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“..and you’ll sleep here.”
the dogboy pouts, a small whine escaping his lips. he’s clearly disappointed.
“what, don’t like it?” you turn to ask him, his brown curly hair filling your sight. you adopted him off a complete whim! he’s quite large, and quite old at that. you spotted him while at a park, he sat on the same bench the whole time — quite bored and sad looking. what caught your attention was not only his blue eyes, but the ears on the top of his head. floppy, large ears.
you had almost forgotten about that, the whole trend of genetically modified animal-boys. they came in all forms, bears, rabbits, cats… you name it, and this one happened to be a dog. they’re quite expensive, too.
must be somebody’s dog.
as you circled the area for the umpteenth time, you began to feel bad for him. now he was lying down on the same bench he was sitting on, and it’s getting colder. you finally approached him, and he sat up immediately and stared at you. you’ve never seen one of these up close before.
lick.
you tug your hand back, stunned. did he just lick your hand?
you frown and ball up your fist. you want to tell him off, to tell him to go somewhere else… but he’s so cute!
those beautiful blue eyes and loose, curly hair. you can’t help but melt as he stares up at you.
“uh… home?” you ask, gesturing to a house over the hill. he looks quite well kept besides some scuffles on his clothes and his unruly hair. “nej…” he replies, shaking his head with a small growl. ah. he doesn’t speak english.
it’d be cruel to leave him alone, look, he’s so skinny! it’s windy outside! you come up with a million reasons to justify bringing this grown man sweet little dogboy home with you.
you sigh, unable to resist. you gesture for him to follow, and he does eagerly. it seems like whoever had him last didn’t teach him to not talk to strangers, speaking of, is he micro chipped…? probably not.
you can’t bring yourself to care — finders keepers.
once he’s inside, he’s clearly shy, his tail curling around his legs as he walks. you look up at him as he stands in front of you. you take a nice long look. “what am i supposed to do with you?” you mumble, hands on your hips as you investigate him from such little distance. you first look at his ears, very fluffy, they don’t quite match the texture of his hair. you wonder if he has fleas, or something else gross that you need to worry about. he seems so well civilized for a stray.
then your eyes drift to his neck, a brown collar surrounding it. you gesture for him to kneel, and he does.
the tag reads “benjamin”. it’s safe to figure that’s his name. you flip it around and there’s a birth date. you run your hand through the top of your head, scratching at your scalp as you try to do the math. april ninth, nineteen ninety four.
“thirty one..?” you mumble quietly as you work it out, and your eyes widen. you should have figured, he’s huge! but he certainly doesn’t look like he’d be so much older than you.
“jesus.” you mumble, letting go of the tag, his tongue pokes out from between his pressed together lips, a half pant. “you’re quite beyond your years, aren’t you?” you joke, but you’re not sure he understands as he tilts his head. you try to do the math in how old he'd be in dog years, the only answer you can come up with is old enough to die of natural causes, like a random bout of cancer, or inevitably choking on kibble, or maybe eating a piece of chocolate off of the floor. “hungry?” you ask, tilting your head upward, and his tail wags.
atleast he knows that word. he looks overly excited at the prospect of food, until you realize it’s probably been days since his last meal. thankfully, you have leftovers in the fridge. you can’t really be bothered to heat it up, though. he’s a dog, he can’t be that picky.
you place the steak in front of him, and he immediately rips into it, no fork or knife required. he gnaws into it using his sharp canines, you didn’t expect him to have the teeth of a dog! he has human lips and a human nose, the only thing making him not human is the ears and tail. you watch in awe as he rips it apart, growling at the particularly tough spots. it’s scary, actually. you observe him, and once he’s done, he looks at you, before letting out a content sigh. “thank you!” he finally speaks.
so he does speak english…?
his accent is so thick, though. it barely sounds like it.
“no problem… uh, why were you alone?”
he shrugs, and you prod a little more. “did you have an owner?” he doesn’t look too amused by your questions, pouting a bit with hunched shoulders, but he’s too polite to go against you. “they were mean.” he mumbled, not elaborating further.
the rest of the day was as interesting as it gets. you had to help him adjust to his new home, he clearly wasn’t a fan of being bathed, he was slouched over and embarrassed the whole time. you insisted you absolutely must help with washing his hair, ensuring he didn’t have fleas. you were bullshitting. you just couldn’t resist that embarrassed, red face. seeing a man, let alone one so old like that was a bit more fun than it should be. at least you let him dry himself off and dress himself.
he wasn’t too impressed with the area you prepared for him to sleep in. a spare mattress and lots of bedding, right in the corner of the living room. it was cozy enough, but he looked disappointed.
