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A long time ago I had a scene in my mind. I imagined a character hearing the alarm clock blare him awake and he starts off his day in a foul mood. Even more so since it's a Monday and the night before was fairly wild. It could have easily become the usual yiff story. Simple enough ... But it kept growing and growing, until I had more than 16,000 words and still writing. I have to warn you: I am not writing this just for the sex parts. With this one, I am much more interested in character development. My goal is to look at how people's personality, their past experiences, their relationships, dreams, fears ... how all of it shapes them. Since sex is part of what we do, there is sex. Since this is So.Furry.com, there is quite some sex :P

_ This is a work in progress and I will start sharing small portions of the whole thing over time, because it would discourage most of you to read it all at one go. _

_Part A, introducing two of the main players. Be warned, again, that if you're looking for a simple sex story, you're going to be seriously disappointed. That will come along, to be sure, but I want to have character development present throughout.

(Constructive) feedback always extremely valued._

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One

Carla's body bucked underneath Roberto as he pumped into her. With each pull and thrust, he felt her relax, only to close in upon his rock-hard cock again. The girl moaned and writhed underneath him; her climax was definitely not far.

Roberto was thrusting fiercely, giving it all he had. He was hard as stone and he could feel the seed building up in him - but something was missing. He could feel the potential orgasm, only a few heartbeats away and yet it was slipping from him. He was dying to come inside her, to leave a part of him inside. It would be the only fitting conclusion to this experience. He had never been this intimate with anyone and he wanted to go all the way: he would give her his cum. The equivalent of a "Killjoy was here" graffiti under the present circumstances. Or maybe it was similar to the dog that marks his territory in pee. Whatever you wanted to call it, the caveman inside of Roberto had acknowledged it for the eternal truth that it was: a man had to show the world that he was. Not that he was anything in particular, but merely that he existed, he was.

Yet this was not where he wanted to be, this was not the right doorstep for such an important event in his life.

By his friends' standards, Roberto was, at the age of 19, a latecomer to the world of carnal pleasures. Sure, he had been sucked off a few times and had boasted of this to his friends, more to shut them up than anything else. Yet his pals never shut up. They kept probing and asking, insisting to know if he were gay or something; when you gonna get you some pussy, man?

So here he was, with his dick inside Carla Treban, the loosest girl in the whole neighbourhood. For months she had been dropping Roberto hints whose subtlety had ranged from a whispered "Wanna fuck me, stud?" to that embarrassing incident at Manny's pool party... They had all been splashing in the pool when Roberto retreated to the side. He had to plan his next battle manoeuvre against that traitorous rat, Corey. Carla had spotted him like a lioness targets a juicy piece of beef isolated from the herd. She made her way towards him, making sure that her noticeable breasts swayed blatantly, barely covered under her red bikini top.

She rested her hand on his chest, almost casually and innocently, if not for the way she caressed his nipple and then tweaked it. Apparently, it was a bit of a fetish with her, as many of the guys who had done her testified, and as Roberto would get to know a few months later. Her modus operandi, Greg Ranieri had called it the day he was narrating his induction to the not so exclusive Carla Treban club. As if she were a serial killer, Roberto would add as he thought of Greg Ranieri's comment while he fucked her, his nipples engorged and swollen with bite marks. The thought of Greg Ranieri's nipples derailed him, sending his mind onto a completely different track.

Roberto thought of Greg thrusting into Carla, just as he himself was doing. Tall, broad-shouldered Greg Ranieri who would swat you with a drenched towel if you bent over to pick your bar of soap in the gym showers, only to flash you an amiable grin as you turned to yell at him. Greg had been here, inside of Carla Treban and it was this realization, more than his current situation, which turned him on mostly. There had been many such moments of insight into what he really wanted in life, but Roberto always waved them aside. These were dangerous feelings to have in his neighbourhood, very dangerous. Yet, here and now, he couldn't kid himself further nor could he deny himself what he really wanted. His virginity was not something he cared to waste on a slut like Carla Treban. And for what and for whom? For the gang of people he called friends when, in truth, he did not care much for any of them except one or two? No, not this time or ever again.

As Carla Treban reached her orgasm and began to moan like a wounded animal, Roberto Camero felt his own sexual climax die down. At the same time, his heart felt more alive than it had for a long time because he had just decided to regain control over his life. It had already gone too far, but this is where he would stop and regroup. He slid out of Carla and got off her dingy bed, making for the bathroom. He showered and collected his clothes. Carla didn't seem phased by his behaviour; it was obviously not the first time that she had foregone the post-coital niceties. Or more probably, Roberto thought, she had been denied them.

As he left the shabby apartment, he knew he wanted a lot more than this. It had to have meaning and depth. Roberto was not one to make do with mundane and as Sunday evening gave way to Sunday night, he knew whom he would speak to come Monday afternoon. Someone who he was sure was similar to him in many ways, most important of which was his inability to accept a humdrum existence when he could have something much more special.

