Soft Spot
Why?
It’s a simple question.
We all ask it now and again. At times we ask, recognizing that the answers we seek are impossible to acquire. On other occasions, we expect an answer without even consciously identifying we are doing so.
I fall into the first category.
I know I have to come to terms with the fact that I will never know why this happened to me.
No matter how many times I pray and beg for knowledge to erase the uncertainty—for everything to go back to normal, for this nightmare to be over—I will never know.
The dude behind the counter keeps looking at me funny.
I don’t know what his problem is, but it’s kinda creeping me out. No offence or anything, but I don’t swing that way, if that’s what this is about. For some reason, ever since I stepped foot into the pet store he hasn’t stopped staring. Not even when I glance his way like, hey! I know what you’re doing. Not cool, man.
The least he could do is avoid eye-contact in that polite, sheepish way people do, acting like you are in fact merely transfixed by something that just happens to be situated right above my left shoulder or simply ignore the incident completely by shuffling some papers about or pretending to pick something off the floor as though I hasn’t just caught you in the act.
But, no.
This guy’s a freakin’ nut-job, refusing to stop even when a customer blatantly snaps her fingers in front of his face, demanding his attention, before shaking her head and scoffing in disbelief. Storming out of the store in a particularly dramatic fashion, she seemed like the type to complain, too. And take pleasure from doing so.
I don’t feel too bad about it, though. If the guy loses his job, well… that’s his problem. If he needs it that desperately, he should be a little more professional and a little less weird about new customers who happen to waltz into the dump on impulse, wouldn’t you agree?
Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m even here. I don’t own any pets and have no intention of getting one either. Not that I have anything against them, but I’ve never really taken much interest in animals of any species. Growing up, I think I was the one kid in my class who didn’t torture their parents about getting a dog for their birthday or one of those enormous tarantula beasts, the source of all the girls’ screams and all the boys’ envy when my classmate, Josh, brought his in for show-and-tell in the third grade and almost gave our teacher a heart-attack.
Hands deep in my pockets, I walk leisurely down the aisles, wondering who the hell would be crazy enough to buy half this crap.
For a minute I’m distracted by those squeaky chew toys, the ones shaped like hot-dogs and juicy-looking hamburgers and I‘m so engrossed that my mind doesn’t register the sound of approaching footsteps.
Suddenly, I’m startled by a quiet, “Need any help?”
“Uh, no thanks,” I murmur quickly, overcome with nervousness and an itchy sense of unease that only amplifies when I meet his warm, friendly eyes. “Just looking.”
I shift my weight, eyes locked to the ground.
“Oh, yes, of course,” the young man assures, smiling cheerily. Then, surprising me, “I noticed you seem to have something caught in your hair. May I?”
Reaching up unthinkingly, I swallow hard, tensing at the intensity of his gaze. There’s something about him that I just don’t trust—regardless of how handsome and charming he appears. How do I even get into these situations? “Um, it’s okay, I—”
But his hand’s already outstretched and as soon as his fingers come into contact with my short, silky strands, my whole body relaxes, slumping contently.
Reflexively, I lean into the touch and his smile broadens as he mutters a soft, soothing, “There, there. It’s alright…”
And for some peculiar reason, it is. As horrified as I am, I can’t seem to move away, even as his spare hand begins to scratch behind my ear!
To my utter mortification, I moan with pleasure, scooting over ever closer.
My legs go weak at the knees and I’m powerless to my feelings of bliss.
Without my permission—as the man slowly withdraws his hand—my head nudges his arm, silently pleading for more.
My breaths become more laboured as he gently strokes my hair and rubs the nape of my neck with his thumb. Shivering, I realise to my absolute revulsion that I’m actually… Wait.
Panting?
Really?
I even have a hard-on raging in my pants and I am petrified that if he continues, I will actually come from petting alone.
Soon, my tongue tumbles out of my mouth, drool trickling feebly down my chin which only enhances my arouses, and as much as I want to wipe the evidence of my apparent, pathetic soft-spot away, I just can’t. It’s like my muscles are frozen, which is odd considering how limp they are and how comfortable I am.
