FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Hello!" Charlie said, holding a cell phone to her head.

Brimming with energy (despite the stifling humidity), the silver/bronze fox squirrel casually leaned against the trunk of a tall, leafy walnut tree. It rustled in the gentle, fragrant breeze, dappling her and the kids in a mix of light and shadow. Walnuts were already forming on its branches, though they wouldn't drop 'til autumn, when the husks turned dark.

"I'd like to order a pizza! Actually, two pizzas. Mm. Extra large."

A pause.

"You only go up to large? Okay! Large. Also, breadsticks! Two, no ... three orders. How many are in an order? Three, then." She flicked a ladybug off her t-shirt. "Oh, and all the cheese cups you can spare. I've got a mischief of mice here!"

She glanced toward the wheat field. The grain and chaff had already been harvested by the combine. The dried, leftover stalks, which were in neat, tidy rows, were being baled into straw by half a dozen mice, including her mate Emerson and his cousins.

One group drove the tractor and stacked rectangular bales on wagons, the other hauled those wagons off for unloading. By the time they returned, another would be waiting for them.

They'd been working on the field all week, and since sunrise today. Under warm, blue skies. But within the last few hours, thick, grey clouds were creeping ever closer from the west.

"A mischief, yeah," Charlie repeated. "Now, if it were all squirrels, it'd be a 'scurry'!" She idly twisted one of her bare foot-paws around and back. Squirrels had swiveling ankle joints. "Oh, y'knew that one? Heh." She switched the phone from one ear to the other. "I've never scurried in my life. I scamper!"

Another pause, reaching her arm through a wired fence, lightly pinching a wild black raspberry between her thumb and finger. She tugged. It came off easily, and she tossed it into a bucket. There was an abundance of wild canes growing along the fencerows and treelines on her and Emerson's farm.

She was going to make homemade black raspberry jam! Some would be stored away for winter use. The rest? She'd sell at the farmer's market, where her aunt had a weekly booth. She let Charlie and Emerson 'get in on the action' when they wished.

Popping a tart-sweet raspberry into her mouth, she crunched on seeds and said, "Hah, yes, it's 'that squirrel with the twins.' Charlie! Mm-hmm." She swallowed. "Hey, is this Mayor Rikki?" she asked, of the giant, colorful Malabar squirrel. "Ohmygosh, hi! I thought it was you. I should've guessed. Squirrels unite! Ha, ha."

Rikki, a natural charmer, was mayor of the nearby farming town. Arcadia. Population: one thousand (give or take). He was running for re-election this fall but also owned the pizza place, Village Pizza.

Charlie couldn't vote on account of her not being an American citizen, born and raised in Ontario. But if she could, she'd be voting for his opponent, Seldovia.

The albino/purple skunk, a longtime acquaintance (and ex-lover) of Emerson's, owned a competing restaurant. The town diner, Queenie's, on Main Street.

She was a total sexpot. Sultry, seductive. Smokin' hot! And Charlie and Emmy sometimes had threesomes with her.

Not that there weren't _other_reasons to support her, but ...

Charlie huffed.

"Mm? Oh, yeah, it's ... hot, yeah. Baling straw," she told Rikki. "Mmhmm. Well, the guys. Emmy and his cousins. And Roanoke. Ha, ha, he got roped into it. I'd be helping, too! I did last year. That's when me and Emmy hooked up for the first time. True story! But, y'know, the babes," she said as she made 'cooing' faces at her kits.

In a dual two-seat stroller, they made big googly eyes at her, taking the world in.

Azalea and EJ (Emmy Junior) were almost four months old. Charlie had gotten pregnant only a few months after she and Emerson had met. Given the newness of their relationship (at the time), and the fact that they weren't the same species? It certainly hadn't been planned!

But she had no regrets.

She'd always wanted to be a mother someday, even as a tomboy.

Azalea, a girl, looked like Emerson. Gold-and-cream harvest mouse with pink appendages. EJ, a boy, looked like Charlie.

