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The morning air filled with the beautiful sounds of birds singing their morning songs Luke began to awake, strangely in a bed he was not familiar with. “Oh… right, I’m not home…” He thought to himself as he slowly began to rise out of the strange bed to an even stranger bedroom. “Scraps…… Dixie…...fire pit…” He began to recall to himself the wonderful night he had with the two siblings involving skinny dipping and huddling around the fire. Which oddly enough is were his memory cutoff, he didn’t remember coming inside the cabin to sleep. The hound began to get up out of the cozy, queen sized bed and on top his feet. He noticed he was dressed only in a black t-shirt with a Chevrolet logo graphic in the front, he for certain wasn’t his, because the garment barely went down past his belly button. Along with the shirt with unknown origins he had on a pair of tighty whiteys that, thankfully, were his and one white tube sock on his left foot. Confused at how he ended up in his current location and attire, Luke started slowly walking to the bedroom door of what he presumed was the cabin that his buddy Scraps had offered him to stay at while he was visiting Soyoco. Luke opened the bedroom door and entered the living room/kitchenette of the cabin he correctly assumed he was staying in. Upon first albeit hazy inspection of the room, the hound remember the now familiar room layout that his possum friend had showed him the day prior. Luke rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he walked to the entrance of the cabin to check if Dixie and Scraps were still outside around the fire pit, either still asleep or possibly waiting on Luke to rejoin them at the campfire. He looks through the small window that’s on the front door and glances around at the front yard area of the cabin. He notices that the fire in the fire pit has died down to just smoldering embers and the various logs and folding chairs the trio were using last night were empty, aside from an old blanket draped over one of the logs. Luke remembered that blanket being the one that was wrapped around Dixie and himself when they were snuggled up together as they listen to Scraps tell the two a story of when the he encountered a Chupacabra when he was in West Texas picking up a load of old A/C units to salvage at the family Scrapyard. Luke smirked as he remembered giving his buddy the benefit of doubt, even though the story had many holes and continuity errors, Luke remembered Dixie rolling her eyes at multiple points of the story and as the possum finished his tall tale, Dixie punctuated her disbelief of his story with a drawn out “Whhhaaaaattteeeveer…” Luke chucked to himself, remembering the siblings constant playful bickering at one another from last night. He then opened the door and took a quick step outside to see if either of the two’s vehicles were still here. To his surprise, neither Scraps’ white pickup or Dixie’s El Camino were in the driveway next to the cabin. The faded red, beat up old truck that was there when Scraps and Luke first pulled up to the cabin, was the only vehicle in the driveway. Luke stepped back inside, closing the door with him. “Mornin’, sunshine” Luke jumped at the sudden, and startling greeting and quickly turned from the door to face the origin of the loud frightening voice. The startling greeting came from a tall, barrel chested opossum that sat at one of the reclining chairs that faced toward the entrance of the cabin. The possum was looking down at a newspaper that was ever so gently being held upright by his massive, callous and scar covered hands. From behind the newspaper Luke could see the possum continue to read until suddenly he appeared to have found a stopping point as the large individual folded up the newspaper and set it down neatly onto the small end table next to the chair along with what appeared to be a set of reading glasses. Luke, still shaking but not wanting to be rude to his impromptu house guest replied with a somber “G-Good Morning…..uh….. Sir…. I ummm-” The large possum could sense the fear in the poor hound’s demeanor, he began to smile, showing off a maw of crooked and misaligned teeth, similar to a description one would give to a feral demon of biblical times. “Forgive me, young man. I do believe we have not had the pleasure of meeting yet, I am Slayton Shankly, or Uncle Slayton if’n you prefer.” The large opossum said as he stood up from his recliner, at an intimidating 6 foot 5 inches, towering over Luke’s 6 foot flat stature, he was dressed in his standard attire: a well worn, faded pair