I'll be honest. I made this account for easy porno access. I probably won't ever attempt furry art again (it was a foolish experiment). But, so that this account isn't empty forever, I'm putting this here. I wrote it for a post at WTF_FA, even though I knew nobody would care. I hope you like it. It's your life story.



It started out harmless enough. You were feeling a little lonely, so you started surfing the internet looking for cool communities to hang out in, looking for friends that you could make, maybe looking for something that could still make your heart race, make your eyes widen and make your pants stiffen. Somehow, by jumping from link to link, across the infinite slum of the internet, you discovered "furries". At first, you felt mildly disgusted by the concept - what's with these animal fuckers? You felt smugly superior to those weirdoes, who apparently have such a rough time being human that they have to pretend to be something else. Yet, you feel mildly curious, and after a couple days, something compels you to look again...

You happen to discover one of furry's greatest treasures, be it FA, or VCL, or another vast, cum-dripping repository of the fandom's collective scribblings. You learn that words such as "tentacle", "hermaphrodite", and "inflation" can be used in ways you never imagined, and you add the words "vore" and "unbirthing" to your vocabulary. That smut is way too hardcore for you, even if you were into that stuff - you aren't, right? Well... some of those shy foxes are surprisingly alluring.

You find yourself coming back to those galleries again and again, every time that it's late at night and you should be going to your empty, cold bed so that you can wake up in another harsh, unforgiving morning. You felt a little ashamed at first, but you've finally admitted to yourself - I find furries attractive! Just what is it about them? It's exotic; it's like nothing you've ever seen before; the craziest things you could imagine are not only possible, but commonplace. You decide, what the hell, you've done some doodling of your own in the past; you're not the best artist around but certainly not the worst. You'll get better with practice anyway. Maybe you could contribute some of your own distinguished artwork?

So, you register on an art site or two, and make your online debut. You start small and simple, practicing your anatomy, drawing and uploading cute cats or foxes or cows whatever else seems interesting at the time. Always with their clothes on, of course. You've been lurking long enough to know that the public doesn't want to see any hastily drawn genitalia. Still, you're a sucker to temptation, so you soon start sketching your ideal mate. You find the act of creation, in this case, to be powerfully arousing. The perfect lover begins to stare sweetly - sultrily - back at you. You carefully, lovingly erase and redraw the crucial anatomical curves so that they're just right. Drawing in those naughty, red, wet, "finishing touches" fills you with a perverse joy. This picture, you decide, you will keep to yourself.

People are starting to compliment you on your art! Clearly, your practice is paying off. The recognition feels good, every little line of praise brings a smile to your face. You still don't know anybody, though; you certainly can't call anyone in the community a "friend". You design an identity for the sake of fitting in - you tell yourself that you're "role-playing". However, it turns out that imagining that you're something else is a powerful experience. Picturing yourself with a brand-new anatomy sends a warm chill through your body. You occasionally imagine how your Other Self would have to adapt to the simple tasks of daily life - I'll have to be careful when eating, or I'll get food all over my brand new chest - and fur stains ever so easily!

With your new face and name, you join more forums, you chat in more channels, and you barrage the internet with a storm of +faves and +watches. People remember you now, and they greet you when you appear. You're a respected member of a community or two. There's a few people that you talk to more than to anyone else, and they always talk back. They must be - dare I say it - friends! It doesn't matter that you'll never meet them in reality; your social void is filled. Still, you can't help but notice that there's a lot of artists who are getting way more attention than you are - and most of them haven't drawn a stitch of clothing in years. You decide, meh, I can draw well enough now. If the people want porn, that's what they'll get!

The effect is immediate - the praise just pours in. Many people add you to their watch lists so that they can thank you for their next successful wank. Yet, for you, it's starting to get bland. The arousal you got from drawing your first busty nude has never been equaled, and your Other Self's body is starting to be as boring and familiar as your own. How could you get those old feelings back? You discover that certain bizarre fetishes, though they used to disgust you, are now piquing your curiosity. You abandon whatever standards you still held, and slowly expand your artistic repertoire into a new family of fetishes. That pleasure you get from seeing your artworks "come" to completion still isn't as strong as it used to be, but it's stronger than it had been lately. Sadly, each new rush subsides like the one before it, and the only way to "fill that void" is to keep sliding down the "slippery" slope. Your Other Self starts to grow, to bulge, to mutate - its endowments become progressively more extreme - until it finally blossoms into a glistening cacophony of genetalia. Your art careens into fetishes that God never intended - that legislators never anticipated - and even your most faithful watchers are starting to get leery of your gallery.

Gaze, in horror, at what you have become.