"I'll be back on the ice next year." Pause. "The ice," Charlie repeated into the phone. "Yeah! It's an expression, eh?"

More berry picking.

"Mm? Oh, sorry! Pickup. My friend Akira's gonna pick it up for me. She'll pay, too. Is that okay? The otter. Yup."

Akira owned the town grocery store and was Charlie's best friend. She also served on Town Council, so Rikki would've known her from that.

"Nope, no drinks. We got those!"

Her bushy tail fluttered in the breeze.

"Oh, hah! I thought I said that already. One plain cheese, one veggie lovers. Yup. Twenty minutes? Sure thing. Thanks! Uh-huh. Bye!"

Pocketing her phone, she picked enough berries to make a full cup, looking past the fence into the dry, yellow field, the tractor and baler chugging along, kicking up pillars of dust as they arced from one row to the next. They were on the last wagon. Should be done in half an hour. Just in time to beat the rain.

Charlie, lingering on the sight of Emerson picking up a bale and carrying it to the back of the wagon, watched as he lifted it over her head and positioned it onto a four-high. "Mm," she went. "Daddy's still got it, doesn't he?" A pause. "His shirt is ruining the view, though."

The kids blinked.

Trying to entertain them, the squirrel picked one final berry and stood back, narrating, "And there she is, scampering up the court. Three seconds left! Two! One! She lets 'er fly." She tossed the berry into he bucket. "And it's good! Raptors for the championship!" She megaphoned her paws around her muzzle and made crowd noises. "Haaah, haaah!"

They watched her with fascination.

She then reached into the bucket and randomly chose a berry, popping it into her mouth, chewing, tilting her head. "Mmm. Nature's candy!"

EJ reached out, straining in the stroller and making grabby paws. He barked. Soon, Azalea was doing the same, squeaking in high, light pitches.

"Nahhh, you can't have solid foods yet! Nope, nope, whimpers don't work on me. Well. Heh. Unless daddy is making them, but that's different." Charlie picked up the bucket. "Maybe in a couple o' months you can taste the jam I make! Mm-hmm! Mm-hmm." She did a 'coochie-coo' noise and tickled their whiskers. Getting her phone back out, Charlie said, "Oh, heck. Almost forgot to tell Akira when to pick up the food!"

She texted the otter:

'pizza and breadsticks ready in 20, seeya here!'

A minute later, Akira texted back a webbed paw 'thumbs up' emoji.

The twins, meanwhile, were getting fussier.

"I should probably feed you before Auntie Akira gets here," Charlie told them. Paws on hips, she told them, "Ten minutes a boob. Deal?"

They gurgled.

Securing the raspberry bucket on the back of the stroller, Charlie pivoted its wheels, turning it around and pushing it back to the cozy blue-and-yellow farmhouse, her rusty, silver-spotted tail flickering about.

"He did pretty good for a town mouse," Emerson said warmly, of Roanoke.

It was forty minutes later, and they were lounging in Charlie and Emerson's backyard.

"He did, huh? Wish I'd been here to see it. Swinging those bales," Akira teased, on her belly in grass, otter-style.

The sun, peeking between thick, advancing clouds, was on a sunset trajectory, but it was going to be blocked from view well before it reached the horizon. You could almost smell the coming rain. The air was starting to get cooler, too.

"Saturday is always slammed at the store," the red velvet otter continued. "I normally take the weekends off and give those days to my employees, but Willow is out of town." The dappled buckskin mare, Akira's 'second in command,' was visiting her twin sister, Winifred, down in Santa Claus, Indiana.

"It's quite the workout. I drove the tractor, too!" Roanoke said proudly. The Merle piebald mouse, smoky grey with toffee and chocolate splotches, was loading a paper plate with pizza. And breadsticks. He looked at the cheese cups and took two of them. "Worked up an appetite."

"I can see that." Akira smiled at her mate and rolled onto her back, sitting up and chomping on a pizza slice of her own.

