{"sf1_id":11793,"sf2_id":"7ejOz4mW","title":"The Phobia","author":"Hawk","words":6574,"posted_at":"2006-07-10T02:42:00.000Z","tags":["Anal","Dog","Human","M/M","Oral"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/11793-the-phobia","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/7ejOz4mW","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=11793\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"#1 of The Woods","content":"\"The Phobia\", by H. A. Kirsch  \nPart 1 or 0 of \"The Woods\"  \nCopyright 2006  \n  \n  \nThis work is licensed under the Creative Commons  \nAttribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License. To view a copy of this license,  \nvisit [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/) or send a letter to  \nCreative Commons, 543 Howard Street, 5th Floor, San Francisco, California,  \n94105, USA.  \n  \nThis text file can be verified against the following SHA1 hash. If it does not  \nhash, you are reading a phony copy.  \n  \nHash: [http://www.manachine.com/writing/ThePhobia.sha1](http://www.manachine.com/writing/ThePhobia.sha1)  \n\n* * *\n  \nFriday night, I stopped being afraid.  \n  \nThe night started in the parking lot for \"The Woods at Kinross\". The Woods was  \nthis former air force base on the way to Sault Ste. Marie. It was nicknamed  \nFreaktown, until it turned out that most of the hybrids living there were rich.  \nYou know a place is supposed to be fixy when it's 'at somewhere'.  \n  \nA band I liked, the industrial rock outfit called Scathe, was playing at \"The  \nWoods\"es Hangar One. I was a bit leery of the whole situation; despite  \ncontaining one of the two dance clubs in the entire Upper Peninsula, The Woods  \nwas a hybrids-first place and I was lacking in hybrid.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"It's not hybrids-only, you know. It's harder to find an apartment or a condo,  \nbut, you know, it would be a bad idea to stay exclusive. Never goes over well  \nwith the hairless monkeys.\" My friend John's voice chopped out on the cell.  \n  \n\"You there?\" I was standing in front of my jeep, sweating in the muggy dusk,  \nscanning the parking lot. The sweat was worth it. You don't go to an industrial  \nrock concert unless you can look good, and a reverend coat with red collar, torn  \njeans and knee-high New Rocks was good enough for me.  \n  \n\"No, but I'm here.\" The phone crackled, then cut off with a beep. A black and  \nred RX-8 stopped six inches from my left shin with the roar of engine braking  \nand turbo blow-by. The engine wound off, an alert shepherd dog stepping out of  \nthe driver's door. \"Always goes off a bit coming around behind the hangars.\"  \n  \nI smiled, but only half because I was glad to see John - he had the tickets. The  \nother half was hiding nerves. \"You're nuts. I almost didn't have legs because of  \nyou. These are new boots.\" In consolation, John threw me a red neck hanger. The  \nfront said \"Hangar One - The Woods - VIP admission\" above a barcode, and the  \nback had a ticket slid up inside. \"Wait, what's this?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"This is how we escape the queue. Queues are for fanboys.\" He hit his accent  \nhard, putting a bit of London into the q word. John brandished the tag, then  \nstarted off for the other end of the lot. Over my shoulder, the lot was filling  \nup.  \n  \nI had to rush to keep up with John, tromping after his headstrong stride, our  \nshadows shifting under the copper lights. The lights weren't on constantly, but  \ncame on as we walked, then died off behind.  \n  \nOur target was a splotch of steady light on a hillside. The closer we got, the  \nless it was a splotch and the more it looked like a gigantic drainage pipe with  \na bear standing next to it.  \n  \n\"Sorry, this ain't where you want to be. You're here for the show? Over there.\"  \nThe bear pointed with a huff. His finger led off to a distant line of people  \nleading to a big metal structure, some heads with pricked-up ears.  \n  \n\"A-hem, Mr. Cranky Bear, I think you might be wise to let us through that door,\"  \nJohn cleared his throat, brandishing the red badge. I did the same, trying not  \nto look like I was a me-too. The bear scowled.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Fine. If I get a big line of people trying to come through here instead.....\"  \nThe bear did something with a paw, causing a low thrum and a click.  \n  \n\"Thank you,\" John said with a curt chirp - if dogs can chirp - and dropped a  \ntwenty up in the air, roughly over the bear's nose. The guard snatched it up  \nwith a huff, and we went inside.  \n  \nI really wanted to know why there was a big corrugated metal tube sticking out  \nof a hill, or why we were going into its copper-lit depths, or why the  \nunpleasant hallway lead to a stunning marble floored walkway, or why that led to  \na whole fucking three-story mall under ground. John was content to keep up the  \nrush so I didn't get my answer, his heels clacking on the stone. He spun around  \nabruptly.  \n  \n\"Pay attention! Now we came in there, and we're going here-\" He pointed off  \nbehind me, then to a door that said \"employees only\" and whirred open when he  \nwaved his pass at it. By the time I got ready to say anything, we were  \napproaching a security scanner, wanded in, and standing just ten feet from the  \nleft of the stage of an immense dancehall auditorium.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Wait, wait, how'd you do that?\" A couple guards nodded to us, and helped us get  \nright into the sweet spot, a fenced off no-pits area center floor.  \n  \n\"Well, you see, I'm one of those people who networks really hard, it's part of  \nmy job, and I just so happened to spot something on the desk of a client...  \nturns out he was the promoter! I told him I had a weekend place up at The Woods  \nand he said, 'Oh, you know Scathe is playing at Hangar 1 in two weeks.'  \nObviously I just had to jump on that one.\" John had to get down close to my ear,  \nhis syrupy British droll punctuated with the clicks of dog-teeth and grunted  \nM's.  \n  \nThe show was less than five minutes away, judging from the droning electronic  \nsounds slowly drowning out the pre-show DJ set of darkwave trance. \"You really  \ndon't seem the type.. you look like you listen to jazz fusion on your 10,000  \ndollar stereo,\" I yelled over to John, as we muscled forward. Unlike me, he was  \nclad simply: tight black muscle tee, red Scathe ankh pendant, studded belt,  \nblack leather pants, and motorcycle boots. Pretty generic, compared to some of  \nthe Borg-like fan getups.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The show started without much warning, cutting off John's chance to answer. A  \nsound person came out to do a guitar check, and halfway through a pretty  \npathetic rendition of Pantera's \"Cemetary Gates\" harmonic-squeal signature riff,  \nthe lights died and Mr. Guitar Tech ripped off his gas station attendant uniform  \nto expose his true identity as Scathe's lead singer, Bringer.  \n  \nPicture a crowd as likely to be slam dancing as they are standing and nodding  \ntheir black no. 1-shrouded heads. Imagine concert sound heavy enough to vibrate  \nthe hair on your legs beneath leather and denim, clean enough that you can pick  \nout the difference between kick drum no. 1 and kick drum no. 2. Picture every  \ngoth stereotype, and replace 'teenager' with stunning fantasy sci-fi mood  \nobliteration. That was the Scathe concert. Completely worth the drive.  \n  \nThe encore ended and the crowd switched into club mode. I made my way over to  \nthe bar, got a whiskey sour, then occupied a slot by the wall. After a few  \nminutes of people-watching, I started feeling ill. Sweaty and heart-pounding,  \nfull of doom. I figured it was my stomach, since I tended to complain at thai  \nrestaurants that they didn't make the food hot enough. After fifteen minutes  \nwith no impending bowel depth charge from lunchtime's Pad Nor Mai, I started  \nhunting down John in a desperate push through the crowd. I found him in the  \nthick of the dance floor and dragged him back out.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Now this better be good... I was in quite a groove,\" he said, breathing right  \ninto my ear. It gave me a rush of cold water down my spine. \"I'm kinda freaking  \nout, maybe I'm getting hot or something, I don't know.\"  \n  \n\"Are you going to leave?\" John pushed his way out of the crowd, black-nailed  \nfingers holding my collar.  \n  \n\"You have an apartment here, right? Can I go hang out?\"  \n  \n\"Mmm-hmm. Do you have your phone on you?\"  \n  \nI fished in a pocket and pulled it out, fingers ice cold despite the club heat  \nand my own sweaty disposition. John fiddled with his own phone, a little cartoon  \nexplosion on mine announcing the arrival of a little map.  \n  \n\"Just follow that,\" he said. \"I mean, go out the way you came in here, right  \nback to the mall, then go over to the information kiosk.. the directions are  \nfrom there.\"  \n  \n\"Thanks. I gotta get out of here.\" I quickly started out of the club, flashing  \nmy pass again to get out the way we came in. Behind me, John bowed ridiculously,  \nthen slid himself back into the midst of the crowd.  \n  \nI knew what it was that had started bugging me, but I didn't want to think about  \nit. All I wanted was to get somewhere quiet, private, and completely empty of  \npeople. Preferably hybrids.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Getting to John's apartment didn't help. By the time I found myself facing the  \nright door, I felt like I'd been walking for miles. I'd taken the right turn by  \naccident, coming down the hall the wrong way. Every time I passed a hybrid, I  \nfelt a twinge of more sweat come down my back. Every time I passed one who was  \ncanine, I swore they were staring at me.  \n  \nAnd now the door, there was no lock! Just a little black plate, under which was  \nthe name Johnathan Martyk, and a slot on the door to grip. I tried pulling on  \nthe slot and nothing happened. What a pile of crap, stuck in some weird place  \nthat's under fucking ground, trying to get into someone else's apartment-  \n  \nThe panic and dread swirled down into a vortex and I leaned forward, defeated.  \nWhen I thumped my head into the wall next to the door, the pass dangled down by  \nthe plate. It glowed green and the door clicked. A tug on the handle and I was  \nout of the hallway and into the pleasant air-conditioned confines of an  \napartment.  \n  \nA very expensive apartment, minimalist and opulent. Expensive black and cream  \nfurniture, carefully placed paintings - some of them very stark and disturbing,  \nnot at all typical wall fare - and a stainless steel kitchen that probably cost  \nmore than my entire apartment building back in Petosky.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I bee-lined for the couch, threw off my coat, and sat down. The vortex of  \nimpending death and destruction became the last swirl of water going down the  \nbathtub drain, and I crashed pleasantly.  \n  \nStaring up at the ceiling in a room lit only by moonlight, I felt the first  \nmoment of relief. A body-wracking sigh, muscle tension going away, the explosion  \nof panic trailing out like the sustain on a piano after someone took the bench  \nand pounded it onto the keys.  \n  \nI then leaned forward to wipe the sweat off my skin, rub my forehead. I kept  \nseeing the inside of the club, throngs of people, all mashed up together, moving  \nto the pound of EBM and darkwave. That didn't bother me. I wasn't agoraphobic  \nper se, but being in a stuffy crowded place could definitely worsen it. What I  \nkept seeing were eyes, ears, black-tipped snouts. I wasn't hybriphobic either.  \n  \nNo, I was cynophobic. I was afraid of dogs. The fear was more specific for  \nhybrids. I really didn't like any kind of four dog, regardless of breed. The  \ndislike had turned from real phobia to just a general avoidance as I grew older.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; For hybrids, it was usually just the larger ones, things like dobermans,  \nrottweilers, german shepherds. Terriers? No problem. I wasn't afraid of wolves  \nor foxes or coyotes either. Go figure.  \n  \nAccording to my parents, I'd been attacked as a toddler, but I don't remember  \nit. I didn't really mind the fear of four dogs, since they weren't particularly  \ncommon where I lived and it was easy to rationalize. But being afraid of fellow  \npeople?  \n  \nIt didn't even happen all the time. John often made me nervous, but I wasn't  \nconvinced it was because he was a Belgian Malinois shepherd dog. I felt like he  \nwould make me nervous if he was a cat, or even a canary. I'd become friends with  \nhim partly to try and stem the fear, and it worked. Except when it didn't.  \n  \nFor the first time in a while, I realized how weird it was that one of my better  \nfriends was one of the things I was afraid of. Time slid by as I tried to screw  \nmy brain on around it. I hadn't even told him, I just played that I was a  \nnervous twit.  \n  \nMy reverie ended with the electronic snap of the door opening, revealing a  \nbacklit shadow of a figure, snout to the side, capped off with ears. I bolted  \nupright with fight-or-flight, only to see the figure front-lighted as it flicked  \non the pleasant ambient lights. John.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Well, you look horrible. I hope you didn't get a phone call that your dog  \ndied...\" John let the door slide shut, then wandered aloof over to the couch.  \n  \n\"I don't have a dog,\" I said through my bangs.  \n  \n\"Whatever it is, you might be reduced to a puddle. You could quite possibly be  \nmelting. Are you the wicked witch of the west?\"  \n  \nJohn either made me nervous or confused me. At the moment, he was choosing the  \nlatter. \"Uh..\" I ended up chuckling, which I couldn't complain about.  \n  \n\"Here, come get some ice water. You didn't take anything, did you?\" John ended  \nup in the kitchen, rifling for a glass.  \n  \n\"Nope, well, I had a headache earlier so I took something for it. Maybe that's  \nwhy I'm sweating. I don't do club drugs.\" I scratched my neck, following John  \ninto the kitchen. Then I got self-conscious about scratching my neck, and  \nstopped, but I still wanted to do it, so I started to get hot and sweaty again.  \n  \nJohn filled up the glass with ice, then watered it, sliding it down the counter.  \n\"There's my bartender flair for the night. Pull it out every once and a while..  \nso, care to tell me what's got you all knotted up?