TITLE: Alt.sex.doggiestyle.fuck.fuck.fuck
AUTHOR: Sarah Ellen Parsons
E-MAIL ADDRESS: se_parsons@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION: Wherever.
SPOILER WARNING: Post-episode prequel to Alpha, if you get my drift.
About Mid U.S. Season 3.
RATING: NC-17 - I'm sure you'd never get it from the title.
CLASSIFICATION: Post-ep story.  Should have you howling if I do my job
right. H, UST, MSR?
KEYWORDS: SMUT, Dog, Internet, Masturbation
SUMMARY: Mulder makes a new friend online.
DISCLAIMER:  Mulder and Scully and all of their little pals do not
belong to me, never will, and sometimes I'm really glad of that.
Especially after an episode as wretched as Alpha.

ALT.SEX.DOGGIESTYLE.FUCK.FUCK.FUCK

Mulder was hideously bored.  Scully had been at some pathology
conference all that morning and he was stuck down in the basement
office with no case, no conspiracies, and nothing at all to do.  Oh, he
could clean, he supposed, but that would have spoiled the ambiance of
the place.  And the point was, he was too busy to clean.  Much too
busy.
	
But he had, just the week before, gotten his upgraded Pentium
chip-equipped IBM knockoff computer and he decided to spend the rest of
the day productively doing some research on the Internet.  As always,
he took the precautions of a true paranoid, connecting with his own
modem instead of the Bureau T1 line, using a variety of fake identities
and boxes, and making sure to automatically delete all traces of where
he'd been or what he'd been up to when he was done.  It was slower, but
he wouldn't get nailed, or get the people he was talking to questioned
by some over-zealous suit with too much time on his hands.
	
After downloading about the fiftieth UFO-related site maintained by
quasi-literate whack-jobs with whom he was already familiar from their
ranting responses to his publications as M. Luder in OMNI, Mulder was
bored again.  And the conspiracy and militia websites were even duller.
 His life was becoming one, dark room without a little Scully light
over at the drafting table quirking one eyebrow at his no-case ennui
slacker work-ethic while discussing something - anything - of interest.
	
So, he turned to his normal fallback position in moments of extreme
empty boredom - solitary sexual pursuits.  He'd probably checked out
all the web sites from here to virtual Timbuktu, so he decided to fall
back on the old reliable - Usenet.
	
Soon Mulder was happily hopping through a veritable smorgasbord of
alt.sex groups.  But then he realized the pictures were more than
usually grainy and the amount of advertising and other crap he had to
wade through at fun sites like alt.sex.gangbang and
alt.sex.endomorphism made it nearly as dull as the UFOs and
conspiracies.  
	
After discovering that alt.sex.midgets contained neither pictures of
midgets nor anything written by midgets (not that Mulder was
particularly interested in midgets, mind you, he was merely searching
for novelty) he spent a few minutes downloading pictures of Disney
characters in compromising positions for a few yucks.  He was just
debating whether or not to download a picture of Ariel (she sort of
reminded him of Scully) getting it from Prince Eric and the Beast, when
his partner returned from wherever she'd been, smelling not-unusually
of formaldehyde and anti-bacterial soap.
	
Mulder smiled at her in a welcoming fashion.
	
"What are you smirking at?"  Scully said, glowering in his general
direction as her little feet in their high-heeled open-toed pumps
tapped across the dingy linoleum.
	
Mulder just watched her in something akin to horror as she slammed her
laptop down on the drafting table and flung herself into the swivel
chair facing it. 
	
"Bad day, partner?"  he asked tentatively.
	
"You could say that,"  she snapped, just looking generally pissed off
at the whole universe.  "But I don't mean to take it out on you,
Mulder.  You just might not want to talk to me for a little while."
	
"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"  he asked.
	
"It's not like you can do anything about it,"  Scully said shrewishly,
but then she stopped and shook her head, causing her hair to ripple out
to its full shoulder-length, much like Ariel's after all, and closed
her eyes.  "Sorry."
	
Mulder waited. And he waited.  And she sat there with her eyes closed
more like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty now, but Mulder still had his
finger on the mouse button for that Ariel thing.
	
"Well?"  he asked softly, gently.
	
"Well,"  Scully's eyes snapped back open and bore through his skull
like two bolts of blue lightning.  "Well, I had to go to this stupid
pathology meeting this morning, where they brought in all the morons
from the hinterlands to see how we go about investigating in the big
city.  And as you know, I spent all last week preparing my talk on
unusual pathology and how to look for the unexpected.  So I thought, 45
minutes or so, some slides, a couple of jokes, in and out, right?
	
"Well wrong.  Totally and absolutely wrong.  Oh, how wrong I was.
	
"We get into the meeting and it's not ten minutes in there until Bubba
Bo Bob Podunk from Butt-end of Nowhere Alabama or some such place wants
to know about the Fluke man. Well, you can just imagine how it went
from there.  And so I end up doing not my forty-five minute
presentation, but an entire, fucking autopsy!  An autopsy Mulder, in
new shoes. Shoes with three-inch heels!  Shoes, that if I ever take
them off my feet, my feet will swell until I wouldn't even be able to
get them into your huge clodhoppers!  Shoes that if I ever wear them
again, I want you to shoot me, despite the fact that I paid a lot of
money for them and they're incredibly cute even though they're
conservative enough for work."
	