"What about the others? Didn't they want any?" Roanoke asked, of Emerson's cousins. He looked around for them.

"They have to get the straw put up before it rains. Once it gets wet, it molds. My barn is too small to hold more than a couple wagons, and we've already got that in there. So, they're unloading it at their place."

The straw would get sold throughout the summer and fall, mostly to garden centers and farm markets. His cousins would split the sales with him. But that income was strung out. The grain sale from the initial harvesting would be more immediate and was all Emerson's.

"What'd I miss!" Charlie asked, panting, bounding out of the house. She'd just fed Azalea and EJ before laying them down for a nap. A 'baby radio' was hooked to her shorts pocket in case they woke up and started bawling.

She adjusted her t-shirt, clearly bra-less underneath.

The fox squirrel hated wearing them in hot weather. All weathers, really! But especially summer.

Emerson, knowing this, stared at her jiggling chest, those still-lactating nipples prominently poking at the cotton fabric.

"Yo, mouse-o, I'm up here!" she said lightly, loving the attention.

The mouse blushed.

He was suddenly brought back to their introduction, over a year ago. She was driving her uncle's tractor in a bordering field, those coppery breasts bouncing around indiscriminately. And from that moment? Came all of this.

"Wait. That's ... is that my new shirt?" Emerson finally noticed, seeing a red-and-yellow race car on the front.

"It's comfy!" She spread her arms and twirled around.

"Be careful with it." It was his 'Indy 500 Champion' t-shirt. His team had won this year. "I keep finding random stains on my clothes lately."

"That's not me, it's the kiddos! Heh, they even throw up cutely."

"Maybe I should just get two of every shirt I get, now. One for you, one for me."

"Want me to take it off?" she teased, giving him a lascivious look.

"This is how pornos start," Akira said from the peanut gallery.

"Ooh, what's this one called?" Charlie wondered, grabbing her food and finding a lawn chair.

"Bustin' Loose?"

"Nice!"

Emerson shook his head, smiling.

"Your cousins leave already?" Charlie asked Emerson, opening a can of soda. She took a few chugs.

"Hmm?" Emerson's whiskers twitched. A squirrel downing that much sugar? Oh, boy. "Yeah, they took the last wagon to their place."

She took another gulp before saying, "But I got extra cheese cups for them!"

Roanoke, pouring an entire cheese cup over a breadstick, looked up and blinked.

"Hey, Emmy." Charlie, sitting next to him, lazily leaned back, legs sticking straight ahead. "You think they're intimidated by me?"

"Who? My cousins?" He looked at her. "Why would they beinti--"

"Sexually, I mean?" she clarified.

"What?"

"You know what they say about us squirrels!"

"No?"

"Oh." Charlie considered. "Well, they say a lot!" she decided, buckteeth tearing into a slice of veggie lovers. "Mm." She chewed. "Anyway, they all mated other mice, is what I mean. _You_didn't. Feel they look at me and are, like, whoa, look at what Emmy is tappin'!"

"They're _not_thinking that."

"Can you be sure?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Do you have family reunions? Ohmygosh! We gotta go! Do any of 'em have kids? How old are they? Zee and EJ could use some playmates once they start crawling an' walking. It'll be sooner than you think!"

"We, uh ... we used to," Emerson said, finally getting an answer in. "A yearly gathering at the community center in Arcadia. Not anymore, though. No one wants to organize them, and people started making excuses to avoid going."

"Hmm. Maybe I should revive it!"

"If you really want."

"I do!"

Emerson tried to imagine how that would go, reiterating, "They like you just fine. If they seem intimidated, it's because ... I mean, you can be quite forward. Mice are usually reserved, and we don't always know how to respond to, uh, explosive extroversion."

"What's that mean?"

"You're an agent of chaos," Akira teased.

"Like in that movie? Agents of Chaos? The one with the team of squirrel spies kicking tail? Emmy hasn't seen it."

"I clearly don't appreciate fine art," the mouse said lightly.

