FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Buck Daly's Sweet Ride

by H. A. Kirsch

Copyright 2013

I needed a roommate. Here's the explanation I gave the prospective one when he showed up:

"Well, two friends and I started renting this house right out of college, because we wanted a place to live and because - oh who really cares, anyway, one of them didn't like having two roommates and he left, and the other moved to Washington. Luckily, I have a decent job, I'd just like to be in a better place. You know?"

Prospective Roommate looked at me like I'd said about fifty words too many. He was a wolf, one of those darker grayscale ones, with shocks of red wherever his headfur would have platinum. They almost formed a pattern. Pretty burly, green eyes, a whole head taller than me. Black khaki sleeveless shirt, chain choker, cowboy cut jeans, and flashy red and black cowboy boots. How equestrian and viciously male! He smelled like a Hall's throat lozenge and, frankly, dick. "Care if I look around?"

"Yes," I cleared my throat, "I'll show you around," I said, emphasis on Show as I guided him around. "Three bedrooms, two have attached baths, a den, sitting room in the front, kitchen dining and family behind the garage, full basement that's unfinished, and it walks out onto this glorious Yard," I said, giving him the whirlwind tour and dumping both of us out onto the back patio.

He didn't seem too intent on talking or asking questions, but he did walk around the back yard. I thought that was a little odd, especially since he had such a flashy pair of cowboy boots. Pointy and with those kind of flame effects around the front in red leather. "Yard's kind of shit," he said, from over by the neighbor's fence.

I rubbed the back of my head. "I can't really garden and the landlord doesn't pay for it. I do like to mow, though. It's quite zen. The owner doesn't pay for appliance repair, either, only if the water heater or furnace or air conditioner falls down. It's some guy who moved out of state and gave it up to a rental company. But it's a nice house. New roof, hardwood, the neighborhood's quite nice. It's not fancy at all, but there's really no crime."

He walked back up and cracked his knuckles, then took out his wallet. "You got any takers? I got half month's rent in cash." He really did. Not a big roller, either. It was mostly fifties and twenties.

The wolf gave me a doozy of a gut feeling. Not necessarily bad, just a feeling. Very strong, quivery, nervous. "I don't mean to be unaccommodating, but do you have a.. well, any relationships, lots of friends who come over?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Maybe here and there. Pretty low key. Look, I'm month to month now, lease is up, I can move in anywhere, any time. You need a roommate or not?"

I put out my black hand. "Sure. By the way, we've met before, haven't we?"

---

"Wait, you knew him already?" Macy said. Macy was my cougar friend. The male feline variety, not the middle aged female variety. We were hanging out at our usual haunt, a coffee shop and bistro named Crisp Orange. I never did figure out what a crisp orange was supposed to be.

I nodded. "Remember when I did that river cleanup project? He was assigned to my team. I never knew his name, he was just 'that wolf guy who grunted a lot while he worked'. Quite a grunter. But he actually did work, which was nice. I think that's why I let him take the spot in my house. Really a bit rangey, but I could use help with the yard..."

"Did you do the popsicle trick?" Carter cut in. Carter was also a wolf, although he looked unnervingly gaunt. It was, after seeing his family, apparently hereditary.

I scoffed and collected my things to throw in the trash. "Absolutely not, do you think I'm going to sit there and suckle an otter-pop out of its wrapper in front of some strange wolf? Especially one who, well, you'd have to see him to understand. I don't think he'd appreciate it. He looks like the fighting type, not the fucking type. At least not my kind of fucking. Perhaps if I grew out my breasts..."

I did not have breasts. One would have to be an idiot to mistake me for a vixen. Not that I was in particularly manly shape. I probably could have fit both arms down one of Mr. Grunt-Wolf's pant legs. But no man ever mistook me for a breeding post. "Very funny. I need to get back to work. Enjoy wonderful working times, while I prepare to see what sort of mess 'Buck' has done to my house. Yes, that's his name."

