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Daniel
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
as twelve or so, at which time it was decided by the
state in which I lived to put me in public school.
That was the first place I ever heard the word "blowjob" much less knowing
what it was.
As I say, I led a very sheltered life. I remember we had dogs when I was a
kid, though I didn't like them much because all the people around me
pressured me to get a guide dog and I was too independent for that.
Litle did I know that one particular dog would change that for ever.
I remember examining our dogs as a kid, but none of them ever took the
occasion to do anything sexual with me, so I'd never even heard of a dog
humping someone's leg, (that is, till one day when I was fifteen).
I can even remember the date, it was may 14 1967. That afternoon I was
standing out in our backyard talking to our neighbor's son, who was
a friend of mine.
At that point, his male beagle, (Reflexus, he was also called Prince) jumped
over the fence, and came up to me. My friend said, "watch out, he's gonna
jump on your le was not however, till she was four months pregnant with me that he
finally told her that he was already married.
Well, that meant that I was born on Long Island (where her sister was living
at the time).
In those days single women didn't have babies (not in small new england
towns anyway).
I was born three months premature, which meant that I developed a visual
impairment on account of being given too much oxygen while in the incubator.
That condition has shaped my life significantly, since it has meant that I
grew up very isolated from the mainstream activities.
First, because as a child I was sheltered by my mother, and also because
most children were so cruel to me that that I simply didn't like to be
with them.
For most of my childhood I was sent to a boarding school some seventy
miles away from the town in which I lived.
I had to stay there all week and could only go home on weekends (if my
mother could make the trip seventy miles each way to come and get me).
This continued till I was twelve or so, at which time it was decided by the
state in which I lived to put me in public school.
That was the first place I ever heard the word "blowjob" much less knowing
what it was.
As I say, I led a very sheltered life. I remember we had dogs when I was a
kid, though I didn't like them much because all the people around me
pressured me to get a guide dog and I was too independent for that.
Litle did I know that one particular dog would change that for ever.
I remember examining our dogs as a kid, but none of them ever took the
occasion to do anything sexual with me, so I'd never even heard of a dog
humping someone's leg, (that is, till one day when I was fifteen).
I can even remember the date, it was may 14 1967. That afternoon I was
standing out in our backyard talking to our neighbor's son, who was
a friend of mine.
At that point, his male beagle, (Reflexus, he was also called Prince) jumped
over the fence, and came up to me. My friend said, "watch out, he's gonna
jump on your leg". Well, as I said, I'd never heard of such a thing, so I
didn't think he was serious till Prince put his paws around my waist, and
began humping away. I remember feeling his cock rubbing on my leg, he had a
full, hot, hard-on, and I remember feeling very astonished, but
not disgusted by this, till my mother leaned out the back window and yelled
"get that dog off you".
I think that scared me much more than anything the dog had done. I went
around for several hours after that with a stick, thinking I'd beat the heck
out of him if he tried it again, that is, till I started thinking about it,
and began to realize that I'd actually liked what had happened.
I didn't tell anyone about that of course, knowing what they'd think, but it
always stayed with me.
Over the next few years, I went through the process of realizing that I
was gay. this meant a lot more isolation and grief for me in high school
than anyone should have to go through, but we didn't have anything like the
support system then that we do now.
During this time, I took to hanging around Prince every chance
I got, but despite my trying to play with him, he never came on to me again.
I went through the rest of high school mostly dealing with my gayness and
there was litle oportunity for me to get more experience with dogs, though
I always wanted that.
We had a germen shepherd named Jeff who could have been a good start for me
except that he never showed any sign of sexual interest whatsoever even
though he was intact.
Then, I went on to college. By this time I was very sure I was gay, as I
had begun to have experiences with other guys in high school. Most of these
were of the typical, teen-age kind, where you find that you are basicly a
means for some straight guy to get off without having to go through the
bother of finding a willing girl.
In college, I found that there were other gay people, and eventually, even
a student organization, which we formed in the face of overwhelming ridicule
from straights, and the opposition of the governor of the state.