“what, too many blankets?” you asked.
“mm.. it’s just..” he trailed off, rubbing his arm with his palm, tail curled around his leg. “i wanna sleep with you..” you’re taken aback. “it’s comfier.” he continues as a justification. it’s so hard to say no to that pouty face of his. “absolutely not.” you sigh, you wouldn’t be against it.. but you need your space to sleep. besides, he’s a man.
but he looks so sad! it couldn't hurt.
you cave, a loud sigh before muttering a “fine.” his eyes light up in classic puppy manner, before trailing you to your own room.
“just, be quiet and don’t touch me.” you say dreary as you settle into bed. “yes, miss.” he responds, staring at you in a way that’s almost creepy. “ew, don’t call me that.” you groan, rolling onto your back, pulling your blanket up to your chin. he keeps staring at you, so you squeeze your eyes shut and try to sleep.
you’re awoken a few hours later, being absolutely smothered. you groan uncomfortably as you come to your senses, there’s a strange, rough, warm sensation moving from your jaw to beneath your eye. you pry open your eyes, and the dogboy is licking you! you can’t tell what he was trying to accomplish, but it felt horrible. “mgghh… what the hell?” you grumble, vision completely blurry, you can feel his arm wrapped around you, leg lifted onto your stomach. “cut that out!” you demand, and he snaps away from your face.
“there was water…” he says. he’s talking about your sweat. what the hell is his problem? “ew, jesus, don’t lick me! what, you thirsty?” you ask, his arm is still around you, he’s very clingy. “no, but your pillow would have gotten wet!” he points out, as if night sweats are somehow worse than being slobbered all over by a dog.
you sigh, not having the willpower for this. he clings to you tighter, tail swishing happily as he squishes you to his chest. “you smell nice, miss…” he mumbles, sniffing at your hair. this would be disgusting if he wasn’t so damn cute. "whatever" you groan, your cheek is cold as the air hits the wetness dripping from your face.
you put up with it, he’s just a puppy after all.
you bring up your hand to scritch behind his ear, enjoying the happy noises he makes, as expected, he can’t help but kick his leg a little bit. you rub the inside of his right ear, massaging it in hopes of soothing yourself back to sleep. he’s certainly a happy dog, happy enough for his tongue to lull from his mouth. he’s such a sweet, innocent boy, more refreshing than giving attention to a typical man.
“benji, do you like it here?” you ask him, and he nods with a sharp toothed grin. no ones come to find him yet, it seems he really is all yours now.
the next day he’s clearly feeling very playful. he hasn’t left you alone all day, and when you come home from work, it’s even more intense. he’s hyper, taking up running back and forth outside to burn off energy.. but that doesn’t cut it! he needs to make it your problem, too. so he does. he creeps up behind you whilst you’re working, you don’t notice him until he forces his head between your hands and your laptop, looking up at you with messy hair, and he smells like the sun. he has a grin on his face, and doesn’t conceive of the fact that he’s bothering you.
“what the hell? go away!” you scold, jerking your knee to agitate him, in hopes he’ll move off of your waist. he just whines. annoyed, you ask him; “what do you want?”
“i want to play!” he responds, lifting his head to look at you head on. "go throw a ball and chase it." you scoff, but he continues to relent. “please? please? please? i’m bored, play with me!” he croons, tail relaxed, gently swishing against the back of his legs. you can’t help yourself. you need to hit your deadlines for work and especially for school. you’ve already been written up a few times but there’s no denying this — especially when you chose to bring him home. you sigh, and he knows he’s won you over. you close the lid of your laptop, and he takes that as his cue to move… but now he’s all up in your space.
he’s trying to rough you up.
right.
large dogs like to do that sort of thing, you grew up around dogs, you’ve watched uncles roughhouse with their shepherds and your father train his herding dogs — chase and tackle were common commands.
he growls, playfully as he swats at your face, you’re not too sure how to start. you don’t have too much time to think before you try to reciprocate, rolling onto the floor, grabbing at his legs, he lets out a half-growl-half-laugh before clamping down gently onto your arm, he shakes his head a little bit before letting go. he's on top of you, and your face is heating up. why is your face heating up?! you begin to worry about if this poses some sort of weird ethical concern, would this count as bestiality if it went too far? the idea makes you feel almost ill. there's no reason why it would be, he has a human face and a human body, absolutely human genitalia and the only difference is the cartilidge atop his head and his grown out tailbone. he's closer to human than dog, but it still disturbs you, the idea of his sharp teeth around your neck...