And I left, with the usual 'before the last word' flourish that I'd picked up as a trope when I'd been such a nervous young man.

---

Buck's actual name was Bradshaw Daly, which sounded weird.

"No shit," he said, as he signed the contract for rent. "That's why I like Buck. You mind if I wash my car in the driveway sometimes? It's just fucking soap and water."

"Why would I mind you cleaning something?"

"Hungh," and then he went back outside. He had a big pickup truck with a small trailer attached, which seemed to contain all of his belongings. He also had a much more subdued outfit. Dirty jeans, work boots, and a dirty teeshirt. He looked ruffled.

He was moving in. "Do you need any help?" I asked, and went outside.

"I don't wanna squash you," was his grunted reply. Amidst all the other grunts. He'd clearly been listening in gym class during weightlifting, when the instructor surely said that grunting was an appropriate way to release damaging muscle tension.

"Hmf, fine, don't say I didn't ask," and I went back inside while he hefted everything by himself. Everything being mostly boxes that one person could lift, so perhaps it wasn't a big loss.

I decided to mow the lawn while he worked. Gardening? Botanical murder, when practiced by me. But I could mow me some grass. Diagonal pattern, re-mulching, edging, line trimming. I was half-finished when the wolf came outside with a glass of water. "You use the den for anything? Looks kind of empty," he said, and pointed back towards the house with a dumb jab of his furry hand.

I shook my head. "Have at it. It's close to the side bedroom. I assume you took that one? I would prefer to keep the spare one on the other side of the house as such. It helps keep things separated." I gestured and my work gloves almost fell off. "Ungh, I feel like Mickey Mouse, or maybe an astronaut," I said, and tried to be silly by flexing my hands.

"What kinda fox are you, anyway?" He asked, then pawed at one of his ears as a mosquito bit it.

I felt a little taken aback and clung onto the mower's handle. "A cross fox."

"Kinda bitchy, that's for sure."

That got my tail going. If I had more than one, I would have taken off like a helicopter. "Not that kind of cross. Part normal red fox, part silver fox. I suppose there's some pattern that's supposed to be on my back, but you know, I don't think I've ever seen my own back."

"Huh." He loped off back to the house.

It was going to be an interesting summer.

---

I had been under the impression that Buck had a pickup truck, since that's what he moved in with. Imagine my surprise when a tremendous racket pulled up into the garage. I went out to have a look.

There, parked next to my aging Hyundai Accent, was a ridiculous musclecar. "You wanna try not to bang into it with your car door? I do body work for a living but that's on other people's cars. No one's gonna pay me to fix mine. You got that?" He looked pissed off for no discernible reason.

"Oh sure, of course," I said, and nodded quite hard to make sure that the grumpy, snarl-muzzled wolf in my driveway would get the right message. "My car's quite petite, I doubt it would do more than give it a tiny little scrape."

He chuffed.

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!"

At another one of my every other day gatherings: "What kind of car? I bet it's a Camaro. He sounds like he drives a Camaro. That's the ultimate trash car," said Carter, as he nibbled on a biscotti.

"It is! But it's one of the new ones, I think. Very large and aggressive. The front end has this sort of grin to it. Isn't that why they put it in that Transformers movie? But it's black with these red racing stripes, and red mirrors, and red wheels, and has this silly wing on the back, and this.. oh, I don't know what you call it. The thing that sticks up from the hood and sucks in air, like a jet engine." I tried to gesture what this was, but my gesture looked more like I was describing the size of a fish. Or something else.

Macy started to look like someone had tossed a catnip sock at his face. "Did you say red and black?"

"I believe those were the two colors I just rambled on about, yes," I said. As you might have noticed, I'm dreadfully sarcastic. It's overcompensation for being, as my first boyfriend said, "the kind of twink you can pack in luggage."

