I was around 17 when I first got interested in this. 56k dial-up internet was the cutting edge, and my friends and I would spend hours going down rabbitholes.
I remember getting hooked on a tgp which I hazily remember being called ‘something-wolf’ though I could be a mile off.
I spent hours on there, browsing jpegs, and getting hugely turned on.
There were gifs around, but I seem to remember them taking an eternity to download, and I would be well into my Twenties before I saw any of the videos from which those jpegs had been captured.
I always gravitated towards women with male animals, and even now have only a passing curiosity in watching men getting mounted.
Sure, I’ve been through cycles of lusting for this lifestyle, and being repulsed my my own depravities.
I got into kink in my early Thirties, which helped my normalise having a range of unusual tastes, but never met anyone openly into this.
What I have found as I have gotten into my Fourties is that I give less fucks about societies conventions, and apply a back-basics pragmatism of ‘if-it-feels-good-and-the-participants-are-consenting-and-their-needs-are-being-respected-and-met-then-all-is-good’…
I feel like many of us, by virtue of circumstance and necessity, end up doing our thing in isolation, which is pretty sad.
I have kinky friends I can be open with about a huge variety of things, and it feels fantastic to be seen and understood, but I keep this part annexed away, and I wish I didn’t need to because I feels like I’m being dishonest to myself.
So, I don’t know if I have self-acceptance, as much as I have resignation to the fact that this isn’t going away, and that I owe it to myself to find a a way to finally explore this side of me, and hopefully arrive at acceptance through that…