Scully tucked her hands between her knees to keep her skirt modestly
in place, it was one of those just above the knee length ones with the
kick slit in the back that all the suits were coming with now, and
since she'd lost weight Scully had been wearing her skirts a little
tighter and a little shorter, not that you could tell unless you were
looking, of course.  Well, she tucked her little hands between her
knees to keep the hem down and not reveal anything, so she thought, but
the action just succeeded in making the skirt ride up to about
mid-thigh and give him a real good look at her legs from tiny ankles to
that place where the muscles of her upper and lower thigh showed all
the definition that hours of aerobics or running or whatever she'd been
doing had put there.  And Mulder knew what they must look like all the
way up and he couldn't help but imagine it, as she sat there with her
legs actually all splayed out and extended toward him - it wasn't a
fantasy this time - she was really doing it - even if it was just to
show him the shoes.
	
"They're nice,"  Mulder said, not talking about the shoes, but she
didn't need to know that.
	
He did actually look at them. Black, sueded leather, heels even higher
than Scully-normal with little openings on the end so that Scully's
little toes peeked through like a promise of more skin where that came
from.  Mulder was not into shoes.  But he liked these.  Oh, yes, he
liked them a lot.
	
So she sat there with her legs out like that for a really long time,
finally twisting her feet at the ankles and flexing the toes through
the little toe-holes and Mulder was very glad he wouldn't be needing to
get up for anything any time soon.
	
"Well, so here I am, wearing shoes designed by the Marquis de Sade and
Jimmy Joe Jethro and his pals get me all suited up to do a
"demonstration" of my methods for them.  So I think, well, there's no
body, so I can get out of this.  And then,"  Scully paused for dramatic
effect, her frown a picture of disgust, "they wheel it in."
	
"A body?"  he asked helpfully.
	
"Oh that was the least of it,"  Scully said.  "I hadn't really caught
on yet, but when they unzipped the bag I knew that it was all a set-up
from the beginning.  That they were all there not to praise the work,
but to mock it, Mulder.  Humiliation in a bodybag delivered a la carte.
 Even though I realized, I wasn't about to let them win."
	
"What was it?"
	
"A floater.  A bad one.  No ID, everything that could have IDed it
most likely washed away, or rotted away, or eaten away. The
pathologist's worst nightmare.  The smell alone?"  Scully shook her
head.
	
Mulder twisted up his face in sympathy and Scully continued.

"It was there for gross-out factor, pure and simple.  One of the other
doctors actually had to ask to be excused it was so putrid.  But you
see their little plan backfired.  I've seen worse than that on an
average day on the X-Files.  So, I started to cut him up.  Lost another
one then, one of the Billy Bobs.  I nearly laughed.
	
"And the fact was I found some things.  Some interesting insects, some
odd bacteria, and something caught under one of the remaining
fingernails.  And while I did it - by the book I'll have you know - I
gave them my little lecture about the unusual, and I showed them where
to look, like it was a class at Quantico.  I think they got the point. 
I don't think anyone's going to attempt to pull something like that
again.  Bastards."
	
"I'm sorry, Scully,"  Mulder said, even though he couldn't tear
himself away from the way her eyes were flashing, her chest was heaving
with indignation, causing her blazer to pull open more and reveal the
long line of her neck, and the way her pale skin flushed just like it
would if he reached under that blazer and felt her through the thin
cream silk of her blouse.  "It's my fault for ruining your sterling
reputation."
	
"Bullshit, Mulder!  It was their fault."  Scully said.  "The work, the
science, has always been good, airtight.  They had no right to do what
they did.  They were just being bastards.  I was the only woman in that
room, Mulder.  That's what it was about, not about the X-Files.  It's
been like that since medical school, but they usually cover it up
better.  They're dirty, dirty fuckers, and they've spoiled what could
have been a perfectly good exchange of information among colleagues. 
Not to mention ruining the whole first part of my day."
	
"Well, them and the shoes,"  Mulder joked lamely.
	
"Them, the shoes, and the fact that I haven't had anything to eat
today, thinking we were going to have coffee and rolls like in a normal
meeting,"  Scully said.  "And now it's what, two forty-seven, and the
cafeteria's closed, so no lunch either."

"There's always vend-o-land,"  Mulder suggested dubiously.  No one
really knew how long the things in the vending machines had actually
been there, and even he, with his cast-iron stomach and adventurous
nature had never dared eat anything from the FBI automat.
	
"And die of preservative poisoning?"
	
"There are those carts that sell hot dogs and stuff to the tourists," 
Mulder said.  "I know you tend to stay away from the meat?"
	
Scully shot him a look to see if he was being suggestive, but he kept
his face innocent and continued.
	
"But you could probably get something quasi-decent, and hot, from
them."
	