"They're doing a sequel!"

"I think making an interspecies mate-ship work is very rewarding," Roanoke said, getting back to the original topic. "Even if it can be hard, sometimes."

The harvest mouse, nibbling on a breadstick, said, "I wouldn't say it's been hard. It's just ... sometimes, you get taken out of your comfort zone. You have to be flexible, learn how to compromise."

"That's relationships in general," Akira said.

"True."

Charlie explained, "He was all shy and introverted before I showed up."

"I still am," Emerson insisted.

"He never even outright admitted he wanted me. Heh. Not for a few weeks! Kept it all inside, and it slipped out in glances and twitches." Charlie, saying this to Akira, smirked. Then looked to Emerson and added in a singsong tone, "And then, after a hot day in the field, you couldn't take it anymore. You gave in and we fu--"

"I remember." His ears got rosy.

"They blush so easily, don't they?" Akira said. "Our mousey boys."

Charlie left her chair and sat down by Akira, whispering something to her.

The otter chirped and grinned. "You've gotten hornier since giving birth."

"Really?"

"Yup. Maybe Seldovia is rubbing off on you," Akira said, knowing of her and Emerson's exploits with the skunk.

"Heh, ohmygosh, last week we--"

Emerson quickly changed the subject. "How many raspberries did you get? I saw you picked some."

"Mm? Oh! Uh ... " The fox squirrel, returning to her chair, blew out a breath and did the calculations in her head. "Six cups? At least, yeah. That should make, like ... I don't know. Three or four half-pints? Depending."

"That's it?" he asked, disappointed.

"Fruit's mostly water! It condenses when you boil it. But there's still a lot more out there! They don't all ripen at the same time." Looking to Akira and Roanoke, she explained, "I gotta check 'em every day and pick the ripe ones. Gotta get 'em before the birds do. That's how they got spread around." She glanced back to Emerson. "You didn't plant any, right?"

Emerson shook his head. "No, never. They're completely wild."

"I figure I can sell my jars for ... hummm. Twelve bucks a pop?"

"That much? For a half-pint? Who's gonna buy it?"

"Black raspberries are a premium product! And wild ones? That's, like, the gold standard of the berry world."

Akira looked to Roanoke and told her mate, "You're a banker. Can you verify this?"

"I'm a teller. That hardly makes me a financial guru. And, uh, no one's ever tried to use jam as currency," the piebald mouse said, nibbling on his cheese-dripping breadstick. He wiped at his whiskers and asked back, "What do you sell it for at the store?"

"Eight something? Maybe nine," Akira said. "But that's not local. And it's preserves, not jam. The jam is hard to get right now. Normally comes from the Pacific Northwest, and they lost their berry crop to wildfires last year."

"What's the difference?" Roanoke wondered. "Between preserves and jam, I mean?"

"How about plenty!" Charlie answered, giggling and exchanging a look with Emerson. "City folk!" she said.

Akira rolled her eyes. "Arcadia is hardly a metropolis."

"Jam has fruit pulp in it. Big pieces. Preserves have less of that and more syrup," Emerson said.

"You should give your jam a fancy name," Roanoke told Charlie. "Make labels and everything."

"Yeah!" The squirrel paused. "Like what? Akira, what name would make it a hot ticket item!"

Finished with her meal, Akira sipped from a water bottle and laid back in the shady grass, bending her arms and folding her short-clawed paws behind her head. "Something like ... Country Critters' Jam?"

"Hah. Critters," Charlie echoed.

"I mean, you're all critters. Except for me," the otter insisted.

"Is that good or bad?" Emerson wondered.

Charlie asked the otter, "What are you, then?"

A half-smirk. "Undefinable."

"How about ... um ... " Roanoke had the verge of a jam idea but shook his head. "Nope. I lost it."

"Back Fence Jam," Emerson suggested, "since the berries grew along the fence."

"Oh, I like that one, Emmy!"

