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The night before my fall from grace had been a spectacular one.

For starters, my reelection campaign for mayor had been successful so far, with fundraising efforts exceeding initial projections that the drones on my campaign team managed to predict.

Pulling out of the city hall parking lot at a quarter past midnight, I noticed a voicemail left to me by Katie. She told me the cubs were already asleep for private school the next day, she knew that I'd be busy at the office all night and to not expect her to be up by the time I returned home. The voicemail had been sent to me no more than a couple hours earlier.

I smiled softly and ignored the expected regret rising up in my gut. I quelled it with a short prayer to the Lord for strength, to forgive me of my sins, then turned onto the ramp leading in the opposite direction of where me and Katie lived. Far from the comforts of a devoted wife, picket fence, two cubs already maturing to puberty and a large pool in the backyard. The best example of a safe, conservative American dream.

My personal phone buzzed moments later. Not a phone call though, but a message from Howlr, the app well-hidden in a folder of gaming apps. My tail wagged at who sent it.

The road remained deserted enough to let me grab it without the need to focus too much. Onscreen was another picture of a half-naked, teasing jaguar with black fur and sharp blue eyes. He told me he couldn't wait to feel me inside of him, displaying a quick snapshot of his rope-like tail hiding the crack of his curved, luscious ass. The same one I planned to deflower the moment I discreetly parked at the Motel 9.

He was my type of homosexual. Limber, athletic, toned in enough muscle not to snap like a twig, his fur and tail well-groomed, young (enough to be my oldest son, already starting college), dressed in tight shorts and a sultry tank top that matched his fur, not an ounce of fat except for in his rear end. The kind of feline twink that some of my constituent voters thought of in a stereotypical sense. At least, regarding the flaming homosexuals some of them 'prayed for' every time they saw a rainbow flag.

Me? I did not think of them as lesser, but other. So long as they knew their place in our society, I did not care what a gay twink like him thought. I only cared if he could give me a good night in the dingy motel room. The one I'd rented out for us on the outskirts of town, far away from reporter's eyes. Also, in a neighborhood where the residents barely had enough time in the evening to sleep, let alone vote for a politician.

The black jaguar didn't offer a name and neither did I. We were sexual phantoms meeting under cover of night. The only photos I traded were of another random mountain lion off of the Internet. Same facial fur, eye color, hulking frame and even disciplined hairstyle. However, it was not me. It could never be me.

He'd left the door partially open for me, already crouched on the bed with his tail raised and lubed ass high in the air. Ready to be mounted.

Mount him, I absolutely did.

That supple ass and velvety ring felt tighter than any girl I'd ever fucked. His moans sounded more girly too. He purred and writhed under me like a needy bitch in heat, only we were felines and I had enough barbs on my cock to elicit gasps that resonated each time my tip touched his prostate. His feline tail kept rustling at my legs as he moaned for me to go faster. I bit my lip and eagerly complied. The jaguar wouldn't stop calling me Daddy, not when I possessively held his tail up at the base, thrust deeply in and out or when I muttered, "Mfh! Yeah, that's a good slut! Fuck, son! Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

He made me cum harder than I ever did with any girl I'd been with. He made my balls tingle and my heart skip enough beats to make me believe we'd ascended to Heaven. Then, the guilt immediately dripped in and I left without another word.

The next morning, I saw the headline dance across the notifications on my phone: PROMINENT MAYOR CAUGHT IN GAY SEX TAPE ON INTERNET.

The jaguar cat had all but disappeared on the Howlr app. He fucking recorded us in the hotel room and posted it to a gay porn site.

For the moment, all I could do to salvage the situation was complete deniability. Go the same route the U.S. president used to do and claim it to be nothing but fabrication. Casually mention 'fake news' and boasting about one's devotion to God, the Holy Bible and traditional family values while sprinkling in a healthy dash of citing the liberal agenda. Keeping initial silence while moving forward helped me survive petty gaffes over the years, especially during my first term, but an awkward statement or a questionable budget cut were one thing. A gay sex scandal was something else to endure in the political battlefield.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that bad after all--it was worse.

City Hall was abuzz with reporters outside. I didn't say anything and neither did my staff. Otherwise, I would have personally fired them from my office all the way to Liberty Hill and back. However, I did notice a wide-eyed stare here and there.

Distracting myself with paperwork for a good chunk of the afternoon, I had hidden myself in the mayor's office and ordered my secretary to let nobody inside. However, I did let my aides inside when one of them, a loyal wolf several years my junior, rushed inside to tell me the bad news. Despite the video having been posted on several porn sites and dissected by the comments on every version found, it was a left-wing blogger who utilized evidence in the footage to figure out my hookup's identity: his father was one of my staunchly religious donors.

Fuck me.