I fantasized about being a carefree, well-trained bitch. I didn’t share my fantasies with anyone. The truth is my desire to be a dog was more than a silly fantasy. I’d gone to counseling for a while, but it didn’t work out. He’d been out of graduate school for three or four years and couldn’t get his mind around the depth of my desire to be a furry canine. Later, I found comfort with other people who “got me.”
Men and women who shared my desire to leave normality behind. My connection with other furries made me happy. It was far better for my mental health than counseling. But even then, I slowly began to realize that my desire to surrender my girlhood in favor of a canine life was more extreme than most people, even those in the furry community. Then I met Paul.
He didn’t want to be a canine. He wasn’t a furry. But oh, he got me. We met at a convention. We connected immediately. We dated for six months before we got married. Paul didn’t want me to work. He set up cameras, so he could monitor me when he was at work.