of denim dungarees, very similar to what you’d see farmers in rural America would wear, no shirt, which showed off a very ‘farmer strong’ muscular physique despite the possum’s age as well as a tattoo on his left bicep that read “How’s my Hog?” with what looked to be a belt fed machine gun accompanying the statement, and a pair of well worn square toed slip-on boots. Slayton then proceeded to stick his right hand out, wanting a handshake from the terrified hound. Luke, although still a bit shook up at the sudden appearance of the large possum in what he believed to be his private quarters, the hound gave a friendly smile as he approached Slayton to shake his hand. As Luke’s hand met Slayton’s the hound properly introduced himself to the man who graciously lent his cabin for Luke to crash at while enjoying his stay in Soyoco. “Pleasure to meet you, Uncle Slayton. My name is Jean Luc, or Luke if you prefer. I just want thank you as well for letting me stay here in your lovely cabin while I am visiting Scraps here in Soyoco.” As Luke shook hands with Slayton along with noticing how rough and hard the possum’s hand was, he realized another peculiar physical trait Slayton possessed. Slayton’s left eye is completely milky white, possibly completely blind. Luke also noticed the possible cause for said condition, a large scar starting from the top left of the possum’s eye socket that trailed down and stopped at the eye and continued on the opposite right lower corner and ending at the base of his snout. Luke tried to not focus on it but morbid curiosity got the better of the hound. As the two finished their handshake, Slayton noticed the hounds staring at his scarred eye, lit up with a feeling of slight giddiness at being able to tell a new person the “eye scar” story. He caught Luke off guard with the following question. “So uh, bet ‘chu wonderin’ what happened to my peeper right ‘chere?” Slayton dictated to the hound as he gestured a finger toward his completely whited out left eye “Umm uh I mean I was kind of…. Sorta …. curious, yes sir…. Th-that is if you’re…..um ok...with sharing….. that is… I don’t mean to ….. pry, sir” “Nonsense! I love spinning my yarns, especially to new bloods! I can tell your just_throbbing_to hear it!” Luke was confused the older possum’s choice of verbiage but nevertheless was oddly excited to hear the possum recount the tale of his lost eyeball. He took a seat on the couch next to Slaytons chair and gave the possum his full attention. “So picture it, 1987-ish, lil ol’ honky tonk bar that used to be here local in Soyoco, Rudy’s Waterin’ Hole, great little bar ran by an old Boer goat by the name of ‘Rowdy’ Rudy. The old coot was aWorld War two vet, sumbitch was one of them ballsy bastards that rushed Omaha, on top of that he was a sapper, ran them banger pole mines to that barbwire barricade the krauts had at the base of those pillboxes they had covering the beach. Fucker was fearless and was as mean as a ruttin’ buck with a knotted rope around its sack, heart of gold though if he considered you family, especially vets. Anyway, yours truly, was enjoying a drink up at the bar when all of a sudden this lil uppity feller, pitbull mixed with chihuahua if I had to guess, I mean the lil shithead couldn’t been no taller than 5 foot 8. Came up to the bar with , shit you not, a foot long bowie knife, thing was about as long as my forearm, and he was demanding to see the biggest baddest fucker in the bar. Not wanting to cause a scene, on Rudy’s behalf. I politely asked the feller to shove that pig sticker up his ass and quietly waddle on out of the establishment before I do it for him. He didn’t take to kindly to my suggestion and decided to let me know straight across my left eye. Needless to say, the sumbitch caught me off guard and knocked be off of my barstool, flat on my back. While im on the ground, making sure my eye doesn’t leak out of my face, the lil showboating fucker decided I was his trophy takedown of the night and put his foot on my chest. I wasn’t gon’ let that punk get a victory off me that easily. He might have gotten one of my eyeballs, but son I got both balls he was obviously compensating for with that bowie knife. I got a quick but firm grasp on his two lil puppymakers as he was posing with his foot planted on my chest and squeezed the fuckers til they lost shape in my hand. Boy I tell you h’wat. That macho demeanor sure went away quick when he started singing soprano, Dude coulda made it as an Opera singer if the night had gone different…..” Slayton began to trail off Luke, enthralled with the ball squeezing bar fight story. Wanting