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It's a bit embarrassing, but since my adolescence I've always been an incredibly horny Pit Bull, not that I would have it any other way. From the age of twelve, my thoughts were dominated with images of bitches in heat, moaning, caressing themselves, kissing other women... I had to jack off before school, and sometimes during, just so I could pay attention during class. I heard somewhere that men think about sex every few seconds, and in my case, I wouldn't doubt it for a second. But this really isn't anything special, is it? Men are generalized as incredibly visual and sexual creatures, but since from a young age we're fed images of only the most beautiful and sexual women through the media, it's hard not to grow up in such a fashion, I imagine. I suppose in many ways, the way I grew up was completely normal for a growing young man, but there was one way I was a bit different from a normal growing young man:

I was also attracted to men.

I struggled with this for so many years of my life. I didn't know who to talk to about it, and I didn't even realize what words such as "gay" or "homosexual" truly meant until I was at least fourteen. What's more, I was conditioned to believe that, as one of America's aspiring young men, my value in life was going to depend on a combination of my financial success, ability to have sex with beautiful women, and how quickly I could nab a similarly beautiful, well-endowed girlfriend and keep her happy with expensive gifts, and that those should be the only thoughts floating around in my mind. Because there was, and to this day still is, so little mentioning in our mainstream media of errant sexualities, and a large stigma attached to them, that I was confused about my bisexuality. For a while I didn't know what to make of my attraction, but when I vaguely learned of the concept of homosexuality, I immediately reached the conclusion that my attraction to men meant that I was gay, despite my mutual attraction to women. It sounds ridiculous, but in this society where homosexuality is considered "too mature a topic for children", the children who discover their wayward sexual preferences are left to make their own conclusions. As for the very few times where there is a homosexual character presented in mainstream media, they're presented as a purely homosexual character. It's as if the whole world wants to see as something that is not on a spectrum, but as simply something that's either one way or the other, "normal" and "not normal". It's because of this black and white approach, this sexual binary, that I didn't understand that I was simply bisexual for those early years. Thank God for the archives of information on the internet. Without it, it would have taken much longer than college to come to terms with my attraction to men.

Being aware of these faults doesn't stop me, in many aspects, from being just another product of this socially hegemonic society that we live in. Mainly in that I naturally have a heavy inclination toward the conventionally sexual. I can get hard simply from eyeing a well-endowed woman with a pretty face stroll down the sidewalk, and, though I'd never admit it in person, just the thought of fucking a muscular guy makes me drool and pant like a feral mutt. I've always wished I could appreciate more than just the most basic sort of beauty, but I can't help it; I suppose I was just born to be a superficial dog, though at least I have the gall to admit it. It goes without saying that I've had more than a fair share of dirty thoughts, and yes, I've had sex in abundance. Though it wasn't until I became an object of sexual desire myself that I found myself often partaking.

Firstly, I've never really had the most sexually desirable body to begin with, having not been born a husky or malamute like most the world's models. I'm a thin-coated grey Pit bull with a white undercoat, spotted with dark-grey blotches of fur around my body, the most prominent encircling my left eye. My muzzle is exactly as one would expect from an archetypical Pit Bull: short, somewhat blocky and with a flat swirly nose at the end, though I do have somewhat irregularly perk and angular triangles for ears. I suppose my shoulders are a shade on the broad side, and my tail is a bit long, nearly reaching the ground when I walk, but, as clichéd as it is, I've always thought my most remarkable aspect were my eyes. They're of a stormy bluish-grey hue, not brilliant or vivid like the eyes of one's ideal lover, but powerful and striking nonetheless. Perhaps my body was a bit unique, but uniqueness can be a hindrance just as much as a blessing. People simply don't chase after the exotics thrills on life's high rollercoasters in this world; they like to play it safe on the merry-go-round. Knowing this, I try to break out from the mold of expectations that's been given to me, but I can only break away so far.

I was of average build in my early teens, not developing my interest in physical exercise until I was sixteen, and my muscle definition didn't appear until around my eighteenth birthday, but when I finally got those washboard abs and pecs built enough to bounce, I was not willing to let them go. And I won't deny that catching someone ogling my ass was quite the fun experience. Similarly, I'll admit that I enjoyed having an attractive body, but lately I've been beginning to doubt the merits of such a thing, or at least in my own case. For so long, I'd look at myself in the mirror every morning to make sure I was in at least as good shape as the day before, sometimes wasting up to a half-hour just admiring myself. And while consistent exercise is certainly a healthy, I would be so obsessed with making sure to get that hour and a half in every day that I'd even go on days where I was incredibly crunched for time.

