Nevyn on Zoophilia
G.T.
The Answer, by Nevyn
The Question was "What's it like being a zoophile?" I had to stop and think
about this. What IS it like, having animals for lovers; preferring to have a
relationship - emotional, physical and spiritual - with a dog in preference
to a human?
Before I try to answer that question, understand that the answer I give will
be my answer alone, and probably won't reflect the opinions or feelings of
other zoos. Some background about myself may give an insight into the 'Why'
(if there is such a thing) or the rationalizations behind some of my
thoughts.
Firstly I'll define what I mean by "zoo" A Zoophile is literally someone who
has sexual relations with an animal. That kinda globally covers everything,
including using an animal for sex the same way you might use a horse to pull
a plow, or outright rape. My personal definition is someone who treats their
animal the way they would treat a human partner: with love, respect,
tenderness. Everything a married couple could expect from their partners. I
like to think that I fall into this category.
I was born in New Zealand, in a rural district on a dairy farm. It was a
very small community - population 150. And most of those would have been
relatives of my (large) family. The school catered for children aged from
five to thirteen years. While I was there the school roll fluctuated between
11 to 24 pupils in total. One teacher. For what it's worth, I was top of my
class - of four.
So... we have a young, intelligent potential Zoophile on a farm in the
middle of nowhere. Surely he must have been out bonking the cattle at every
opportunity, right? Unfortunately not. My family shifted from the farm into
a nearby city when I was t hirteen, just when things would have been getting
interesting for a lad being ravaged by puberty. The farm animals were no
more objects of possible sexual interaction to me than they would have been
to anyone my age. The closest I would have been to sex ual interplay with
the farm animals would have been the one occasion when a young calf suckled
briefly on my dick. I can't remember the actual events leading up to that,
but I remember not enjoying the experience. And one or two times I vainly
attempte d to jerk off one of our neutered male house cats. No real reason.
I think I just wanted to see if they could orgasm.
It was in high school where I discovered a terrible truth. I was one of the
bright pupils in the school. Without doing a jot of homework, I breezed
through School Certificate and University Entrance exams. I don't know what
the American equivalents ar e, but whatever are the normal qualifications
for a 15 and 16 year old to achieve, I did. With Honors.
In high school I had absolutely no sexual contact with animals. Or humans,
for that matter. Because I had no contact with the girls at the local
Catholic Girls school, I was labelled faggot. To be honest, I had several
sisters with whom I was constan tly at war, and so didn't especially like
girls anyway.
My academic results were excellent. Socially, I bombed out completely. So I
left school as soon as was decently possible.
At around age 19, I moved into a house with one of my high- school friends.
As we were both unemployed, we used to spend a lot of time wasting time and
doing silly things. One of the less silly things that my friend did was to
purchase a Labrador bitch puppy for a pet, as he had been brought up with a
dog who had recently died of cancer. I was totally captivated by this puppy.
My family had never owned dogs, so bringing up a puppy was such a novelty.
In fact, I was so impressed that I decided to get a puppy of my own. A
German Shepherd dog.
I honestly can't remember if I bought the dog with a view to possible sexual
contact or not. I don't think I did. But I loved this dog HUGELY, and used
to take him with me everywhere I could. We used to go walking at 2:00am for
miles. He used to sleep on my bed with me, and I trained him to do all sorts
of clever tricks.
I also started to jerk him off. I don't really know why; it just seemed at
the time to be a natural extension of our relationship together. He liked
it, when I finally started doing it correctly, and I liked doing it for him.
Changing jobs and circumstances took me to Auckland, and a rapid succession
of accommodation changes. One very intense period of my life was spent at a
rented house.
It was in this flat that my relationship with my German Shepherd
intensified. It's kind of ironic that people often confront me with 'animal
consent' type of arguments when condemning bestiality. I say this because of
the way I first experienced the ple asure of being mounted by a dog. I was
in the habit of having a shower in the evenings, and then going straight to
bed without getting dressed. One particular evening, I had to make the bed
so I was doing that in the nude. As I was working - bending over to tuck in
the sheets and blankets - I noticed that my Shepherd was getting quite
excited and aroused. Finally he made an attempt to mount me while I was bent
over. This intrigued me. I don't know if I'd even considered having him
mount me before this. So I encouraged him and eventually (after attempts
over several days) we got it right, and he screwed me. This seemed to be
another natural progression in our relationship. And we were both in
paradise. Often.
Also while I was at this flat, I purchased another puppy, a Saint Bernard
bitch. There were two main reasons for getting her. The reason I told
everyone was that her mellowing influence would reduce the aggressive
tendencies in my dog. The second reas on, which I didn't tell anyone, was
that I wanted to have sexual intercourse with a bitch.
Throughout all this I had a fairly ordinary (if somewhat complex) series of
relationships with human partners, both male and female. Eventually I moved
into my own house. Here I settled down into a nice pattern of living. I had
a good job, a roof over my head that one day would be mine own, and all the
sex I could eat. I decided, therefore, that I should like to spend the rest
of my life living as a bachelor with my dogs.
Shortly after this internal mental declaration, I met the woman who would
become my wife.
Now in theory (and on TV), life from this point onwards should have become
the "And they lived happily ever after" part. But reality is never quite so
simple. We split up after two years of marriage. During those two years,
separate incidents took both my dogs from me.