That organization did a lot to build my confidence and make me comfortable
with my sexuality, though I always knew there was something more
I wasn't getting from the guys I would occasionally sleep with
After graduating from college, I moved to San francisco, I was lucky enough
to have been there during the 70's, when the gay scene hadn't yet turned so
ugly, and grasping as it did later. I must admit, I had a good time there
for quite a while, till I noticed in the late seventies that I was meeting
more people who were taking advantage of me. I was also living in a building
that was (shal we say) not the place you'd want to raise your kids in.
that's the time period when I started to consider getting my own dog.
.
Also, at this time I met my SO, David, with whom I've continued a very warm
and loving relationship for nineteen years now, though he knows
about my zoophilia, it's not something he cares to talk about. He's always
loved my dogs almost as much as I do, which makes up for that.
Well, around 1980 I finally decided to make the leap and get a dog of my
own. I'd always wanted a big shepherd, but we tend to get what we need, not
always what we want.
After going through a lot of grief with the local SPCA (which
is another story altogether) we looked to the newspaper, where we found a
ten month old shepherd-lab cross.
That's how Johnny came in to my life. As soon as the lady showed me this
dog, I knew he didn't look like any shepherd-lab cross. He was a very small
beagle instead, though she insisted that his parents had been
a shepherd and a black lab.
Johnny stayed with me for seven years, and in that time he grew from an
extremely shy litle guy, who would run and back into the closest corner when
the phone rang to a loving guy whose sign of trust was to
slowly come up to a stranger and start licking his arm (he never would lick
your face).
A year after I got Johnny, I decided he needed a companion, so I went back
to the lady I got him from and got a chow/elkhound mix
called bandit.
I went through the usual problems with dogfights, accidents, etc. but I was
beginning to learn that dogs could be wonderful partners. Johnny would
gladly grab your arm and hump your hand any time, while Bandit loved to
french you for days.
then In 1982 my mother died at the age of fifty-seven. I was sad to loose
her in one way, but also glad to see her go. She had
an anurism which burst, and left her in a coma. She lived for only two days
and then passed away. by that time I was glad to see her go, since she had
never wanted to be kept alive by machines.
Her death left me in a better position since she had life insurance and
the proceeds from the sale of her trailer gave me
enough money to move out of San Francisco, which I was dying to do by then,
as my landlord was giving me grief about having
more than one dog. I'd been wanting to leave for a long time anyway, and I
figured now was the right time.
After some looking around we decided on a small
town in the north bay area, where I was able to
buy a small house with a big enough backyard to
accomodate my dogs.
I have lived here ever since trying to survive on SSi payments, which is no
picnic, believe me.
During this time Johnny developed a perianal hernia, which progressed faster
than my vet expected.
The result was that it let go late on a Saturday night when the only vet
available was one guy on-call for emergencies. He couldn't leave the office,
and I couldn't drive,of course to bring Johnny there.
Now, his rear end was the size of a basketball, and he was in pain, I could
tell, but the cabs in this town don't like taking dogs, and I didn't want to
wake the person I knew with a car. It was 2:00 A.M .
So, I had to wait till morning when I could reasonably get her up and ask
her to take us in.
By that time it was too late to do much for him except give him an easy
death, (I doubt they could have done anything else at any rate)
I still miss Johnny at times, and wonder if I could have done more for him,
but I think it all comes down to the care that I could afford at the time.
Also during this time I got a new dog, a litle guy with a curly tail and
short legs who looks like he's several disperate kinds of dog put together
by an amateur. His name is Dusty, and he weighs about fifty-eight pounds but
he's not fat, just built low to the ground.
One of his favorite things to do is to wait till I squat down on my heels,
then, he'll put his front paws on my lap and stand there, furiously humping
my knee, while he licks my face. He can, and will stand there for at least
twenty minutes, coming, and coming, and coming.
He can still do this though he's going on eleven years old, he doesn't show
any signs of slowing down.
Then, about four years ago, another friend of mine, who knows about my
zoophilia had to move and gave me a year-old dobermen to take care of till
he could find a place to keep him. Needless-to-say, he never did manage to
find a place to keep him, and I now have Keeno permenently.