"A hot dog,"  Scully said scornfully.  She looked down at her
still-elevated feet.
	
Mulder just looked at her blankly.
	
"Ok," she said, hopping off her chair and tapping quickly to the door.
 "I'll just have to risk it or I'll be tempted to chew off my own leg. 
I'm starving."
	
"Get me a hotdog while you're gone?"  Mulder asked, with an
oh-so-innocent smile just to bait her as she walked through the
doorframe.
	
Scully's footsteps stopped and she stuck her head backward through the
door frame.
	
"Bite me, Mulder?"  she said sunny/helpfully, looked at him long
enough to mark the hit and then her little footsteps started up again,
tapping along quickly down the long hallway.
	
"I'd fucking love to," Mulder muttered under his breath, thinking
about those splayed out legs and the flushed skin so recently right
there in front of him.  He was harder than hell and he'd better do
something to distract himself before she got back.  Cause she'd be back
way too soon for him to do anything else about it, that was for damned
sure, and there were guys in the hallway working on the phone lines and
they'd been there all day.  He was not going to try to get by them to
the Men's room in his present condition.  One of the X-Files agents had
already suffered humiliation that morning, he wasn't about to make it
both.
	
So Mulder returned to his perusal of Usenet porn, just to get his mind
off the combination live and imaginary sex-show that had just left the
room.  A little bad porn, a little stupid chat, ought to get him back
under control.  There was nothing worse than bad porn to ruin the mood.
	
He left the alt.sex.Disney group and looked for something crass. 
Something guaranteed to gross him out and make him forget about his
partner, and those legs, and that skin.  It didn't take him long to
find it -  Alt.sex.doggiestyle.  That was bound to be populated by
inbred idiots that wound up on the slabs of Scully's colleagues Billy
Bo Bob and Johnny Joe Jethro after havin' a big fight down at the
trailer park where they'd shot it out clutching sawed off shotguns in
one hand and a can of Milwaukee's Best in the other.
	
Mulder entered the newsgroup and scanned down the list of posts.
	
Ads, ads, more ads.  He was looking for something obviously
misspelled.  Nothing like an illiterate fool for a great, big turnoff. 
Especially considering the only thing that really turned him on these
days was a petite redhead with a sharp tongue and an IQ of like a
million.
	
Finally he opened a letter with the ID - Fuck me like a Great Dane,
baby! By someone called Vixen871.
	
He scanned through quickly, amused to find it was actually some couple
exhibitionistically having doggie-style cybersex right there on the
(unmonitored) newsgroup.
	
The response was from Fido437, and contained a lot of howling and some
pretty direct and explicit explanations of just where he was putting
his "hot wand of love" and how he was "licking his bitch", etc. etc. 
All in all pretty amusing stuff.  Not arousing, but amusing.  They
weren't very eloquent.
	
He was reading the fourth post in the thread when Scully got back from
her foraging.  She was wearing a small Scully smile and carrying, God
help him, not a normal hotdog, but a corndog.  A big, fat cylinder of
meat on a stick.  She hadn't taken a bite of it yet.  Perhaps reserving
that to torture him more. Or maybe she just wanted ketchup.  But he
didn't think he was going to be able to take it.  Not those Scully lips
wrapped around a big meat cylinder just after she'd stuck those legs
out, heaved her chest and flushed like that.
	
Mulder felt a nasty resurgence of the distress in his pants.  Just
when he'd thought amusement was getting the better of his problem. 
He'd almost have resented her, if he had been able to tear his eyes
away as his partner sat demurely back down on her chair and began
sizing up her corndog to find the best place to take the initial bite.
	
It was something he'd noticed her doing with ice cream cones, too. 
Like it took some sort of complicated Scully geometry to determine just
where to lick.  Mulder just picked anywhere it looked like it was going
to drip, but he could have watched Scully eat ice cream for the rest of
his life and not be bored.  That pink tongue darting in and out, those
lips wrapping around the cool cream? oh Lord.
	
But meat.  He didn't know if he was going to be able to take the meat.
 Not right now, anyway.  He needed at least 24 hours to recover from
the leg thing.
	
Mulder frantically returned to his newsgroup.  He opened the next post
in the thread - this time from someone called Canine1.  It wasn't at
all what he expected.  It was a literate diatribe protesting the entire
thread and pointing out the ways in which human sex and the position to
which they were referring bore absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to
actual canid behavior.  That was the word the person used - canid.
	
Wow, this was someone who obviously had some clue about dogs.  And
that made Mulder wonder what the hell she was doing on this newsgroup. 
So he fired off a quick post to her addy in hopes that she might be
on-line.  Or, at least, there might be something interesting to read in
a while.
	
He went back to perusing the porn, trying not to notice as Scully
opened her mouth and nibbled the very top of the corn part of the
corndog off to let out the steam, just revealing the plump sausage
below.  Once she'd eaten off the coating, Scully actually licked her
full lips, causing Mulder to suppress a moan.
	
