Matty Identifies As...

I'm taking a pause from my other series

Mike & Lora's Loan

while i wait to see if there's any more feedback. Fans of the series fear not: the next section is already well underway.

I really enjoyed the theme of Human Service Animal presented in the series

Tracy Identifies As

by LoyalHound. I thought I might draw out some of the conversion to Human Service Animal of a man (or so he thinks) by an older man with PTSD. I have set this closer to the beginning of the HSA movement.

Included are themes of puppy play, bondage, slavery, TPE, control, submission, domination, shock collars, and possibly a little more.

This story is more told in the first person.... We'll see if that's a good idea...

Meeting the Master

I met Quentin at a Pride BBQ. Greying at his temples, with something passing for a smile on his face. He was standing to the side looking like he didn't have anyone to talk to. I'd been there. Besides, this was a slightly younger crowd, it wasn't surprising he was having a little trouble connecting. '

Maybe he just needs an "in"?'

My closest friends were leaving, so I gave them the suite of hugs, high-fives, and French-style kiss-kiss-goodbye that each preferred, said we'd catch up later and turned. The night was young, there were still people at the party I knew and now there was a mysterious stranger to meet!

I didn't usually enjoy seeking out strangers... In fact, I hated meeting new people. But

helping

new people? Well, that was different. I didn't really know how to make new friends, but I did know how to be helpful. I'd always liked helping. It was one of the things that got people to like me, to defend me, to stand up for me when newcomers would single me out as that dreaded word:

odd

.

I hated feeling

odd

, even among my gay friends I still seemed

odd

. I didn't want to, I saw normal people around and I just never saw how that could be me. I tried to shake off the thought.

I leapt in the air as one of my departing friends goosed my butt with a couple of stiff fingers. As my hands clamped down on the intruder, he used his other hand to gently but firmly grab my ponytail. "Don't think I didn't notice you making eyes at that oldie!" He chuckled, "you little slut!

Finally

. Just try not to pussy out this time. I'm sick of watching you make eyes at a guy then come back to my place whining about how you never close the deal." My friend loosened his grip on my ponytail as he laughed.

"Hey! I don't... That's not... Ok... Ok... It's maybe a

little

fair." I didn't have much rejoinder, hey was, of course right. He had me pegged, and not in the sexy way. "I'll do my best?"

"If you're asking me the question, you're never going to close the deal. Just go over there and suck his dick or something and tell me about it tomorrow!" My friend laughed as good naturedly shoved me back towards the party. I laughed back, I knew he meant well.

Looking up, his eyes caught mine as I realized he'd watched the whole thing. Suddenly the thing on his face that looked like a smile was suddenly lighting up his eyes. I continued forward a little more confidently. Some tense part of his back seemed to release as his shoulders squared a little as something in his stance shifted, and his poise looked more relaxed. Sticking out my hand, I tried the classic greeting.

"Hi, I'm Matty, are you new here?" a slight blush rose to my cheeks as I looked up at him. The slightly sullen nature he'd had earlier was gone, and before me was a friendly older man, with face that said he hadn't been this happy in a while.

"I'm Quentin," he said, with a slightly French accent (

conn-tahn

), "I just moved down the street and I don't really know anybody. Frank here was nice enough to, you know, me invite to assist."

I'd spent some summers in France with extended family, so I picked up on his rural accent immediately. We spent the night chatting in French, until the rest of the part was packed up.

"Mille Mercis, mon p'tit, I haven't had anyone to speak French with since I arrived and I just feel so alone." He let the last words breathe out in a sad whisper, a slight tear threatening to plummet from his left eye. I couldn't bear it.

"Vennez Quentin, why don't you show me your new home. I bet it will feel lonely tonight. Laissez-moi aider..." I didn't usually use the respectful form of the French address, but I'd been doing it with him all night... Somehow it had just felt right. He took my hand, and walked me away.

Over the next few weeks, I learned Quentin was a recently retired veteran. A medic who'd seen his share of combat, he confided in me that the world felt alien to him when he transitioned to civilian life. He hadn't always felt comfortable being Out in the military, so he kept details to a minimum and his private life to himself. Living alone in a new town was crushing him, but together he and I started to peel him out of his shell and introduce him to the joys of his new, Proud life.

