I don't know what compelled me to do this, on a Christmas evening, mind you, but I found myself stumbling upon the zoophile blog circuit and, against my better judgment, started clicking on link after link. Zoophiles, if you don't know, marry their pets, to put it in polite words. No way I am linking to their blogs because that will only draw a plague of dog-bangers and cat-shaggers onto my virtual home once they check their blog referrals, so you'll just have to trust me when I say that the following quotes are real and not created by me.
Even without full understanding, it doesn't make them or anyone else unable to consent to an act.
These folks can get really wordy when it comes to trying to explain why it is okay to stick it into the rear end of Chibi the Bulldog. Apparently a "woof" really means "yes" or something. Or the fact that those pigs running away from you when you open the pen door are actually trying to reenact a Bollywood mating ritual chase. I don't know. I'm not trying to pass (too much) judgment on such antics, but I find it odd that these people are trying to ascribe their relationship with Marianne the Crocodile to human psychology and behavior. Animals aren't humans and therefore are incapable of behaving or thinking like humans. It is not correct, therefore, to say that a dog will view sex in the same way as a man. Won't it be more easy (and convincing) to just admit up front that you like to pork a horse instead of trying to rationalize the horse as some kind of human trapped in horse form?
At around thirteen I came to find myself exclusively sexually attracted towards animals and not humans. But as the years went by, thanks to genetic predisposition from my father’s side, I became sexually addicted. An addiction and sexual attraction that was obviously against my Christian beliefs, but much more consciously important to me, was that my addiction was negatively affecting my relationships with animals on other levels.
Nothing beats a zoophile emo. Oh, the constant struggle to choose between a penis/vagina of human or horse variety!
Not too much longer after being reconnect to my wolven self, did I fall in love with a German Shepard named Windy.
Wolf and German Shepard. How did it go again?
"O Windy, Windy! wherefore art thou Windy? Deny thy genus and refuse thy species! Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Wolf."
I used to look at human porn and it just disgusted me, however when I looked at National Geographic, a particular picture of zebra became my first visual image in which I used to masturbate to.
I did a check and it seems that at the time of writing you can subscribe for a year of Playboy and they will toss in a free yearly subscription of Maxim at a few bucks less than the cost of a yearly subscription of National Geographic. But I suppose it is more dignified and even admirable to be seen with National Geographic, much less caught fapping to Mr Zebra in the school broom closet by the janitor.
I also found this website which sells "furry print services, supplies, and merchandises". Alas, the website is a brochure site with a single page that sheds no illumination as to what these supplies, services, and merchandises can be. Crotchless Barney the Purple Dinosaur outfits? I can only imagine. And no, I am too much of a chicken to look these things up in a search engine.
Oh, and bestiality is apparently not punishable by law in Arkansas, Alabama, Arizona, Colorado, Vermont, Texas, Ohio, West Virginia, and Wyoming. Now I know why there are sheep jokes about folks in some of these places. Hey, I may be wrong about some of these places, but that's what I get from following a discussion among a bunch of zoophiles as to which place in the USA is the best place to move to.