The stranger laughs at what I assume is my panicked-stricken eyes, before cooing, “It’s okay, boy. I won’t hurt you.” One hand snakes below my belt and I stop breathing altogether as he strokes my erection with the same casual yet doting manner as he has been in much less intimate areas where he wasn’t intentionally trying to get me off.
Every word spoken oozes condescension, but I can‘t bring myself to react angrily to his belittling treatment. Instead, I whimper as his speed steadily increases and he grips me tighter.
By this stage, my weight completely supported by his arms so he lays me down on the floor gently and it‘s only then that I notice that the store is totally empty. Not only that, but it‘s dark and looks like it hasn’t seen a single being in decades.
As if it‘s the most natural thing in the world, I roll over so that he can scratch my belly, which he does with genuine affection. Simultaneously, he squeezes my balls and I am filled with self-hatred as this random stranger so barefacedly jerks me off and I can’t seem to do anything but lie here and enjoy it.
His hand is slick my pre-cum and I don’t know how I’ve lasted this long, because each time his other hand brushes my belly, I tremble with pleasure and normally my dick can’t take so much excitement.
I can feel it. I’m gonna come any second now.
God, that feels so good.
My leg lifts higher in the air, quivering uncontrollably, and my chest heaves with this terribly familiar, animalistic wheezing sound.
If anything, my shame and helplessness turns me on even more, and with one last, delicate manoeuvre on this young man‘s part, I shoot this massive load into my pants, coming so hard I feel like I might pass out from such an overwhelming, breathless orgasm.
Once over, I’m exhausted but thankfully, a little more clarity returns, now that I’ve been relieved.
“Good boy,” he smiles, smoothening my damp hair as I shakily inhale. Voice slow and sweet, he continues, “Now, I haven’t gotten the chance to ask yet, but what’s your name, kiddo?”
“It-it’s Marcus,” I gasp, disorientated but determined to sit up. He swiftly settles me down again, and side-tracks me by petting my face to which I unpredictably respond by happily licking his palm—because of what? Gratitude? Man, that’s sick.
For a brief second, I’m frightened that he’ll be annoyed by my enthusiasm and snap at me for being bad, but if possible, my receptiveness only delights him further.
“Ah, I see. Marcus, huh?” His expression’s thoughtful. “Well, that’s no good. How about, um…Oscar?”
Call me naïve, stupid, whatever, but I still had no idea what he means.
“What?”
Pursing his lips, he shakes his head.
“Nah, doesn’t suit you. I think I’ll name you… Benji. Do you like that? Benji?”
“What’s going on…?” I frown, aware on some level that what he was saying wasn’t right. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ve claimed you, that’s what,” the young man replies confidently. “You’re mine.”
“Claimed me?” I repeat dumbly, still in denial.
“Uh-huh. You are whatever I want you to be and you know what? I‘ve always been such a sucker for cute, lovable puppies. Drove my mom crazy. She‘s more of a cat-lover, you see.”
It’s almost impossible to concentrate on anything beyond the urge to let go and bask in his attention, (knowing somewhere in the back of my mind that if I’m good, I’ll be rewarded with another ‘treat’) but somehow I manage to follow this bizarre conversation despite the fact that in no way do I wish to understand it.
“But I know that over time, I wouldn’t be entirely satisfied. It can be pretty lonely with no-one to talk to. So… you’ll have to do.”
I gulp, beginning to sweat heavily under the arms. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you are going make such a perfect companion,” he answers casually, half-shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Unfortunately, you won‘t be able to go for walks or anything, since you can‘t leave the house, but don’t worry, I‘ll make sure you‘re nice and comfy.”
I know it’s a cliché, but seriously, my eyes practically bulge out of their sockets.
“You-you’re insane!” I splutter. Scrambling away with a quick glance towards the door, I recoil at the possibility.
One slight move is all I need to renew my sense of humiliation and bewilderment as I hear the quiet squelch of my soggy and cooling underwear.
As calm as ever, he muses, “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life. But insane was never one of them. Still… there’s a first for everything, I guess. Oh, and I’m Rueben, by the way. Probably should’ve started with that.”
I’m in shock, I must be. That’s the only explanation as to why I suddenly can’t move.