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I shrugged. \"Ehh, well, it's a bit embarassing.\"  \n  \n\"Agoraphobic? That's not embarassing.\"  \n  \n\"No, that's not it.\" I swigged down some of the water, then the rest of it. \"I'm  \nafraid of dogs.\"  \n  \nJohn perked up his dark ears and slowly crossed his arms. \"That's a lot of  \nirony. I don't mean to be vain, but I think I could qualify as your 'best  \nfriend'.\" He bunny-eared the last two words, with a smirk that showed off his  \nteeth. \"Is it any dog?\"  \n  \nI gulped down the last of the water, then set the glass by the sink. \"Well,  \nyeah.\" No, not really, John. Just your kind of dog. \"I see.\"  \n  \nHaving second thoughts about the empty glass, I filled it up a little more and  \ngulped it down. \"Maybe I was just kind of winded or something.. I feel a bit  \nbetter.\"  \n  \n\"So how do you go through life being afraid of dogs? We've known each other  \nsince school. Didn't you even work for a dog?\"  \n  \nI gritted my teeth together. John was not a 'mean' person, but he could be coy,  \nmocking, and predatorily conversational. Didn't I work for a dog, indeed.  \n\"Notice the past tense? I don't know, it's just one of those things. Since I was  \na kid.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; John quirked an eyebrow. \"So what's the scary part? How they look?\"  \n  \nI shook my head.  \n  \n\"Hmm. Maybe, it's how they move...\" John had been half-pacing, and slowed it  \ndown. It wasn't idle meandering now, but the stalk of a wild animal looking for  \nsomething to eat. \"How they look at you?\" He stared, and I had to look away. I  \nkept looking back, to see if he was staring, but I remembered something my mom  \ntold me - never stare at a dog. Maybe I'd stared at one and learned my lesson  \nthat way, I don't remember.  \n  \n\"John, you're nuts.\" I tried to chuckle, but it didn't help, and it didn't stop  \nhis advance. A slow, determined click of a boot heel on the tile, the faint  \nnoises of his clothes, slow breathing, teeth getting bared. \"Hey. Are you on  \nsomething? You're the clubber, not me, and uh.\" He was backing me up against the  \nsink! \"Maybe, it's that you can't tell what a dog's going to do, maybe they're  \nunpredictable, nice and pettable blokes, then suddenly-\"  \n  \nHe snapped his teeth and I flung my arms out, flinging the glass on the counter  \nover onto its side, rolling to hit the shiny toaster with a bang. Water streamed  \nover the counter. \"Shit! What the-\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Oh, the look on your face was priceless. Maybe, you're just scared of people  \nwho do this,\" John grinned, and bent over, quickly starting to lick up. John was  \na surprisingly proper person, maybe even a stick up the ass type, no doubt  \nsomething to do with his clipped British high society accent when he didn't let  \nhis London take over. When he let out his wild side, the two mixed in pure  \nhorror movie.  \n  \nI leaned on the counter, body vibrating with panic. Not the anxiety kind, but  \nthe sudden flash. I picked up the glass and dumped it in the sink, saving an ice  \ncube to chew on. \"Hey, that's for fours, you look pretty silly....\"  \n  \n\"Maybe hybrids like playing up their animal sides.\" He leaned on the Maybe with  \nthe snorting growl most hybrids used for an M. I was slowly creeping past my  \nirrational terror into amusement. \"I recall you saying you find them a little..  \nunsettling. Maybe you just need to know a bit more. You never really ask  \nquestions.\"  \n  \nI snapped the cube in half, getting one of John's dog-ears to perk up. \"Well,  \nokay. I-\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Now, chewing on ice cubes, that's evidence of sexual frustration.\"  \n  \n\"Sexual frustration? I mean I broke up with my girlfriend almost half a year  \nago... kind of. Well, kind of broke up, but we're split now. Yeah, I guess I'm  \nfrustrated.\" The blush of realized embarrassment in my ears came just before he  \nspoke.  \n  \n\"That's not what I mean.\" John turned his stare on me again, a little smirk on  \nhis dark snout. Smiling dogs have teeth. My flush froze cold. \"Are you sure  \nyou're actually afraid of dogs?\"  \n  \n\"What? It's, it's a phobia, it's not fear. Fear is the unknown, phobias are uhm,  \nyou know. They're irrational. I can't help it.\"  \n  \nThat swirling vortex of impending doom started to pick up. Bluntly, John fucked  \nguys while I fucked girls. \"You think I want to fuck dogs?\" I had to laugh,  \nbecause it was funny. Funny like when someone gets shot.  \n  \n\"When you're scared of something long enough,\" John said, slowly stalking me  \ndown again, individual body parts moving very human, whole self moving like a  \ntrained guard dog, until he was nearly breathing on my face. \"Maybe you start to  \nturn it around, you know?