Ace in the Hole
#11 of Notebook
(Content note: while the tags are accurate, if you are here to paw, you will be severely disappointed. Also, I couldn't find a "struggling with sexaulity" tag, so "Coming Out" is the best I could do. If you have a better one, please add it.)
Ace in the Hole Ron had just finished with his steak dinner when the moment came. It was a moment his evening seemed to be building toward.
Wright, who'd been doing a lot of the talking for the past ten minutes, suddenly turned to his companion and said, "you know what? I think I'd like to get to know you a little better. How about you and I go some place a bit quieter, just the two of us?"
The vixen, who had gotten closer and closer to the larger cardinal and had climbed into his lap by now, smiled submissively. "Sounds good to me," she replied.
Ron was disappointed their conversation was over. He'd enjoyed both his college roommate and the lioness sitting next to him, even though they were on opposite ends of the intellectual spectrum. She'd gone to college for psychology, he played football and studied writing.
Ron got the cue, and turned to his own evening companion. "I guess we'd better go too," the bluejay said to the lioness, who was keeping a more respectful distance from him.
"Sounds good, hon," she replied with her affectionate tone.
He didn't expect any resistance. Besides her profession, and the amount of money she's probably been paid, she certainly knew how to make him comfortable. And that was a good sign as to what would happen next, in Ron's mind.
But in spite of that, Ron found himself getting more nervous than excited as he slid out of the booth, her quickly following his lead.
"In that case, Ron," excitedly stated Wright as he helped his companion off his lap and stood, "I'll see you in the morning. And good luck," he added with a playful wink.
Ron just rolled his eyes at the cardinal -- and winced internally -- as he said, "see you tomorrow." Ron also put down the last of the chips he'd won to pay for his dinner, leaving the waiter an extremely generous tip indeed.
The four of them walked through the restaurant, past the tremendous clattering and yelling of the gambling hall, to the column of garish bronze-plated elevators that led to the hotel rooms.
After a bit of waiting, Ron's side arrived first. And the bluejay made quite sure the last thing Wright saw was him and his companion for the evening getting into the elevator with a smile, and letting the doors close.
The moment they shut, and he pushed the button for the 11th floor, Ron took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and leaned back on the glass.
"Better?" his companion for the evening asked warmly.
"It's all fun," he replied with a weak smile, not opening his eyes, "but I just need to relax."
He slouched against the steel railing, letting the bright and shifting city lights, visible through the elevator's glass, shine through his closed eyelids.
"I know, hon," she whispered, drawing up close to him, "I know an introvert when I see one."
The smell of her floral perfume, subtle yet persistent, made him re-open his eyes and study her form again, all the way from the patterned Kimono she wore to the flower behind her ear.
His eyes drifted back to her face to find her enjoying the attention with one of her affectionate smiles. That put him a bit more at ease, and helped to convince himself that he could, in fact, do this. It wouldn't end like last time. He should be excited -- and surely that was why his heart started pounding again at the thought.
The doors opened, and Ron hustled down the ornately-lit hall to his hotel room door, anxious to get inside. He got the key card out, and as he slid it in the scanner, he could tell his hand was shaking. The anticipation was starting to turn into adrenaline.
"Come in," he invited holding the door open for her, his heart racing ever faster.
She stepped inside, allowing him to close the door behind her. "Have a seat," he offered sarcastically, knowing there was nothing but a bed to sit on.
But by the time Ron finished fiddling with the lock on the door, he turned around to find her still standing, but the Kimono she was wearing for the evening was now on the floor, leaving not a stitch upon her.
"You said you needed to relax?" she asked in a silky voice as she started sauntering over to the bluejay.
He smiled. "Um..." But the words stuck in his throat. She was not only beautiful, but very kind... and yet, quite aggressive.
He kept looking, watching her come toward him, withstanding a sudden pressure to back away.
She seemed to notice it. "Is something wrong?" she asked suddenly, stopping at the same distance she stood from him in the elevator, nearby but not touching him.
"Oh, nothing important," he answered, stepping towards her himself, focusing on her trim body and wonderful floral scent.
She stayed still, and her smile returned, what he considered a green light to gently take her hand. She didn't resist at all, and he brought her over to the bed, and sat the two of them down on it.
"You smell amazing," he murmured, leaning towards her.
She turned to look at him, and as he started leaning more, she closed her eyes, her nose started drifting toward his. Then her mouth started opening slowly for a kiss.
Ron moved his toward her, matching her motion...
Until the angle provoked a flashback to his 19-year-old self and that awkward college party.
Ron suddenly backed up, with a gasp. He saw her warm friendliness turn to surprise in an instant.
"Um, sorry," he blurted, "you just... well... suddenly reminded me of... someone else."
