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SUZETTE

Dreamed 1981/2/20, ink 1981, digital color 2001, couple sketched 2004, by Chris Wayan.

When I was about fourteen, one of our cats got run over. His brother got depressed and drifted gradually off to find a happier home. I understood the feeling. I was sickly and miserable there and wanted to drift off myself.

Our parents, wanting a pet, got a dog on a trial basis for a few days--a small grayhound or large whippet named Suzette. I thought she was very beautiful, both her graceful body and sensitive slightly sad gentle aura. But not just beautiful in an abstract sense--I felt sexually attracted to her. I see mostly energy, and all sorts of sleek, gentle creatures attract me--in fact I often get confused what species I'm seeing. I've found myself talking to mares with nice auras, forgetting they can't speak English...

So I had a crush on Suzette, but as if she were a girl or I were a dog; I can't explain it any better to you humans with your clear, material borderlines.

One day I was home all day with a mild cold. We were alone. She was deep in her first heat. She clawed at the door and moaned to be let out so she could get laid. I shared the feeling. She was so beautiful and lonely, and wanted sex so much--I kept imagining fucking her, I came so close to trying... For years I pictured endless sex with her--always ending with my parents walking in, catching me fucking the dog. I've often thought it'd have been worth it even then: they couldn't have dismissed THAT with "he's just shy."

My parents decided against keeping Suzette, thought she'd be too much trouble. They didn't know how much.

Years later, I dreamed of a line drawing of me, dancing, naked, on all fours. But in the dream, I thought "something's missing." So I redrew it with a huge erection. "No," I thought, "that's not quite it... Ah!" Inspired, I redrew it again. Now the picture was an elegant line drawing of me fucking a large, beautiful dog... Suzette.

dreamlike painting of boy having sex with dog
Then I realized the picture was finished already, and matted, and framed elegantly, and hanging on a wall... A wall in a ritzy art gallery near Stanford, California.

And then hands reach up and take it off the wall. The censors! The cops! My parents!

Not exactly. A young, well-dressed couple carry it up to the cashier. "Isn't this hot? We love it! We just redecorated--it's the perfect thing for our bedroom!"

Couple in a gallery admire a painting of human-dog sex.
Sold!

And with my worst fear under her arm, they walk out, hand in in, smiling, turned on... happy.



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