The legend of the werewolf is one of the most rooted in popular mythology, present in almost all the towns of the Land.

The legend of the werewolf is one of the most rooted in popular mythology, present in almost all the towns of the Land. You know, the one about how a wolf bites you and, on full moon nights, Your hair grows on your back and your fangs graze your nose and chin. A very nice story, but more false than Monopoly tickets. Myself, Juan Suárez López, 35 years old, by profession electrician, I can attest to that. Juan -with surnames, mortgage and ID- or Crispín -without surnames, without a miserable booth and open file in the home of reception of the Humane Society -, since I am a sheepdog German-man, depending on the lunar phase. My own personal experience leads me to affirm, without any genus of doubts, that the myth of the werewolf is false; while it is very that the wolf-man story is probably true, although I don't know of any cases of first hand On the other hand, fellow dog-men, I know a lot. Could tell them about Andrés (greyhound-man), Gonzalo (poodle-man) or the unfortunate case of Felisa (Great Dane-woman. No heh, heh, no shit, poor girl), who She is going crazy with so much change in species and sex. But let's focus on my case, since I believe I am the first to come forward. The rest, screw them, well They don't pay any attention to me when I tell them that we have to form an association, trumpet our situation to the four winds and request a subsidy state. I'm thinking about appearing on one of the shows TV junk, in prime time, and let loose tearjerkerI think they give you a lot for telling your story; so, with the mine, I can get rich. But before I jump into the pool, I want to press the public reaction, I don't want to end up in a laboratory or a zoo. For That's what I need from youmy guinea pigs. The misfortunes began just over three months ago, with the trash. I mean I live alone, I'm single and I'm not gay. It is that it has balls to always have to walk the same: I'm 35, single (inquisitive look of the interlocutor)and no, I am not gay. I continue, I live alone and like every guy who doesn't You have to answer to no one, the garbage accumulates from one day to the next. I was hauling garbage bags, a bad day - a bad night, to be honest. exact-, from my house to the dumpster, when I stumbled upon a fucking mutt with bad temper, who was rummaging through the garbage. I don't like dogs, for his fucking mother. So I greeted him back (he showed his teeth at me) with a kick in the balls. Normally he would get upset. Which proves he was a son of a bitch. bad temper, he almost bit my leg off. They treated me in the emergency room and I went to bed, which the next day Next I had a lot of house calls to make and I had to be well rested. You never know what the witch on duty will come up with when you ask. You make a mess...someone gets so happy that...you understand what I mean. Speaking of titis, I don't have a formal girlfriend. Well, for that one I didn't have a time and no, I'm not gay. My current sentimental situation is a bit complicated, I better tell them later and they decide that way; I wouldn't know how to define it a single word. The fucking alarm clock rang at 7:00 a.m., as always; and how Always, I threw a straight left at him, but I missed. Damn, I didn't have a hand! What he had was a hairy paw, ill-suited for the noble art of boxing. Surely everyone has seen werewolf movies, where, with a riot of special effects, they show you the progressive transformation of the type into a bipedal, hairy, human bloodthirsty monster. Shit! I went to bed normal, with my leg screwed up, but normal and I woke up being a fucking mutt, four-legged, hairy and thirsty for water. I have to tell you a couple of little things to those from Hollywood. I'll spare you the psychological agony I went through, because I was still thinking and reasoning like a human, although animal instinct does its thing. He Anyway, I spent two days locked up at home before I dared to leave. walk, drinking from the toilet bowl and eating the remains of the garbage. The lack of practice. Now I know how to open a refrigerator and serve myself. You may be thinking how I managed to open the door, right? Me too. The fact is that the first thing I thought as soon as I left was: Shit, the keys! Things you miss when you act as a dog-man: a) You bark. Instead of talking, you bark. And it's a stick, because the mutts don't understand you they looked at me with a look like they were thinking: look, a guiri- and neither do humans. The only ones who understand you are the idiots who They are in the same situation as you, but I had not come across any of them yet. b) Have your ass sniffed. It touches my balls that smell the ass! Literally: the nose always escapes