"That guy gets his hair done at my salon! Not by me, he wants Shin to do his hair 'cuz he has these crazy red streaks that he swears only she'll do right. That sounds punky, right? But they make him look kind of crazy ins-"

"Buck goes to your salon??" I dropped my remaining bagel into my remaining coffee.

"Yeah! Yeah! He always smells like he's fucked everyone on the planet and like, he won't talk about anything except what he wants done to his hair. I mean he's not, you know, covered in dirt or something, it's just, it's kind of, well it's sort of hot. He's quite a wolf."

"Hey," Carter growled.

"You're quite a wolf, too! You're quite a skinny one." Macy turned back to me. "So your roommate is already on the little six degrees thing! Awesome!" The cougar said, and looked like he was going to fluff up and bounce around like a kitten from an internet video.

---

After a solid week of Buck living with me, I started to regret my decision. Every time I saw him, that gut feeling escalated, until it left me nervous with my heart pounding. Here is an example why:

I was cooking dinner, which happened to be coq au vin, to be served with red potatoes and sugar snap peas. I got quite lost in what I was doing, not because it was particularly hard to do, but because I had an important business meeting at work the next morning and I was rehearsing what I would say at my presentation.

Then I felt breathing on my neck. Sniff. Sniff. "Oh!" I startled like a housewife on a classic television show. It was Buck, and he was all but touching me from behind.

"That smells good. Can I have some?"

Maybe he didn't really mean to basically growl it into my ear, but he actually did. I shrank off to the side and twisted around. "Well, you should try saying 'Please'," I said, and waggled a wet stirring spoon near his face.

And he licked it. "Gimme some of your food, Please."

Heart Pounding Very Hard. "That was rude! I was using that!"

He backed off and leaned on the kitchen island. "You have like fifteen spatulas, Kennedy."

"Ungh, Ken, please."

"What'll it take for me to eat that? I can make you breakfast. I'll get up early. You like bacon?" Aside from sneaking up on me, Buck was wearing a ghastly deep-V-neck designer teeshirt, Ed Hardy jeans, and Doc Martens. He looked ready to put roofies in some girl's drink at a college bar.

I tried to think of how to settle the situation down, because he was giving me squinty aggressive wolf eyes and holding onto the island counter like he would push off at any second and pounce on me. "I'm making coq au vin, which is full of pancetta, which is essentially bacon. Does that answer your question?"

He turned and left the room with a lumbering clomp, chuckling to himself.

"Hmf. For your information, I leave at eight in the morning."

He waved a hand up in the air as if to say, "Got It" before he went out of sight.

Heart Less Pounding. I turned back to cook, tossed the licked spoon in the dishwasher, fetched another one, and realized why he had been giggling. The name of my soon-to-be-eaten creation.

"Save me some. Breakfast, tomorrow," Buck growled, sticking his head around the corner from the hall into the kitchen.

Yes, Douchebag Wolf.

---

I'm not an asshole, But. Buck had been dropping quite a lot of hints that I was ferociously bitchy, which made me upset every time he dropped them in the form of, "You're a bitchy little fox" - he was quite forthright - but it was really true. I was simply unable to accept a lot of things in my life, and being bitchy about them was an easy personality characteristic to adopt.

I usually tempered it by actually doing something about my complaints. I spent a good five minutes complaining about my lackluster vacuum cleaner some time back, and there was actually no one around to listen to it. But, I also bought a better one, _and_ donated the un-foxworthy one to Goodwill. Hardly asshole territory.

Buck, on the other hand, was just as productive but frighteningly callous. Sometimes, he would open his mouth while watching television and pass judgement in the most politically incorrect way possible. The amount of difficulty he had in doing a task was measured by whether he simply grunted like he was fucking the task into submission, or swore profusely and nearly smashed it to pieces like an angry toddler.

