Blindsight
Author's Note: the following is a work of furry fiction. This story may contain acts of yiffery including sex between members of the same sex, and different species. Also included may be coarse language, drug use, death, angst, and other depressing topics. Hey, I was in a bad mood and decided to be creative. This story was inspired, as many are, by my mate Tym. Phone bill or no phone bill, love, you're still the world to me. Nothing changes. We always get through.
FEEDBACK always welcome to [email protected]
Blindsight ©MMIV Whyte Yoté
9:30 p.m.
My eyes itch, as if some unseen bug is crawling over them. I know it's only the coke, but always I want to believe it's something else.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, one of the only things in the room not rotting away and half-dead like everything else around me. The neon sign, the one that says "GIRLSGIRLSGIRLS" in big red letters flashes outside the single dirt and snot-streaked window. It looks stupid, confident. I can relate.
I'm used to this, all of it. The alcohol hardly phases me anymore. The drugs keep getting more and more unpredictable as my cash runs out. Tricks aren't what they used to be, with the rubber craze and all, but I'm still around day after day. Smoking, now...that's what I don't like to do. I could have quit a long time ago, but it's more about going through the motions than anything else.
I stand and fumble around in the darkness for a book of matches, find them, strike one with my thumbclaw, and inhale. It burns, it always burns, but my head reels from the taste and settles. My paws are shaking terribly. I think again of the growing inevitable, and push it from my mind. I'm on that train, one way ticket, yeah brother.
"Umber? Come back to bed, love."
That name. Not mine, but the term of endearment. I can't stand them. They're like a futile attempt at familiarity. I don't need familiarity, or attachment, or love. I've moved beyond, into things like meth, mescaline and special sex for a special price.
"Umber?"
"Coming," I reply, and smile at the double meaning. It never gets old, I tell you.
"You bet you are," Corey says, coyly. I can't see him in this dark, stuffy room, but the silhouette of his feline ears against the wall tells me he's listening...and horny again. I bet his fur is standing on end from just thinking about it. I don't laugh at his weak attempt at humor. It used to help my soul. Now, all it does is just sink into some black unplace that never seems to get better.
I pad to the corner of the room and hold a pot to my crotch. I urinate, wincing at the stinging I've tried to get used to but failed at. At last the flow stops; I drop my butt in after my piss, set the pot down (there is no bathroom) and return to bed, nude. Summer in the city calls for clothing-optional nights. To tell the truth, clothing is optional most of the time for me.
Corey lifts the blanket up, and I slide in next to him. He's warm and repelling at the same time. Always that sense of danger with piggybackers, even though neither of us is in danger. He's so young, I almost wonder how he got positive. The warmth of his sleek body under my wings, the low purring rumble emanating from somewhere deep within him, his young-boy's voice soon to drop two octaves, the vigor with which he spoons lewdly into my backside.
I hardly notice when he penetrates me for the second time in one night. I open my beak silently, taking his pubescent length to the root. The fullness that's supposed to be there is absent, like always, and I pretend to like it. I'm tired. Corey can fuck me all night if he wants. Better to take advantage of the free ride before I start charging him as a client. They all end up as clients.
Corey reaches his paw around my leonine body to my sheath, always full and bulging obscenely against the cum-stiffened sheets. Works the fur and skin down, ooohing and aaahing at the thirteen inches of cock he's uncovered. Strokes it in time with his thrusts. I take note and know this will not last long. I yawn; I've seen it all.
I want another cigarette. Clouds in the dirty sky clear just enough for me to see a sliver of ivory, and then cover it back over. Spreading my legs out and down, I grip Corey's feet in my own, digging in my claws. The cat moans into my shoulder, planting a bite on it. I stifle another yawn and clench at his length. He's grown up so fast since I deflowered him a week ago. I'm 28, and I have no trouble with him being half my age. Then again, the laws don't apply to me much anymore. They wouldn't want me in jail, no siree.
My tailhole twitches, and Corey becomes stiff behind me. His hot seed is only a temporary comfort. A few minutes later, he's asleep still inside me. I paw myself off quickly, unsatisfactorily, and follow him into sleep, thinking he never should have looked at me.
* * *
1:00 a.m.
I am jolted out of a harsh sleep by my even harsher cell phone. I reach over the side of the mattress, dislodging Corey's flaccid cock from my hole, holding the seed in. Bringing the incessant squeaking phone to silence, I hold it to my head.
"Umber."
"Karl, hon. We need to talk." Oh, great. Now I get to deal with this.
