Everyone get your furry checklist out.
My parents are both good Catholics; therefore, when it comes to pleasures of the flesh, their attitude has always been simple: there are no pleasures of the flesh.
Oh this would have been simpler if you had just followed them without question.
Also before you explore deep sexual issues in exacting detail I'd like to point out no one really cares who you bone or how you do it.
Unless it's kids. Then the FBI might care.
Or if you kill them afterwards, then the police might care.
Okay so under some specific instances, some people might care. But other than that, no one gives a shit.
It is the duty of every man to abstain from such things until he finds the one right woman, then do it with her (and only with her) for the purpose of reproduction, and that's about it.
You Catholics are smart. You knew the second you gave these freaks an inch they'd take a meter.
Any other arrangement, including doing it just because you enjoy doing it? In good Catholic fashion, you should feel guilty about it.
Hey, if it prevents mutants wearing fur suits posting endlessly about it on the internet, then it can't be a bad idea.
One of the greatest sources of happiness in my life came when I realised that this model didn't work for me at all, in any respect. When I was growing up, I never really understood what I had a body for ...
I'm not particularly familiar with Catholic dogma but what I am very familiar with is Warhammer logic, and I can tell you the Iron Hands space marines believed you had a body so you could purge the weakness out of it.
Needless to say, insane levels of conditioning and training and replacing of limbs with robotics ensued.
The answer came to me when I finally acknowledged to myself that I was interested in males, and "gave one a try".
Checking off "gay" on the official furry checklist.
Oh, they do exist, and they are definitely not to be avoided. Sex is a source of joy, not a duty to be shunned except when forced to do it. Why do we have bodies? So that we can share those pleasures freely with others.
Continuing with my space marine analogy (I have yet to meet anything that cannot be compared to space marines), this is the rhetoric of the Emperor's Children. Heretic.
And heretics are only good for one thing: burning.
Enjoy what your body can do! Let it bring others the same pleasures that it brings you! Savour how it feels to take yourself and a friend or two on a joyride, throttle wide open, loving the pleasure because pleasure, shared responsibly, is good and true and wonderful.
That is an image I will take to my grave. You on all fours in a fur suit with a "friend" behind you.
We had a friend over to the house, and he was a friend with whom there had been flirtation ... so both body and brain were eager to share with him, to translate those flirts into the sticky, panting, wake-the-neighbours conclusion that a good flirt should lead to.
Eww.
Ever since I was a tyke, animated canine characters have just enthralled me.
Check.
It is generally rather difficult to drag me out to see a movie, but animated? Canine? Characters? May I see it again? Please?
101 Dalmatians was the greatest movie ever made according to this logic.
I was the kid with the Dynomutt lunchbox, and I wanted to be him when I grew up.
In a way, I suppose I have ... just look at my LJ icon or my fursuit.
Yeah you're just like Dynomutt, except somehow you're even lamer.
That's how I see myself and how I choose to present myself to the world.
See guys, it's a lifestyle, not a sexual fetish!
Fuck you, friend. Being a furfag is a goddamn fetish. Don't get all high and mighty on me about this bullshit.
Maybe that's why animated canine characters fascinate, because it's the only time I can see actors on the silver screen who are like me, who drag me in because I can really see myself in them.
>animated canine
>actors
They may be fictional, but they're real to me.
All right I guess that's fair.
I also do have to admit that I have a soft spot for musicals.
No, stop! A gay guy, liking musicals? THIS SHIT IS UNBELIEVABLE.
My mate and I don't agree on our musical tastes ... pretty much whatsoever. When he moved into my apartment in 1997 and we went to consolidate the CD collections, we had exactly one CD in common (the soundtrack to Balto).
I'd like to point out he's using "mate" in the animal sense. I thought he was Australian at first, but no, he calls his boyfriend his "mate".
But we do listen to music the same way: obsessive-compulsively. Pick a song, listen to it. Like the song? Listen to it again. And again. And again. And again.
Pfft, who doesn't do that? You're not special.
So there I was, minding my own business ... OK, I was sitting at a red light waiting to turn left, at one of those intersections where there are two left turn lanes that feed into both lanes of the street you're turning into. The light changed to green, and I turned.
Oh man maybe it's today but I keep yawning. This really is boring as fuck.
To make a 21 (!) paragraph story short: a cop pulled over the wrong person.
One of the things that my folks do to challenge themselves during their off hours is to work the crossword puzzles in the local newspaper. When I'm visiting, I get sucked in.
Dad, working this particular puzzle solo for the moment, hollers from the dining room: "Patron saint of chastity!"
Saint Agnes. Holy shit you are the worst Catholics ever. Patron saint of lost causes? Saint Julian. Patron saint of the blind? Saint Cecilia. SHIT ISN'T THAT HARD, FOLKS.
Dad: "Patron saint of chastity."
Mom, after a split second of thought: "Agnes."
Then she goes back into the bedroom and continues folding laundry.
This is why my mother and I don't discuss such things.
Hmph.
There may be a glass of wine, but there is no thou.
A glass of wine should be followed by a fireplace and a snuggle, not sitting in front of a computer writing about it.
You know "thou" carries a very formal, unfamiliar tone with it, and-- fuck it, goddamn. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY I BOTHER TRYING TO EXPLAIN THIS SHIT TO YOU FURRY FUCKS.
Like a lot of humanity, I own an iPod ... which means that I own a set of those trademark white ear buds. To protect their pristine whiteness from being sullied by contact with actual human skin, the ear buds come with a small collection of black foam thingies that go over them. Lacking something better to call them, I call them "ear condoms".
... They do? Also does everything have to go back to sex with you? I know I'd call them ear bud covers, or "that shit that came with my ear buds." Or something.
To make another long story short, he goes to the Apple store (trendyfag) and gets more of these covers. For free.
This guy's problem is that he doesn't have anything to say AND he takes forever to say it, so even the most basic of tales (I went to the store for X and got it) becomes a long involved narrative. Worse still, this boring tale has 42 comments. Goddamn.
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