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; A lot of things went through my head very fast. The fact that I was single, that  \nI'd been single for over half a year, that my girlfriend had left me for random  \nshit, left me to be a buddhist, that I'd always wondered, that maybe I was  \nattracted to the thing I was afraid, and that the attraction would certainly  \nexplain Sean. I closed my eyes and tuned out the real threat, seeing if the one  \ninside was just as bad. Sean had been my boss at my previous job. I'd left  \nbecause of him. He was a big german shepherd from Louisiana who walked around in  \na white collared shirt loosely buttoned, black slacks and cowboy boots. Laid  \nback but always up for a confrontation. I was always ready to snap right back,  \nand I did, until I finally lost it at a meeting and he forced me to come out  \nwith what had my panties in a bunch. Imagine telling your coworkers that you  \nwere afraid of dogs and that's why you were always flipping out in your boss's  \nface. I didn't last long after that. I quit on my own to save face.  \n  \n\"Well, I didn't expect so much thought on the matter,\" John said, and slid back  \nfrom dog-about-to-snap into casual-hip-cocked smarmy British fop. \"There's no  \nplace like home, Dorothy.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"What?\" My face burned up. \"Jesus, John-\"  \n  \n\"Is that how you keep from getting an erection? Thinking of god? I always  \nthought I was slightly biblical you know, the name..\" He swept up the glass from  \nthe sink, opened the dishwasher, and plunked it inside. Once again, he had  \ncompletely turned the conversation, eradicating whatever had been going on in my  \nhead. He turned on a heel and headed out of the kitchen. \"I think this  \ndiscussion needs to go somewhere more appropriate.\"  \n  \nI stood and looked between the sink, the fridge, the cupboards, the living room,  \nthe hallway John had disappeared into. I didn't know whether I wanted to say  \nsomething by following, or say something by trying to leave.  \n  \nI followed, blood starting to pound in my ears like I was 15 again. John was  \nstanding inside his bedroom, barely visible except as a devil-horned shadow. He  \npaused for me, then stepped up and shut the door. Aside from moonlight, it was  \nblack.  \n  \n\"Wait-\"  \n  \n\"There are other reasons to close the door than to trap you in my bedroom.\" John  \nflicked on some lights, the room slowly glowing in red, then orange, then slight  \nyellow, then green, blue, purple, and back again. The pattern then slowed down  \nto an almost imperceptible pulse. \"Light from the hall kills the mood.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; His room was like the rest of the apartment - expensive, careful, and angular  \nmasculine. \"It's nice. Colorful. \" As I spoke, John inverted his black shirt off  \nover his head. \"It kind of, uh, it colors you, like you're that salt and pepper,  \nstone and charcoal, but this makes you...change.\"  \n  \n\"I figured a painter would appreciate it. Now, it's your turn. Wouldn't want to  \nbe overdressed, would you?\"  \n  \n\"Did I agree to something?\" My voice was very small. \"I don't think I agreed to  \nanything. I don't even know why you think.\"  \n  \n\"Adrian..\" John leaned forward and started undoing the buttons of my shirt, the  \ndusk red light slowly fading into blood orange, then sunrise. \"As your arch  \nnemesis, I have many powers, such as detecting the smell of human sexual  \narousal. Quite frankly, you stink right now.\"  \n  \nMy brain tried to assemble everything together. Hardly my nemesis, dogs and  \nstink, all the nonsense John usually said serving to distract me from the fact  \nthat those black-nailed gray fingers were sliding in to lift my shirt off.  \nDuring a panic attack, the world drained out around me - but for those few  \nseconds, I felt like I was the one spinning slowly down. \"I think I'm, I  \nthink...\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Mmm, maybe you should lie down. Here, I'll do it first, so you only have to  \nfollow.\" John tossed himself into bed, boots and all, on his side, then his  \nback, then his other side, then rolled to adjust the pillows, then propped  \nhimself up arms behind his head. He patted the sheets next to his hips.  \n  \nI didn't know what to do, so I stood and stared for what seemed like an hour.  \nJohn looked like an animal. Most hybrids I'd seen had little or no body fat,  \nwhich sounds better than it was - seeing short guardhair covering a human body  \nfull of insertions and sinew is more than unnerving. At the same time, he looked  \ngood. Really good. He looked like a three course dinner after a week-long fast.  \n  \n\"You know, Adrian, you tell me things all the time. You've asked about what it's  \nlike, you've told me some of the things you did with Sandy. Let her do to you-\"  \n  \n\"Fine.