"What about?"
"One of your whores is screwing me."
"Isn't that what they're supposed to do?" I can't help but be sarcastic. It's been a rough night. Just one more in a rough life.
"Fuck you, freak. Get over here in ten minutes or I'll stick a steak knife in his ass instead of my cock." The voice is gruff and slurred, but dead serious.
"Dammit, Karl. I'll be down in five." I put on a heavy black trench coat, and nothing else. I don't see the point this late at night.
True to form, five minutes later I see a blob of shadow next to a subway entrance. The night is cold, foggy, stagnant. As I approach, the bear walks under the streetlamp, and I can see Ty on a leash behind him. His fur is expertly cleaned and polished, but his eyes are listless and defeated. They look like mine.
Karl grunts and pulls Ty forward. Shifting his cheap used-car-salesman suit around, he asks, "Got a light?"
I produce my matches. The bear takes the book, flips it open, tears one off and lights it. He puffs his cigarette into life and touches the still-flaming end to mine, which I've already put between my lips. Our twin plumes of smoke rise as if through water.
"I picked up this little piece of ass last month, about three blocks from here, right? From you," Karl snarls and pulls the leash without knowing it.
I look at Ty and mouth: You all right? I am not concerned about his well-being as much as I am concerned about him being valuable property of mine. "Yeah, he's with me. What, did he laugh at that stub you call a cock and piss you off?" I'm a shrewd businessman.
Karl starts visibly. He knows I've hit a vein. "He gives me a good time. Got that first-time discount going, that's good. I decide to pay him for an extended stay. I give him my cell for emergency reasons. Today I get a bill. Do you know how much that bill was for, my half-breed friend?"
I scowl at the bear. The one thing I hate more than terms of endearment is the ridicule of my species. Being a gryphon in this city got me in the business, and it keeps 'em coming. It's the rule of intrigue, the lure of the taboo. Plus, I've got something some of them can't live without. I sigh, and ask the inevitable: "How much, Karl?"
"Seventeen hundred bucks, Umber. Your little prick of a fox has been dealing with my phone. Nobody but me deals with my phone. I pay good money for this kit to fuck me, not screw me over."
"Let me talk to him."
Karl releases Ty, and I jerk him bodily until we're about twenty feet away. When he looks at me, I slap him, open-fisted, on the side of his muzzle. He looks away, tears of pain in his eyes. I grab his chin and turn, his muzzle nearly touching my beak.
"Where do you get off doing shit like this?"
Ty looks down and says nothing.
In a flash, I'm holding his balls (it seems like Karl has a thing for shaving, my mind says) in my sharp claws. Ty can feel it all too well. "Answer me," I growl.
"Master, I'm sorry. I just wanted to make some quick money for you, that's all."
"You don't worry about me, okay? You concentrate about using that nice little body of yours to make Karl happy. I don't need extra money. Where's the stuff you dealed?"
Ty is quiet, looking for an answer. I tug on his scrotum painfully.
"Ow! It-there's no money, just crack. Not much...I've been so dry, Master."
"Jesus fucking-H Christ!" I exclaim. I don't need this in the middle of the night. Sometimes it's enough to make you want to go clean. Nah, I make too much to do that. "So you've been toking up for the better part of a month?"
The lack of a response speaks volumes. I take a claw to his throat and slash a nice superficial cut along the left side of his neck, a warning shot across his bow. It starts to bleed immediately. Walking hurriedly back to Karl, I try to play the concerned business owner. "I trust we can rectify this situation? I would like to deal in trade, if at all possible." I'm in no mood for politics.
"I think we can arrange that. Starting with you." The bear backs away from the streetlamp and unzips his fly. A paw goes in the pulls out a shaggy deep-brown sheath, and pumps himself to erection. This ursine is one of the most filthy people in the world, in mind and body, but he's one of my highest-paying customers. I'm not about to lose him because of Ty's fuckups.
"Not here, dumbass," I say impatiently, and take hold of his paw. The grip is loose, slimy. I detest it at once. "You come here," I say to Ty, and he follows us into a side alley untouched by the light. Once safely in the dark, I push Karl into the brick wall of a tenement and down into a sitting position, pulling his sheath down from his diminishing hardon. He's immediately up again. I doff the trench coat, spreading my wings and descending to all fours on the concrete. Leaning on my arms, I take his member into my expert mouth.