My aggressive German Shepherd attacked a child, and the child needed
stitches in his leg. This is as good as a death sentence for a dog in New
Zealand. I was fortunate in that I knew the dog ranger involved, and I
managed to get the sentence reduced to having my dog relocated to work for a
security firm in another city. I helped them put my dog into the rangers
van. Then I turned away because I couldn't bear to watch the sight of my
first lover being taken away. And I cried. For a week I cried. The song
"Unchained melody" by The Righteous Brothers still makes me sad. It was
playing on the radio at that time. And I do still hunger for his touch.
I wasn't a very pleasant person to live with for a while after that.
Depressed and bleak. But my wife helped me through it, and I still had my St
Bernard bitch.
Life, I think I have pointed this out before, is a twisty-turny thing. Just
as I was recovering from the untimely departure of my German Shepherd, my St
Bernard started to become ill, and went off her food.
I guess I suspected she wasn't well, but the event that made me take her to
the vet for a check up was when she had a convulsion. I suspect she had
other convulsions when I wasn't around, but this was the first I had
witnessed. And it scared the bejes us out of me. Xanth lay on her side with
her legs locked stiff, her face was contorted into a rictus, and she was
champing her teeth so I was fearing for her tongue. As she spasmed, she
urinated uncontrollably. I phoned my vet in a panic, and he told me to watch
her and keep her company. So I sat with her until the spasm passed, and for
about an hour afterwards. She was very distressed when she regained control
of her body.
When I took her to the vet, he took several blood tests and discovered she
was dangerously low in calcium. So we put her on a high dosage calcium
supplement and for awhile she improved. Meanwhile the vet had discovered
that Xanth had a congenital kidney disease that was causing her high blood
toxicity. All too soon, Xanth lost her appetite and started to waste away
again. My wife and I tried to bring her appetite back up by trying every
brand of dog-food on the market. We cooked her special treats and meals. But
she still slowly wasted away. If you could have seen the comparison between
the healthy glowing animal she was, and the frail, thin creature I took back
to the vet, you would have cried.
I remember standing in the vets office as he explained what he could try
next to increase her appetite and get her eating again. Then it kinda hit
me. I asked him if we were curing her, or just prolonging the inevitable. He
said that basically there w as no hope for her. So I calmly told him that I
would like to have her euthanased.
I sent my wife to wait for me in the waiting room, and I held onto Xanth
while the vet injected the lethal drug. The drug was bright blue, and I
remember thinking that nothing that color could be good for you. Then Xanth
got very heavy in my arms, a nd I realized she was dead. Just like that.
And I lowered her gently to the floor, still caressing her head. And I
cried.
My wife comforted me, and drove me back to our house. I thought I was O.K.,
and then I burst into tears in the kitchen and couldn't stop crying. I
didn't have any idea how much I loved Xanth until she was gone.
I was depressed for a long time. My work was suffering and my relationship
with my wife was suffering. People I knew would make comments that on the
surface were quite harmless, but cut me deeply - "You got rid of one of your
dogs, didn't you?", and "Look, it was only a dog. You'll get over it!"
After I found myself idly wondering how I'd commit suicide (just as an
intellectual exercise, you understand), I realized that something had to be
done. Finding a psychologist in this city proved an awful lot harder than I
was expecting. Eventually my doctor referred me to a free counselling
service.
I found it surprisingly easy to talk to the counsellor. Eventually I told
him of my sexual relationship with Xanth. I have to confess that I was
expecting him to denounce me and wheel out a straight-jacket. But he
surprised me by declaring happily that THAT was the reason I was so feeling
so damned rotten. I hadn't lost a dog, I had lost a lover! And I couldn't
express that pain to my friends because of the social taboo. Even my wife
couldn't fully comprehend the extent of the loss I had suffered. So I was
being forced to carry the pain of my loss all alone.
That man saved my sanity, and possibly my life. A week later I saw him
again, but the session was short. I didn't really need him anymore. I had my
loss back in perspective and my pain under control.
I can't even begin to put into words all the happy memories I have of her,
and the love I had for her. I know there was nothing I could have done to
save her life, but I DO know I could have made her quality of life better,
and I regret that I learned t hat lesson after her death.
Eventually I purchased two new dogs. Two male Great Dane puppies. They are
the dogs I still have now.
O.K., so that is the background. Sorry, I didn't mean to make it an
autobiography. But I hope it has illustrated that I never made a conscious
decision to become a zoophile. It kind of found me and happened without my
consent.
So back to the question:- What's it like to be a 'Zoo'? I suspect it's an
awful lot like being 'straight'. I've had relationships with people - male
and female - and with my dogs. And I've been most comfortable in the
relationships with my dogs. So I choose them.
How do I feel about being a zoophile? Well, my sexual preference is illegal.
And the general public opinion is that bestiality is lumped in with
paedophilia and necrophilia as things that are gross, perverted, only
performed by VERY sick people, and best not talked about. So VERY few of my
friends are aware that I have sex with my dogs. In fact, very few people
even know that I am bisexual. There is still quite a lot of social stigma
attached to homosexual relationships in New Zealand.
So it's something I really can't talk about. I couldn't express how bad I
felt about losing my two previous lovers, or how great I felt when I got my
two new puppies. It makes me feel very lonely sometimes.
But what really cuts me to the heart is that I know I am going to outlive my
lovers. Several times over. A dog has a life span of nine to eleven years,
perhaps a little longer depending on the breed. So I know that I'm going to
watch my lovers die several times over. That is something most 'straight'
people will never have to be concerned about.
Still, I have two lovers. They care about me, and are always pleased to see
me. I care about them immensely. We sometimes sit for hours just basking in
each others company.
What's it like to be a zoo?
Wonderful.
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by Nevyn