Mature Content

For years, my life has been ruined by a stalker. Simon. I met him once, on a date, and ever since then he’s hounded me. He follows me to work. At night he lurks outside my house, recording. A court order failed to stop him. He was always finding ways to sneak his way into my life, ingratiating himself with my friends with his superficial charm. I deleted my social media and, in the end, had distanced myself from most of the people I knew. They were all weaknesses he could exploit.
My life went from terrible to unliveable when they invented the Autocloset. He knew I didn’t want him, that I’d taken every social and legal measure I could to exclude him, but now he could be anyone. Now he would alter himself completely so that I’d never recognise him, wear different faces, bodies, anything to work his way into my life. Male or female, young or old, it didn’t matter to him.
Every waking hour became a horror story. I’d meet new people - a good-looking new guy at work, an elderly woman at my bookclub, that teenage girl helping pack my backs at the store, even a child selling girl scout cookies. Maybe I’d get to know them, become friends…
And then his mask would slip. He couldn’t help but give himself away with some perverse behavior, like trying to steal my underwear or snap an upskirt picture.
Face after face. God knows the physical toll it must have taken on his body, being taken apart and stitched back together so many times. I saw the depths of his obsession. And there was always that haunting thought. If he was so obsessed with me, was so familiar with every aspect of my life, what if he decided to cut out the middle man and… become me? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate invasion of privacy. With the closet, he could.
My paranoia grew out of control until I got Duke.
I’m out walking him in the park when he begins to bark. I look down. An adorable little dachshund stands between my legs, neck craned back as it stares up my skirt. There’s something about it that Duke doesn’t like.
My blood runs cold. “Where’s your owner, dog?” I ask it.
The animal backs away nervously. “Woof?” it says.
As it turns to run, my hand snags it by the scruff of the neck, pinning it against the grass. I throw Duke’s leash around its neck, pulling it tight enough to choke off the almost-human noises it is making, turning them into stifled squeaks.
“No owner, hm? So nobody will care if I claim you, will they, dog?” I say softly. It scrambles its paws in the dirt, but can do nothing against my vastly superior size. “Didn’t you ever wonder why I got Duke? He’s not just here to protect me from men. He’s got a powerful nose. He can recognise anyone by their smell. Even if they’ve been through an Autocloset.”
I whistle at Duke. His show of hostility drops away, as he becomes the big lovable softy he really is. Duke loves making new doggy friends, especially the females. He moves in to greet this canine, his wet nose poking and prodding at the dachshund’s hind quarters, whose expression becomes one of almost-human-like panic. I laugh as I see what has drawn Duke’s attention, his arousal on full display.
"Of course," I smirk. "Who'd ever suspect a cute girl dog?"
The bitch strains pointlessly on its leash, and pat its tiny head reassuringly. As it trembles pathetically, it’s as though a weight is lifted from my shoulders for the first time in years
“But a pretty bitch like you won’t smell human for long. Duke will have you reeking of dog tonight, when you’re kennelled together.”