A Lad Insane.txt

I often sleep in the nude these days, or close to it. Last night
the window was open a crack, and it is winter here. The heat had
been on, as I like it, but the dog, my partner, was over hot, and
so the heat was turned off, the window cracked open, and clad in a
blanket I braved the nippy breeze and settled in to snooze the
night away, him on his side of the bed, me on mine.

I had a dream, of course I thought it was real while it was
happening, that I was in outer space, alongside numerous other
people, each of us in our own pill-shaped personal space capsule,
alone in the cold. I was looking over someone's shoulder as they
were deciding, from a list of icons of people's faces, who to pair
up. When two were selected, their capsules floated to one another,
and the two people inside were able to reach out through openings
and touch one another. I realized, as I was beginning to awaken
from the dream, that the touching of each other through the
coldness of space was a metaphor for how we show nurture to one
another, two fursuiters breaking the magic to hold hands, a skater
boyfriend and goth gf nuzzling each other's noses on a park bench,
a rider kissing her horse on the mouth through the tiny bubbles of
froth.

Through the cold of the winter bedroom, I opened the capsule of my
comfy blanket, and let in the dog. He snuggled back in against me
immediately, digging his back in against my chest and then
exhaling and settling back down into the mattress, thankful for
the gesture, as both of us had become chilly this far into the
dark hours. There in our shell of warmth against the cold we were
yin and yang, fur clad dog and shaven human, imposing claws and
trimmed fingernails, teeth and teeth, heartbeat and beating heart,
each in want of nurture and providing it, the end and the way. We
snuggled in various positions for hours, I often with my nose
buried fully into his fur to not miss his nirvana inducing
atmosphere for even a portion of a breath.

When the morning light came in through the slits in the window
shutters, he and I bent and stretched towards it like two flowers,
our soil our dashed together souls. We stayed in bed a while
longer. Then, life's duties calling, we did get up and start going
about our day, accomplishing our breakfasts and our morning pees
and our donning of clothes, dress and collar. Before too much of
the day had gone by, I made sure to lay down again with him where
he was, on the carpet in the living room, and watch closely as his
tongue glided in a few business like successions over the hair on
his forearm.



A Lad Insane 2.txt or Cyndi Lauper

The act of breathing can be done alone, and often times is done
alone. And yet somehow, occupying the same personal space as
another body and breathing there together is a transcendental
experience.

I remember when I was younger, reading kissy-kissy furry comics
and feeling a burning envy at seeing two male bodied people get to
snuggle. It was a sort of happy jealousy, a deeply glad and deeply
spurned state of being. Getting to touch the shadow of the object
that is love, but never having touched the object itself. Marcus
and Reis. Joel and Matt. They had found each other: they had found
somebody to lie in a bed with and breathe together.

It's easy to forget, these days, that I have had the same thing.

He begins running in his sleep. I kiss his fur, and bless his
journey.

In, out. Woof woof woof woof woof. In, out. In, out. In, out.

In,

out.



A Lad Insane 3

It's been a little bit of a different morning. Not anything that
an impartial observer would mark as all too different, I guess,
and yet I felt it the time again to remark, and complete a sort of
triptych.

I spent the night drinking wine and playing with a knotted toy,
filling up my insides in terms of depth and with an especial
circumference right inside past the butthole, and pleasuring
myself to furry porn. I think it might be a secret knowledge,
unique to those who play with knots or plugs or other bulbous
things in their poop chute, to know that there are different
sensations depending on how the ring of the anus is approached. To
feel a knot entering and to feel a knot leaving are two different
things. Similar, both fun, but not identical sensations. To feel a
tongue licking the closed outside is a different thing to feeling
an inserted finger do a business-like press and rub against one
side to test the looseness. So as I was looking at the furry porn,
there were a combination of pleasures in the drunkenness, the
massaging of my very lubed hand over my female-identifying penis,
and the variety of ways I would loosen and push the knot in,
loosen and let the knot slide out, or do myself with the floppy
smooth shaft for a while.

Usually after such a nightcap, I shower to clean the lube off of
myself and pass out for a long sleep. This time though I went to
bed luby and sticky, and probably didn't get more than a brief nap
in before waking up at dawn and feeling ready to start the day.

I moved a forgotten load of laundry from the washer to the dryer,
I did take my shower with some reluctance but it was nice
afterwards to be clean, and then me and my dog husband who smells
wonderful laid side by side on our bed together, pressed caringly
against each other, and I had one arm draped over him as he snored
and slept in, and with the other hand I held a touch screen phone
and read through some of a piece of yiffy smut that a friend had
sent to me, and I enjoyed reading it, it was a good read.