"Easy hon," she reassured, "it's okay. You can take it slow with me."
Ron felt greatly encouraged as she laid down across the bed, placing her head next to him. This was what Wright had meant when he said no pressure: he got as many tries as he needed in order to make this work.
"Would you... let me touch you?" he asked, starting over.
"Of course," she replied smoothly as she spread her naked, tan-furred body out more. She even parted her legs to give him a good view of her vulva, and slid her tail as "out of the way" as she could.
Ron stared for a couple seconds before he snapped out of her spell once again, and crawled across her to kneel over her waist. He looked down with a smile, and began petting her shoulders, just as a start.
"That feels nice," she encouraged, "touch me more..."
The bluejay felt like he was getting the hang of it, as he slid down to fondle her modest breasts.
She groaned, "ohhh... you're making me so hot... ohhh..."
But with each passing groan, as her arousal began to exude from her voice and her movements, his hands suddenly started to feel dirty. He tried to ignore it, but the feeling got worse, and before long, he couldn't help but feel like he was molesting her.
It wasn't much longer before he felt so disgusted that he let go and backed off again, leaving her to pant for a moment before opening her eyes.
"What happened?" she asked, sounding mildly perturbed. "I was just getting excited."
"Yeah, sorry, I..."
But he couldn't finish. No words that made any sense would come to him in order to describe the nagging sense that this was weird and wrong, despite her body language. Even when everything around him told him that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to solve all of the problems he'd had in the past, something in the back of his brain didn't get the memo.
But he steeled himself with silent reassurance: she wouldn't give up. There was no pressure. He could take his time to figure this out.
"Is taking change the problem, hon?" she asked in the kindest tone of voice Ron had yet heard.
Only then did Ron realize how much time had passed, and he'd been blanking staring at her. "Uh," he answered nervously, "maybe that's it. I mean I've... not practiced this much..."
"Oh hon, there's no shame in that. I think I know just the thing. I'd like to try something, if you don't mind." She slid up beside him, and -- very slowly, to let him feel what she was doing -- put her hands on his shoulders and started massaging him through his shirt.
The feeling of her strong hands, combined with the subtle sensations created by her fur interacting with his feathers, made him quite willing to relax. "That's quite nice," he answered, heart slowing down considerably as he mentally returned to that elevator ride.
"Just tell me if you feel uncomfortable," she reassured.
"Yeah... I will," sighed Ron, rolling onto his stomach and pulling a pillow under his head as she positioner herself over him.
He felt her wonderful strong hands slowly start shifting down his back, wincing briefly when she found a knot and worked on it for a couple seconds.
"You're really stressed out, you know that?" she asked.
"Couldn't you tell," he mumbled with a weak smile, eyes closing, and taking a deep breath. That breath once again brought the smell of her perfume, a large enough dose that he felt not only warm, but a bit heady.
"I've never done this with... someone like you before," he murmured. The margin was narrow, but it was not technically a lie.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," she said gently into his ear, as she scooted up behind him, and started working on the back of his scalp near his plumage feathers -- something Ron was a bit suspicious about at first, but was soon able to relax into.
A mere two minutes in, however, Ron shifted a bit on the bed. It was a shift that his companion seemed to recognize all too well.
"Let me guess," she suggestively offered into his ear, "you have a woody, don't you hon?"
"Yeah... don't stop," he groaned.
"Whatever you want," she replied gently.
She worked her way down the muscles of his back, tossing in another occasional comment here and there about how stressed out he was. As she kept going, she soon made her way down to the line where his shorts hung on his hips.
Ron felt her roll him onto his side -- which he didn't mind at all -- but then she reached around and grabbed the front of his shorts to unbutton them.
As a reflex, he sat bolt upright, and stammered a, "h-hey!"; heart racing, and all of her work undone.
"I'm sorry!" she gasped, still keeling beside where his frame was.
Ron took a breath as he recovered from his momentary shock. "Look," he sighed, "I know you're just trying to... help. But just... don't sneak up on me like that, okay?"
"Okay," she answered timidly.
That was a tone voice that made him feel bad. "Look, I'm sorry I scared you... but do we understand each other?
"Yes, hon. We do," she reassured, voice smoothing out again.
He sat laid down once again, and rolled over to face her, his eyes once again pulled back to her naked furry form.
Seeming to respond to this, she asked in a very submissive voice, "so... what can I do to make you feel good?"
"Just... lay down next to me, okay? I'd like to be close to you."
"Of course, hon," she answered, her smile returning immediately.
Ron held out his left arm, making a space for her next to him.
She laid down right into it, letting his arm brush her head.
"I really meant it," he added, hard-on not having abated, "you really are beautiful."
"Thank you," she replied courteously.