"When you're a multi-million-dollar corporation, just remember your friends," Akira joked.

Roanaoke, taking a sip of flavored water, asked, "So, uh, what happens to the field now? Will the wheat grow back?"

Emerson shook his head, nibbling on the last bit of his slice. "No, it's ... " He swallowed. "Wheat's one-and-done. I need to plow up the field next week and plant something else, something that can be harvested in the fall. Soybeans, probably. Too late for corn. Ideally, you want corn to be knee-high by the Fourth of July for harvesting in September. I really don't want to be doing corn in November. It's gotta be dry to sell it, and it's really hard to dry it out in that weather. You won't make as much."

"Speaking of Fourth of July," Akira said. "You guys coming to the parade?"

"Ooh, parade?! What for?"

Akira made a face. "The Fourth of July," she repeated.

"Oh, right!" Charlie answered cheerily, tail swishing. "What's that?"

"Independence Day," Roanoke clarified.

"Ohhhh! Ours is in July, too," the squirrel said, of Canada. "The first of July! That's next week. I should put some flags up."

"Do you have any?"

"Heck, yeah! There's a maple leaf flag at my aunt and uncle's house, in my old room."

"It's gonna be a big blast this year," Akira continued. "With Rikki running for reelection, he's pulling out all the stops to give everyone a good time. Parade in the morning, festivities and food, then some local musical acts."

"That should last about ten minutes," Emerson quipped, of the music.

"Fireworks are after sunset."

"We'll probably make it into town for some of it," the harvest mouse continued. "The parade and the food. I'm not sure about the fireworks. That's awfully late." His whiskers twitched. "It'll be after ten by the time it's dark enough. Maybe when the kids are older."

"Well, if you change your mind, you can join me and Roanoke on the roof of the grocery store. Unblocked view of the whole thing." The fireworks were launched from the park at the south end of Main Street.

"Technically, you _can_see the town's fireworks from all the way out here. Terrain is flat enough and there's no structures in the way. But, uh, light travels faster than sound? So, you won't actually hear them until a few seconds after they disappear."

"That's so romantic!" Charlie exclaimed, clasping her paws together. "Ohmygosh. We can have a firefly picnic!"

"What's what?"

"A late-night snack outside, with fireflies!"

"You're gonna _eat_them?" Akira teased. "They taste awful, y'know."

"Not gonna eat 'em," the squirrel insisted. "It's a new moon, so they'll provide the light."

"So, you mean _lightning_bugs?" Emerson said.

Charlie tilted her head. "They move too slow to be like lightning."

"Well, they flash like it," Emerson defended. "They're not hot enough to be fire."

"Hmm."

They both looked at Roanoke.

"Wha? Why am I the judge?" he squeaked, whiskers twitching. "They're both technically accurate. Just regional dialects."

"Ha, like how Emmy thinks this is a 'soda'?" Charlie said, holding up her sugary, carbonated drink. The can was half-empty. "When it's clearly pop!"

"Maybe you should go easy on that," Emerson suggested.

"Long distance fireworks is a good band name," Akira decided randomly.

Taking another swig of 'pop,' Charlie she told Emerson, "We'll have to boost the night with some 'fireworks' of our own. With a proper 'grand finale'. Eh?" She was practically waggling her brow. "Get it?"

Emerson smiled, looked to the ground, and then back to her. "Yes ... "

Akira stage-whispered to Roanoke, "They're talking about sex."

Charlie giggled.

Emerson rubbed his cheeks.

Roanoke yawned. Widely. With a squeak!

"Uh-oh," Akira said calmly. "He's nodding off."

"Mm?" Roanoke' tired eyes fluttered. "No, I'm ... naahhhm." He yawned. "Not!"

"We should get going, regardless," the otter announced. "Rain's almost here."

The breeze was really starting to blow, cool and stiff, dried leaves shaking loose from the trees and scattering across the grass. The sun was completely blotted out.

The four friends all got up.

"Take the leftover pizza with you," Charlie said. "You paid for it."

