrown out the house again. Not even the dignity of allowing myself to leave, they threw me out. I was twenty-six years old now, so there was less guilt from my mom this time. At least it was not winter. I was out on my backside on the bare streets of Ottawa with my backpack and some clothes in a sports holdall. I let with some choice foul words towards the whole of them which insured that any chance of reconciliation was as likely as a heatwave in the Arctic. So I slept outside, not really knowing where to go, since I had lost contact with most of my old Ottawa buddies. I slept under trees, on park benches, at bus stations and sometimes in shopping malls. It was all good when the weather was nice. It was so crappy when the rain fell and I had to run for cover. After one night when I got so drenched after security kicked me out of Carlingwood Mall on Baseline Road, I dried off at a local sports centre and then took the bus downtown. I went to the YMCA on Argyle Street, as that was the only place I knew that could take in homeless people. They said they had no space and referred me to the Salvation Army on George Street. I was not too impressed with the Sally's drab, grubby looking building, so I was not too upset when they said they were full too. They called the nearby Good Shepherd, who said that I should call them later, around 7pm, once they had confirmed how many people would be sleeping there that night. So I hung around downtown, becoming thoroughly bored as there was not much to the area once you had walked out the Rideau Centre shopping mall. I bought a large coffee at Tim Hortons and drunk it very slowly by the front window as I watched the Ottawa female hotty club strolling by. It was very insightful; I never realised that there were that much hot girls in Ottawa as I did on that early summer's day on Rideau Street. By 7pm, by which time hunger was digging out my insides, I walked the ten minutes it took to get to the Good Shepherd, who thankfully confirmed that they did have a bed available: bed E28. A young, fit looking female member of staff (she had a small jacket on that said ‘'staff' escorted me to my quarters, a small room with three bunk beds and six high school size lockers. Welcome to the jungle! I put the larger of my two backpacks in the locker that was assigned to my bed number, tucked my wallet in my inside jacket pocket, washed my face in the washroom, picked up my other backpack and headed out to the adjacent building on the other side of the road that served as the Good Shepherd's soup kitchen. They had a drop in centre going on in there by this time, so I was able to get some vegetable soup, some bread with butter and a hot coffee while a 32" flat screen TV showed a movie on Showcase. I thought, this shit ain't so bad. There was a fairly large cooking area where the food was prepared and handed to us over a glass counter. We sat in an extensive vinyl floored area with tables and chairs there were fixed to the floor. The soup kitchen had a mix of grubby looking men, in various states of cleanliness. Some looked like they were straight off the mean streets, in their soiled, creased and ill fitting clothing; others were dressed in manual workfare of jeans and safety shoes and there were a few half-decent guys, who would not look out of place in a line up for Tim Hortons. There were a few dour looking females, and the odd black and Aboriginal face in the mix. At least I was not the sole visible minority in this line up of misery. Homeless shelters. I never in my life thought I would end up in one of them. I read that they were dangerous, violent, dirty, invaded by bed bugs and polluted with the lowest of the low. I read that many homeless people would rather take their chances on the street than stay in a homeless shelter. That the staff treated you like cattle, pushing and prodding you to move that way, go this way, take that bed, take these blankets, take your possessions elsewhere, take our advice, take our shit and be grateful. The reality; not so bad, not so good. Maybe I got lucky, but The Good Shepherd was bearable. I was thankful for a bed in a room and not a mat on the floor. The shelter held two washrooms, a shower room, a tub room, a TV room, a lounge area (just another room with a few chairs) with an attached elevated patio area for smokers. The bedding was cleaned daily in their in-house laundry and you could wash your clothes there too once all the sheets and towels were done. And there were filling meals three times a day at the soup kitchen for Good Shepherd residents. The residents were a mixed bunch of good guys, some A plus dumb-asses, drug addicts and the mentally challenged (the loonie toonies). The shelter was a renovated old school building the size of an average grocery store, with three floors. The building itself was okay; it was the residents who decided whether they wanted to keep it clean or not. And too many times it was not. Homeless men; hopeless men, angry men. On my second night there were two major arguments between the inmates. The second bust up woke everyone up and caused the police to be called at 1 AM. Hopeless guys; guys walked around indoors, sometimes topless, in shorts or just their underwear. Too many of these dirty fuckers used the toilet and then just left without washing. I ain't shaking none of their hands! Guys stayed up all night in the lounge, chatting, shouting, smoking. Some of