And he smelled. I'd noticed it immediately, and so had Macy. Buck clearly showered - not just from the clean smells but because he spent nearly half an hour in there - and used some sort of fur treatment, but that didn't stop the scent of Male from actually forming squiggly cartoon scent lines as it radiated from him. It wasn't onions or garlic or that burnt-rubber body odor that humans sometimes had, but profound and alarming sexual musk. It even made me self conscious about my own smell, because as you surely already know, red foxes tend to stink. I used a cocoa butter fur flattener Down There to cover it up.

It was very distracting as I waited for him to groggily make my breakfast. A very male sort of breakfast, potato chunks, bacon, and scrambled eggs, all of it cooked in bacon grease. He also attacked my spice cabinet like he was rooting for buried food. "Well, thank you," I said, as I draped myself on a dining chair, sitting sideways and watching.

"You let me eat your prissy French cock in wine, stuff," and then he almost had a giggle fit which he ended with a snort, "So I'm gonna give you something back." He plated my food and handed it over.

In his defense, it was absolutely fantastic, even if eating like that every day would turn me into a beach ball. It clearly fueled him the right way. "You must work out quite hard to eat like this."

"I'm a wolf," he answered, and then proceeded to eat like one.

"So is my friend Carter, but he's quite thin," I cut back.

When he plucked a piece of potato off his fork, he curled his tongue around it and yanked it off, bit it in half, and half of it fell off onto the plate. He immediately tipped his face down and snarfed it right back up. "Well, 'Carter' needs to go to the gym."

"He does. And so do I. We just don't lift all the weights. Only some of them." And, I was done. Literally, and also heart-poundingly rankled by Buck. "I need to get moving. I have an early meeting."

Grunt. "I'm gonna sleep in after this. Mmm, sleep. Have fun meeting."

I was ready to go, and so I intended to get right along. I started my car, put it in reverse, and nothing much happened. That wasn't entirely out of the ordinary, so I tried again. A little gas, an unnerving whirr, and then, "SERVICE TRANSMISSION" appeared on the little thing between the gauges. Oh, that's a bundle of fuck right there. I got out and noticed there was a pool of green fluid growing under the car.

Shit, shit shit! That meeting was going to give me a promotion if I didn't blow it, and my car had clearly decided to blow it.

Heart pounding again, this time a more awful kind of nervous. I had to get to work, and a cab wouldn't cut it. The only solution was:

"Buck? I need a bit of a favor." I said through his bedroom door.

Thud, thump, thump, and he yanked it open a few inches. He was naked, aside from boxer briefs. "Rrnngh, what?" He looked like his eyes would roll back into his head at any moment as he crumpled asleep to the floor.

"I think there's something wrong with my car, and I need to get to work."

He shut the door, then responded. "Lemme look," thud, thud, and he burst out to almost knock me flat, wearing a pair of jeans and no socks now.

We both looked at the car. "Is that what's wrong?" He pointed at the puddle.

"I tried to put it in reverse, but nothing happened."

He leaned in and looked through the window. "Transmission seal blew out. That's all the hydraulic fluid from the transmission."

"You work with cars. Can you fix it?" I was half serious.

"I don't do that kind of stuff. Also, that requires, you know, a full garage. And tools. Lemme guess. You want me to take you to work."

"Yes, I have a very important meeting."

"You want me to take you to work, what?" He barricaded the door back into the house.

"Buck, I'm serious, I need to go _now_. I spent too much time enjoying your lumberjack wolf breakfast-"

He growled.

"I want you to take me to work, Please."

Wolf grin, and he let me back in. "Lemme put on my work shit and we'll go."

Five minutes later, Buck had a mechanic's workshop shirt that said, "BUCK" on it over his left pec, tough jeans, and engineer boots. We got into his car, and started off.

The inside of his car was, like the outside, red and black. All leather, with sport seats. I presumed they were sport seats, since they had very obvious names on each of them - "RECARO". I didn't know what that meant, but my sad little Accent did not have names on anything. The dashboard was strewn with extra gauges, which all leaped to life as he started the beast up. And it was a beast. It might as well have been a grizzly bear awakening from slumber when he punched the start button.