He had to find something else to do, and quick, or this was going to
cause him more embarrassment than he'd felt just a few weeks before
when Scully had burst into his hotel room to find him trashed out of
his mind on most of a bottle of vodka and very little orange juice
being straddled by a wild-eyed and unbuttoned Detective White.
He couldn't let Scully know what she did to him.  That the thought of
her in the room next door, possibly in some state of undress and angry
as hell had been the reason for his little drinking spree, well that
and bizarre cosmic alignment.  He couldn't stare at her eating her big,
long, roll of meat on a stick and let her know it was the most
fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
	
Satisfied the corndog was cool enough now, Scully wrapped her mouth
around the end of it to take a big, satisfying bite, actually emitting
a little sound of pleasure as her hunger was now about to be assuaged. 
Mulder managed to maintain enough control to not add his whimper to the
sound.  But he was close, he was oh, so very close.
	
He was just watching those full lips wrap around the meat for another
taste when his e-mail beeped, rescuing him, though he did have to shift
uncomfortably in his chair to accommodate the still-increasing distress
in his slacks.
	
It was Canine1, the dog expert, responding to his post.
	
"Dear Marty243, I am here because I routinely monitor all things to do
with, I thought, canid behavior on Usenet.  Unfortunately my browser
doesn't seem to make distinctions between real information about dogs
and information put out by the ignorant or, it seems, perverted."
	
"Well, I was wondering what about this is so grossly inaccurate.  I'd
thought that observation of the method used by dogs to procreate had
been the genesis of this, particular, designation for human sexual
behavior,"  Mulder wrote and fired it off to her e-mail box.
	
"Take that!"  he thought.  "You're not the only literate person on
Usenet."  Though Mulder had to admit, sometimes he felt like HE was.
	
Scully had put some ketchup on the rest of her corndog.  And she now
was, God help him, actually sucking it off, along with the coating, to
reveal the "dog" portion of the corndog underneath.
	
Why was she torturing him?
	
She HAD to know.
	
Scully was not ordinarily someone who was slow on the uptake, but she
seemed totally engrossed by the "food" nature of the corn dog, rather
than to be considering its symbolic significance.  But he couldn't be
certain.  Not really.
	
He waited for a reply from Canine1, trying not to stare at his partner
as she licked her lips and made yummy sounds over the remaining portion
of her rapidly-dwindling dog.
	
Mulder wished he was rapidly dwindling.  But the opposite seemed to be
the case.  His trousers were becoming unbearable.
	
Scully was engrossed in her belated lunch.  Mulder decided to chance
giving himself a little relief.  He took his hands off the keyboard and
carefully and quietly undid the zipper on his suit pants, masking the
sound by pulling out one of his desk drawers and rummaging in it for a
pencil sharpener.
	
"Feeling better for having some lunch, Scully?"  Mulder asked, looking
up from his latest task.  He immediately wished he hadn't.
	
Scully was sitting at the drafting table with the corndog in her mouth.  
Just holding it there with the pressure of lips and teeth, while she 
used both hands to open the can of soda she'd bought along
with the sausage.  Mulder's cock gave an involuntary twitch so violent
that he was amazed it hadn't knocked against the bottom of the desk.
	
Scully reached up and grabbed the stick, taking the corndog out of her
mouth.
	
"Yeah, why do you ask?"
	
"Well,"  Mulder cleared his throat to hide the fact that his statement
had come out about an octave too high.  "You seem in a lot better
mood."
	
"Well, I guess I am,"  she replied and she smiled at him.  One of
those glaringly bright Scully smiles that he saw all-too seldom.
	
And then she stuck the corndog back into her mouth so she could log on
to her e-mail account.
	
Mulder knew that he had no choice.  He just couldn't stand it.  
	
Reaching back under his desk while making some obfuscatory
paper-shuffling noises to the left of his computer.  He reached inside
his fly and brought Little Mulder out into the cold, damp basement air.
 He had to do something.  Those lips wrapped around that meat?.
	
Mulder shuddered involuntarily, running his hand down his length,
imagining what those lips would feel like?.
	
No!  He could NOT think of things like that at the office.
	
Distraction.
	
A post from Canine1.
	
"Dear Marty243, while the rear-entry position in human sexual behavior
may bear a superficial resemblance to the behavior of canids engaged in
an act of procreation, what canids do can hardly be considered fucking.
 Their behavior grows out of a natural, instinctual need to propagate
the species, not out of some desire to be "kinky" or "wild" as the
posters on this newsgroup do.  The behavior observed is not "wild" to a
canid.  It is not free.  It is not recreational.  It is not prurient. 
It is procreation, pure and simple.  Instinct and genetics working in
concert, nothing more.'

"Way to take the fun right out of it,"  Mulder thought to himself. 
Another clinical scientist.  He was having enough trouble with the one
he had right there in the office.  He really didn't need trouble from
another one, but formulating a rational argument was a good way to
divert his attention from the physical to the mental plane.  And Mulder
was more than grateful to anything that might do that at the moment.
	