\" I sat down, stripping off the boots, then pants, leaving only boxers.  \n\"Who am I kidding?\" I wanted to say I'd never thought anything about John, but  \nit was only half true. I tried not to, I tried to think around him like you  \nignore the elephant in the living room. Maybe I even had all those issues with  \nthe big male shepherd, Sean, maybe maybe maybe maybe....  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I leaned back and let everything collapse around me, the second wave of crashing  \nrelief. Experience enough boiling fear and when you come down, you'll do  \nanything. I felt along the sheets, watching the ceiling slowly change colors.  \n\"Is this satin?\"  \n  \n\"Something like that. Isn't it nice?\"  \n  \nI answered the question by groping along the smooth, dark surface. It was a  \ngrayed purple, or a purpled gray, an unusual color. Not very male.  \n  \nJohn took my hand and lifted it up, planting it on his chest. I slumped down  \nagainst the sheet, feeling his heartbeat, the warmth of my own hand, the  \nradiance from his body under the fur. I'd only had my hands on another guy once  \nbefore, and it had nothing to do with sex. It'd been at camp, during an  \nexcercise where you had to walk in the footprints of others. I'd been holding  \nthe shoulders of one of my camp friends, and it was a startling sensation. Very  \ndifferent than a girl. This was ten times that.  \n  \n\"I can tell you like this, and not just from your scent,\" John whispered, the  \nsound like a paper growl. His fingers slid over my bare stomach, manicured nails  \ngliding, then dragging, then gliding over the skin. It made me want to flinch  \nand curl up into a ball, or sneeze. Then he grabbed me through the shorts. \"I  \ncan tell you really like this. Have you been with a man before?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"I don't think so,\" was what came out, so unsure that I couldn't even make a  \nstraight answer.  \n  \n\"Glad I can help you take care of all your never's all at once.\" John lunged for  \nmy crotch and I panicked so hard I saw spots. I stared as he got my cock in  \nbetween his teeth, growled, and then started to lick balls to tip. I guess part  \nof me was terrified, while the other part was so aroused I not only didn't go  \nhalf-mast, but started to drool down onto the waistband of my boxers. His tongue  \nfelt good. Velvet, warm, and not at all like the rough slap of an  \noverenthusiastic... dog.  \n  \nJohn slowly crawled over to straddle me, tongue leaving my swollen meat to lick  \nup the trough of my abs, over the side of my ribs, up my chest, up the side of  \nmy neck, up the line of my jaw, teeth finally grazing and tugging my ear. \"Taste  \nyourself,\" he growled, fingers slowly tugging my shaft, as he nudged my head  \nstraight up and started to lick into my mouth. He'd have licked my lips if I  \nhadn't been staring gape-jawed ahead. I could taste breath spray, vodka, and  \nsalt. My ears burned as I realized the new taste was my own pre-spunk. \"And kiss  \nback, unless you think I have a thing for a corpse.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I didn't know what to do! I didn't know how to kiss someone whose tongue was as  \nlong as my hand, who had teeth that could bite down to the bone of my thigh. I  \nprobed back at his tongue, slightly at first, more and more urgent as his  \nfingers left my dick and replaced them with the grind of his still-clad crotch.  \nSomehow I got my hands on him, as I began to grow short-winded from crushing him  \nagainst my own chest. The experience was turning into a blur, or rather a series  \nof disconnected events. One minute we were kissing hard, John growling and  \nlicking into my mouth, the next his crotch was in my face, the leather flecked  \nwith the slime from my own cock. I licked it off, feeling around the backs of  \nhis thighs, holding onto the hard slabs of his rump, until John huffed. \"Oh,  \njust take it out already.\"  \n  \nI fumbled around, his black-nailed fingers doing the job for me. Oh god, it was  \nan animal cock! I was so startled by how it looked, veiny and purplish, swollen  \nand missing the typical fat head, an obscene bulge at the base. It was so wrong  \nto have that inches from my face that I just had to shove my head forward and  \nstart to lick the salty skin as it started spitting onto my tongue, sucking hard  \nand loud. It was gone almost before it started.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Answer the question.\"  \n  \nI looked up at the dog's face, the light turning to a deep purple, lighting the  \nfur around most of his head, leaving his snout as a charcoal shadow. \"What?\"  \n  \n\"I said, have you ever been fucked? With anything, I mean I assume... well I  \ndon't know what I assume, Sandy could have been into pegging for all I know.\"  \n  \n\"I did it once or twice, I guess I liked it.