We'd been casually sexual when we first met (hey, it was Pride after all!), but I decided to be a little more friendly than romantic after that. I mean, it's not like I want to be falling for some Daddy-type right? Keeping things platonic, we'd go to museums, hikes, music shows, and a few clubs.

It took me all of a month to ditch my 'friendly' overlay for something more flirtatious. It took him all of 2 months to ask me to dinner, a

proper

dinner date.

It had been wild at first.

A tender, torrid affair that weirded some of my friends out. Some refused to even talk to me until I gained some sense. "He's too old!" they'd say. "It won't last!" and "You're 30 and he's 50, but how's it going to feel when he's 70 and you're 50?!"

It all stung. It all felt like it might be true. And slowly it was coming true.

It isn't easy to navigate a social life over that great a gap. I was too young for his friends, he was too old for mine. We shared a lot of interests, but we couldn't share them with our friends too. It led us to be insular, then feuding, and finally after a few months we were at a couple's therapy office trying to save what we both had felt was something worth saving.

Our therapist felt stumped. Usually when she met a couple with this big of an age gap, the advice was simple: love aside, your gap in years is too large to comfortably bridge socially and one of you will always feel left out. This couple was different though, something about them struck a chord within her she just couldn't figure out which. No, the regular advice wouldn't work here, these two felt more like they

belonged

together, but exactly

how

she couldn't quite suss out yet.

She advised us to focus on each other, focus on what felt the most right, and get outside into the sunshine

together

over the next week while she worked on her notes and researched some options.

We were walking by a dog park, when a tall, leggy, brunette was bending over to lavish attention on her sheepdog. Her medium length skirt stretched tight over her backside, and her legs were encased in black nylons atop leather heel boots. A simple yet elegant black knit sweater completed her look, but my gaze was drawn to the blissful look on the sheepdog's face as she lavished it with attention.

"Lucky..." I said, I

thought

under my breath.

"Who's lucky, her? That's a beautiful animal. That's not

luck

, that's

care

."

I blushed deeply as I stammered out "Um, yeah, right... Of course."

Seeing my blush, he gazed intently into my eyes and stopped, turning to face me and took a length pause. "You didn't mean her, did you?... Did you mean the dog?!"

Blushing deeper. I was speechless for a moment, trying to articulate what I meant in words. When they came out, they came out all in a flood.

"It's just: look at it! Ok" I spun to look and dragged Quentin with me and pointed. "Look how happy that dog is. Not a care in the world, it knows exactly what it is, where it's supposed to be, and that it's good dog... I'd

kill

for that kind of clarity."

Quentin watched me closely, watched the heaving of my chest and the fidget of my hands. He did something he'd never done to me before, he patted the back of my head and petted down the back of my neck and kept repeating the motion.

"I can tell you're serious, and pretty tense. I want you to try to calm down, take my hand, and we'll go talk somewhere. "

[...]

We sat and had a long talk about how I felt about Quentin when we were alone, and how I felt about myself when we were together in public. He seemed to understand all of my concerns, even if he didn't know how to fix them

It felt like the sunshine-togetherness the therapist had advised was working some trick. We talked for ages, then decided to walk again. This time, through the dog park. Taking in the sights of the happy owners and their pets. We were so lost in our conversation we barely registered where we'd ended up, when we were presented with a curious sight.

We'd heard the announcements about the human service animal pilot program months ago, but, like most people, we hadn't seen any evidence of it. Yet here, in the far corner of the dog park, was a litter and bidet area with 'HSA' in giant letters. Fenced-in with waist-high, white-painted wood fencing, it offered a modicum of privacy to anyone who wasn't

trying

to watch. Signed all-around regarding its use, it featured a bench around the outside as well as toilet cubicles for human-use.

The large square in the fenced area didn't seem quite like normal litter, more like a recycled glass material that looked like it drained. Some automatic rakes were in a track to shuttle them across the litter between uses. Looking modern and remarkably hygienic both of us were lost in curiosity and didn't notice the newcomers who bee-lined from our right.

