Popping My Fur Cherry

I thought it reasonably appropriate to start out the blog with the very thing that, it’s own special way, got me here today. That would be the sheared fox collar you see pictured above. You see, that little piece of fur pretty much popped my cherry.

All I Had to Work With

I had been prowling the hall closet for a while back then. I honestly can’t remember how old I was, probably around 8, but that is just a guess. Sadly, the tales of fellow fetishists who “cut their teeth” (cocks) on closets full of sumptuous fox coats are mere fantasy to me. Mom basically had crap, which makes it all the more amazing I ended up here.

My usual “flings” were a full length fake white leopard, and that sheared fox collar. There were a couple other older coats with older collars, but they were even less to speak of. I’d use them only to add some variety to my stroking before going back to the old standbys. The photo you see here, strangely, is pretty much the exact same faux white leopard coat, but, obviously, that’s not my mother.

It’s All dry humping until…

Until that, to put it dramatically, “fateful day”, my visits to the closet generally involved some dry humping with my stiff cock. Honestly, I really wasn’t “analyzing” it at the time, I just knew it felt good. I didn’t know there a “point.” I remember mostly favoring the faux leopard, even though the sheared fox collar was softer. The leopard was larger, and it was what started this whole thing off in the first place.

Another story for another day. Besides, it’s not one that’s quite so jerkable.

I can’t say when it happened, exactly, but one day it began like most every previous trip… sliding into the closet, making sure no one noticed, and pulling down the shorts. I was starting to like the sheared fox collar more and more, so it was becoming a bit more of a common playmate at the time. It basically felt a lot better than the faux leopard. Let’s face facts, modern faux is far from a perfect facsimile of the real thing, and this one was 30 year old “technology.” It was pretty much a big plushie coat.

I had the coat down, facing away from me, so I was humping my dick along the top rear of the collar, at basically the thinnest point. I enjoyed running my shaft right and left across the back of the collar, as the fur there was cool to the touch and enveloped my cock nicely.

So, there I was, standing and jerking the top of the collar up and down under my cock, until… Well, I can’t quite recall… At the time I suddenly realized “something” happened, something that hadn’t happened before, and that I suddenly wasn’t quite so horny anymore. I remember thinking there was some strange wet stuff and briefly wondering whether I’d “hurt it.”

Me, not the coat.

The Load Is Cast

I’d like to say it was a really magical moment, and perhaps, in some fashion, it was, but really I was mostly confused and a bit concerned. I left the closet and life went on. I didn’t die and I kind of remembered that it had, in fact, felt pretty damn good. Thus, I was back again, over and over… and this time I had a “goal.”

Hey, I wonder if the fact that my first wet orgasm got shot onto a fur had some sort of effect on me… Sigh, we may never know…

I finally put 2 and spunk together and realized it was one of those “orgasm” things I’d read about. Satisfied it wasn’t deadly and was, in fact, supposed to feel good, I made sure to have one as often as possible.

I think out of sheer ignorance at first, I tossed little loads into the faux leopard once I got “the hang” of it. I was blissfully ignorant of “getting caught” for the first few months. The little brownish hard spots started adding up over time. Finally I wised up and the right hand was routinely carting white spooge up to the nearest convenient bathroom for a quick wash in the sink.

Regrets, I’ve Pulled A Few

The best thing I remember about those days is this: I literally had to have fur to get off. That sheared fox collar was my primary gateway to orgasm. I couldn’t complete the transaction with my hand for the longest time. Only stroking that wonderful collar would let me blow some thick, young, potent jizz.

I remember being a bit proud of the fact that I finally managed to do it with hand the first time. Now I feel kind of like those were the best times, the times when only fur could get me off. Oh well.

Granted, life would have been a bit “harder” during those times fur wasn’t accessible. That’s what imagination and a red right hand is for, after all.

I do derive some pride and satisfaction in still having the very thing that intoduced me to wonders of spunked fur.  It’s still nearly as soft and strokable as it was all those years ago.  I’m not sure how many fellow fetishists can make a simlar boast.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I suddenly feel the need to relive some old times…

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