“Are you a dog person?” my friend asked me as a superior breed of canine breezed past us and she reached out to pet it.
“That means no.”
I laughed. No, I am not a dog person in the traditional sense of what she meant by “dog person.” She meant: do you get that warm, fuzzy feeling when you see a dog? No, I do not. I like dogs, but I have not been hard wired to touch beautiful creatures when I see them walk by. There’s something about a dog’s inability to consent and the idea of a dog being denied personal boundaries that makes me feel wary about touching them when I see them in public.
Actually, I am a dog person. But only if you want me to be. I have the outfit and everything: the dog collar, the ears, the nose and the big, bushy butt plug. I like bouncing around on all fours and barking like a dog. It’s actually one of my favorite weird sex things that I do all the time. It gets mixed reception, mostly because I try to go all the way with it, complete with inability to consent and being denied personal boundaries. It’s not for everyone.
As a dog person, I admit that I respect dogs. I haven’t spent very much of my life as a dog person, but letting someone consensually treat you like a dog for sexual purposes kinda makes running up to dogs and petting them and talking to them and lavishing attention on them feel…a little weird. But I guess that’s why I do it – I’ve had plenty of boyfriends who loved their dogs more than me, so in a desperate attempt to compete for love and attention, I became a dog person.