Bedtime, Darcy!

Slumped on my couch like a human slug, I slowly finish getting everything ready. The dimly lit living room is split by the glow of my computer screen. Everything is perfect. Hot tea, charger plugged in… Darcy is just waiting for me! As I get ready to start the movie, I realize that a crucial element of my ritual is missing… Where’s my chocolate? I’m clearly not crazy enough to dive into a Pride & Prejudice night without it! I lift the newspapers off the coffee table, rummage through the TV cabinet drawers—nothing. I scan the living room with my detector gaze. No luck. Where is it?! How can I fully savor the images of Colin Firth—aka Darcy—in a tight-fitting bodysuit without chocolate?! Even the curve of his plump buttocks would seem bland to me without my dose of cocoa.

A thought suddenly flashes through my mind… Unbearable. The next moment, the world spins. My body won’t respond. Could it be that…? No, impossible! Saturday is romance movie night. How on earth could I have forgotten my chocolate?

I jump up from the couch, rush to the kitchen, and check the cupboards one by one. Rice, sugar, pasta, canned goods—but not a single trace of chocolate. I feel my heart skip a beat and look at the refrigerator hopefully: maybe I put it away in the wrong place? With my hand on the cold, white handle, I stop myself. What if there’s nothing there? At this hour, the stores are closed… My ritual has been the same for three years—how could I possibly do this? Putting it off until tomorrow would be like eating dark chocolate filled with mango… Heresy.

I cast one last pleading glance at the white door.

It has to be there. If God exists, give me some chocolate!

I pull on the handle with all the hope in the world: vanilla yogurt, milk, an egg, Darcy—but no chocolate. Disappointed, disgusted, and annoyed, I slam the door furiously. How could I have been so careless! I straighten up and then realize… As I fling my fridge door open again, I discover, in the flesh, Fitzwilliam Darcy curled up, haggard and shivering on his tray. He gives me a confused look before pouncing. My body sprawls across the cold floor as Jane Austen’s hero licks my face like a German shepherd.

“Stop, that’s enough! Stop it!”

My words have no effect on him. His tongue continues to wander along my cheek, leaving a thick trail of drool in its wake. Sickened, I take a deep breath and shout in the most authoritative voice I can muster:

“Stop! For God’s sake, stop!”

No effect. The brave gentleman continues his licking campaign. I’m starting to lose hope when, from his towering six-foot-three height, he crouches down around my thigh and decides to rub his crotch against it. I must be dreaming! He’s acting like a dog…

I fill my lungs and yell:

“Down, Darcy!”

The effect is immediate. The big guy runs to the other end of the room and starts yapping sadly. Unbelievable… I look him up and down; it’s obvious he’s The Darcy. He answered his name, is very tall, wears a top hat and a tailcoat… Pretty handsome, by the way. But why on earth is he acting like a Labrador? And how did he end up in my fridge?

The dog-man, still curled up as if being punished, lowers his gaze and barks even louder. I almost feel sorry for him… What a crazy idea to try to hump my leg, too! Not very gentlemanly, all that… Darcy-the-puppy crouches down and sadly nibbles at his left hand. A few seconds later, he stops, pauses for a long moment, then starts scratching his ear with his leg. His lack of flexibility is obvious. He swings his right foot back and forth, again and again, without success, and ends up losing his balance. His butt bounces on my kitchen tile floor, while Darcy lets out a little whimper.

Poor little guy…

I sigh and reach out to him:

“Darcy, hey, Darcy! Come here, I’ll scratch your ear for you.”

The gentlemanly-but-not-too-much pup sizes me up, brings his snout close to sniff my hand, then rubs against it. I slide my fingers behind his ear and start scratching gently. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes, opens his mouth, and lets his tongue hang out between two loud breaths. Clearly happy and reassured.

“What am I going to do with you now?”

In response, he approaches me timidly and gives me another affectionate lick.

Dis-gu-sting…

Taking his hand, I lead him into the living room and sit down on the couch. He jumps up next to me and rests his chin between my thighs. If it were a dog, I wouldn’t have minded, but coming from Jane Austen’s hero, the awkwardness is palpable. At least for me, because he doesn’t budge an inch—he’s perfectly at ease. Finally, I pop in the DVD as planned. What else could I do? My computer coughs and startles my companion, who yelps. I calm him down, place my hand behind his ear, and dive in alongside Eliza Bennet on her quest for a husband.

Three episodes later, and after thoroughly berating George Wickham, Darcy-the-dog is fast asleep and whimpers in his sleep. He grows more and more restless, and is finally startled awake by the rumbling of his stomach. After a quick glance at his belly button, he gives me a pleading look.

“Okay, get up, Darcy, I know what you want.”