"That's why I picked you. I really think you're the prettiest one. And I want to..."
Once again, Ron's words ran out. The next sentence was too hard to say.
"To?" she asked with a kind curiosity, her soft eyes looking back into his.
It was a gaze that clearly was designed to make Ron feel excited, but this gaze did not have the intended effect. Instead, it made the resistance he'd been feeling all this time well up, and stop him.
Seemingly out of nowhere, all of the stress and bad feelings he'd been trying to ignore broke through, pushing away any beauty he could see in her. And tears suddenly appeared in his eyes. He turned away from her without thinking to try and hide them.
"Are you okay, hon?" she asked gently.
Ron felt a sympathetic hug start to wrap around his chest -- but before it could squeeze, he pushed it away, sat up, and started crying into his hands.
"Get out!" he sobbed. "You've done your best, but it didn't work, so get out!"
He felt her stand up, and moment later, sit down next to him... but not touch him. Her perfume was barely comforting enough to keep Ron from screaming at her or throwing her out his hotel room window -- which is what his feelings of shame, embarrassment, and disgust would have him do.
But really, the one he wanted to throw out the window was Wright. This was all his idea. This "last chance" to try and get laid. This "guarantee" of success. This opportunity to have as many "tries" as it took.
All these promises were now twisting a knife into his heart until he cried in front of the person he was supposed to be having fun with. Someone who was now suffering through something completely unexpected instead of what she'd been paid to do.
And as his thoughts returned to her, and what he was probably doing to her with this scene, then he realized he could still smell her perfume, as he took another breath.
"Why," he sniffed as the tears slowed to a stop, "are you still here?"
"Because all I want," she soothed, voice of nothing but pained sympathy, "is to make you happy."
"If you can't lead and I can't lead, then what is there to be done? No sex. Again! Just like always!" he sobbed.
She said nothing.
"I can't explain why," he continued, trying to dry his eyes, as his voice shook. "I like girls, and I like you a lot, but it's just..." He sniffed and coughed as the only break, all the thoughts and anguish swirling around in his head.
"Do you... really want me to leave?" she asked again.
Ron took a deep breath, and took in more of her perfume, a visceral if brief reminder of the parts of her he liked.
"No," he blurted out, "I'm just... I don't know what I want!" he whined. "I want you to be near me... and... I don't know... say something. Tell me how... I'm completely worthless."
"How about," she suggested, "you tell me where you got that idea. Because you're not worthless at all. You care, which makes you better than most of the other males I've slept with. Like Wright for instance."
The words were the right words, but they seemed hollow to Ron. "But you did sleep with them," he snarled, "so that means they're better than me."
"Oh you boys," she sighed in a motherly tone. "Do you really believe that human garbage, hon?"
"I don't... but what are you supposed to do if a good friend from college gives you a 'special treat' for your birthday, huh? Tell him 'no'?"
She seemed not inclined to answer. So he decided to break the tense silence by adding weakly, "now you can give me a hug."
And hug him she did. Her fur felt no less wonderful than when she was massaging him. And her genuine empathy did make him feel a little better.
It was a long silence before she released him, and finally asked quietly, "can I say something?"
"Sure," he sighed, finally gathering his thoughts back together, "I'm sorry to do this to you."
"It's okay... you seem to be getting at least a bit happier than you were a minute ago, so I'm making progress."
He gave a weak smile. "If you don't push anymore, you can say whatever you want."
"Are you sure," she asked, a note of nervousness appearing in her voice for the first time, "you're not gay?"
That, fortunately, was something Ron was confident of. "Very," he answered with a wry smile.
"I only ask because that is who you seem to act most like: closeted or confused gay guys who need to keep up 'masculine' and 'studly' appearances for their friends."
"Well, that's not me," he answered definitively. "Like I said, I think you're very attractive."
"How so?" she asked with a smile.
"Oh let me count the ways," he lyrically replied, managing a moment of happiness. "You're smart -- I mean you wouldn't have gotten that far in college if you weren't -- you smell wonderful... you seem to care about me, 'cause you didn't leave just then... you have fur that feels amazing... your eyes... you're just wonderful."
"...And?" she asked.
"And what?" he asked back.
"And don't you want to stick your dick in me?"
"... yeah," he answered with hesitation.
But that hesitation apparently made her point. "That's exactly how a closeted gay boy would say it."
Ron sighed and smirked. "We've been over that already," he replied dryly.
She turned toward him, and gently put her hands on his wrists. "I'll ask again: how can I make you happy?"
Ron, feeling resigned that he wasn't going to break his "losing streak", went with the simple truth. "Honestly? A massage and some peace and quiet. I would be one of your easiest clients, were I not so mad at myself. And Wright."