"Dear, Canine1,"  Mulder wrote.  "But can't the argument be made that
all human sexual behavior stems from a genetically programmed need for
procreation, equally as ingrained and equally primal and functional? 
It's just that our superior intellect comes into play as well, and
allows us to junk it all up with concepts like love, and lust, and
kinkiness, when it's really just our bodies desiring to follow our own
genetic programming to pass on our genes to the next generation of
humans?  Isn't the existence of this newsgroups like this one simply a
manifestation of man's quest for meaning?  I think we can safely agree
that canids don't have a similar need to provide meaning for their
every act, while mankind does.  In fact, man views the universe and
every action and reaction as imbued with meaning, significance and
judgment.  Animals do what nature prompts - human beings think about it
first.  And their observation of the primal behavior of canids prompted
their naming of this act - and the meaning of wild, hot, kinky sex -
attached."
	
"God Damn it!"  Scully cried, around the last bite of her corndog and
slammed her mouse down hard on her R&D Magazine Software for Scientists
complimentary mousepad and leaped from her chair.
	
"God!  What is it, Scully?"  Mulder cried, half-rising from his seat
until his cock whacked against the bottom of the desk and reminded him
why he couldn't get up.  He sat down very quickly, hoping Scully hadn't
noticed his open fly.

"Those fuckers.  Those dirty, dirty fuckers!"  Scully hissed through
perfect, white teeth.
	
"What is it?"  he asked again, stupidly.
	
"I just got an e-mail.  Those bastards want documentation of when I
used the methods I demonstrated today on actual cases!"  Scully shoved
her chair roughly back against the wall behind the drafting table. 
"Well, then, they're going to fucking get it!"
	
Scully turned away from her desk and hurried over to her section of
the filing cabinets that lined the far wall of the room.  She pulled
out the top drawer and removed one quickly. Then the next lower drawer
and took out two.  The next drawer it was one again, and she had to
bend down a little to flip through the files, bringing the fabric of
her slim suit skirt tight across her round bottom.  The skirt was tight
enough that it actually followed the curve of her body, where her ass
connected to her thighs, showing him, well, everything.
Then the bottom drawer.
	
Mulder could hardly bear it.
	
He felt his cock knocking against the bottom of the desk again. This
time without his standing up.
	
Scully was bending over all the way to get into the bottom file
drawer.  Muttering something under her breath, color up, chest heaving
with ill-contained ire, her pale skin flushing with passion, she
rummaged through the unsorted files of their most recent cases, looking
for the ones with really interesting pathology.
	
And this time, she hadn't bothered to bend her knees.  No, she'd bent
over from the waist in her haste to paw her way through the needed
files.  Bent over to reveal all of her perfect, muscular thighs from
knee almost to her?. "Oh, God, please, I'll believe if you let her bend
over a little more," Mulder thought, raising up in his chair again to
rub his erect member against the underside of his desktop.  "Oh, yes,"
he thought.  "Reach out for the ones in the back."
	
His e-mail notice beeped insistently for his attention.
	
It was from Canine 1.

"Ok," he thought.  "The distraction is a sign in my own quest for
meaning, and might just save me from a Scully ass-kicking.  Here goes."
	
"Hey," he wrote.  "Seeing we're both on-line, why don't we go to a
chat room where we can converse in real-time." And he sent her the addy 
of the one he'd established to talk to his conspiracy buffs."
	
He sent that one-line message, while he watched Scully reach to the
back of the bottom drawer to look through the file.
	
Instead of taking it to her desk, she just opened it right there. 
Laying it across the other files in the bottom drawer.  And wiggling
that perfect, round ass from left to right in her righteous indignation
at having her work questioned by her fellow pathologists.  Teetering
back and forth on those too-high-for-the-office heels.
	
Mulder couldn't help himself.  He simply had to reach down and touch
his exposed cock.  It was just too insistent to not demand his full
attention in lieu of other distractions and Scully's perfect, perfect
ass in his full view.
	
If only it were unclothed and she flat out across her desk.  Or the
file cabinet.  Or his desk.  Or, really, anywhere at all.
	
God, then it would be perfection, he thought as he stroked his hand
carefully down his own length.  He was very careful to try to keep his
breathing steady.  He couldn't have her know what she was doing to him.
	
If she did, she might stop.  And Mulder was quite certain that if she
did he would actually cry out.  And not in a good way.
	
As Scully continued to mumble to herself, wiggle her behind in
indigence and flip through the stacks of files unsorted in her bottom
drawer, Mulder kept the corner of his eye on his chatroom.  Nothing.
	
Maybe Canine1 wasn't coming.
	
He really wanted her to come.
	
Because if she didn't?and didn't provide him with some way to get his
mind and eyes unglued from Scully's rear end, he was going to.  And
that way lay madness.
	
Not to mention the Wrath of Scully.
	
And then he would never see those lips wrapped around his own corndog.
 No.
	
That would not be good.
	
He gave himself another good, long stroke - merely to ease the tension
somewhat.  And then Scully gave a little jump and made an A-ha sort of
sound that flipped the hem of her skirt, way up in back as she nearly
dove into the file drawer to fish out whatever it was that she was
after.
	
Mulder groaned.
	
Out loud.
	