To put it vulgarly, half the reason I started lifting weights and exercising so vigorously was so more people would want to bone with me. Perhaps you've noticed that I've never had much of a honeyed tongue, so when I developed my sex obsession at the ripe age of sixteen, it was a bit of a challenge for me to successfully convince women to romp around with me. But there's no mistaking that when you talk with someone you want to hook up with, lifting up your shirt to reveal a pair of rock-hard abs can get you laid just as fast as any sort of smooth-talking. I'm not sure if this makes me unimaginative or just realistic, but it was really only ever the results that I cared about.

My dating experience was... less than perfect. By the time I turned twenty-one, I had three previous girlfriends, though they all took place when I was 16 or younger, and sadly, the longest relationship lasted but two months. I've realized now that each one of them followed a pattern: I'd innocently partake in their company for a while, I'd develop romantic feelings, start the flirting, eventually rack up the nerve to ask them out, they'd agree, it'd be fun and cute for a while, I'd maybe get as far as receiving a blowjob, but after a while I'd always find that our personalities weren't really compatible, I'd break up with them and leave myself feeling like an utter asshole for leading them on for so long. It was particularly crushing because I was always so in love at the start, but then my love (if it really was love) would quickly wither away, leaving me with a gaping pit of regret welling up in my stomach. The pain would lessen over time, but remnants of it would always remain, and I'd soon find sex to be the best distractions from that pain. So after my third breakup, just a few weeks before I began my exercise routine, I promised myself that I wouldn't date another person until I knew for certain that I was in love with them. But of course, like most promises we make to ourselves, I didn't exactly keep it. But I suppose it was an unrealistic promise to begin with; love is one complicated mistress.

The broken promise all started out as a little crush on one of my teachers; of course it was on one of my teachers. It was during my college years, when I learned to be a bit less ashamed of my attraction to and possible romantic feelings for men, so fittingly it was a crush on another man. He was one of my Japanese language teachers (I was a business major; Japanese was a good business language, and since I was required to take one foreign language, why not Japanese?), and he was part of the reason I kept taking Japanese beyond the two class requirement, having taken classes with him for two years by the time I started to notice my attraction to him. Oddly enough, my crush on him took time to develop, whereas my others were developed practically on first sight.

What was interesting about him was that while students were supposed to address him as "Yoshida-sensei", Yoshida being his family name, he let the students just call him "Sensei" if they pleased. "Sensei" was my name of choice for him, and that is how I will refer to him from here on out, simply because it's how I've always thought of him, and can't bring myself to refer to him as any other name. He is the only person I have ever called simply "Sensei", and if I used it with others it would cheapen the value of the word, I think.

At first, my crush on Sensei was a bit of mystery because he wasn't all that conventionally attractive. He was a Shiba Inu in his mid-thirties and of average stature, not particular thin or fat, maybe just a bit shorter than average. His outer coat was a wispy black, and the undercoat and eyebrows a delicate tan, the contrast always reminded me of chocolate and caramel. His eyes were a dull black, and his muzzle was too short and wide for a typical Shiba Inu's head; it made his whole face look round. What's more he didn't particularly hold himself with any sort of social grace or swagger. He always seemed aloof and distracted, even when he was lecturing, like there was always a forgotten word on the tip of his tongue, and his way of speaking, both in English and Japanese, was very slow, languid and somewhat nasal, even. In fact, it was fairly obvious that even tell that the other Japanese teachers thought that Sensei was a bit strange. At my college's Japanese cultural events (ones where Sensei participated or presented) sometimes Sensei's overly-simple way of explaining things and his aloof responses would make the other teachers laugh and ask him to rephrase or be more thorough, though never in a mean-spirited way; those people didn't have a mean bone in their body. His odd idiosyncrasies never really bothered me much though; I always found them charmingly awkward. I never really understood what it meant for a person to have an air of je ne se quoi until I met Sensei. He wasn't the best looking, not the most interesting to talk with, not even the best teacher from an academic standpoint. But he was... something.

Sensei was one of the most light-hearted and easy-going people I have ever met. It was so easy to make him laugh and he never raised his voice, never scolded the less-than-adequate students, but would rather encourage them to try harder instead. And even though he wasn't particularly handsome, the way he dressed did make him quite easy on the eyes. He almost always dressed up in a suit and tie, which I'll admit to having a weakness for. Outside of being aesthetically pleasant; suits are a heavy and covering piece of clothing when paired with an undershirt and tie; it leaves a lot of the man's body types to your own imagination. So even though Sensei was just a man of average build, I would occasionally amuse myself with the thought of him as some completely ripped model underneath. But what truly stuck me about his appearance was his lone earring that wrapped around from just a centimeter or two below the tip of his pointy left ear. It seemed to make no sense for a man who always wore suits to bare a flashy earring, but that idea of conflict always fascinated me. It made me wonder if Sensei was secretly some sort of wild party-goer that drank like a dwarf from high-fantasy legends and fucked all the bitches and bad boys out there. I knew it was just foolish pondering, but after seeing that earring, the secret life of Sensei became one of my favorite personal daydreams. But, as I've said before, it took quite some time for my interest in Sensei to develop into an out-and-out crush. He was somewhat cute and entertaining for most of my first semester under his class, but that was the extent to which I thought of him. Though all it took was once simple meeting of chance for all that to change.