He rolled onto his back, and she started working on his shoulders again. But the peace and quiet he requested only lasted for 5 minutes, as Ron started to relax.
"Would you mind telling me when the last time was that you had sex?" she asked in a tone of voice that seemed a little more distant than before.
Ron was able to stay relaxed -- in fact, almost went to sleep -- only because of her skill in getting every muscle in his neck to relax. That, and the way she asked the question sounded like she was reaching into her background.
"Playing shrink, huh? Sure, I'll bite. Depends on what you mean... probably high school. And I don't think that really counts, because it was ... let's call it a bad connection."
"Did you come?"
"If you must know," he snarled, annoyed at having to say it out loud, "no I didn't."
"That's okay. Did you ever try again?"
"College... but I didn't even get that far with anyone. I tried three times, and gave up. I just seem to be terrible at sex, and I've learned to be content with... just me."
"So you've basically let sex go," she soothed, continuing the massage as if he hadn't moved, "but you paw off a lot?"
He couldn't help but smile, feeling a strange pride in this statement. "Probably more than Wright. And I know I'm not gay, because all I ever think about is girls. Girls a lot like you," he added.
"Well, aren't you a horny boy," she encouraged. "Would you like to paw off now, and tell me how I make you feel?"
That broke the spell again, but Ron didn't feel the same rush of fear he did before. "No," he answered in a level tone.
"Then I know exactly what's going on," she remarked gently.
"Okay, miss therapist," he murmured with a nervous smile, "what's wrong with me?"
"Oh there's nothing wrong with you," she reassured, as she moved back to his shoulders, "you're just asexual."
Ron just smiled. "Nonsense. I jut told you, I paw off. To girls. A lot."
"But you also don't want to paw off in front of one. When I'm here, what happens?"
Ron didn't respond for a good long minute, trying to enjoy his massage before he presumed she would stop when he spoke. "You're very good," he added, "at massages."
"Thank you... but you didn't answer my question, hon: here I am, the object of your fantasies right in front of you. What happened to my horny little boy?"
Something about those words made Ron sit up again, and without even thinking, blurt, "I'm not your horny little --!"
He stopped dead, stunned at what he just said. But there was no escaping it now.
He sighed, hung his head, closed his eyes, and repeated the words. "I'm not your..."
His mind stumbled. The words were so distasteful, he had trouble spitting them out.
"Your... your horny little boy."
"Spoken like someone in the closet."
"I told you, I'm not gay!" he demanded, the nerve she struck making him considerably more angry than he meant to be.
"I know, hon, I know," she reassured, "but you do seem to be a little conflicted. Let me just simplify it for you: you seem to recoil like you're gay when a girl wants to sleep with you. And if a boy wants to, I bet you recoil like you're straight. Am I right?"
Ron nervously nodded, smiling in spite of himself.
"So it's simple. How does a gay boy see a girl, and a straight boy see a boy? The same way: not interesting. You're not broken, hon... you're just asexual."
She stayed close to him, but kept a reassuring hand on his shoulder and nothing more. It seemed to help her explanation sink in. It was one that Ron could understand... and more importantly, live with.
Ron just took a deep breath, and smelled that perfume again. "Just answer me one thing," he stated calmly, as he laid back down, mind trying to wrestle with this explanation. "If I'm asexual... how could I have fooled myself for so long? And why are girls always in my dreams?"
"Whenever you saw those girls, I bet you also thought of your fantasies, and said to yourself: she's beautiful. And that's what drew you to them. Just like me. Right?"
It was quite an insight. "Yeah..." was all Ron could say.
"But as you learned then and just now, fantasy is not reality. Many straight boys fantasize about sex with other boys, but never do it. Many more straight girls fantasize about other girls but don't do it. Many more have fantasies or fetishes that would cause them permanent harm or they are too scared to try. Fantasies are completely different than what happens in real life."
"Yeah... I guess you're right," he admitted. "How... how can you tell all this?"
"It's easy, hon," she reassured. "You never talked like my other clients."
This made him giggle in its strangeness. "What?" he asked.
"No really," she answered, matching his smile with her own. You called me beautiful, and I'm flattered, but no one else calls me that."
"Really? What do they call you?"
"'A fantasy come to life.' 'Sexy.' 'Hot.' You never said any of those things. Because you don't feel them. Do you?"
After thinking long and hard, Ron answered, "no, I don't. Only the girls in my fantasies are those things." He felt a little miffed about it.
"You're not ashamed of your fantasies, are you?" she asked gingerly.
"Of course not," replied Ron, finding confidence in his voice again.
"Then enjoy them... and don't worry about the rest. Just like my massage," she added with a smile.
Ron smiled again... and continued his contemplations until he felt able to trust her at last, and fell asleep.
The End.