them and they end up tripping with my balls. c) The menu is shit. d) The change of perspective. All of a sudden, my height reduced more than a meter; and it's very fucked up to go back to the height of when you were three years. e) How the hell do mutts manage to take a Kiki? After a week, I was so excited that I was already considering Learn to jerk off with your tongue. Before trying that dirty thing, I tried with some bitch Damn, how bad the sluts are! for me physical integrity, I decided to stop trying until I figured out how to know when They're in heatthere was always one bastard who got there first. f) You start to have a phobia for cats. g) The rights of the dog-man do not exist. you don't have freedom of expression (you don't speak), nor of assembly (laugh at the gang members, compared to a pack of street dogs), nor legal assistance to the arrested (as I was able to see when the people at the kennel lassoed me) municipal). Now it's time to talk about the kennel, I don't know if I can. worse than one prison in Türkiye, remember the Midnight Express? Well, a garden of childhood, compared to a kennel. Damn, the first thing that happened to me was that a bully rotweiler wanted to fuck me in the ass. I defended myself with punches, with a direct and a hook But I forgot to support the paw with which I had thrown the straight, before releasing the hook, landing on its nose. In any case, I I had forgotten that I had nails and the rapist already had his muzzle cut open. foxes With the kennel keepers we also had to have Be careful, especially when they wanted to give you a treatand in the ass. Thank goodness I had a good tail (tail tail, the other one was disgusting to see), to cover myself so coveted orifice. In short, I ended up with a torticollis from looking so much back. There I met Andrés, the greyhound-man, who calmed me down. a lot, assuring myself that soon it would be a full moon, we would be man-man and we would escape from the pound. The uncle had everything very well organized, thanks to his many years of work. The clothes were buried near the kennel, they had a little house with the keys hidden outside and a friend who did not hesitate to share with me. Poor girl, we almost fucked her to death between the two of us. Then I found out that it was Felisa, the Great Dane-woman, who had just undergone the transformation hidden in the house. Felisa was very sorry for having made that mistake. with his Great Dane. The full moon phase lasts a short time, so I had to manage to condition my house, buy a necklace of thumbtacks and get hold of a false health tag and thus avoid being put back in the kennel, or something worse, when I became a dog-man again with the change of the moon. I would rather throw myself onto the train tracks than go through such an experience again. I take this opportunity to demand decent treatment and denounce the existence of dog concentration and extermination camps, which I am now very aware of. My phone answering machine was overwhelmed with calls. desperate women I chose half a dozen of the usual ones, the filthiest, and I charged them the usual abusive rate for the shoddy shift, with the dust mandatory and another courtesy of the house. When the moon changed again it was in the pure bones. I had prepared a hidden entrance into my house, to avoid having to spend all day outside and minimize the risk of falling new in municipal hands. After a week, I noticed the effects of abstinence. And the dogs were still as surly as ever. I met Robustiana in the park. She was human, although name, it might as well have been a Doberman. If this were a story invented, Robustiana would be called Vanessa and would be a dark, young and high. But this is the harsh reality and Robustiana did not clash with the name, He was 52 years old, he was 1.62 meters tall, he had quite a few extra kilos and he was missing dyed hair. of an indefinable color. For my part, I have to admit that as a human I am of the a lot, but as a dog I am the canine Brad Pit. A big strong dog with personality, as Robustiana and her friends keep telling me. Also They praise other parts of my anatomy: the tongue and the tail (the other tail), more specifically. Well, I think you're getting the hang of it. I had approached to Robustiana looking for human warmth, without fear that the sweet lady would want to give me by ass; and the witch grabbed me by the necklace, she looked secretly - in case there were witnesses to the kidnapping - and he dragged me to his house with perverse intentions. -"Handsome little dog, who loves you more than mommy? You'll see that well you're going to be with meCrispín". I have the dubious honor of being the first dog who chooses his name and has it engraved on the collar plate. From cute little dog and scratching behind the ears, we