Two

It started like most Mondays did: the alarm clock went off at 6:30am, Oreste groaned and delved deeper into the snug bowels of his warm bed. When the din became too much to tolerate, he stuck out his arm, his paw searching blindly until it struck the clock into stunned silence. At least for five more minutes. Thank Dog for snooze buttons.

He dozed for fifteen more minutes, unaware of the alarm clock which had resumed its job with sadistic glee. One of these days I'll hit the snooze button with just a bit more strength than necessary, he told himself. But not like it'd be on purpose... He grinned from underneath the covers and made himself get up. The cool breeze that met his warm, naked body was like an injection of Arabica coffee straight to the veins: the shock drove away all sleepiness.

His mind started functioning and he looked at the other half of the bed. A few sparse dark hairs lay in the depression left by its former occupant. This too seemed to characterize many of his Monday mornings, all too many of them...

"Oh Damian... When will I ever learn?" he asked the emptiness.

Oreste got up and headed for the kitchen. On his way there, he caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror. He groaned and closed his eyes, as if wishing away some of his years. Only a few weeks from his fortieth birthday, he felt twice as old. He opened his eyes and looked at the mirror again.

A pair of clever and very much still alive brown eyes looked back at him from within a dark face, speckled with a few silver hairs. No matter what Oreste might think of himself, he was not in the state he imagined. He was no longer the wolf cub who had chased after his siblings in the verdant forests of his native Turin. Nor was he the youth who had spent his days climbing the rough mountains which were their neighbours, and would then spend his evenings with one of the books his uncle Alfiero would bring with him from town. Perhaps he wasn't even the young wolf who had taken his life into his own paws and come to America where he got himself a good education. Perhaps... but signs of all the people he had been were still with him. Days in the forest had given him incredible agility and his innumerable mountain excursions had left him with physical strength and stamina. Time had stolen only part of this and life's worries had stolen other things.

Oreste ran his right paw across his chest and down his belly. He played with the dark curls of pubic hair that covered his groin. At least here it's still all black, he thought as he fingered his salt and pepper goatee with his other paw. Damian loved twirling the wolf's broad goatee. It was a sort of silent invite, a surprisingly discreet prelude to the hurried foreplay and then the frenzied sex in which they indulged from time to time. Oreste's morning wood got fiercer at the thought of the puma's alluring ass... the seductive swish of his graceful tail, the sinuous movements of the feline's body, beckoning him in... Inside that warm, tight tail hole... Just like last night. Even though they had both been too drunk to remember much of it this morning, Oreste was sure the sex must have been awesome. It always was. Otherwise Damian would never be able to lure in Oreste and his many other male 'friends', again and again. Except that Oreste never got past his feelings for the promiscuous puma. In spite of the repeated hurt, Oreste kept coming back for more. When it all boiled down, Oreste was addicted to that dark, shifty substance called 'Damian'.

Underneath his paws, Oreste's flesh was still firm and with proper care it would stay that way for a while yet. The feeling of being old resided not in the wolf's body, but in his soul - although it was all too easy for him nowadays to confuse the two. He stroked his member half-heartedly, as aroused by the thought of Damian as he was repulsed. He considered pawing off. He had a good collection of furry porn, one of them still in the VCR, played only halfway through because Oreste and Damian got caught up making their own private, unfilmed movie...

This time, thinking of Damian killed it for him. He had fallen for his tricks again. Time after time, the wolf would let his passions carry him away and then he'd lose another part of his self respect. Oreste had come to a point where he did not recognize himself anymore. Once upon a time he could look himself in the mirror and feel proud of the person he was. Once he had known how to balance his heart and his mind's impulses. Not everyone could have played the crap hand life they'd been dealt and turned it around like he had. He had worked very hard to get where he was and yet he was not happy with who he had become. This Oreste was not the same wolf who had taken his life into his own paws and left his homeland to seek better opportunities many years ago. This Oreste was a creature at the mercy of his animal passions because that was easier than letting himself grow attached again, easier than trusting someone with the things which counted. It was easier than to risk being let down or left alone, easier than being hurt again.

If he hurried up he'd have a shower and still manage to get to work in time. He put out a set of clothes on the bed: a sharply-tailored smoke grey suit that would contrast beautifully with his dark fur, and a warm but not gaudy orange shirt so he'd feel alive. He needed all the help he could get today. For a few moments he had considered wearing the deep red tie his uncle Alfiero had given him the day he had set out. He was so fond of that tie, so bonded to what it represented for him, of him. But today, the evil voice in his head whispered bad things to him, and he left the tie slip through his paws, onto the ruffles pillows. Today, said the voice, you don't deserve that tie. And Oreste believed it, heaving a powerful sigh as he made his way towards the bathroom.

He stepped into the shower and felt the hot water gushing down on his body. He felt his head clearing up already... As he soaped himself he started thinking about Damian again. Like countless times before, Oreste came to a conclusion which, while true, never did anything to help him: what Damian offered was a physical engagement which allowed room for nothing more. While not satisfying for the lupine at least it was safer than gambling his emotions on a relationship only to lose again. This was their unspoken agreement, had been for nearing five years. Words are unnecessary when bodies do the talking in the primitive language of lust.