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This all went down sometime when I was going to high school in a northeastern part of Florida. I was seventeen, or eighteen, and had not yet met the influential alcohol, or drugs, part of my life yet. I was lucky. I knew that alcohol, and drugs, were bad, but not from first-hand experience. My things were sex, and Stephen King, and not in that order.

My parents had built a house on a ten-acre piece of land, in a town I will call, for the sake of anonymity, Blanton. A three bed (one used for an office), two bath (one master), one living, one breakfast nook, one kitchen, one dining room, a mudroom, and one hell of a front yard, and back yard. The place was _awes_kinds of shit. When the house was built, though, it was beautiful; I mean, the land. It was pure, and open, with a circlular lake in the middle of the front, and a good-sized dirt driveway down the right side. The house was real cool, and I mean air-conditioned, man. Self air-conditioned, you dig? A beautiful home. Out back, a gated backyard, and then, a little "farm" area, I guess you could say, for lack of a better word.

To be honest, this is the first time I have ever talked about this house in about twenty years, a long time. And, talking about the following experience to a mass audience? Never. I smirk now thinking about it. I wish I could talk about it at a campfire, with a bunch of hot furs, and not-so-hot furs under a gorgeous moonlight.

This is my story. In 1995 or about, my parents purchased, or borrowed, a horse named Poco. I know not what kind of horse it was, nor did it matter, nor does it matter. What matters is that it was a male horse, and it had that scent.

In none of my Stephen King books was bestiality ever mentioned. As far as I knew, Stephen King was a straight "vanilla" man, M/F. I, on the other hand, had already jumped the hurdle into sexual deviancy a long time ago. Go figure, for at 13, or so, my first view of sex came from the screen of a porn video at my stepcousin's house in Westfield, MA; I guess a 70's movie of a woman giving a man a blowjob, and the cum looked like mayonnaise (well, at least, that's the way I described it to my 7th grade classmates the following Monday).

I was about a junior in high school, and for the most part, innocent. I mean, I went to church every Sunday, was a "Born-Again" Christian, did very well in school, well-disciplined, and, for the most part, knew right from wrong. Like I said, my main dilemmas were sex, Stephen King, and edgy alternative music. I knew all the bands, and top albums: Bush, "Sixteen Stone"; The Smashing Pumpkins, "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness"; Alanis Morrisette, "Jagged Little Pill", back when musicians were, more or less, self produced, and did not read the record companies to give them musical ideas; the bands had their own ideas, and were just awesome.

I was also much into furdom, although I did not see it as such back then. To me, "furdom" was a block of reality in my mind, and today, still is. In 1995, my human comrades appeared to be less than ideal friends, and they were more or less out for themselves, in terms of intellectualism, morality, Christianity, popularity, and the like. To be accepted, I had the feeling that I would have to fend for myself, and furdom paradise seemed like an optional exit. I would not have to try too hard to be accepted. I was already cool. I was already myself, and natural. The furs in Disney movies, like "Robin Hood", and "The Fox and The Hound", were already genuine in their loving spirit, and natural. We were meant for each other.

The problem was, I had been receiving sexual satisfaction, and release, from my hand. It did not seem fair. Why was it that a guy who was so cool, and natural, in school, and who was well-liked, although was not invited to a lot of social activities, was still a virgin? I did not want the whole Christian image no longer. I wanted to step out, and be vibrant, and alive. I wanted a voice, an edge, and a claim to myself so I would have never to look again for what I was pursuing now, which was, well, something.

When it came to the opposite sex, my biggest dream was getting a blowjob in the men's room. Yeah, big ambitions. Southern girls, cheerleaders, and such, are pretty hot, and I wanted some. But, next to the studs on the football team, "cowboys", "real intellectuals" that were going to, like, the University of Florida, well, I kind of felt "left out". Sure, I was smart, and all, and was popular in a "in-school" kind of way, but I was not going to be receiving a blowjob in the bathroom anytime soon.

As far as being homosexual, I cannot ever remember considering that on a serious level. To be honest, I cannot ever remember even considering homosexuality as a valid option. It was not that I was closed-minded, or held any prejudices; I was sheltered, and had just been around straight sex all my life. Well, besides the porn movie, I had never been around any sex, besides my hand, and I.

Well, that's a whole different story. I had been masturbating since I was 14. Now, that was a delight. I discovered it my first winter in Florida, with the help of a soft, gentle, feather duster. Holy shit, I think I had tried to rub myself with it one time before in the bathroom, and it had felt so good. I remember rolling the sweet furry duster all over my fresh, pubescent cock that was planted firm as a rock inside my tight underwear, and how good, and how powerless I had felt against its sweet, sultry caresses. However, I don't believe it was until the second time that I had reached orgasm, and OMG. My stiff little dick was bouncing all around inside my tighty whities, and I came all over the feather duster. That sweet, cock-sucking feather duster was my girlfriend (or boyfriend) that night, and I had given it a zesty facial on my first orgasm over.

That was almost twenty-one years old. I'm old, an old fart, heh heh. Well, not quite, but I'm getting there.

Anyways, enough of the backstory.