move on to handsome doggy and get hold of my cock. And from there to: -"Don't you want some honey, pretty little dog? Come and lick some little bit, go be good and obey mommy." Three days later. And I guess It will be necessary to tell them where they had to lick the honey. From the hairy pussy of Robust, spread out on the living room sofa, covered with plastic - which Robustiana is very careful with the furniture - and looking at me with a vice face that would have scared a hardened port docker. But honey, since I am a dog, is superior to my forces. Before, don't even try it; but now I drool as soon as I see the jar of Honey. And the witch has got me. Every other day, the same story. He comes home in the afternoon, humming boleros. Hearing boleros and seeing a jar of honey, has a curious feeling in me effect: I get a hard on. He gets into the shower with the jar of honey and leaves the door open, so that I am left drooling and hard, looking at the jar of honey, while she shows me her big ass and soaps herself thoroughly. Then he caresses himself her tits, pinching her nipples and telling me dirty things, while the water of the Shower takes the gel down the drain. And finally, when I can no longer stand a minute more without rushing for the honey, he opens the jar and smears himself with honey front and back, from the neck to the knees, without forgetting to insert two sticky fingers inside the pussy and one in the ass. I know it has run when he calls me a son of a bitch. He has that mania, Robustiana. When he spreads out on the couch, oozing honey, I turn crazy. I am unable to leave a single square centimeter of his skin without licking and licking, making her wallow with pleasure and tickling and, as an end to party, she spreads her legs and invites me to look for honey inside her pussy. My tongue, if it wanted, could reach the end of the uterus. But with the licks that I give him outside and inside, without leaving the slightest trace of honey, he has more than enough to call me a son of a bitch half a dozen times followed. When I recover from the binge and start to salivate smelling the honey that still remains in his ass, he gets on all fours, separating it with his hands buttocks, and he shows me that. I'm a pig, I admit it. You have to be buzzed to stick my tongue into that black well. But I put it in. Damn, I put it up to him intestine if necessary. I'm afraid that with this diet I'm doomed to end lost diabetic Luckily it's every two days. He who does not touch honey, touches fuck. Fuck as God intended. I already said that I am a strong dog; that is to say, handsome and with a hell of a host. This is when Robustiana lives up to its name, enduring my attacks like a boar. I was going to say that without complain, but no, he makes some damn scandals. Sometimes, even He loses control and calls me a son of a bitch instead of the finest son of a bitch. And that's not the worst. Now it turns out I'm a professional. With the due discretion with which these matters are handled, he has convinced a couple of pensioner widows to enjoy my services, once a week, for 30 each. It cannot be said that my quote is high-flying. You will understand that on the first night of the full moon it rose feet. I was going to say legs, but the oven isn't there for jokes. And now comes the incredible part of the story. Because the above It may seem a little strange, but what follows is worth noting. I'm in love with Robustiana! I already know that he kidnapped me, he abuses me of me and prostitutes me; but, as a human being, I am in love with her. I had to admit it the next day, when an impulse She took me to the park, and I saw her crying inconsolably over the loss of Crispín. Me I remembered to take off my necklace before sitting next to him (remember that we were in the human lunar phase) and ask him the reason for such scattering lachrymal He didn't pay any attention to me. Damn, he kind of started screaming. calling the guard and calling me anything but pretty. I returned to her as soon as the moon phase changed. Like Crispin I can't stand it, although the honey makes it more bearable; but like Juan, I can't live without my chubby. On the next two occasions, as a human being, I tried address it finely. Hell, I even gave him chocolates. There was no way, my Robustiana is faithful to Crispín and would never cheat on him. I also do not dare to reveal my secret to you, it could have fatal consequences for your mental health. So I'm evaluating the possibility of revealing my love to me, as I already said, in an original way, through a TV program. If any of you have a better idea, I'm all ears. Author's apostille. Would you say that your dog understands you when you talk to him? Has almost human reactions? I don't know, better watch it on full moon nights.