After a few minutes, I become increasingly annoyed at the silence of Ty behind me. Stupid kid can't see an opportunity when it's right in front of his face. I should have told him to go back to the Hamptons, but he's too much money to give up. Besides, he can't go back even if he wants to. All the medicine money can buy (and some you can't) won't help him now. It can't help any of us.
"Ty! Hey, dipshit!" The fox cowers. He's really afraid of me now. I tone it down. "Why don't you do me a favor and stick that thing in a hole, huh? Or are you gonna paw all night?" Without waiting for a response, I go back to fellating the old bear, who is now grimacing in concentration, trying not to drive my head into his ample belly. I hear Ty shuffle over and position himself above me. His leash falls over my neck limply.
He holds my shoulders and pushes into my tailhole, yelping at how easily he slides into me. He doesn't know that Corey's spent load is doing quite the lube job on the inside. We're already tied-that fox never could wait-and he jackhammers behind me, adding further friction to my mouth on Karl.
I keep my eyes and ears open for sounds of the police: sirens, footsteps, shadows. Nothing in this part of town. Everyone knows to keep their business to themselves around here.
Soon enough, Karl comes to the last stage before climax. "Fucking hell," he has the foresight to throw me a warning.
"Me too," Ty says from behind me. Typical threeway. The only reason I asked Ty to join is that I happen to know for a fact that Karl is particularly fond of threesomes, especially with generation gaps. Well, I think 50-28-19 is a pretty good gap. Karl, myself, and Ty respectively. It will be a big load.
Ty stops humping and makes some minute slow pushes into me as he comes. I'm warmed from the inside out again, but it passes like always. I concentrate on bringing Karl over, and my beak is flooded with ursine semen. I milk the dirty member with practiced motions, feeling the urethra for the last drops, let the cock fall onto Karl's lap. I spit the load onto the ground. I usually swallow, but my stomach's fucked up from the party last night.
"Hey, you don't spit me out like that." Karl sounds pissed.
"I don't feel good. Either I spit or I throw up on your crotch. You pick."
Karl harrumphs. "Cum's just like Pepto-Bismol." What a stupid prick. Ty has pulled out of me, and I wait to drain a bit before I stand, remarkably not erect, and don my trench coat again. Taking a foil packet out of a pocket, I open it. The white powder within reflects ghostly back at me. It goes into my nose, and I feel a little better. I toss one to Ty and he does the same. He does anything I tell him nowadays. He won't last much longer. He's worse than me.
"Happy, fatso?" I ask the bear.
"I suppose I can cut the bill in half. As for the other eight-fifty, we can either deal in dope, sex, or time with the kit. Whatever you want."
I look at Ty, who seems suddenly deathly afraid of Karl. Probably beating him. "You keep him until the end of the month, like we agreed, and I may have cash for you. Give me time."
"I got plenty of that, my boy. We both know that." There is a heavy pall of approaching death on his breath. It's easy to see it now. Fat lot of good cash'll do him. I don't want to see Ty drawn further into this. I bet I can raise the money inside of a week, if my dealing skills aren't rusty. I never really stopped, anyway.
"I'll have you taken care of when you turn in my fox. Ten days, fair trade. Deal?"
"Deal." Karl's always been an easygoing and fair customer. There is no more to be said, and the bear takes Ty by the leash and leads him away. The fox looks back balefully at me, but I just wink and smile. He'll be in good paws, and not hurt further. That is, unless he wants it.
I pad around a couple corners and find The End, a bar which accepts members only during business hours, and only a special few with a password after hours. A pair of glowing eyes meet mine through a peephole after I knock.
"Yeah?"
"Daffodil." The door opens. Such an innocuous password, one nobody would guess in a million years. That doesn't keep the management from changing it every couple months or so. The bar is thinly populated: two furs playing billiards in the shadows, one in a corner smoking, the bouncer and the bartender, who is absent at the moment.
I sit on a stool worn by tens of thousands of past customers and yell, "Who do I have to finger-fuck to get a drink around here?"
"Me," a voice floats from the darkness behind me. I turn and see a familiar face...but it saddens me a little. Dom, a schnauzer in his mid-forties, smiles warmly at me. Us piggybackers don't usually get many customers like Dom. Most are already positive, and want to get off without rubbers and without endangering others. But people like Dom...some come to me to get infected. In my whole existence, nothing confuses me more than why a fur would want to throw his life away with a night of carnal pleasure.
I gave it to him, of course. He paid me over ten grand...his life's savings. There was no insurance scam, no revenge on an ex. We've stayed close friends, occasionally lovers, and he's never been happier. I changed his life somehow, but I don't know how and I don't ask. I don't think I need to.