Standing small in front was a cute blonde girl wearing a bright red tunic dress, trimmed in white, along with a harness criss-crossing her front and holding something unseen in the back. A thin band of red leather wrapped around her neck supporting a white tag at her throat, some unseen closure holding it shut at the nape of her neck. On her head was a red tuque with a white pom-pom on top. Her hair hung simply back, held in place by the tuque. She looked like she might have been 25, with a perky smile and bright green eyes.

In bright white letters, her harness, tuque, and dress stated in easy-to-read letters "SEEING-EYE HUMAN" and "DO NOT PET ME, I'M WORKING."

Following behind her was a tall man wearing the blacked-out oversized lenses common to the blind. His left hand was gripping tightly onto something behind the woman, and his right held a white-and-red cane with a roller on the end.

The roller on his cane ticked over some raised bumps in the paved approach to the litter area. Steadily guided by his cane and his seeing-eye human, he stopped when she did. She turned to him swiftly and cupped a hand to his ear, whispering something to him. Nodding he turned to where he thought we were and said "Unless you're intending to use it, it's a common courtesy to give human service animals at least the privacy of being ignored..."

"Oh god! We're sorry!" I said, probably too loudly. "We'd never seen a—respite area like this before, we were just curious..." Quentin and I turned so we would be facing away and made to leave. The girl whispered again.

"Curious is fine, but why don't we let my girl here do what she's going to do, and we'll take a bit of a walk, that is, if one of you doesn't mind guiding me?" He'd fixed his attention on where my sound was coming from, clearly asking me.

"I don't mind, happy to help," I said, again a little too eagerly, stepping forward.

"All right, let me just get this off her." As he spoke, he fiddled with some straps and the girl's harness started to come away, leaving her in just her dress, collar, and tuque. "Ok girl, do your business Daddy will be back soon." She took her harness and stashed it next to the fence, walked in, and closed the fence behind her. The blind man began groping forward with his left hand and sweeping with his right-hand cane.

Taking his hint, I stepped forward, took his outstretched hand and placed it on my shoulder. Quentin took the lead, pulling my hand and turning me away from the relief area and out back toward the rest of the dog park.

Ralph, as his named turned out to be, was in his mid-forties and had just had to put down his seeing eye dog Buttons when the HSA rule change came about. Trixie, who had been born Jessica, was a recently graduated university student who consoled him over the loss of his pup. Jessica had taken to supporting Ralph much as Buttons had, only more. Over the course of a year, Jessica slowly moved in with Ralph. By the end of the next Trixie was already in a purple service collar and attending seeing-eye human classes.

"It's not just being a supportive partner you see, it's about a complete reorientation of the mind of the service animal, and the owner being worthy of the complete trust and care of a human being. It's a lot of responsibility, and if the owner fails to give proper care they can get in a lot of trouble! ...and if the owner fails to enforce proper discipline, it can be tragic for the animal.

"Trixie had to give up everything she had ever dreamt of being and choose to make the care of me her one and only goal in life. No one can force another to do that, it's a desire like that comes from within. Trixie always was a service animal: it just took my crisis to bring it out in her and bond us eternally."

"'Eternal bonds' sounds a lot like marriage..." I opined.

"Your analogy isn't completely false; it is intended as a life-long commitment and an acceptance of mutual responsibility to and for each other. But Trixie would come with me if I ever did get married, our relationship is of owner-service animal."

Feeling a little crestfallen, "So there's no sexual relationship between you two?"

Ralph managed a blush this time, "Well, I wouldn't

quite

say that... And the service provided by each service animal is, well, unique to the owner's needs. My needs don't extend to that, but who am I to judge someone else's comfort?" he cleared his throat awkwardly, "Likewise, the care of a service animal includes tending to certain... Needs..." He squeezed my shoulder gently.

"On that topic, I actually had a question for you, well both of you, I guess." As a group we came to a gentle stop near the top of the hill, in the slight distance we could see Trixie closing the gate behind her and waving to us.