Scully turned to look at him over her shoulder, face still flushed
with indignation, her hair a trifle disheveled from rooting around in
her drawers.  She looked just as she had about a million times in his
fantasies.  Usually just before she said something like "Oh, yes,
Mulder, fuck me hard.  Like an animal."
	
She was saying something now, too.  Her red, red lips forming words. 
He did his best to pay attention.
	
"What is it, Mulder?  What's wrong?"  Scully asked. 
Whatever she saw on his face must have worried her because she
straightened up, wobbling slightly on her too-high heels from the
change in her center of balance, and looked for all the world like she
was going to come over to his desk.
	
And find him shlong in hand busily using his partner as a kind of
living, breathing sex doll.
	
Then she would kill him.
	
And chop him up.
	
And they would never find the pieces.
	
Because Scully was smart enough to never get caught if she decided to
turn to a life of crime and use her powers for evil.  He knew that. 
That's why he had to prevent her from coming over at all cost. 
	
Because if she got close enough for him to smell her, all warm from
outrage and her brisk walk to the hot dog vendor?.
	
"Oh, just some really boring woman I've been having a psychological
discussion with, that's all,"  Mulder tried his best to sound bored. 
He sounded a little shaky instead.  "It's just such a drag to answer
people like that, that's all."
	
"Are you sure you're all right?"  she asked, taking a small step
toward him.  "Your voice sounds a little funny, Mulder."
	
He cleared his throat.
	
"Probably dust,"  he said.  "You know how it gets down here in the
afternoon."
	
"Why not get yourself a cup of coffee, then?"  Scully asked, cocking
her head to one side and putting her hand on one hip, causing her suit
jacket to part in front and reveal the curves at waist and bosom.
	
Mulder gave himself another stroke, as surreptitiously as possible.
	
"I'm not thirsty,"  he replied.  "And those guys are out there.  I
tried to talk to them this morning and they looked at me really weird. 
I think they may be up to something no good, and the fact is, I really
don't want to know if they are.  If I can't believe the office is safe,
when I know my apartment isn't safe, then I might as well just move
into a cardboard box under the highway and start collecting aluminum
foil for that snappy hat to keep out the alien transmissions."
	
Scully gave him the "you're really funny, Mulder, but someone has to
be serious, here" look for a few seconds before she finally broke into
a wide Scully grin instead.
	
"You're fantasizing about that right now, aren't you?"  he said
primly, all the while giving himself a long, slow stroke.  He'd always
imagined Scully would wear a grin like that right after a really
terrific orgasm.  He'd yet to give the theory a test, but he couldn't
help but think about it at the moment.
	
And him giving it to her, of course.
	
Several times.
	
Hard.
	
"I'm not fantasizing about you Mulder,"  Scully said, still wearing
her grin.  "I'm just imagining.  You'd probably be wearing your
trenchcoat, right?
	
"Right,"  Mulder replied.  "And my green and purple tie."
	
"Then everyone would be sure you were crazy,"  Scully agreed.
	
"Don't want to disappoint my public,"  Mulder quipped.  "So I'd better
answer this."
	
Reluctantly he tore his eyes away from Scully and his hand away from
his cock in the same second. 
	
Cold Turkey.  That was the answer to his problem.
	
He put his hands on the keyboard and started typing.

Marty243:  Are you there?

Canine1: Yes.  And I finds what you said about human beings forcing
"meaning" on a purely instinctual act to be intriguing.  Most people
wouldn't admit that it was, in fact, a mental construct and not an
integral part of the experience, itself.
	
This "human quest for meaning" is precisely why their behavior is so
ridiculous and unnatural and why I find canids to be vastly superior to
humans in so many ways.  The human need to complicate nature is
precisely why the world is such an unpleasant place for animals and
most humans."

	
Marty243: So what's your objection to the "doggiestyle" newsgroup
then?  Isn't it simply a bunch of humans trying to recapture a portion
of their instinctual nature?

	
Canine1: You know that that is not the case.  It's simply a bunch of
humans over-intellectualizing the sexual act with their
misapprehensions about what it means to be "wild".  Many canids are
domesticated, and they still exhibit the same instinctive mating
behavior - hence the doggie misnomer on the newsgroup.  It's these
"domesticated" animals to which they refer.  And whose behavior they
misinterpret.

	
With his eyes still glued to Scully's swaying bottom under the
material of her suit, Mulder did his best to type a reply to Canid1
instead of reaching under the desk and engaging in some "instinctive"
sexual behavior, himself.

	
Marty243: I fail to see how, "I'm putting my Great Dane dick into your
hot, tight hole", is overly intellectual.  It's just some human using
language to describe behavior they've witnessed and their minds have
interpreted into human terms.

	
Mulder watched Scully go down for another file at the back of her
drawer, and took his hands off the keyboard to do his own rummaging
under the desk, while he watched for Canine1's reply.

	
Canine1:  That's precisely what's wrong with it!  The translation into
human terms.