"How've you been, buddy?" I ask, but I can tell by his face he's happy.
"Just as well as always. Livin' day by day, no regrets, you know the drill. Can I buy you a drink?"
"You've bought me enough. I can afford my own. I'll take a rain check. Hey! Maurice, quit pawing off and pour me!" My tone is joking, or as much as it can be in this joint.
Maurice stalks in from behind a curtain, and before it closes all the way I can see what's on his computer screen. Two prepubescent furs, presumably brothers, engaged in a sixty-nine in front of a home camera. I know Maurice has a stash of DVDs, but by the cursory look I believe this is one of his own. Same species, at least. In any other situation I'd rat on him, but doing so would only bring me and my record to the cops as well.
The bloodhound tucks himself, still dripping, into his pants and looks at me, annoyed. "What the fuck do you want?"
"Beefeater tonic. No lime. You think you can quit stroking long enough to do that?" But Maurice is already looking for the bottle. He makes the drink and sets it in front of me. I look at it apprehensively.
"You didn't wash your paws."
"Gin's alcohol. Sterilizes everything."
He has a point, disgusting as it may be. I tip the glass, which is clean, to my beak and sip. Hair of the dog, they call it. First it burns as it enters my stomach, then settles it down to my surprise. I look for the book of matches in my trench coat, but I'm fresh out. Dom has left the bar without my noticing. Maurice has gone back to his puppy-porn, no doubt trying for a second come in ten minutes. I drain the rest of my drink slowly with my left paw, holding an unlit cigarette in my right, not thinking of anything in particular.
* * *
4:30 a.m.
Perhaps my only absolution lies in my selflessness towards others. Once in a while, when I find myself immersed in a string of bad days (a funk, if you will) I have an almost insatiable need to do right by someone. The homeless are reminders of just how close I am to living on the streets. Always one month away from losing my tenuous grip on life, never knowing how much longer until my health goes to shit, I try never to take for granted the things I have or the friends I make. Even my clients mean a little more to me.
I walk slowly back towards home. I found a fur, not far from The End, shivering under a refrigerator box and not much else. After a short introduction and a bit of persuasion (it's not right to trust anyone in this town), I take him to the waffle house. They would throw me out immediately, looking at the way we're dressed, if they didn't know I was such a good tipper. We sit in the far corner and share a meal, our histories, and a discussion of life in general.
The topic of what I do always comes up at the waffle house. I've made some pretty good deals in that booth, and I always make sure to put some of it right back into the servers' paws.
"So, you walk the streets?"
"Yeah, I do. My friends and pets do, too. We're all one happy family."
"How did you get into it?"
"I saw a need to fill and I was one of the few who could."
"What need was that?"
"Piggybacking."
"Come again?"
I stifle a giggle and manage only a smile. "The positive community has needs just like any other in the city. The yuppies and horny old men have the clean hookers, and we get the rest. I've got nothing left to lose, so I take advantage of my disease."
"I'm sorry," I hear from the homeless fur, and it's completely true.
"Don't be. I've got a purpose in life. I'm satisfied most of the time." It's true, too. I'm happiest when surrounded by those with whom I belong. My species only serves to integrate me instead of ostracize me from the crowd. I can also command higher premiums as a "rare catch."
"You must make decent money to take a guy like me out for an early lunch."
"I get by. You know, if you're in need I can help out. No contact, just a pawjob or some oral, but if you ever need anything..." I start digging in my breast pocket for a business card.
"Oh, no, no. I think I can handle it. No offense, but I prefer my own paw to someone's muzzle. But I'm not saying I'll never take you up on it. After all, I know where you live."
"And I you, for the time being." I finally retrieve a business card and hand it to the disheveled tomcat. "Whenever you decide you need some company, come see me. I won't charge you."
"Thanks. And thanks for this meal, too. I haven't eaten like that in years."
I lay a hefty amount of cash on the table and say, "Don't follow me back home if you're thinking about it. Don't want to attract too much attention."
The feline nods and watches me leave, swishing my hips and raising my lion's tail evilly. I walk out of the waffle house, sober, awake, and feeling better for the first time in days. Being positive without medication is like always being under the weather: you have bearable days and you have bad days. Rarely do the good days come by themselves; I have to make myself happy. Sex goes only so far. I can see, just faintly, a separation between the tops of the buildings and the eastern sky. I wrap up tighter in the coat and head home.
5:45 a. m.