The big guy flashes a smile, jumps off the couch, and fidgets on the floor on all fours. If he had a tail, I bet he’d be wagging it proudly…

Anyway!

I wonder what he’s supposed to eat. Should I give him dog food? Treats? Rice? Or maybe lentils, eggs, and bacon?

Given the state of my cupboards, the answer is obvious: we’ll make some rice with a little soy sauce, hoping it won’t be too much trouble… I fill a glass with water for Darcy, then, seeing his dumbfounded expression, set it down on the floor, where he starts dipping his tongue into it. While I measure out the rice, he keeps drinking in one gulp, then tries to reach the bottom of the glass with a big flick of his tongue. No luck.

“Wait, Darcy, I’m going to fill it up.”

The big guy stares at me blankly, then turns his attention back to the water. After repeatedly shoving his snout into it, the glass finally crashes to the floor with a loud bang.

“Darcy! No way, look at this! There’s water everywhere!”

He scurries off to a corner of the room and starts whining again.

Why am I yelling? He doesn’t understand, and besides, I’m going to end up scaring him… That’s all I need! I scare him, he runs away, and I find myself chasing a dog-man running in a tailspin all over town!

I crouch down and reach out my hand to the pup, who approaches slowly. When he reaches me, he lunges toward me and knocks me over with his weight, before licking my face again. I try to push him away, but his six-foot-three frame is against me. Literally. He keeps running his tongue over my face, all the way to my lips, when I push him away again, without much success. I take a deep breath, then put on an authoritative air:

“Darcy, stop!”

He steps back, but stays at my feet while I wash my face.

How many women have ever dreamed of Darcy kissing them? No, but I swear! Suddenly, that image isn’t so sensual anymore!

I finish cooking the rice and put it on a plate, when he starts fidgeting again. This time, a simple disapproving look calms him down. I resist the urge to get out the cutlery and set the plate on the floor. Within seconds, a good half of its contents has vanished.

— Gluttonus-maximus.

While he finishes his meal, I decide to take a shower. Just because I’ve rescued a weird-but-handsome dog from my fridge doesn’t mean I have to start smelling like a slob!

I take one last look at Darcy, who’s gobbling up the crumbs of his meal, and rush into the bathroom. As I hastily pull off my jeans, afraid he’ll destroy the kitchen while I’m gone, a whine comes from behind the door.

“No, Darcy, stay out there, I’m coming.”

Another whine reaches me, accompanied by the sound of his nails scratching the wood.

He’s going to end up hurting himself or ruining my paint… That’s why I don’t want pets!

Reluctantly, I finally let him in, and feel a faint shiver as I see this dog in a tailcoat staring at me in bewilderment. The first time a man has seen me naked… But is he really a man? Whatever the case, I disappear into the shower as quickly as possible, just as he lets out a little cry of despair.

No way…

I crack open the glass door, and Darcy slips in, still wearing his tailcoat. I turn off the water before he gets soaked, and step out of the shower with him to help him take off his clothes. If they’re wet, I won’t have anything to lend him in the right size. And unlike dogs, he doesn’t have fur… Well, he does… But no. Not enough! Anyway…

Taking off his shoes isn’t too hard, but his pants are torture, and when I finally manage it, after two or three snaps of fabric, I stand there sheepishly for a few moments facing his boxers. Do I really want to do this? Find myself face-to-face with a naked man for the first time—who, on top of that, is a dog and has already tried to mount my leg? Giving myself a moment to think, I try to pull him out of his jacket, but he squirms and makes the task impossible.

— Darcy, sit!

The dog-man plops his butt right on the floor and sticks his tongue out at me, out of breath. Taking off his tailcoat takes less time than expected, and I’m quickly back to my dilemma. He shouldn’t catch a cold… Can you catch a cold if you keep a damp piece of clothing on down there? Just to be safe, I agree to take off his boxers.

There he is, right in front of me, Darcy, completely naked. How many women’s dream is this? Out of modesty, I make a point of not looking below his navel and take him with me into the shower. Clearly, he loves water! No sooner have I turned on the spray than Darcy starts jumping up against me. I wash my hair and start to do the same for him, but as I crouch down, I can’t help but notice that he’s really very… pleased. In the past, I would have been hysterical at the thought of seeing Mr. Darcy like this, but given the current situation… The result isn’t the same. Is it because I wished for it too hard that he magically appeared in my fridge? But then… What kind of lousy trade-off is this?! I scrub his hair vigorously, and take another look below his belly button… It’s pretty big, isn’t it?

Shut up! For God’s sake, wash up and shut up! I’m shocking even myself… He’s a dog, not Darcy, not a man, just a good old pup, so shut up! And keep your eyes on his head.