	
Marty243: But we ARE humans.  We can't possibly experience things in
canid terms, so we translate them into human ones just as we do with
the behavior of all other sorts of animals.  Just as we do the behavior
of humans who display any sort of differences from ourselves.  In dumb,
pop-psyche terms, even in so far as men and women are different - the
Mars vs. Venus thing.
	
I mean to say that the way in which we misinterpret other humans alone
makes perfect understanding of any other species, even of any other
individual, impossible.  We don't even begin to understand ourselves,
most of the time.  If we did, we wouldn't need places like
alt.doggiestyle in the first place.  We'd be out doing it instead of
talking about it.  Though, unlike with animals, with humans, talking
about it is actually a part of the  whole concept of sexual behavior in
the first place.


Canine1:  It's still just humans using a misnomer.


Mulder looked at Scully all spraddled out before him, within his very
reach, but still untouchable, and decided to vent a little of his
frustration on Canine1, who was being one stubborn bitch, anyway.

	
Marty243: Ok, let's walk through it, then."  Mulder typed, barely able
to keep his hands on the keyboard. 
His eyes were glued to Scully's glorious, round bottom, the long, white
columns of her legs in those high, high suede heels just right there,
so real, so touchable.  If only he could.  He knew he would have dreams
and nightmares about this sight on many lonely nights to come.  He knew
that already.

Marty243: First, the bitch comes into heat, giving of pheromones which
alert males in her vicinity to her readiness to mate, correct?"

Canine1: Correct.

Marty243: Once the males are attracted, the female smells him, checks
out the ole bod and assesses his viability as a sexual partner, gauging
his appearance, probable virility, and ability to protect her from
additional sexual partners should the need arise."

Canine1: Also correct.

Marty243: Having determined that this male is the one she desires, the
female assumes a provocative posture, generally a very submissive one,
rear end prominently displayed?."

Mulder's hands faltered for a moment on the keyboard as Scully shifted
her feet farther out to accommodate one, over-flowing legal file.

"Yes, of course she does."

Canine1 was apparently not willing for him to finish the walk-through
alone.

"First time that's happened in a while,"  Mulder thought sadly to
himself.

Canine1: But surely you must admit that this primal procreative union
is not the same thing as a human female putting on perfume, going to
the bar, flirting with some men, selecting one and taking him home for
a cheap, tawdry night of recreational sex?"

Marty243:  That is precisely my argument.  That the behavior and the
psychology are the same.  The female does the same things, in the same
order, to show the male she wants him.  And once they get down to the
actual mechanics of the thing, it's even more the same.  I mean, all
you have to do is come in contact with your neighbors over-friendly
cocker spaniel sometime and you know that right away.

I mean, after the female displays herself to the male, the male becomes
sexually aroused, his penis becomes hard and sexually functional, he
mounts the female, places his engorged organ in her vagina and humps
for all he's worth until he reaches sexual climax and the completion of
his mission.  So human beings kiss a little first and maybe smoke a
cigarette afterwards, but it's all the same thing.  Getting on it,
getting it on, and pumping a truckload of semen into the future mother
of the next generation.  And, the way we're all made, it feels really
good.  So you want to do it again and again, ensuring the next
generation continues to get made no matter how many societal or mental
constructs we place on the act.

Mulder's fingers itched, so he kept his eyes locked firmly on Scully
and reached beneath the desk again.  He stroked himself roughly while
Scully obliviously continued assembling her evidence.  

How she couldn't sense him there, sense his desire, his need, amazed
him.  It proved just how far removed human beings had become from
nature, from what was natural.  That she didn't know that he wanted her
so much he was reduced to touching himself beneath his desk with her in
the room.

He had to be as feral as any canid, as hungry as any wolf, as horny as
any Labrador Retriever that had ever slipped its collar and jumped the
fence to bang the cute, little Irish Setter next door until it couldn't
stand up straight.

He'd do it right now if only he could be sure that the Irish Setter was
actually receptive.  That was the true difference between human beings
and canids - the human ability to hide their biological needs under a
veneer of what many would call civilization or society.  Canine1 was
right.  It was a form of denial and deception.

But until the Irish Setter presented her ass to him intentionally with
naughtiness aforethought, he'd simply have to content himself with the
vision before him, his own imagination, and his good, right hand.

Canid1: You're absolutely right in your description.

Mulder read her post as he gave himself several more rough strokes.  He
glanced up from the monitor for a few seconds to see Scully looking
back at him over her shoulder once more, her eyes sparkling with
passion.  Mulder shuddered and shut his eyes.

"That bad, is it?"  Scully asked, bending over all the way to pick up
the stack of files that she'd been keeping between her feet, flipping
up the back of her skirt again and revealing the bottom edge of the
black, silk panties she was wearing under her fashionably tailored
black suit.

Mulder was grateful he'd remembered to actually get some Kleenex out of
his drawer as he'd rummaged through it for noisy camouflage, because
that one, small glimpse of nirvana was enough to send him right over
the edge.  He bit down hard on his own lower lip to keep from howling
like a canid as he came into the Kleenex instead of into the mate
nature had ordained.

It was unnatural.

It was wrong.

And it was sick.  Because she didn't even know.  She couldn't have.  Or
she wouldn't have done it to him.  