to know how it ended. “….Well what happened?!” Slayton looked over at the hound, who was clutching a throw pillow, anticipating the finale of the story. “Well, as you could probably guess. The lil fucker still had that foot long bowie knife, firmly in his grasp and well he wasn’t takin’ to kindly to my firm grasp on his giblets. So he raised that knife above his head and clutched it with both of his hands. Ready to plunge that blade right down into my gullet…” “...But before he could end to ol’ Slayton, from behind the bar, Rudy pulled out his “Eighty Sixer” an old sawn-off, double-barrel, twelve gauge shotgun that he kept next to the good whiskey under the bar. And right there in front of God and everybody in the bar that night, Rudy gave that little shithead both barrels worth of 00 Buck, right in the upper torso. Rudy turned the top half of that mutt into a messy, red pulp……… Right before happy hour….” Luke wide eyed and shocked at the sudden and very violent end to the opossum’s tale, that at first the older gentleman was excited to tell. As Luke looked at the grizzled old possum, with his head pointed down staring at the ground, looking as if he were back in that exact honky tonk bar on that fateful night, mentally. It seemed that Slayton didn’t find joy in recounting that story as much as his joyous disposition seemed before telling the story. “Hmmm…… I miss that old, ornery bastard….” Slayton mumbled to himself as he continued staring at the floor. “Welp, you wanna take care of _that_and meet me out front? I need some help with some errands…” Slayton pointed with his eyes to the crotch of the hound as he stood up from the recliner. Luke followed the older possum’s eyes down to what he was inferring to only to be greeted by all to familiar rock solid five and a half inches of mutt meat, pitching a mean tent in the pup’s skivvies “WHA?! Oh, Uh……haha……… ha, sorry, I-I-I don’t know what....uh-uhh..” Luke began to stutter, making it difficult to explain his ‘situation’. Which in response Slayton threw his hands up with the palms facing outward along with giving the poor embarrassed canine a cheeky smirk before saying “Hey, no need to explain to me why cocks just get seemingly hard ‘out of the blue’, son Im 74 years old and I still get hardons like ol’ bois d’arc fence post for honestly nothing, hahahahah” The possum gave a hearty belly laugh as he made his way to the door, but as he was opened it to head outside he turned to Luke and said “I’ll pull the truck around while you uh.. take care of …..yeah..” Luke nodded in response as Slayton close the door and made his way presumably to his house, which just a short walk up the rest driveway. Luke let out a long winded sigh right before he stood up and made his way to the master bathroom of the 2 room hunting cabin to take a shower to try and settle the ‘situation” in his briefs. After a quick shower and a long thought, Luke finally gotten his “little friend” to settle down but he couldn’t place what exactly could have gotten him that hard that fast, could it have been the sudden realization of a stranger in his quarters, there for any number of devious plans for the hound? Was it Slayton’s story of knocking that punk down a peg by knocking him completely out of the gene pool via ball crushing? Or could it have been just rudimentary morning wood? The hound pondered through the majority of his freezing shower, the cold water aiding greatly in calming his erection down. Luke contemplated taking care of his sudden stiffy by a good old fashion tugging but decided against it in lieu of getting dressed and ready for his day with Slayton, helping the elder possum with errands. Just as Luke was drying off from his freezing cold shower, he heard the distinct clacking sound of a diesel motor from outside of his cabin. “That must be him….” the hound thought as he finished drying his fur and quickly rummaged through his luggage finding some fresh tightie whities and socks, as well as a clean shirt, blue jean pants and his pair of converse shoes. After getting dressed, Luke hurried out of the cabin’s front door where he was greeted by an older, beat-up, dark blue Dodge dual rear wheel pickup truck with the older possum sitting in the driver seat. He looks over to Luke in the doorway of the cabin, wondering why he ain’t already in the truck. “C’mon then, I ain’t got all day!” Slayton hollered out to the hound. Luke gave Slayton a quick nod acknowledging the possum’s gripe, he then proceeded to break into a quick jog to the passenger side of the large truck. Luke hopped in and was immediately greeted with a truck interior