It was during my junior year of college, first semester, on the evening of one of my midterms. I was taking this one required mathematics course you see, and it was rather challenging. Much of the material was incredibly dry, and presented vaguely, so it made studying a nightmare, and willing myself to go to lecture even worse. Unsurprisingly, the midterm went poorly for me. After I left to examination building on the day of the test, I couldn't help but feel like a failure, and a greeting from dark storm clouds and unexpected rain made my foul mood ever sourer. With nothing but my hoodie and pants to keep the rain from soaking my fur, I spited my bad luck and ran across the puddled streets to my campus apartment. It seems foolish now, but at the time I wanted nothing more than to lock myself up in my apartment room and sulk for several hours. But understand that I was a drifter at this point, one who knew little of what he wanted to do with his life, so my high marks were one of the few aspects of my academic careen with which I took solace.

It had to have been by pure coincidence that I met Sensei when I did. And finding him was it was a strange site, though by then I was already tempered to Sensei's strange mannerisms. He was peacefully strolling along the sidewalk in his checkered grey suit, black overcoat and tie, carrying an old tacky red umbrella and singing some merry tune that I couldn't quite put my finger on. All the while he was observing the trees and flowerbeds of the campus' large central park as if the falling rain droplets were cherry blossoms soaring to the spring wind. For a moment the unexpected sight distracted me, but at the time I wasn't feeling particularly social, so I just continued on my way, hoping he wouldn't notice me as I passed. But as I happened to be, Sensei did notice me, and greeting me in Japanese, with that typical lazy smile of his, "Ah, good evening Kingu-san_. Are you doing well?_"

I wasn't expecting him to recognize me with my hood up, but then again, Sensei was always one to break my model of expectations. I didn't care to spend any more time in the rain, nor to postpone my trip back, but it would have been far too rude to ignore him then. But when I spoke, it was in a perfunctory manner with little energy. "Oh, hello Sensei I didn't see you."

At this point I was entirely sopping, and understandably, Sensei frowned at my appearance. "You don't have an umbrella?"

"No, I didn't think it would rain, so I didn't bring it."

"You Americans are always forgetting your umbrellas!" he said with a humored smile as he walked over to my side. He then raised the umbrella above both our heads, and extended his paw outward. "Here, why don't you borrow mine?"

At the time, I thought it was the most illogical offer I had ever heard, but his kindness did lighten my mood, if only a bit. "But you're wearing a suit! I'm only wearing a hoodie, so... so you should use it. I think it would be worse if your suit became wet."

My response rolled off my tongue unevenly, and was riddled with grammatical errors, but Sensei didn't correct me. He just looked upward spacily, watching the tiny drops of rain patter off his umbrella and roll down in tiny streams. "Well, where are you headed to?"

"Um, well to my apartment, just a few blocks north."

"I see. So why don't we share the umbrella and walk together then? I'm in no hurry."

I was surprised at the notion, and more surprised that I found myself entirely wanting to take him up on his offer. I didn't understand why: it was a banal suggestion, but at the same time it seemed so bizarre. It was something so simple, yet sharing an umbrella with a teacher was something that I never would have imagined it happening in my life. "Alright, thank you very much," I said with a bit of a stutter as Sensei smiled at my response. As I ducked my head under Sensei's umbrella and we began to walk abreast, I couldn't help but notice that for a few moments, Sensei's tail was wagging happily.

The walk back was mostly in silence, but it was a pleasant silence. Instead of searching for a topic, Sensei just enjoyed our trip as if he were still taking a pleasant walk down a park, entirely at peace with the rain. Taking a few moments to look at a car here, a store there; it was as if he saw the world through the eyes of a fascinated child, curious as he had been living in America for quite some time. I suppose it might have just been the shelter from the rain, but somehow I felt warmer by Sensei's side, more attuned to my surroundings and not dwelling on my racing thoughts and worries.

At one point, once we had entered the expanse of city stores and apartments before my own, there lay a huge puddle between the curb and the crosswalk we were to pass. It would have been easy enough to sidestep it, but then I silly idea popped into my head. Thinking of the old cliché, I asked Sensei with a humored lilt, "Are you going to place your overcoat on top the puddle so I can cross it?"

Sensei laughed heartily at my suggestion, and then to my surprise, he handed me the umbrella and actually placed his overcoat on top of the puddle. From across the covered puddle in the rainy crosswalk he gracefully leaned forward, one arm behind his back and one extended toward me, and said in an overly theatric fashion, "Ojousama?"

