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"Confessions of a Dog"

I have a mate, a grey wolf, and I love him more than he can possibly ever know. We've been together since 2003. My friend. Lover. Partner. We've shared everything together - our bodies, hearts and souls. He's been my rock, there to comfort and carry me through some of the worst moments of my life. And yet I'm scared.

In 1999, I was a Chicago transplant living in Layton, Utah, a small suburban town between Ogden and Salt Lake City. It was Hell. My job with the military sucked. I had no friends. No social life. And SLC wasn't the most welcoming place for a gay Dalmatian like me.

By the time Utah had finished fucking with me, I'd had an emotional breakdown over the phone with my mother. Three days later, my father and brother had packed me up and moved me back to Chicago. I was borderline suicide.

I saw the doctors. Talked with therapists. Took the drugs. I was still in a dark place when met someone, on one of the MUCKs. We talked. Laughed. Hung out and had fun. I told him I draw; he asked to see. I sent the email, some drawings attached. "I didn't realize you're gay," he said. "I'm not," I replied. "I don't know about that." I assured him I was straight. I still have those drawings today.

Time passed. July became October. There was a small Sci-Fi con in Lancing, MI, that hosted furry content. Since he lived in Detroit and I was in Chicago, it was perfect. We'd use the con as an excuse to finally meet in person.

That Saturday morning, I walked through the parking lot of The Noname Hotel and wandered through the sliding glass door. Inside was Nerd Nirvana. Star Trek. Star Wars. Babylon 5.

And furries.

Making my way to the little dealer's den, I spotted a yellow pony. Is that him? I remember thinking. I was shy, but with some effort, I approached and asked "Sammy?" The pony nodded. "Vaille?" Smiling, I offered my paw. He gave me a hug instead.

We hit it off. Ate at the local Steak n' Shake. Hung out with some of his friends. One of them, a fox, dragged us into the bathroom to show us something. He wouldn't say what. No sooner had the bathroom door closed than he undid his shorts and pulled out his cock to stroke it hard in front of us. In shock, I stood watching as Sammy examined the piercing through the tip, touching and oogling it. That was the first time I'd ever seen another guy's dick outside of a locker room. I was 23.

That night, rather than get my own hotel room as originally planned, Sammy suggested I stay with him in his. "We can split the cost," he'd said. We drank vodka. He smoked weed. (I don't smoke.) It grew late and I decided it was time for sleep.

I pulled the blanket over myself and was wandering that haze between consciousness and sleep when I felt him climb under the blankets with me. "What are you doing?" I asked. "What do you want me to do?" Sammy replied. "I'm not gay," I insisted. His hand touched my crotch. I was hard. "No, you're in denial." I was attracted to him, that I knew. But I also knew that if I let him do what I wanted him to do, there'd be no going back; I'd be gay. As his hand snaked lower and lower between my belly and briefs, my thoughts grew frantic. No going back. No going back. No going back. Then it happened. His fingers wrapped around my dick, pumping it lightly. No one had ever touched me there, like that, before. The pony was the first. We stripped. He explored my body; I explored his. It was sensual. I jacked him off as he sucked me dry.

We became boyfriends. My folks grew suspicious at my frequent road trips. They eventually figured it out and I was out of the closet two months later.

We traveled, mostly to Scandinavia. We had fun. Did things. He gave me a blowjob as we stood in the middle of a street in a small, Norwegian town. I came in his muzzle. He poked his pony dick under my tail for the first time that night. We didn't use a rubber.

Then it happened. He told me he'd be doing some long-term traveling alone, mostly in Sweden. I was devastated, but was still hopeful for a long distance relationship. Sammy had been good for me. He pulled me out of my shell and helped me to heal. He was outgoing and attractive, especially where it mattered. While he was gone, I realized something was missing. Physical intimacy. Sex. My previously steady eyes began to wander. I started talking to other guys. A mink in Vincennes, IN, only 6 hours away by car. 18 years old. I couldn't help myself. I drove down to see him. He was uncut and tasted very, very sweet.

My relationship with Sammy didn't survive; I'd told him what I'd done. A friend, Terry, told me that Sammy shouldn't have expected me to wait for him; that I was justified. Until one day I visited Terry with a mutual friend, James, he was crushing on. We stayed at Terry's place. I fucked James in the middle of Terry's living room while Terry lay in his bed, listening. Terry's no longer a friend.

And I fucked the next guy after the next guy after the next guy after the next. I'd become a Dog.

I drifted, horny as hell, getting fucked and sucked, looking for a relationship but not having any luck. Until I met my wolf. He was cute, sweet and cuddly. Overweight, but I didn't care. I still remember our first date. "Kill Bill" at the AMC Theater in Barrington, IL. The second followed the next day at my place. We were in bed within the hour.

It's 2015 and we're still together, that wolf and me. We've crossed the country and married. Own a couple of houses. Cars. Some cats. Hope to start a family. We share our hopes and dreams freely. Console away our frustrations and fears. Make love together.

But last month, he came back. The Dog. To fuck, fuck and fuck. The Dog wants out. He bites me, fights me. Tears and claws. I resist. But still, I know it's only a matter of time before I lose control.

And everything will end.

Because the Dog wants out to play.