that unsurprisingly matched the exterior. With worn seats riddled with tears and cigarette holes that matched the head liner above the duo’s heads The dash, or what was left of it, was a light white/cream color that matched the gravel driveway, there were a few small swatches of the original black color from where something rubbed the thick layer of dirt off. The floorboard was entirely coated in the same whitish dusk that the remnants of dashboard was covered in, along with being littered with trash such as cigarette butts, ranging from Marlboro Reds to Virginia Slims as well as Styrofoam coffee cups and food wrappers from the local minimart. The backseat of the extended cab pickup followed the same trend of being covered in litter and dirt only with a few exceptions being a couple medium sized metal storage containers, that resembled some old military ammo cans from a bygone era as well as a couple rifle length boxes tucked away behind the 2 front seats, along the width of the truck cab. As Luke hopped into the passenger seat and began to fasten his seat belt, Slayton gave a gentle but firm tap on the hounds chest with the back of his hand and said. “You ain’t gotta worry about that just yet, we ain’t leavin’ the property til later. You’ll be fine without for now, I don’t plan on hotroddin’ around here…” Luke reluctantly nodded in agreement and let go of the seatbelt, allowing it to reel its self back into place. The older possum then grabbed the shifter that protruded from the floorboard between the two, and threw the truck into first gear before slowly taking off, heading toward the back pasture that sat behind Slayton’s house and the small hunting cabin that Luke will be calling home for the next week or so. Luke found the old hand grenade that sat on top of the trucks shifter amusing, and fitting for the older possum, at least from the first impression the coonhound gathered of Slayton. The two headed of the lightly wooded area where the Slayton’s home resided into a more open pasture area that had a long windy dirt road that went on for a good mile or two before entering another wooded area way on the far side of the large grassy field from where the two currently are. “Ya hungry?” Slayton asked the hound Luke, being a quite bit peckish since he didn’t get to make breakfast due to Slayton’s sudden appearance in his quarters this morning replied to Slayton in a meek tone “Uhh yes… Sir…. I could eat….” Slayton, without breaking eye contact from the road reached into the top front pocket of his dungeries and pulled out a decent chunk of feral deer jerky and handed it to Luke “Here, gnaw on this for a spell, and don’t be shy about finishin’ it neither, I got plenty. So if’n you are wantin’ some more, just ask…” He said in a very parental tone before pulling out another decent hunk of deer jerky, to chew on himself. “Thank you, sir” Luke said as he began to chow down on the dried chunk of meat. “Yee yuh, don’t mention it. Oh and won’t you do me a favor, cubscout? Quit wit’ all the ‘Sir’ shit, would ya? I ain’t your commanding officer, alright? No need to be formal with me, alright? Just address me as ‘Slayton, Slay, Unc, or Uncle Slayton’ any of ‘em work fine. Got it?” “Yes si…. Ok, Slayton” Luke catching himself. About half way down the trail through the open pasture, Luke realized he had no idea what kind of ‘’errands” he agreed to doing with this large elderly, and to be quite honest, walking hillbilly stereotype as they drove off into seemingly what would be the kind of place that government officials would likely find his remains 30 years later in a true crime documentary. “Umm….uh……. S-Slayton? “Hmmm?” “Wher- uh Where and what are we exactly going and doing? For your errands?” “Mmm, well since you asked, I’ve been having a problem with “pests” finding their way onto my property and bothering my tenant who stays in some travel trailers toward the middle section of my property. He’s an old war friend of mine, Thomas Nimitz, real isolationist, has a strong distaste for civilization, great cook. So in short: we’re gonna go check up on ol’ Tommy and do a perimeter check around his house for signs of “pests” lingering about.” Luke, nodded his head and turned his head to look out the window of the truck and take in the view of the open pasture the two were driving through, as he began to zone out to sight of the wind dancing through meadow, only letting its presence known through the swaying grass it leaves in it’s wake. The sight of the peaceful meadow was then abruptly ended by the sudden appearance of trees a mere foot away from the window, zipping by at startling speed. The change in visuals slightly startled the hound, to the point of him shooting upright to sit up in the truck seat. Luke then realizes that they have arrived to the forest at the end of the long winding trail that he could remember seeing at the beginning of the two’s short voyage. Slayton took note of Luke’s sudden posture change. “You good? We’re not to far from Tommy’s now.” “Oh!