I prefer the eight-to-five shift, except I'm twelve hours behind everyone else. My body, although full of food, is exhausted from staying up for so long. Last night's party/open bar/orgy lasted longer than I would have liked, and I've been on the edge of a hangover for hours. My building looms, washed out and dreary, in front of me. It's like a dead sentinel, never moving, neutral, always watching. And there is someone at my front door.
He leans against the storm door. He is a wolf, dirty grey and black, taller than me and built like a football player. I size him up unselfconsciously as I approach. He raises his head in greeting, and I do the same.
"I'm looking for a mister Umber?," he says in a confident but gentle voice. I think, Oh my God, he's a bottom.
"You've found him. Skip the mister."
The wolf's paw enters his jeans pocket and my eyes follow, checking out a very decent bulge behind the fly. He brings out a card and hands it to me.
"I'm supposed to give this to you, and to say, 'what goes around comes around.'"
I look at the card. It's one of mine, but not the most recent design. On the back is a message: "Thought you might like a referral. After him, you'll owe me. By the way, he likes to be bitten. Love, Dan." I haven't talked to Dan in months. I make a mental note to get in touch with him and turn my attention back to the situation at paw.
"So, my friend...why did you come to me?"
The lupine glances at the sidewalk, swishing his tail to and fro nervously behind him, still with a semi-hardon in his jeans. "Well, I was with Dan and some friends. We got to talking, and I said I wanted something different, something you can't get all the time. Dan said he knew a guy, but it would cost me. I said I didn't care, and he gave me this card and wrote a note on it. I wasn't counting on finding you right away, but I'm glad I did."
"I'm glad you did too, um-"
"Riker."
"Riker. Nice. You look like you could use a little company," I say, sidling up to him a little more.
"Is it that obvious?"
"I can smell it on you."
The wolf laughs a little, the tension is broken. I make a quick assessment of the wolf, his body, smells on him, his coloration, and a set of quite piercing blue eyes. He is beautiful. I'm saddened again, knowing he's like me, but it happens to all types. I position myself behind him and reach up, unsheathing my claws and start to give him a backrub. He is instantly comfortable.
"I can see we'll be having lots of fun together, Riker. There's one thing I have to know before we can go through that door."
"What's th-" I don't wait for him to finish his sentence and bite him, hard, on the nape of his neck, just above his T-shirt. His breath catches suddenly in his throat and he makes a kind of high-pitched yip, then nothing. His body trembles violently and his legs give out, sending us both to the sidewalk. Suddenly I've got a puppy on my paws. I bite a little harder, almost enough to break the skin, and Riker sprawls on the ground, flat, clawing at the concrete. I let go and he collapses, tail limp, and rolls over. I am satisfied to see a perfect outline of lupine cock, knot included, inside his jeans.
"Dan was right," I say. I extend my paw to help him up. He does so, unsteadily.
"I almost...I almost..." is all the wolf can say. He's panting too hard. I take my cell out of a pocket and press a preset key. Corey answers in a sleepy voice after two rings.
"Jesus, what?"
"I've made a friend, kitty. You in the mood for some company?"
"Sure! Who is it?" Corey is awake and peppy at once at the prospect.
"A big, cute, fluffy woof for you to play with," I say, looking at Riker, who blushes. I reach into his jeans, and before he can react I'm squeezing his cock in rhythm with his heartbeat. He leans back against the wall, muzzle open. He could care less about the neighbors. I couldn't.
"Oooh! Bring him up, quick!"
"I think you'll like him. He already likes you." I bend down, pull the waistband back, and kiss the tip of his member quick, cursory. "You taste good, puppy." I mean it this time. I haven't had lupine in a long time. It's a good thing I'm wearing the trench coat; it's not like me to be so aroused so soon.
Riker muffles a whine as I extract my paw and take out a set of keys, opening the wrought-iron gate, then the heavy front door. "So how much is this gonna cost me?"
I already have a list of things I want to do with this hunk of fur. My day will be over soon, and we'll sleep away the sun, which is making its presence known to the satellite antennae on the tops of the tallest skyscrapers now, slowly stealing away the night. No regrets in my life, no mistakes that can't be rectified save one...the big one. Yeah, hindsight's always the way you like it. But if you spend too much time in the past, it's apt to bite your ass sooner or later. Better to run full-bore ahead and look back with a blind eye.
I ascend the stairs, leading the wolf by the paw, and give him a reassuring smile. Sometimes it's not always about the money.
"You're job is not to worry about that," I say. "We'll talk."
FIN
8/4-8/8/04