“stop!” you command, and quickly he sits up. it’s kind of difficult to roughhouse with a boy… dog… so huge; and especially more difficult when you are failing to control the thoughts you shouldn't be having about something that's literally on the same level as a stray dog. you can feel the upper hand that he has on you. “you’re too big.” you complain, moving to get on your knees, he’s sitting straight up on the floor, legs fully straightened. he tilts his head at you again, typical dumb and confused dog look. cute. “…and i’m tired. can’t we do something else?”
he thinks for a moment before nodding.
“cuddle with me!”
“what?”
“if you don’t want to play, can’t we cuddle?” he asks sweetly, tilting his head to the side.
“you’re not a lap dog, benji.” you mumble. “and i had enough of that last night.”
he frowns again, you feel bad.
is it really okay to deny him this…? you can’t at least cuddle with him?
it's a moral issue to you, but you set it aside. it's just a cuddle...
but you haven't had sex in seven months, and you haven't felt the touch of a man in three. you're undeniably frustrated, but you wouldn't go that far. you still have some sort of respect for yourself. enough to not sleep with some hobo you picked up off a park bench.
he’s too affectionate! he’s too playful!
those are your main complaints regarding the bright-eyed, fluffy boy by the end of the week. he hasn’t picked up on the concept that licking people is weird, he hasn’t picked up on the fact that sniffing you is creepy. he insists on going everywhere with you. it’d be cute if he wasn’t so… huge. he’s an entire six feet tall, it’s embarrassing having him follow you around, most owners just leave theirs at home. he has expensive taste, you can’t help but buy him something with a hefty price tag every time you’re out. you can't even afford this. that impulse may as well have put you into the position of being homeless on some park's bench. today it’s a silver necklace. it goes right beneath his brown collar, clasp snug against his skin and the brown leather. and now you’re out for lunch.
“you sure are classy.” you comment, his eating while out in public is so much cleaner and mindful than when he’s at home.
“gotta keep up appearances.” he says, biting into his sandwich. annoying. as always, you went with nothing more than an iced coffee, you have dinner to look forward to anyways. “are you going to tell me why you were homeless now?” you poke again, he still hasn’t told you aside from the small sentence he uttered a few days ago. “they were horrible, i ran off, simple.” he huffed, taking another bite.
“right, so… what’s it like having those?” you point to his teeth, and he shrugs. “it’s always the same, miss.” he won’t drop that name, but you’ve grown to like it. “it’s fun having me at home, right?” he bats his lashes at you, and you stare at him stoned face. “it’s time for you to get accustomed to acting human.” you say bluntly, and he clearly doesn’t care. “i like how i am.”
of course he does. he gets fed for free, housed for free, clothed for free… he’s spoiled rotten! how does this even work, you’re in your mid 20s — shouldn’t this be the other way around? you’re aware of this, but it’s so hard. he has this cute, fluffy, playful charm to him, one that a normal man couldn’t possibly hold. he's innocent, so innocent that it feels like he's hiding something and is mocking you for not noticing it. he looks at you confused whenever you pull away from him when the affection is getting a little too heavy for comfort. you're unsure if he's pretending to not understand the fact that a man shouldn't touch a woman in that way unless he's asking for something else, or if he's genuinely just incredibly stupid. he always pouts when you pull away your body from your cuddling sessions, opting to roll over and sleep not facing him, but he always finds a way to tuck his chin into your neck as you rest anyways. you’re starting to enjoy this more than you should. the times he is home he’s so sweet, how clingy he is bothers you and you absolutely can't stand how he refuses to eat with utensils, and how it absolutely must have meat for him to eat it; but he’s quiet and a good form of stress relief. when things are tough, it’s easy to aggressively rub his head and suddenly you feel so much better. he smells nice, too. its a subtle hint of wet dog mixed with roasted chestnut that almost drives you insane. being drunk especially was a little more fun with him, you never did anything too crazy, but through the haze you can remember rolling around on the carpet with him, giggling and pressing your head against his arms and his waist, curly tail wrapped around your hips snuggly. you only remember kissing him when you find lipstick prints on his cheek or white t-shirt’s collar the next morning, he never seems to wash them off.