"Will do," Akira said, rubbing a paw on Roanoke's back. They sorted the leftover pizza, taking a half box and leaving a quarter box (and the remaining breadsticks) with Charlie and Emerson. They then got into Akira's car and went back to town.

That's when it started to rain. Lightly, at first. 'Spitting' would be accurate.

Thunder rumbled.

Navy-blue barn swallows skimmed the remnants of the wheat field like fighter jets, hunting for bugs.

Charlie heard someone crying on her baby radio. "Oop, better check on that," she said. "They must hear the storm coming! You good, mouse-o?"

"Mmhmm. See you in a bit."

Emerson, left alone in the backyard, felt the fatigue of manual labor catching up to him. But not just that. Classic introvert that he was, socializing in groups left him feeling winded.

He took a deep breath, counted to four, and released it. He repeated this several times. Once collecting himself (as best he could, anyway), he gathered the used plates and soda cans and put them in a loose trash bag.

More thunder.

The rain was picking up.

He was tempted to let himself get poured on. It'd feel good after being in the sun and heat all day! But a vivid fork of lightning in the distance changed his mind.

He scurried around to the front of the house.

Tying up the trash bag from the meal, he put it in the big barrel at the end of their gravel driveway. A quick check of the mailbox. Then to the house, up the front porch. The steps were creaky. Charlie claimed it gave the place 'character.'

Once safely inside, he heard the squirrel talking to their kids.

He smiled.

She was such a good mom.

Was he a good dad?

He hoped so ...

Hearing him enter, Charlie called, "You taking a shower, Emmy?"

"Yeah. About to. It's gonna be quick, cause I don't wanna be in there when the lightning gets closer."

Covered in dust as he was, he almost felt like a chinchilla!

"I'll be in the kitchen working on my jam!" she told him.

Emerson, out of the shower with a fresh set of clothes, wandered into the kitchen. Rain was lashing at the windows.

Pitter-patter-patter!

A flash of lightning.

BOOM!

It was _really_storming now.

Charlie used tongs to set half-pint jars of jam into a bubbling water bath.

"How long they gotta be heated for?" Emerson asked, kissing the squirrel's nape, hugging her from behind. He closed his eyes and leaned against her, breathing her scent.

"Fifteen minutes." She grabbed a wooden spoon, still covered with jam. "Wanna taste?"

"Mm-hmm." His eyes reopened.

"Lemme," she insisted, turning around and lifting the spoon to his muzzle.

He nipped at the end of the spoon, taking a lick or two. "Mm!" His eyes lit up. "Good flavor."

"Prolly cause I added two cups of sugar. Ha! But you gotta, or it won't set right. Sugar, lemon juice, vanilla." She put the spoon down and eased into the mouse's hugging arms. "When berry season is done, I'll make apple butter. Applesauce." A pause, rattling off other possibilities. "Sliced pears, peaches, pumpkin butter ... "

"You have a sweeter bucktooth than me," he said, kissing her cheek.

"Must be why I'm so into you! You are super sweet."

"Aw ... "

Charlie tilted her head, puckering her lips.

He leaned in for the kiss, their lips smacking once, twice. Three times.

"Mm," she went, licking her lips afterward. "Yup. Sweet."

"You're just tasting the jam on me."

"Who's to say?" Charlie countered.

Emerson smiled but was unable to stave off a big, bucktoothed yawn.

"Tired?"

A light, little nod.

"I wish I could help you more," she said softly, massaging his neck and shoulders.

"You're doing plenty, squirrelly," he promised, blue eyes meeting her greens. "I wish I could help you more."

Between the farm and the kids, they had so much to take care of now.

How were they going to juggle all this for the next twenty years?

"You're fine, mouse-o. With a capital F!"

"Yeah?"

"Yup." Resting her forehead to his, she insisted, "We got this."

"How can you be sure?"

"Cause we got each other."

Emerson melted a little.