Keeno (I'd have to say) is the most impressive one so far. He's managed to
become a real lover, sitting up o his haunches and giving hugs and kisses if
you squat down in front of him. He will lay his wonderfully long head and
neck in my lap and let me stroke the sides of his face and absolutely go
into a trance. He loves to play courting games with me (i.e) he'll kiss and
hug for a while, then he'll go around behind and play-mount me for a few
seconds, then he'll go through the whole process again and again till he
gets himself tremendously hot. Then, he'll try to mount in earnest. I
sometimes let him enter me, though I've never tied with him since he likes
to turn around after tying, and I don't think I could handle that, since
he doesn't stay still and I'm afraid he'd pull out.
He's also learned to go down on me and give the most wonderful blowjobs.
Our deal is, that if I give him one, he'll give me one. When he gets fully
hard, contrary to some other posts I've read here, he loves to hav the very
tip of his cock sucked and licked. If I don't do this, he'll turn his head
around, and do it for himself.
Then, about two years ago, my bandit, who was getting to be about
thirteen years old started to show signs of slowing down.
He got very deaf, and began to spen lots of time sleeping. I knew the end
wasn't far off for him. I was sad, but I also knew that all life comes to
it's natural end, and I only hoped that it wouldn't be painful or prolonged.
In the end, It wasn't. One Thursday morning he refused to eat. This was
unusual for him, but I didn't think much of it, since he was also very picky
about his food and had refused food for a day before. At those times I
always just let him go hungry for a day, and next day he'd eat all the more.
this time however, he wouldn't eat the next day either. I knew then that it
was his way of telling me he didn't feel well at all. I determined that
if I couldn't get him to eat that day that Saturday, I would get someone to
come and take us to the vet to see what was wrong. Nature took it out of
my hands though, that Friday night, after drinking alitle water, he wondered
outside very slowly, and lay down in a favorite spot of his in the backyard.
That's where I found him next morning. He had passed away in the place he
knew and loved, and I cried as I dug a grave for him and laid him in it. I
gave him a tennis ball (which I hope someone will be kind enough to throw
for him in where ever it is that beloved dogs go to).
I though that I'd have things easier with only two dogs, but of course that
wasn't to be for long.
I had met a woman up our street who had a big black newtered male mixed
breed named Christian.
He was very lovable, but I thought not a subject for any sexual feelings. i
was wrong, he quickly showed me he had other ideas. I hadn't known him
long, when one day I squatted down to pet him on my way by, and he grabbed
my arm, and proceeded to try to hump my hand quite vigorously.
I hadn't known a newtered dog could do that, but I obviously hadn't reckoned
on the persistance of the sex drive.
Shortly after Bandit died therefore, Christian's owners told me they were in
the process of going through a divorce, and would I be able to take
Christian? Boy! would I ever!
and, so I'm back up to three dogs now, and trying to decide what to do with
the rest of my life.
Well, the friend from whom I got Keeno made the suggestion that since I had
kept dogs for almost fourteen years, Maybe I could think about running a
kennel
Shortly after this he and his wife moved to far northern California, and
from there to southern Oregon, where they tell me the cost of living is much
cheaper, and people friendlier. so, that brings me about up to date.
If i and my friend can arrange it I would like to sell my house here, and
move up there to be nearer to him, and also to where I can have a bigger
piece of land than I could afford here.
I know that running a kennel is not the way to get rich, but then I've
always been looking for something I could do that would be a thing
I liked, and something i could do staying relatively in one place, since
transportation is a problem for me.
I don't intend to rush into this, since what's worth having is worth waiting
for, but I think this may be the thing I'm called to do.
I have met some other dogs over the years, but I'll let their stories wait
for another time and another thread.
Maybe I'll start one entitled Dogs I have known. that might be fun for
everybody.
I will post this through the anon service, since I don't think I'm quite
ready to have my name and e-mail address out in the open.
But you can't get rid of me that easily and I'll turn up again often,like a
bad penny.
Till then, beast regards; Daniel
*****"every time I come to town
you boys go to kickin my dog around
makes no difference if he is a hound
you gotta stop kickin my dog around ====== Recorded by gidd Tanner and the
Skillet lickers;1930*****
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