The next moment my gaze is back on the Imposing One. He stands like the Eiffel Tower in Paris, proudly defying the laws of gravity. Poor Newton, if only he could hear me…

— Do all men have things this size? Or maybe… Is your body just as unreal and far-fetched as this whole story? What do you think, pup?

The dog in question looks at me with eyes shining with canine stupidity, pants, and approaches me, rubbing The Imposing One against my thigh.

— Darcy! Hey, but… It’s so soft. And so warm…

Darcy pulls away on his own and starts yapping when soap gets in his eye. I rinse him gently, and a few seconds later the brave pup gives me a blissful smile from which a thick trail of drool is dripping.

I finish washing him and dry him hurriedly when I see that my watch says 11:30 p.m. Despite my best efforts, Darcy is too excited from the shower to put his tailcoat back on. As soon as I try to button his jacket, a button snaps off. Finally, out of sheer desperation, I take him with me into the bedroom and tuck him in, but no sooner have I left the room than he wriggles out of the sheets, nearly falls, and comes after me. No matter how much I insist, the rascal won’t let me sleep anywhere else—no matter where I go, he’ll follow! Reluctantly, I return to bed, where he’s already waiting, still naked. A perfectly normal situation…

Sleep is starting to lull me when Darcy presses his head against my stomach. I absentmindedly stroke his ear, and the effect is immediate—the Imposing One is back. I try to pull my legs away, but he moves closer again, very affectionate. He smells of vanilla now, and his body is incredibly warm… I let my hands slide under the blanket and cup my partner’s face, then inhale the scent of his neck. Darcy, looking dazed, lets me do whatever I want. The temptation is too strong against this velvety skin. I plant a kiss under his chin and feel him shiver, pressed close against me. He moans softly as I lay him back on the mattress, his hands raised above his head, and cover his chest with dozens of kisses. I feel every part of my being begin to tremble at his touch. My hand slides down his chest and begins to caress the Imposing One, despite myself. He is so soft, so warm…

I wonder what it tastes like…

Ah, Darcy… In the flesh. And what flesh! I run my lower lip along his torso, working my way up to the base of his neck, while he moans softly. The scent of his skin is intoxicating. Beneath the vanilla, I detect a stronger, rawer aroma. His scent. Animalistic, musky, with a hint of sweat. Irresistible. I plant another kiss on his neck and nibble at it. Meanwhile, my hand continues its exploration; through its back-and-forth movements, it now knows his anatomy down to the smallest detail.

So hot…

I let out a little moan despite myself and lift my face toward the man beside me.

Petrificus Totalus!

A correction is in order—this isn’t a man, but a dog! A dog in human form. I recoil at that blissful, stupid face. This isn’t the Darcy from Pride and Prejudice.

Sliding past him, I feel an immense weight settle over me.

“Darcy, move over!”

But Jane Austen’s brave hero isn’t listening to me. I can feel his full weight on my body, which seems so small in comparison. Darcy sniffs my throat and licks it thoroughly, then moves down and continues his tongue play in the hollow of my chest. The prospect of a possible bite makes the moment even more intense, but Darcy doesn’t bite. He rubs against me—or rather, rubs the Imposing One against my thighs—in search of more caresses. When I slide my hand toward him and feel that soft skin again, he suddenly calms down and continues to run his face down my body.

“Darcy, not there! No, stop.”

He pays no attention to my words. My whole body begins to tremble under his weight. I take advantage of his distraction to try to free myself, but no sooner have I started to move than I see him pounce on me and seize both my wrists with a firm hand.

That’s not exactly animalistic behavior, is it? Has he come to his senses… Or is he copying me? Who cares why I’m fighting? There’s nothing wrong with it, is there? And hell, whatever the case, if that’s what he wants, then so do I. Anyway, it’s probably just a dream.

My hand doesn’t seem to satisfy him. I get the feeling he wants more. As I move my legs, I manage to wrap them around his. Suddenly, I feel something smooth come into contact with my most intimate place. The Imposing One. My whole being seems to split open at his touch, but a gentle drowsiness suddenly washes over me, and as his caresses—so intense—plunge me into ecstasy, my eyes close against my will.

***

When I wake up, the images from the night before flood my mind. Darcy… I reach into the sheets—nothing.

“So it really was a dream… Too bad. I would have liked to know how it ended.”

As I sit up, the reality of last night hits me like a ton of bricks. My body is sore and aching, with a strange sensation in my private parts. And, above all, I can feel the dampness of the night between my thighs.

Standing up, I’m about to leave the room when I hear a noise behind the door. I push it open and find Darcy curled up on the couch, meowing.

I hope cats are as affectionate as dogs..

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