\" My eyes went to saucers when the  \nreason for his question sunk in.  \n  \n\"Want to do it again? I don't think you have to worry about any bugs, you know.  \nI'll help you relax..\" John's fingers were stroking my face, my neck, my chest,  \nmy stomach, pulling my boxers down to my ankles, tossing them over onto the  \nfloor as a red-lit streak through the air.  \n  \nJohn moved my legs around, spread them apart and urged me to pull my knees up. I  \npanicked for a moment, thinking he was going to just go right at it. Instead,  \nsomething warm and wet started to stroke my asshole. It didn't feel like  \nanything I assumed would be stroking there, sometimes pressing in enough to give  \nme a guttural sensation that I can't put into words except as, 'fuck me'....  \nsometimes trying to push through the muscle, other times just stroking around  \nthe rim. Then I heard the sound, the soft slap of tongue. \"No way, no way. No  \nway you're licking my ass.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"You like it, don't you? I can feel you... it's this kind of eager twitch,\" John  \nsaid, ears between my legs turning into his whole face, a dog looking up from  \nthe food bowl. \"I'll be gentle.\"  \n  \nI'd seen dogs fuck... fours, not hybrids. I couldn't imagine it being gentle. \"I  \nguess I can try,\" I whispered. John started to root for something at the  \nnightstand, finding a pump container of lube and applying it to his palm, then  \nthat monstrous cock.  \n  \n\"Breathe nice and slow.\" John kneeled between my legs, one of his hands slowly  \nstroking and pumping the skin back and forth over my cock. The distraction  \nworked, because I barely noticed the pressure against my ring until he popped  \nin. It wasn't at all like when Sandy had used one of her toys on me - for  \nstarters, there wasn't that initial hugeness, just a good portion of the shaft  \nstraight through the hole. I coughed and grabbed John by the wrist, his body  \nfreezing.  \n  \n\"No no, you can... it doesn't really hurt. You can do more.\" It hurt alright,  \nbut as soon as he started moving, the pain receded, replaced with that  \ngut-opening feeling with no words.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; At first, I felt purely connected, moving with him slowly, that thick length  \npractically sliding out, then driving in so deep that he literally couldn't go  \nfarther, bumping against my holes. John didn't thrust like a porn star, like a  \nshowoff. He had my legs held back and was hunched over, nearly drooling on my  \nface. It was an astonishing experience, nothing like the first time that I'd  \ngotten a handjob, a blowjob, or given a girl a good fucking. It wasn't even like  \nthe time with Sandy and her toy; that was clinical and unsettling. This was  \nintense and hot and so primal, feral, animal.  \n  \nThen the experienced turned inside out, my brain dissociating. I could hear  \neverything, the wet-meat sound of his cock filling and emptying me, John's heavy  \nbreathing and growls, the click of his teeth together, the slap of his tongue, a  \ncreak in the bed frame somewhere, the rustle of body parts against the sheets.  \n  \nThe feeling of his cock plowing into me kept getting more and more intense until  \nI realized I was clenching up and couldn't help it. \"You're going to come,  \naren't you? Give me your hand.\" John breathed, right down into my ear. He took  \nmine off his shoulder and led it down between my legs, where it met the wet heat  \nof his cock, where it flared into a knob at the base. \"Pull. Just do it, while I  \nfuck you, while you get off.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I worried about whether I'd pull that huge thing into me, but it wouldn't even  \nstart to spread me apart. John's lips curled back like he was going to snap and  \ntake off part of my face, the shock of seeing such a bestial thing sending me  \nover the edge, my seed spraying out all over my face, the pillows behind me, the  \nheadboard. The sound that came out of John's mouth was horrible and perfect, a  \ndog yowl and a heavy human grunt at once, and I could barely tell something was  \nhappening inside, a warmth appearing and disappearing. After a good half minute  \nor so, John groaned and slumped down on top of me, licking my face clean, his  \nshaft sliding out as easy as it went in.  \n  \nI wasn't really sure what'd happened. Looking back, it was so abrupt and  \nintense, disconnected and head-swimming, that for a few moments of staring at  \nthe ceiling I thought that I'd been lying harmlessly on my back all along.  \n  \n\"You know...\" John said, his voice a low, lazy growl, \"You don't have to sleep  \nhere or anything. I won't mind if you just leave. But, you may have a sleeping  \ndog curled up next to you in a few minutes, if you stay.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"That's okay.