Charlie goosed his rump (drawing an 'eek!' from him) and added, "I saw you out there. Flexing, stacking bales above your head."

He winced in remembrance. "My back's gonna feel that tomorrow ... "

"I'll rub it better. Mmh. Maybe I should even get a head start?" She moved her paws under his t-shirt, gently massaging his lower back. They soon strayed around, to his front, feeling his creamy-white chest and belly. Up, down, all over. Grabbing at his golden sides. "So trim and fit and golden. Like a sun god."

"Ha, sun god? You're just buttering me up, now." He smiled, brushing his whiskers with hers.

"Sweet and buttery? You're makin' me hungry."

He kissed her face. "Charlie ... "

"Yes, Emmy?"

Before proclamations of epic desire could be uttered, a timer went off.

Charlie pulled herself away to remove the big, shiny pot, bubbling and brewing, from the stove. Turning the burner off, she then used tongs to remove the jars. One by one. Setting them on a towel on the counter to cool and dry, she bounced up and down with anticipation. "Now, just wait for it," the squirrel said.

"For wha--"

"Shh!"

The mouse went quiet and heard it.

Pop!

"Ha!" Charlie laughed. "So satisfying!"

The jars gave metallic pings as the combination of the heated contents in the cooler kitchen air created a vacuum, causing the lids to seal.

Pop, pop!

Emerson watched his mate. The squirrel was so happy-go-lucky, finding joy in every little thing. It was quite contagious. He was having a hard time remembering life without her. It must've been so dull!

"What ya thinkin' about, mouse-o?" she asked him, catching his lingering gaze. "You were about to say somethin' before the alarm."

"I was?" he echoed coyly.

She brought her nose to his chin, grinning and nipping at him. "You bein' a lewdster again?"

"Did I say it was sexual?"

"You didn't have to! I can tell. Who can resist all this?" she said, fluffing her tail for show, arching in his grasp.

"Certainly not sun gods." Emerson murmured, "But you know you want it ... "

"Want whaaat," she drawled evasively.

He combed his fingers through her head-fur. "I'd rather show you."

"Such initiative!" Swirling, swishing her tail across his face, she shuffled over to the kitchen table and leaned forward. Planting her paws on the wooden surface, she looked over her shoulder with a 'come hither' expression. "Well, Mr. Decisive! What's it gonna be? Standing up, in front of the table? Against the fridge?" That's how the twins had been conceived! "Or a chair, maybe ... "

"Yeah. Chair," he opted. "You said you wanted to help more?" The mouse, weighing fatigue versus horniness, slowly unbuckled his belt, pants sliding down his trim, golden hips. "You can ride me."

"Makin' me do all the work, eh?"

He fought another yawn and managed, "You work me, and I'll work you."

"Heh! Just don't sit in the chair with the wobbly leg." The squirrel was already stripping.

Emerson stepped out of his shorts and tossed his shirt. Down to his underwear. "Saying you're gonna be rough?"

"Just don't wanna break any furniture! But, if we do," she added, naked before he was, "we'll blame it on the 'love vibrations'."

"What're those?" he asked, dropping his underwear, kicking them across the floor.

"You'll find out when I rock your world!"

Emerson giggled and pulled a wooden chair away from the table, spinning it to face her and taking a seat. His pink, prehensile tail threaded through the 'tail-gap,' drifting around behind him.

Charlie eagerly straddled him, starting to gyrate and grind her hips, rubbing her wet, pouty sex to his. "Try not to wake the kiddos with your squeaks. It took forever to settle 'em down."

"No promises."

The mouse grabbed her fluffy rump, guiding her, squeaking as they finally connected. His thick, pulsing sex plugged into hers, filling her wet, warm passage. It was so easy. So familiar. And still as good as it had ever been.

"Imagine we're on the ... ah, the tractor together, and we're hitting all the bumps," Charlie said, starting to bounce. There were those breasts, again. Flopping in his face.