"Trixie is a working animal, but even they get breaks. They

need

them to be effective, to be healthy. It would be good for her to spend a few minutes with your boy here just sort of, off-leash, socializing." He addressed Quentin but kept squeezing my shoulder. "Just here in the park, with her harness off. She needs to feel a little free and it's healthy for her to get time with someone closer to her—level." I assumed he meant her age: we were much closer to peers than our partners.

"I think we can stick around a little longer, don't you think Matty?" asked Quentin in a gentle voice as he squeezed my hand, even though it was more of a statement. "Ralph and I will keep each other company and you can have a little fun with Trixie!" Not trusting my voice, I just nodded.

Feeling my nodding reaction through my shoulder muscles, Ralph mussed my hair. "That's a good boy, this'll be the highlight of Trixie's day!" With a final sweep down the back of my head and pressing slightly between my shoulders, Ralph pushed me away downhill, taking the proffered arm of Quentin.

Trixie just beamed at me as I walked over alone, "Yay!" she cried as she took my hand and accelerated me along for a walk at her brisk pace. Basking in the sun, pointing out the gorgeous fall colours, and the different types of birds in the park. Trixie quietly poured out her soul to me, her voice not carrying more than a metre or so in the windblown air.

While we walked, she talked about how good Ralph was to her, how mean other people could be about their situation, how she missed the fun of dating a little, but how fulfilling her life as a service animal was. She never spoke of her life before Ralph, but she shared some of her fears of a life after him when he—very likely—would die first. As someone with an older partner, that thought struck a deep chord with me.

"But I think I prefer that to the idea of me passing first with no one to look after my Ralph." Her face had a decided look to it.

"

Your

Ralph? I thought you were

his

?" I asked.

"Oh, I am babe, but the secret is: we are each other's! Don't worry you'll get it someday." She sighed.

"I almost never get to do this, you know? Human service animals are so rare, I almost never get a chance to talk like this..." she gestured with her hand at the trail before them. We hummed along in a silent trot, our arms swinging slightly as we strolled.

A great tree stood out from the side of the path, with large, flat boulders sitting in front, bathed in the autumn sun. "Here! Come sit." She directed as she let go of my hand and scrambled up a boulder.

Climbing after her we sat with our legs hanging over the boulder, the tree trunk to our backs. She nuzzled into my shoulder and let herself rest there. I thought of myself as gay, but I couldn't deny how nice it was to be close to Trixie there watching the dogs of the park chase discus, balls, and each other.

Speaking softly, I asked her, "Why do you never get to do this? Can't Ralph just invite someone over to, I dunno, chat with you?" I was confused, surely Ralph could see to that need. As my question fell silent on the wind, she caressed my back and tickled me slightly between my shoulders, right where I could never reach.

"Because I'm not really supposed to talk to people—

obviously

Ralph's different, whispering the world to him is my

purpose

—but with you I can just be me a little bit."

"With me?" I asked, turning my face down to her head still on my chest.

"Yeah silly, another service animal!" she giggled as she quickly turned, licked the side of my neck, and nuzzled me with her nose. It tickled me as much as it surprised me, and I ended up giggling too.

"Haha, down girl!" I said, half-heartedly pushing back on her shoulders. "I don't quite know about that, it's really the first exposure I've had to it." She giggled again as she ignored my instructions and licked me a few more times right up to my ear in playful little laps with just the tip of her tongue.

"I

do

quite know about it." She teased, "Ralph too. It shows, silly! Haha. 'Real Humans'" she made the quotes with her hands as she rolled her eyes slightly "don't want to know as much about being a service animal as you do. I can see your relationship with, um, Quentin was it?" I nodded, relieved that someone

else

forgot names that quickly. "You guys love each other, but it doesn't feel like 'normal'

love,

does it? It doesn't feel like the last time you thought you were falling for someone?... Tell me, when you imagine a future with him, what are you doing?"

After sessions with the therapist, I had tried to imagine this a number of times, so the image came to me easily, "We're on the couch with the lights low, there's a quiet nature documentary playing, and I'm holding him close."

"Mhmm..." Trixie looked thoughtful, "Sounds perfect! Now tell me, in your imagination: he's not holding you,

you're

holding

him

close, right: why? Do you want him to touch you more? Does his touch feel good? Why are you holding him so close?"