….yeah I just...uh… dozed off for a sec there… We’re almost there?” “Damn near, bare with me now. Oh and just fair warning before we get there, Tommy is a bit…… ‘jumpy’…….. to new people, to put it nicely. So when we get there just stay next to me until I can properly introduce y’all, got it?” Slayton said, still not breaking eye contact from the dirt road. The dirt road seemed to continue forever through the dense forest of tall live oaks that nearly blotted out the sun above to the thick bushy cedar trees that obscured everything except the wore down path the two were embarking down. Suddenly the truck exits the thick woods and enters a fairly large clearing, roughly 100 square yard if Luke had to guess. And almost immediately as they entered the clearing, three travel trailers arranged into a horseshoe pattern come into view. The trailers are located 30 yds from the edge of where the woods and clearing meet. Slayton slowed the truck down and began to pull up to the open end of the horseshoe that the three travel trailers formed with what looked to be a campfire that sat in-between the trio of trailers. Slayton stopped just short of the edge of the campfire before turning off the loud diesel truck. He turned to Luke and said: “Alrighty, just stay by me and don’t make any quick or erratic movements til Tommy meets ya, got it?” Luke nodded to signal to the possum that his directions have been acknowledge, loud and clear. “Fuckin’ A, cubscout. Lets go see what the ol’ coot’s been up too.” The two exited the truck, Luke following Slayton’s lead as the two made their way to the left most trailer, presumably Tommy’s humble abode. “TOMM-AYYY…..TOMMY…. THOMAS? YOU IN THERE BUDDY?” Slayton began yelling trying to get Tommy’s attention. “SLA - SLAYTON? THAT YOU?” A gravelly, voice from inside the trailer responds to the possum’s calls “Yeah its me, you old bastard! Who else would it be?” “Who’s the queer?!” Luke, taken aback at the derogatory name the unseen person had given him, he hound grimaced and dawned an angry look on his face that said ‘Hey! Who you callin queer?’ “This is Luke! He’s one of Scraps’ friends from on the internet or something...” “Scraps?…” “My nephew, you know, the kid in the white truck, comes and brings you propane every once and a while when winter comes. Got the copper snaggletooth….” “OHH, you mean Pisshead?” “YEAH! Yeah, yeah! Pisshead! Hahahah…” Slayton began to laugh after the reminder of the silly nickname Tommy had given his nephew. A faint chuckle could be heard from inside “Alright, you checked him for ‘bugs’?” Luke raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous statement “Bugs?” he thought to himself “If anybody is gonna have bugs, its gonna be the hermit living in a travel trailer out in the wilderness..” Slayton rolled his eyes as he let out an exasperated sigh. “No, Tommy…. I ain’t checked the kid for bugs… He ain’t a fed.” “God damnnit, Slay! Don’t you remember what happened last time? Back in ‘08?” Slayton growled to himself, the previous statement made by the voice from inside the trailer seemed to have really struck a nerve with the possum. “Fine, if it will put you at ease, you can do the debugging. Now come out of the trailer and at least meet the kid.” “10-4, sarge” The door to the trailer flew open and revealed a black void that was the interior of the trailer. The first thing to make an appearance from inside the trailer was the black barrel of a rifle, slowly followed by the rest of the rifle and the hands that grasped the gun. From what luke could tell, the gun was a M16, a rifle made famous by the U.S. use of it during Vietnam War. “Let me see them hands, snowflake” The voice commanded of Luke, who looked toward Slayton for help. The possum looked back at the hound and crossed his arms “Just do what he says, cubscout. He’ll be done with this little ‘security measure’ before you know it” Luke nervously obliges, and raises he hands above his head. Suddenly the rifle begins to move forward out of the trailer again. This time finally revealing the source of the voice and wielder of the rifle. The lanky frame of an elderly red fox begins to reveal itself from the shadowy interior of the trailer. As he began to