"S-seems an unsafe ... scenario," he grunted, groping her backside. Then coming around to lift those breasts. They were right there, after all. How could he not? He caressed them, squeezed them. Rubbed her nipples.

"Ah! Ah ... still hungry, daddy?" she murmured.

Emerson, catching her drift, responded by shifting Charlie's posture, hitching her up a bit. This caused him to slip out of her sex, his slick, stiff erection slapping against his thigh.

He alternated between suckling on and teasing her nipples with his tongue. He switched from one breast to the other, a droplet of her milk dangling from his whiskers.

Charlie made a churring noise.

Before too long, Emerson lost patience, reaching down to grab his cock, pointing himself back into her. He lowered the squirrel's body back down. Flush to his lap. He didn't have much leverage from this position, so he told her, "Pick up the pace. I ... I don't know how much stamina I have left."

"Mm, you ... you promised me fireworks, mouse-o! I'm not stoppin' 'til we get a proper grand finale." She was riding him with abandon now, grinding, gyrating, lifting and dropping. Stimulating him in every which way, her wet sex squelching each time she hilted on his shaft.

"F-fire ... works? Did I?"

"Yup!" she huffed. Pretty sure!"

"I think you promised those to ... to yourself," he reminded, trying to nip and nibble on her shoulder. On her neck.

"You got the bottle rocket between your legs here, so ... I'm relying on you to, mmm, give me an ending with ... with! Mmf. With lots of sparks!"

"I'll give you anything," he swore, eyes hooding. Damn, she felt good. His cock was tingling, and the feeling was spreading throughout his body. "Oh, gosh ... just ... mmf ... "

"Oh, Emmy ... ah, yes." The squirrel's tail flagged and fluffed, her rump pushing down against him. "Yes. Yes!" she cried.

Charlie started to bark. Guttural squirrel sounds.

Emerson squeaked, paws clutching her curvy hips.

"I'm ... I'm gonna cum!" she announced. "Ahh, ah, fuck!"

Emerson felt her orgasm. Her body tensing, sex clenching. In strong, muscular spasms.

She dropped into his lap for good and hugged him tightly. "Ohhhh!"

The mouse, trembling, forcibly trapped deep in her pussy, yelped as he pulsed and twitched. "Ah! Ah ... hah ... "

Eyes closing, he swore he saw them.

Bursts of color.

Pinwheels of pleasure.

Fireworks.

"Emmy," she breathed.

"Charlie," he whispered back, choking up a bit.

"Heck! That was good. I'm shakin', like ... heh, y'know, like a love vibration?"

"Me, too."

"Told ya!"

Eyes reopening, he smiled and nodded. Their noses touched. "You did."

Charlie's ears cocked, listening for the kits. Still asleep! They'd gotten lucky this time. In more ways than one.

"I'm gonna have to take another shower," Emerson noticed, looking down at the source of their union. His loin-fur was matted and glistening. He yawned, widely. "Ahhm!"

She carefully, slowly dismounted, looking into his eyes and saying, "The storm has passed! It's safe to linger in the water."

"Saying you wanna join me?"

"Someone's gotta make sure you don't fall asleep in there. Might hit your noggin!"

"True." He rubbed at his face, eyelids feeling heavier by the second.

"Can't have anything happening to my mouse-o, especially when we've got more firework practice coming up."

"Practice, huh? You mean we're gonna have to do this again? And again and--"

"Oh, yeah. I mean, the big show's gonna be outdoors! In the heat, in the dark. On the grass. Changes the whole scenario. Gotta be prepared. We only got a week to nail it. You up for that?"

"I'm up for nailing you," he replied. "Always."

"You are a lewdster," she confirmed, green eyes twinkling.

"Must've caught it from someone." He pecked a kiss to her lips.

"I wonder who?" she asked slyly, standing up and extending a paw.

He took it and slowly stood, taking a second for his back to adjust before allowing himself to be led to the bathroom, to the hot, steamy shower, where they washed the evidence of their union away.

But not the memory.

Love vibrations were hard to forget.