So, my parents get this horse, and it's called Poco. I think it's a pretty fucking stupid name, and I want nothing to do with it. I don't even like horses. I think they're a bunch of bitches, because whenever I would try to pet them, they would run away, and I would think, Motherfuckers. My stepmother's brother, Dwayne, (I think he was the one who gave us the horse) had horses, and they would always turn from me, too, when I tried to be cool with them.

We also had three dogs, too: Lilly, and Baby, were both black Labradors, and Rosie, was kind of a mutt. My Dad thought she was kind of a Beagle/Golden Labrador mix. I loved my dogs. They were a never-ending source of amusement for me, with their funny doggie ways, and their own language. They were personal, and did not run away. Shoot, they would even sniff my crotch at times. Hell, maybe they wanted to suck my cock at times! That would have been a laugh (or a moan, or both!)

So, one afternoon, it was after school, and my parents had to go out somewhere. I forgot where (hell, it's been about twenty years.) Anyways, they were going to be gone for several hours, and, well, as of late, I had been thinking of doing . . . something.

You see, I had never had sex, besides masturbation. And, masturbation carries just so far. And, I had been wondering, well . . .

I couldn't do it with my dogs. I don't even think I had considered it, but if I had, I wouldn't. You see, they were the first dogs that I had ever trusted in my life, and they meant much to me. Sex just didn't seem fair to me, and them, together, if it had occurred to me in the first place (which it may have.)

Then, Poco.

High school is a dilemma already known. To ask a human being to have sex, and then rejection, well, shit. On the other hand . . .

My parents were gone, and Poco was in the fenced-in, farm area. I think it was a Tuesday, or Wednesday afternoon, and a nice, sunny one at that. Somehow, it should have occurred to me that what I was doing was homosexual, or deviant. I knew it was deviant, but gay? No, I was straight; I was just desperate . . . or was I? It didn't matter. I knew I needed attention, and now was the time of truth.

I don't remember taking off my shirt, or whatever. I know I had my clothes on, and I know I had left my dogs inside. They might have been watching me inside, thinking, WTF? I came around the left side to Poco, and I began to talk seductive to it, petting its' dirty brown fur, saying stupid shit, like "Hey, Poco", in real low voices. It's eyes were wide, and it's ears were perked. Petting it slow, I placed my hand to my nose, and smelled an amazing musk, such that I had never smelled before. I began to get a little stiff, but did not began to masturbate. It was Poco I wanted to please, and, if possible, make come inside me.

Now, why did I want Poco? I hated horses. Well, now that I think about it while I am writing, I think that's because I was doing it. I think, deep past my hatred, I did love him, as I loved horses, despite their constant negative response to me. At the time, I felt that maybe this was a very special way of showing my affections, a way that I could not show my classmates, for lack of possibility. I was a lone individual, however smart, and spiritual I was. No matter how "Born-Again" I was, I needed attention as bad as maybe my friend that I hated/loved so much did.

His cock came out of his sheath, and it was huge. I got envious, and wanted one as big as that. I think I thought "God gypped me." It may have occurred to me that humans get the short end of everything, while animals are gifted with the best. To hell with spiritual insight, intellect, and wisdom; what I wanted was sexual longevity, and the ability to have a fifteen-inch cock! I still think that God has screwed us!

The cock was dirty; I mean, it was caked with dry dirt, for it had not been washed. Yes, it was dirty, but it was long, and it looked tasty. It looked yummy to a young man who had never been someone's, or something's, whore before, and I was willing.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, or maybe it had been less than that, I worked my mouth around a few inches of it, sucking at it as best I could, on my knees. I forget every single second of the experience, if I moaned all the time, or said anything. I think once, or twice, I had to coax the cock out again from its' sheath. It never kicked me in the face, so I guess I was pleasing Poco somewhat good. I was happy, for sure. I was just hoping that my immediate lover was, as well.

Then, he walked off. Goddamn! I believe I went after him. Well, I know I did, but I don't think I tried to suck him off again. I relished in the experience, though. However, I was not finished, yet. Someone was coming, goddamnit, and it was going to be me, for chrissakes.

I took off what was, I am sure, my t-shirt, and walked up to one of Poco's sides, and commenced to rub my hands all over his sides, rubbing them heavy, and deep. I smelled them deep, and good, and they were solid, and ready for action.

I went about seventy feet, or so, off to my left, so that I was well-hidden. All the time, I was hoping my parents would not come back home, but I was pretty sure they would not. They had just left, and said they would not be back for a while. I had nothing too much to worry about.

Dropping my jeans, with one hand up to my nose to immerse my senses with incredible horse musk, I commenced to jerk off my already beautiful soldiered boner. What followed was just beautiful; whatever I had failed to give Poco, was what I gave myself. After just about a minute, and with Poco's own scent in my mind, and body, I orgasmed everywhere, splattering the ground around me, and my hand, and belly. I am pretty sure I thought Holy shit!

That is the story, and for what I can remember, is true, all of it. Ever since then, I have still wanted to do it again. It is such a shame that bestiality is such a problem in this goddamn country. I have gone on search engines, and checked up on search engines, and looked up sexual deviancy. Nothing but how it can be cured. I do not want to be cured of it. I like my sexual deviancy. It is me, and it is apparent that God, or Satan, wanted me this way. I like who I am, and I am thrilled that I can give a horse a thrill. I hope that, in the future, I can do it all over again.