slowly make his way down the small steps that were attached to the trailer, Luke started to get a good look at the The red fox stood at a whopping 6’3’’, just below Slayton but well above the younger coonhound he cautiously aimed his rifle at. A lit cigarette hung from the fox’s grey colored muzzle, the fox was visibly unkempt in his appearance as evident by the matted oily fur on his bare chest and sides of his face. He was dressed in only his standard issue combat boots, a dirty pair of woodland camo trousers and an olive drab colored bandanna. Along with his dog-tags that hung from a loose chain on his neck his chest was decorated in scars in varying sizes and seemingly various sources, from the several slashes that spanned the width of his chest to the hand sized ones that seem to originate from when chunks of flesh had been removed. “Alright, creampuff, start sheddin’ em. Shoes ‘n socks first.” Tommy commanded, gesturing with the rifle. Luke went wide-eyed at the command, realizing what “debugging” actually meant. He quickly glanced to Slayton, who shrugged his shoulders as if saying “Hey, do what the man says if you wanna get this over with quickly” Luke turned back to the fox with eyes as wide as saucers, knowing where this interrogation was heading. “Come then, get to it!” Tommy reiterated, in louder tone than before Luke lets out a defeated sign before begining to kick off his shoes, first the left, then the right. As he bends down to start peeling off his socks the fox speaks up again “Hold on, toss them shoes over here first” Luke gathers up both sneakers into one had before tossing them underhanded to the fox who stood about 20 paces away. After throwing his shoes toward the fox, Luke continued to take his socks off. Standing barefoot before the two elderly men, Luke waited for his next task. The fox, maintaining his aim of his rifle on the coonhound, gave his next command in a similar tone as his previous “‘ Kay, now lose the shirt, and then the pants. In that order, and don’t try anything you’ll regret, I still got a bead on you, ‘puff boy.” Luke rolled his eyes, already tired of the power trip that the rickety old fox knew he had over the hound as well as the sly, albeit outdated, homophobic names the fox kept hurling at him. He then pulled his shirt up off over his head and slid both arms out of the garment, then tossing it down to accompany his two socks that lay on the ground next to the hound, revealing the lightly colored auburn fur that covered the chest of the hound. Suddenly the expression on the coonhound’s face changed from annoyed to embarrassed. He stalled for as long as he could before the fox blurted out. “C’mon, creampuff! I ain’t got all day!” Slayton began to smirk, sensing the humiliation emanating from the, now blushing coonhound. Luke, took a long drawn out gulp, trying his hardest to alleviate the hard knot that formed in his throat from the pure humiliation he was feeling in this moment. He began to unbuckle his belt, the small ‘tings’ of the metal buckle clacking against its self being the only sound the hound could hear, aside from his heartbeat which pumped faster and faster as he proceeded with unfastening his trousers. With his belt now hanging loosely from the belt loops on his pants, Luke then took his hands and began to slowly unbutton the top button on his denim trousers. The fox’s expression remained stoic, just the same as his aim on the hound with is rifle. Slayton’s smirk grew wider and wider as he soaked in the ever growing embarrassment from the poor humiliated coonhound. After fiddling with the button on his pants long enough to unbutton them and relunctantly gliding the zipper down, the hound let go of his grasp of his now loose fitting pants, the trousers fell to the ground around his now trembling ankles. Luke let out a small whimper as the two elderly men took in an eyeful of the now visible tightie whities that clung to the groin and waist of the hound, leaving little to the imagination. Slayton let out a textbook wolf whistle, which broke the deafening silence Luke had been experiencing up until that point. Luke stepped out of the folded heap that was his pants, knowing the fox was gonna ask him to do it anyway. The fox spoke up again, the pitch of his voice still as authoritative as the previous few commands given to Luke before. “Alright, arms out from your sides, and give me a one eighty, son.” Luke ablidged the fox and turn around and gave the fox a fullview of his backside. Slayton, not being able to pass up a good joke, blurted out. “Skidmark! Hahahaha!” Luke quickly turned his head to look over his