“Aw, don’t be like that, Benji. Everything’s going to be perfect, you’ll see.” Reuben straightens and pats his thighs twice with a wide grin. “Come here, boy. Come here.”
Cocking my head to the side as my eyebrows pull together in a slight frown, I can only stare in confusion. What does he expect me to do, exactly?
“You silly little doggie,” he scowls playfully. “You can’t get out. You can‘t even turn a door knob!”
And as soon as he says it, the message wastes no time sinking into my brain and corrupting it. He’s right. With his voice alone, I can no longer open a door. In fact, the more I think about it, the more appealing the thought of crawling over to Reuben for some more of those wonderful belly rubs becomes.
In an unfamiliar response to my confliction, I whine in a way that’s undoubtedly un-human-like, and press my hands against the floor repeatedly.
Reuben crouches down and opens up his arms. “Come on,” he coaxes, “Good boy, come here.”
His embrace really does seem deliciously inviting.
It’s the unspoken promise of love and attention that seals the deal.
I bound towards him, giving Reuben’s face a thorough cleaning as he chuckles to himself and swats my face in mock-annoyance.
And that’s it.
My fate is sealed.
In my new home I’m fixed with a thin, leather collar and stripped of my clothes. Forced into only an over-sized diaper, Reuben explains that as much as he loves me, he doesn’t want to have to clean up my messes every time he comes home.
Apparently, I have no bladder control. Or at least, that’s what he tells me. The thought sticks in my head and I have no reason to question it.
What’s worse, if Reuben leaves the room—even for a second—I howl and whimper relentlessly, inexplicably terrified of being alone.
In some ways, I know what’s happening and for the most part, I know that it’s wrong. But the more I’m showered with love and the more cuddles I receive, the lines blur and I start to crave everything I know I should hate.
Like, at night, for example.
In the beginning, Reuben had a dog-bed in the kitchen for me to sleep on and yeah, it was fine. Warm and snug, no doubt. But as it turns out, I’m much more clingy than even Reuben had anticipated, and it wasn’t long before I was snuggled up on the other side of his bed. But, even being in a bed, my behaviour is no different. You’d think I’d lie like I used to and appreciate it, but that’s not natural to me anymore.
I curl up beside him, and to tell the truth,—as much as it pains me to admit—I assume it’s the same as sharing your bed with any other, regular dog.
What’s more, I love chewing things. Disgusting as it is, I will destroy everything within reach and have lost count of how many pairs of sneakers I’ve torn to shreds. I honestly can’t help myself. Eventually, I was given some chew toys to keep me occupied but that’s not always enough. I’m pretty sure my teeth have changed, because I definitely couldn’t have done any of the things I’ve done… before.
Before… I sigh. It all seems so blurry now.
I’ve pretty much lost all concept of time, and Reuben is the only friend I need so I find myself unable to miss anybody.
We do engage in somewhat normal conversations daily and all that, too, but talking is difficult and my attention span isn’t what is used to be. It’s how he prefers, though, and how he wants it to be. I’m not sure why, beyond the idea that he wants me to as realistically dog-like as possible.
On the plus side, I don’t think I’ve ever been as close to someone as I am to Reuben without being either related or romantically involved.
Every evening when he returns from work, he’ll sit down to watch some TV and pat the cushion beside him and I’m positive it’s because Reuben knows how much I miss him when he’s away and rely on the quality time together.
Tucked into his side, I’ll rest my head dutifully on his lap and he’ll pet me absentmindedly, which is never my proudest moment because it’s obvious how unreservedly I worship the ground on which he walks.
It’s his fault—of course it is. Reuben could have chosen anyone.
But he didn’t. I’m here—a dog for life because somehow I’m now wired that way.
I ask myself why? all the time, occasionally aloud, too. Why me? Why did I go into that pet store? Why did I react as I did and WHY AM I THE WAY I AM NOW?!
Reuben’s never fully explained the implications of what he’s done, but I’m not stupid to believe that it’s not permanent—that I’m not damaged forever—but no matter what or how hard I try, I can never, ever bring myself to resent him.
For heaven’s sake, my name is now Benji and still, I don’t hate him.