."Just fill out these forms and we can begin the experiment. Let me knowwhen you're done," chimed the secretary, whose nametag read "Tracy". Shewas a six out of ten, in Dale's opinion. Hot enough to bang if he wasreally drunk, but not much to look at. For one, her body was too slim,and didn't have enough curves. Her chest was too flat, and her ass wasn'tnearly big enough. Plus, her hair was black, a pretty obvious dye job,which seemed like a waste to him; a girl ought to dye her hair blonde, ifany color. She looked more like that creepy chick from that horror movieabout the video tape than anything else.Dale looked over the form, filling out the initial details such as hisname and birthday. He was briefly tempted to put down some joke name, butthought better of it, in the interest of getting the tickets in his name.The remainder of the form went into some personal questions, which gotkind of weird:4) What is your favorite type of sex, and why?Dale, of course, put down anal. He loved. This heart pounds within my chest, pumping fire around this foreign carriage, my throat sucking huge lungfuls of air to feed the powerhouse barely under my control. The features of the forest floor picked out in an eerie monochrome, your footprints as well as the smell of your sweat and musk pulling me forwards. A fallen tree lies across my path, I leap across it, clearing the upturned branches easily. This beautiful machine that I am enclosed within lands with a grace completely at odds with it’s’ size. I sense the woman before I see her, I fly around the rocky outcrop to hear her ragged breathing further ahead and down in the valley. I race in to the clearing, the moon above calling her siren song as I run towards the sheer drop ahead. My paw lands on the very edge of the cliff, a fifty foot drop below, and I leap without hesitation into the air. The wind flattens my fur to my flesh, as I sail through the night, the moon seeming to guide me. I howl loudly to the mistress of my soul.
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