them smelled like crap like they had brought the street in with them. There's a frigging shower room for goodness sake! I was cleaning down my ass on a daily basis. This was a new world, one that you had heard about but never really thought about until Christmas when you hear those adverts asking you to donate a dollar to give a homeless chump a dinner. Within a week I realised I was thankful for the shelter but the longer I stayed here, I would eventually adjust and become one of the these fools. I would be wandering around the hallways in just my boxers and bare feet taking shits without washing afterward. Why did mom have to marry again? Wasn't one bastard of a man enough for her. Now that pale faced fool is running the house while I, her blood, was out sinking into this human cess pit. I needed money therefore I needed to work. That was the normal route. However I was essentially sans address. What the fuck do I put on my tattered resume as my address? I left my mom's address on it and would deal with any fallout if and when it happened. Being the slow dickhead that I could be, my driving license still had my current address as my dad's place in Calgary. I had applied for an Ontario Driving License when I was still at my mom's house. I was not too concerned. I was her blood; she would let me know whenever it arrived. I would phone and ask her about it in a week's time. I doubted she would get all nasty about it and decide not to give it to me. Fucking Ottawa; one thing that I hate about this city. Obtaining a decent job with a good salary is nigh on impossible unless you are either bilingual in English and French and/or you have a degree. My French flaked out after grade 12 and dashing from province to province in my young adult years messed up my post-secondary education plans. So with the lack of work opportunities, I bummed around for a while, making sure my belly was at least full, with breakfast, lunch and dinner courtesy of The Good Shepherd Kitchen. Beyond that, it was a case of drifting around downtown, trying to look decent and not like a homeless bum, and hoping against hope that you will get lucky somehow. There was one little glimmer of light amongst all the drudgery; the Good Shepherd housed a male and female shelter in the same building, with separate entrances for the genders on alternate sides of the building. And human nature being what it is, the male and female species will always attract when in close quarters. Men hanging around the female entrance was not encouraged, but a blind eye was given to the odd females chatting around the male entrance. In any case, we would all meet up at the Kitchen. These women were homeless chicks, so basically a squirmy, messy sample of the female species. There was a higher percentage of Aboriginals among the females than the males for some reason, some wacky ass skinny white girls who were either crackheads or hookers, or both, as well as the odd black kitty. I saw them all in the Kitchen. They were messy but mostly a decent bunch compared to the men. There were those wacky ass ones who deliberately brought attention to themselves, especially when they were drunk or high. Once, one of them white gals came in with her skinny pants hanging down, revealing the top half of her backside and the hint of a thong. What did she want a thong for with that thin, bony ass? I watched her as she swore at the men, danced with her food, and wailed at her female buddy about some thieving landlord. It was a turn off at first, and then as I watched that jumping, jiving thong, I was thinking, go on, let those pants drop lower and let's see if she would dare expose her snatch. Some guys were telling her to pull her pants up, but then she lowered them further on purpose. I still couldn't see shit but my head was spinning like crazy. I had not seen pussy for a while, and I wanted to see this skanky one right now! What if she were to pull her pants all the way down, whip that stringy thong one side and offer it up for whoever dared? Would I dare? Would I?? Is this what lack of sex does to you? You think of crazy, whacky shit that would not normally enter your head. What do I want with some skanky hoe? She is most probably hiring out that pussy for her crack fill. Shit, would I care? My dick was throbbing for a wet female hole. Yeah, it had to be wet, hoe! That was when I declared that this life had got to me. I had officially gone to the other side. I had to get back to the land of the living! Later on that same night, there was a mighty row in my room when one guy from another room accused a roomy called Mac of stealing his baseball cap. Mac says what cap? This Toronto Maple Leafs one? No, I bought this today off a buddy for five bucks. Garbage, says the alleged victim, that is my cap. It's got this oil stain at the back, let me show you. Fuck off, says Mac. That's not an oil stain and I paid for this. The feds visited yet again when buddy boy threatens to cut off Mac's balls. He is eventually told to leave the shelter for the night. Afterward Mac admits that the cap probably did belong to buddy boy, as the seller was a known crook. After all that, and the lost pants, I had had enough. I had to get out. Find me a job, someone, please! I was going to walk the streets, or find free wifi for my iPhone and work desperately to find work, regular money and then the shelter can go do one. That was my aim, until I met Amira.