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.
I don't know if I can go anywhere while my head is in the clouds. Maybe it would be easier if I knew other furries in real life, but I'm pretty isolated. So occasionally I do come around to that line of thought--that I'm distracting myself from accomplishing anything.
It's a path I myself took when I had entered a stage of stagnation and depression, relying on furry media in the silence of my room to pass my days. I scoped out friendly furs I knew online, saved up from various retail jobs, and moved out across the country, for better or for worse. It was a risk, and it could have very well ended in disaster. But I carefully calculated and shrewdly planned it out... And it was a risk I was willing take.
Fortunately in this case, it has been working out. It turns out a change in location, in climate, and real-life associates was and has been thus far exactly what I need. I can still enjoy what I enjoy, and I can still dream of the day when the fur flies free. And, above all, I am less unhappy--because I now live in a house with other people that not only can share my interests and dreams, but also help ease the burdens of reality, scrubbing away loneliness. The most important part: no longer having to go it alone. I feel better these days than I've ever felt since high school, a good seven years ago.
However... The decision and the willingness to invest the effort is all up to the individual. Even foxes will put forth effort on an endeavor they've set their noses to, be it prey or mateship.
How'd you manage?
True, my unpleasant experiences with neurotypical people (when I have Asperger's Syndrome) guided my decision to want to be physically, as well as mentally, different--but it's not something I can just blame the universe for--it's me who has wanted to be a person of a different species; to rebel against expectation.
I don't think there are any 'discoveries' I can make about my universe to change this fact. There haven't been any fictional werewolf tribes to make a blood pact with, or furry-like alien beings who can give me technological or spiritual enlightenment--nothing so simple. What I want is flat out at the bleeding edge of human awareness.
I'm haunted over whether it'll ever be real--if it has any 'right' to be real. That we could mingle our anatomy with that of other species; "sculpt" ourselves into the kinds of characters we depict in cartoons and comics, stories and visual art.
Many of our ancestors--hell, many people today--would find the notion abominable--or even ludicrous. That is my greatest fear.
In my childhood, I was a stranger to people who would not allow strangers. Simple as that.
if it helps, the instances of people like you and i showing up here seems to be increasing at a geometric rate. when i started this life it was one in fifty thousand. now it is one in fifty, a ten thousand percent increase, indicating an evolutionary trend of some sort. hold on just a little longer sweety, because this is all going to get really really interesting over the next couple decades. i feel honored to have the chance to see it happen, and even participate.
My... ideal world is far enough from reality that I would need help fitting in. I'm honestly not sure I belong 'anywhere' at this point.
It's hard for me to see a bright future. For awhile, I thought it was just me being cynical, but I'm starting to think I have a problem with pessimism altogether.
"No more?" "Never give in?"
It sounds like a good sell, that we never surrender--but it's also a good sell that we're all morally, qualitatively equal, or have the same potential given the same circumstances.
You'll find that a person born blind will never be able to have a color described to them, to your contentment, and it may become infuriating. I may very well be the same way when it comes to information processing... and even can-do spirit. Depression isn't just sadness; it's a neurochemical imbalance. Can it be corrected? No. Treated? Maybe. It can definitely be blamed on lifestyle choices, if that suits you--maybe it's how I'm eating or exercising. My life is not like other peoples'.
But let's steer away from defects of birth, for a moment. What about when someone has been destroyed--by peers, by teachers, by parents--and then by themselves? Both verbally berated, abused and ostracized via authority, and placed on medication to treat a misdiagnosis, in order to try and wallpaper over the problem--Is there not a point where you look at someone, and say they've been ruined beyond redemption?
It's that classic Nature versus Nurture argument. We may all be cut from the same clay (we aren't; genetics), but we've been sculpted by different hands, and fired in different kilns. Even recognizing the fact that I could try and change, it may be too late in the process to reverse the damage that's been done. Do I present myself in front of my peers, then, and be judged by their standards?
I would probably shoot some of the successful ones, in vindication, if I were badgered far enough about being weak. Poison them, even--attack a vulnerability they can't help but have. No amount of human virtue or physical conditioning can metabolize potassium cyanide.
Sorry... that's a cruel thing to picture... the absolute-most wretched part of my heart--but that's the irony of my situation--there's no forgiveness for me being me, beyond trying to be something else. I can make the effort, sure. Can't promise it'll be enough.
I am fighting a war to change myself; somehow... always. I simply cannot remain 'me'.