shoulder and down at the rear of his bleach white briefs. “Wha….?!!” Luke was then greeted by the sight of the two elderly men chuckling at the poor utterly humiliated coonhound, Luke started to feel the stomach-sinking feeling that he was about to cry. Slayton, almost in sync with the thoughts of the poor humiliated hound, he began to stifle his laughing and reassured Luke that he was only kidding. “I’m just joshing ya, cubscout. There ain’t no skidmarks, buddy. Go ahead and turn back around. Thomas, ain’t you done humiliating the poor kid yet?” Luke turned back around and sheepishly held both hands over his crotch, trying to hide his rising chub. “I knew I should have cranked it when I had a chance this morning” Luke thought to himself Thomas replying to Slayton said “Naw I ain’t done yet Slay!… Hey! Move them hands, boy! How do I know you ain’t got a pistol hidden in there!?” Luke, startled at the sudden and loud accusation thrown at him by the fox, brought his hands back up above his head. “Don’t look like he has much hidden in there, a little derringer maybe…” Slayton replying to fox for Luke, which didn’t help with the humiliating situation the coonhound had found himself in. “I ain’t taking anymore chances, Slay! Creampuff, lose the skivvies!” Luke knowing that this impromtu strip search would come to this bare conclusion, reaches down to grasp the elastic waist band of the last piece of clothing that shielded his modesty. In one quick and unceremonious swoop, Luke slid the briefs down his auburn colored legs and out from under his footpaws. The coonhound came back up from the bent over position after taking off the tightie whities that he now held in his hand. Luke then held his arms outstretched from his sides, drops the crumpled up briefs to the ground, as to finalized the bare conclusion the fox’s “bug search” was coming too. Luke expected anything, laughs or gasps, anything but the silence that was present, which seemed to linger on forever and ever. The hound’s eyes were shut tightly in anticipation or the humiliation that he knew was coming. But much to Luke’s surprise neither one of the elderly gentlemen let out so much as a chuckle to the hound’s bare display. Luke with a sliver of relief from the anticapated humiliation decided to open his eyes and was shocked at the sight he was greeted with. The red fox, inches away from the hounds face, eyeing him up as if looking for a sign that the hound is some kind of narc, working with some kind of federal agency that the two elderly men are cautious of. The fox then looked down toward Luke’s crotch with the hound doing the same, wondering what the vulpine could be so curious of. The both of them catching a good look at the five and a half inches of of solid mutt meat that protruded from the groin of the hound. Luke blushed in embarrassment at the sight of his own rigid member, the fox seemed indifferent to the erection. Suddenly Luke felt the bony, calloused hand of the fox take a hold of the light red furred sack that rested below the ever prominent erection of the coonhound. The action took the wind out of Luke but he held his composure knowing that the fox who was already suspicious of the coonhound’s alliance, probably wouldn’t have the best intentions for his pupmakers if he was given a reason distrust the hound anymore than he already did. “Don’t too get excited, queer-mo. Just checkin’ to make sure you ain’t got a mic hidden under these lil’ nuts of yours.” Thomas said while exhaling a thick cloud of cigarette smoke as he let go of Luke’s ballbag. ”You about done yet, Tommy?” Slayton said from the leaning position he had taken against the trailer Thomas had first exited from. “Yep!, he’s clear. I guess you ain’t a narc, little buddy.” The fox said as he stood back up, resting his rifle on his shoulder with on hand and extended the other to the bare naked coonhound for a traditional handshake. The fox’s demenor did a complete 180 from being suspicious of the coonhound to almost cheerful disposition, happy to me a new friend of his old buddy Slayton. “Names ‘Thomas Nimitz’ you can call me Tommy, if’n you prefer…” Luke went in for the handshake that Thomas had so graciously offered, after the invasive but thorough search that the fox had given him. “Jean Luc, but I prefer Luke, it’s shorter and not as overly formal, sir” Luke said to the tall vulpine “Can I...uh? Get dressed, Thomas, sir?” Luke squeaked out right afterwards Almost forgetting the hound was completely naked, sporting a hard-on pointing toward the sky, right in front of him. “Oh yeah! Sure, buddy! Go right ahead.” To be continued...