\" A pang of complete terror swelled and then shrunk back, leaving  \nme slightly breathless and glad I was lying in a comfortable bed. John reached  \nover and fiddled with a wall switch, the room lights slowly fading out to black,  \nleaving just moonlight through the window.  \n  \nI hadn't decided whether or not to sleep, so my body took care of the problem  \nand put me under for an hour or so. I snapped back from sleep and couldn't  \nreturn. John was fast asleep, breathing slow and deep, the heavy huff of a  \nbreathing animal.  \n  \nMinutes passed, becoming an hour by the alarm clock on the nightstand. I started  \nto feel the tight chest and creeping doom of a panic attack, and slid out of the  \nbed as silently as I could.  \n  \nJohn was still wearing his pants, the fly open on the black leather, cock  \nthrobbing hard as he slept and faintly twitched in a dream. His boots were still  \non, knotted up in the sheets. He must've had a hard day. If I was a woman I  \nwould have been upset that he went out like a light, but it was comforting that  \nI didn't have to lie there and talk.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I managed to put my clothes on as silently as I got out of bed, and was nearly  \nout the door when I heard a low voice. \"Leaving?\"  \n  \nThe panic swelled, sweat starting to drool out my pores. \"I... I'm starting to  \nfeel screwed up again, and I can't sleep.\"  \n  \n\"Mmm. That's okay.\" John rolled over and stretched, joints popping in series. \"I  \nenjoyed that. I hope you did. Maybe you didn't, if you feel bad.\"  \n  \n\"No, I'm pretty sure I did. I can't control how I feel. It's no problem.\"  \n  \nJohn's eyes were momentary glints of light, then closed with a long sigh. I  \ncarefully shut the door and made a beeline for the couch, swiping up my coat and  \nthrowing it on, collar undone. I made sure the VIP pass was still on my neck,  \nand tried to get out of the complex.  \n  \nEvery second I wasn't in my car became a bigger urgent moment, until I was  \nsprinting through the parking lot, chirping the lock and bounding into the jeep.  \nThe inside was a momentary respite, a piece of true comfort that I clung to as I  \nwound my way out of The Woods.  \n  \nIt was two in the morning, the highway nearly deserted as I drove home. I stayed  \nfar away from other cars, twitchy about the chance of a drunk driver. I clung to  \nevery instant of road and tree flashing by in the headlights, forcing every  \nmoment of the encounter out of my mind. The trip became another escalating ride  \nof urgency, until I was stomping up the stairs to my walkup and bursting inside.  \nThe comfort came again, this time without letting up. The night's events  \nreplayed in my head like I had a movie running.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The creeping panic was replaced by the explosion of inspiration, the vision of  \nJohn the Shepherd half-naked and unconsciously erect in bed, sheets tousled  \naround him. A sleeping dog on the rug, a shameless man worn down after a hard  \nday, both superimposed at once.  \n  \nI had to capture it, slapping a big pad of paper down and washing it with black  \ncharcoal. When John said I was a painter, he was mostly right. Technically, it  \nwas mixed media, since I would often start with charcoal and pastel, then burn  \nin true intense color with acrylic or impressionistic watercolor washes. I  \nwasn't going to paint anything at the moment, just render the scene in my head.  \nAfter the big square of black came the eraser, tearing away everything that  \nshould have been light, then anything I could find nearby blending and smudging,  \ncharcoal stick broken and used for the lines.  \n  \nAt art school, one of my teachers said I looked like a madman when I worked,  \nbrow furrowed hard, sweating and grumbling to myself, fingers flitting from  \nspace to space. I worked with what I used because I didn't have to make a simple  \nconnected series of lines, I could just attack everywhere at once and get a  \npicture.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; A few touches of purple and the piece was done. Rough-cut and masculine,  \nsmoothly blended for midtone, the sleeping Belgian shepherd was now a work of  \nsome kind of art. I hated photography, since I wanted to see things the way I  \nremembered them and not the way they really were. John was now immortalized as a  \nharmless sleeping dog, not the sexual beast he was as he mounted me.  \n  \nLooking at the picture, I tried to figure out what I'd been afraid of. There was  \nnothing in him that was terrifying. It was only in me. Now I could sleep, head  \ndown on my arms on the drafting table, the endorphin rush of completion and lack  \nof panic knocking me right out.  \n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"The Woods","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/12671-something-new.json"}}