The other day, I was approached by a close friend about zoophilia. She knows about my sexuality and had a simple question for me: Doesn't it get lonely? This is a subject that comes up a lot both by zoos and allies. A relationship in which you can't communicate using language, where you can't bring up complex topics or go to a fancy dinner or even say the words "I love you" seems to many, not unjustifiably, to be hardly worth calling a relationship at all. And, looking back at this blog after a long hiatus and seeing it being almost purely read by people who I'd like to think are legitimately interested in pleasuring/relieving their female feline friends but are probably just looking for images and videos that they will not find on this blog or hopefully anywhere else ever, I think this topic is a good one to bring up.
My response to my friend might have seemed a little cynical. I've been in love both with humans and with animals in my life, and while there are pros and cons to both, I don't believe one is superior to the other, and here's why: while a relationship between two humans does indeed have all of those riveting aspects about it, and I particularly myself enjoy sweet nothings and little romantic back-and-forths, it's precisely the same capabilities humans have that make relationships between them at the same time less communicative.
When using language to communicate, there are all sorts of things that can go wrong. Grice's Maxims are, in essence, a list of things that cause communication to fail: lying, changing the subject, oversaturation of information, obscurity, etc. These things, unfortunately, also exist within love, and if anything, exist more in romantic exchanges than elsewhere due to the strong culture of taboos, expectations, implications, etc. most of the world has when it comes to love. We are actually required to deceive our romantic partners and potential romantic partners to avoid coming across as cold or oversexed, unsympathetic or clingy, to avoid commitment while still seeming committed, and so on and so forth. Examples range from "playing hard to get" to consenting to sex despite not wanting it; we're all very familiar with the deception that goes on in romance to the extent that we all do it without even thinking about it: think of the meaning behind common little deceptions like "X really isn't a big deal" or "Yes, I really enjoyed Y".
Love with an animal, on the other hand, is very forthright: from the perspective of the non-human: if they don't want to be with their partner, they don't, and they do if they do. If they want sex, they make that extremely clear; if they don't, they make that equally clear. They make both their platonic adoration and physical pleasure well-known without restraint, and won't hesitate to make you aware of the opposite either. They don't find mates to please their parents, to get revenge on an old lover, or because they feel sorry for someone. So a human who falls in love with an animal is in a very real sense freed from those, in my opinion ridiculous, cultural constraints around romance.
So when I see a zoophile and his or her lover, my heart automatically melts. I see a very happy and affectionate dog, cat, horse, and think, if I can say so without sounding sappy, that that's the purest love right there. No holds barred, no secrets kept or lies told; whether there's a sexual relationship there or not, you know for certain there's love. On the other hand, when I see a couple kissing on the street, holding hands, I can't help but look at their expressions. Once in a while I get to talk to them. Sometimes, certainly, I'm convinced that the two are very true to one another and to their relationship, and walk away feeling my heart warmed. Much of the time, though, I can only think of a candle that someone's covered in diesel: it's going to blaze bright and hot, but it's going to burn out fast and, more importantly, it's going to smell awful: it's a couple that is fundamentally dishonest with one another and is formed by two people searching for love while missing the point of love in the first place. It's a reason the divorce rate is so high in many countries, and I've never heard of a zoophile falling out of love or otherwise having emotional difficulties related to their partnerships.
This isn't to belittle anthrosexual romance at all. After all, those who are lucky enough to find that individual with whom they can share a completely open and loving relationship have found someone they can understand implicitly. As long as they're together, they'll never be lonely, while a zoophile, even one with a very adoring mutual relationship with their lover, will still of course want close human friendships to fill that gap (or, at least, they should). But just as an anthrosexual can find that truly special someone, a zoophile can make those very close friends. It's two different approaches towards the same goal. The only difference is how they are viewed by greater society.
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