The stud snorts hog-style when he’s excited.

It’s not sexy.

I wonder about being a horny therianthrope, with the stud available as an eager participant. He’s cool and collected on the outside, his ice blue eyes concealing all emotion. The wind wafts particles of New Mexican clay soil off his Australian Shepard blue merle coat into the air, into my eyes. For the briefest moment they are irritated enough that looks don’t matter. He loses his cool with the possibility of penetration moments away. He snorts. Loudly and ceaselessly. He no longer holds anything back. He snorts with Olympic gold-medal sportsmanship and I decide to take it as a compliment.

It’s appalling.

I do everything in my power to focus on his eyes, his agility, and his coat.

Despite the stud’s guttural utterance of approval, I decide the three bitches can have him. I’m a therianthrope with misophonia and rather fuck silence.