Owning My Humanity -- Idealization

Story by Werefox Inari Sachi on SoFurry

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#3 of Owning My Humanity - Autobiography By Kimono-Box-Fox


Bestiality.

Do I find animals sexually attractive? It's a weird question. I don't find... living things, attractive. Not even humans. Maybe once. Maybe when I had hope for a successful romance, I snuggled and hugged--maybe at one point I even craved sexual attention, until it was denied one too many times. Have I done things with pets in an attempt to discover my sexuality? Certainly long enough to feel foolish when there was nothing--no sinful gratification for letting a snake touch my nude body, or putting my mouth someplace on a dog it shouldn't be.

Truthfully, I find imagery most sexually attractive. Depictions of things I can't have. People, creatures, experiences that are outlandish; fairytale. The real world lacks a certain flexibility for pleasure and out-of-body experience. It is a very... shackled... existence, thinking that I might enact the same routine days in advance of a sexual encounter with some plain-jane strumpet simply because this was advertised as the epitome of pleasure. I think, "That's it?", when I could be walking into the forest and flirting with a fox-wife; hips and breasts like a woman, but tail and snout of a beast, stooped on her clawed hands and feet, eyes gleaming 'come hither'.

So yeah, my world is all sunshine and lollypops. I've started to think that I'm hated for my desire to escape to such a convenient place. Flirting with that sort of composite animal figure, I can imagine my humanity sloughing off; an ear poking out here as she nibbles it with her snout, the nub of a tail pressing from my spine like a second erection, bodily metamorphosis showing all over, heralding my reversion into a sexual savage. By the time she's done with me sniffing her down and licking her ass furtively, I'll have grown a respectable set of whiskers from my already wet snout, and will sport a thick brush and exposed, doggy asshole. Soon there'll be a brown-furred fox-man in place of a human being; a creature who will look at itself, realize it no longer wants clothing, and will shed it all--taking a piss in the grass over the spot where its mate did the same. With a glance, that thing that was me will look back at that discarded pile, and run, never to be seen again.

Maybe not so sunshine and lollypops. How much of my mind would I be willing to give up? What about me is redeemable, that I wouldn't feed to a fox monster, to become part of it; to have another creature lead its own life in this one's place? Maybe I wouldn't even be me anymore--why does that make me feel 'content'? Maybe a part of me would even just like to continue to exist, simply to watch the creature lead its life in my stead--to experience my body, forced to ejaculate into an animal, putting out the seed of another species from my once-human form...

I wonder if this life is salvageable, with desires like that. The truth is, I have moments of weakness--undoubtedly we all do--but losing myself feels like it would be paradise, compared with finding myself. What is it about people and their dreams--when it comes to real life, it's like introducing freshwater fish to the Ocean. It seems like it'd work at first, but they're not compatible. There are times when I want to be the domineering, vixen baroness, the nine-tailed ancient fox that spreads a plague of beast-hood to others... and then there are times when I want to huddle up in a ball and forget, and just be the mindlessly reproducing beast, drawn to the wild by a female.

When I'm woken from this world, it's jarring, and I'm always baffled by how much time has passed. The outside world is good at getting away from me. Sometimes I wonder if it's possible that I'll ever desire to do something real again, after having been broken so thoroughly that I no longer want my humanity.

I'm good at exaggerating--there 'are' things in real life I take pleasure in. I just sort of want to pervert my life with this deviancy anyway. I've sometimes thought maybe it's even like a habit I need to kick, like cigarettes. Every now and again I'll catch myself looking at furry art, and thinking 'Maybe I should put this away and never look at it again. What would happen, then?'.

I don't know for sure yet whether this is a part of my identity, or a burden on it. Maybe that's why I'm writing this.

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