Scully might be many things, but a manipulative bitch wasn't one of
them.  Mulder knew the type and Scully wasn't one.  In that way she was
natural, despite being so overly intellectual that she was almost
entirely cut off from her own emotions and her own needs.  She didn't
know manipulation.

He just wished she was a little more up on the attraction thing, so he
wouldn't have to be hoping he hadn't dripped anything on his shoes.

Canine1:  I can tell from the force of your argument that you are the
dominant male in your pack.  And that you must have great experience
with pack females soliciting you to be their partner.

Mulder almost laughed out loud at that one, though he had to admit he
was flattered by her misassumption.

Eyeing Scully nervously, he cleaned himself up as best he could and
wadded the Kleenex into a ball under the cover of his desktop. 
Fortunately, she wasn't looking at him.  Unfortunately, she was sitting
in her chair and bending over to adjust the strap on her left, suede
shoe, giving him a perfect look right down the neck of her silk blouse
into the depths of her surprisingly abundant cleavage.  

It made him immediately wonder what kind of bra she was wearing,
because Scully had lost quite a bit of weight recently and you'd think
her bosom would have shrunk as well, but it just didn't look like that
was the case.  In fact, it looked just about as luscious as he'd
imagined night after night on the other side of too many thin motel
walls.

Mulder's cock, which should have been down for the count after its
recent abuse, gave a bit of a twitch.

"No!  Damn you, no!"  Mulder shouted to himself.  He had to tear his
eyes forcibly away from the sight of too much Scully flesh.  Entirely
too much for one afternoon.

Marty243: You'd be surprised Canine1.  There might have been the day,
but it was a while ago.  It's actually been years, well, not since it
was offered, but since I hung up my own mental baggage and decided to
do something about it.  

I have to admit to being one of the over-thinking humans you find so
annoying.  I'd have to say that the only "pack bitch" I'm interested in
these days is about as oblivious to me as she can be.  Another
over-thinking human, she ignores all instinct in the favor of the cold
light of reason.  She would never engage in the sort of primal behavior
we're discussing, or even in the sort of mental behavior the newsgroup
is interested in.

Mulder looked back to Scully.  She was reading through her stack of
files, an evil smile on her face.  Utterly oblivious to him and once
more entirely modest, even if the skirt did show a little more thigh
than was usual for her.

He knew he'd be doomed to going solo for a long while yet.  Or maybe
that was so low.  He still could hardly believe he'd actually whacked
off right in front of her.  That he'd objectified her and used her like
that.  He really WAS pond scum, even worse than the guys who had
brought her the floater that morning, because he was the one she was
supposed to be able to trust.  And when it came to her, he just
couldn't begin to control himself.

But the worst part, for all he'd been afraid of being caught, was of
course, that she'd never even noticed.  Never realized he wanted her,
or could want her.  No matter how many innuendos he made, how many
little hints and lingering touches he gave, no matter that he couldn't
tear his eyes away from her.

Canine1:  Then maybe you should find yourself another bitch, Marty. 
Maybe one that's a little more reasonable in her own knowledge of
humans as animals.  Life is too short to waste making yourself
miserable over nothing more than a mental construct.  That's the beauty
of animal behavior.  No games, except for the joyful ones of true play.
 We could all be that lucky, if only we'd let ourselves.

Marty243:  Amen.

Canine 1 really was right.  If they could simply lose the hangups
they'd all be a lot happier.

Like that could ever happen.

Mulder looked over at his partner, busily assembling her evidence to
score big in the battle against sexism in the workplace.  He tried to
imagine her without hangups, without walls.  He couldn't.
Just like he couldn't imagine himself.

Oh, he could clearly visualize rising up from his chair, closing the
short space between them and throwing her down over the drafting table.
 He could see himself hiking up that tight, black skirt to reveal those
soft panties.  He could imagine ripping them in his eagerness to get to
her warm flesh.  And he could almost feel what it would be like to
plunge himself into her wet, welcoming depths over and over again.
But between imagination and action there was a huge crevasse of
baggage, and hangups, pride and self-respect.  And it was just too
large for him to get over by himself.  What he needed was a bridge.  Or
maybe just a hand.  A hand from his partner to let him know that it was
all right for him to try.

And right now that hand was busily typing away at her keyboard, putting
together the words to give Billy Bo Bob Bumpkin the ass-reaming of his
life.  It was not extended in his direction.  It was not holding an
olive branch.  It was not beckoning, or even relaxed in waiting.  It
was angrily tapping away at another man's ego.  Like a harpy.

He knew it was unfair.  The guy was an asshole and deserved it.  But he
wasn't an asshole and he didn't.  And he got it all the same.  Or
rather, he didn't get what he wanted.

Which was Scully.

He had to do something to distract himself from this really
unproductive and depressing train of thought.

Canine 1.

Marty 243:  So, how long have you been an animal behaviorist?

-30-


===
Webpage up at http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Portal/9943
For the moment.

"They didn't want it good.  They wanted it Wednesday." - Robert 
Heinlein