I found myself giggling like a small child, and though I was thoroughly embarrassed, Sensei had ruined his coat for me and since there weren't many other people, I decided to grab his paw and crossed slowly and regally as if I were some dainty princess. We grinned to each other once I crossed over, but when Sensei picked up his drenched overcoat from the puddle and streams of water dripped out from cheap fabric, we broke into a fit of laughter which persisted for most the way back, Sensei hanging the soaked overcoat over his right forearm. This was when I first realized that there was an incredible charm to Sensei's character. Despite the many lackluster elements to him, Sensei had a sense of levity and appreciation that so many others simply lacked. It seemed like the world was one big wonderland to him, and everything in it just another joy. It was the first time I found myself envious of a quality of another that was so intangible.

"Were you coming back from a meeting, Sensei?" I finally asked as we reached the final stretch of city before my apartment complex, desiring to start up a conversation after our chuckles died down.

He shook his head simply. "No, I was just taking a walk."

"In this weather?"

"Yes. I think the rain makes everything more beautiful."

There was something poetic to the simplicity of his response, and I couldn't help but smile. A curious thought entered my head. "And what about snow, then? Does it make everything more beautiful as well?"

"Oh no, snow just covers everything. It's pretty, but it cheapens the beauty of everything else. Everyone else finds snow to be something magnificent, but I don't think that means I should."

I didn't quite understand every nuance to his more complicated explanation, but the general meaning had reached me. My expression became quite vacant as I pondered if there was some other significance to his response.

Sensei seemed to have taken my contemplation as a sign of confusion. "Oh, I'm sorry. That might have been a little too complicated! Sometimes I forget to use simpler words when I'm not teaching class."

I politely waved my hand in negation. "Oh, I mostly understood, I just thought it was an interesting answer." And then suddenly, I was hit by a wave of melancholy. I couldn't put it into words, but something about what Sensei had said struck me at my core. Somehow his words made me feel insignificant, pedestrian, as if the extent of my entire life was just me clutching to straws of something more meaningful. And of course, I was soon reminded of my recent failure.

Sensei noticed my shift in mood. "Why do you seem so sad all of a sudden? You were like this when I first saw a few minutes ago, too. You're usually so happy, Kingu-san. It's very strange to see you like this."

"Who knows..." I said through an airy sigh and looked down to my feet. Finding myself at a more raw state, the words that I formed came out in English. "I guess lately I just feel lost, that I'm not sure what I'm doing and that I can't enjoy life because I feel like I'm not good enough. Or maybe I'm just afraid of growing up and the idea of what's to come in the future scares me..."

It was then that I felt a paw on my shoulder. I directed by gaze to Sensei to find him smiling comfortingly at me, his triangular ears folded neatly downward. I felt my mouth open slowly in amazement as I heard Sensei speak fully in English for the first time. "We all have those fears, Kingu-san, but the future has many beautiful things in store for you. And don't think of yourself in terms of being good enough or not, because that's just a waste of the special person you are now. So cheer up. You're too young and handsome to be frowning like this all the time."

I awestruck by his response, and I felt the strangest tingling sensation throughout my fur and skin as I heard his compliment and the beating of my heart grew faster and more pronounced. I was pressed to find a suitable response. "O-Oh, there's my apartment." Flustered by Sensei's words, it was all I could think to say as I rushed out of the umbrella to under the entrance of my apartment complex a short distance down the sidewalk, the protrusions of the façade keeping the rain off my head when I arrived. "Thank you very much!" I said back to Sensei with a tiny, awkward bow.

Amused by my behavior, Sensei let out a single sharp laugh as he toward me to say his farewells. "Oh, it was no trouble, Kingu-san_. It was a fun walk,"_ he said earnestly before giving a quick glance to his wristwatch, a small look of surprise appearing when he saw the time_._ "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm running a bit late to a meeting."

I couldn't help but notice the contradiction. "I thought you said you were just taking a walk, and weren't in a hurry?"

"I lied!" Sensei declared with a good toothy laugh. "I didn't want you to decline and get wet, so I made sure not to mention that part!"

He was right, of course; if I knew he had somewhere to be I just would have walked back on my own. I was grateful for the consideration, but I certainly didn't want Sensei to get in trouble on my behalf. "So don't waste any more time; get going!" I said insistently as I shooed Sensei away, who just chuckled again before departing.

He really is one of a kind, isn't he? I thought to myself as I leaned against doorway entrance, watching Sensei's tail wag as he merrily ambled back down the street, seemingly not in the slightest bit of hurry.

Maybe I didn't realize it at the time, but that rainy day was when my crush on Sensei became real. It developed over such simple things as a joke and a compliment, but sometimes the simplest things can have the most power. There was one thing that I immediately realized, though; I had a great desire to go on another walk with Sensei.