Buck stuffed his phone into a holster and held down a button on it. "OK Google, I need directions." Then he reached over and slapped me on the chest and gestured at the phone.

"Where to?" The phone said.

"Central Trust Bank, uh, the headquarters in downtown Lainsville." I eyed Buck, unsure if that was good enough. Then I eyed the phone.

"Is this right?" A map drew up, with a little pin dot hovered over the exact location of my job.

"Yes?"

"You'll be there in fifteen minutes, with traffic."

"Wonderful, that's just on time," I said, and then Buck actually started driving. The lightest touch on the gas pedal through my neighborhood produced a sound much like an enormous, very angry leaping tiger, and stuck me back against the seat.

"I'll do it in ten. With a detour. That thing's traffic report is always wrong." He looked very blase about driving, while simultaneously hurtling the car around subdivision, then local road, then onto an on-ramp. "So what, are you a banker or something?"

"Customer support coordinator. I have to work with the IT department a lot, so I suppose that makes me some sort of geek." I tried to cover my bases, in case he didn't like bankers, support people, or geeks, at least individually. "Not a banker. I'm Irish."

Buck didn't seem to care, nor did he get the joke, nor did he get the double joke that my last name of Aaron was Jewish despite my national heritage. When the light turned green to turn onto the on-ramp, he punched it and the car Rotated around the corner with a scrabbling howl from the back tires. I clutched onto the door handle and some part of the center console. He stood on the gas and we accelerated fast enough to be on an amusement park ride, complete with another back-end squawk and wiggle. The car sounded like some sort of roaring dragon, one of the gauges labeled "BOOST" steadily shot upward, and when we actually crested onto the highway, I was sure that the very turbine-like thing that stuck up from the hood was a jet engine that would blast us off the road and off into space with us pinned into the dashing seats.

Instead, he got off the gas and that dangerously-elevated gauge snapped back down, along with a muscular HUFF! that sounded like a noise Buck himself would make.

"I don't dare look at the speedometer," I said, and cautiously crossed my arms. My heart pounded. I had that awful gut feeling again, but this time, it was not quite so awful as when he snuck up on me while cooking. It was much more giddy.

"You're basically on the way to my shop, so this isn't a big deal. Driving you around."

"I'm sure it's not, you seem to relish driving like a madman."

He grunted, and proceeded to make like a NASCAR driver, weaving through traffic on the highway, then bursting off onto another ramp into town, car belching out a Snort-GROWL! whenever he clawed around at the shifter. "When do you get off? I'll take you back home, too."

"Oh, let's say Six. I tend to have rather long lunches."

"Fine," he grunted, and veered out of traffic and into a loading spot in front of the bank. "Out."

"Well thank you too," I said, and climbed out of the car. I must have looked a little odd, dress shirt and blazer and slacks and Italian shoes, climbing out of a Camaro that looked like it belonged on a drag strip.

Long lunch, indeed. Macy, Carter, and Shin were going to hear about _this_.

---

"You know that silly little car I drive? Well, the transmission fell down, so I asked Buck for a ride to work."

"I'll bet he gave you a real good ride," Macy cut in.

"Do you have any idea what his car is like?" I sniffed.

"Tacky," the cougar nodded.

"Is this the guy with the Camaro? I agree with kitty," Shin agreed. Shin was a fox like me, but she was a much normal red color. Also, she wasn't quite a she, although never really talked about that fact.

"It was so Loud! I thought he was going to set a speed record driving down my street to the stop sign. Any time he did anything with the wheel or the pedals, it made some sort of vicious squall or snarl or hiss. And I don't see how we didn't get a speeding ticket. He got me to work in under ten minutes. In traffic! Well, not really in traffic, more like around it," I made a zig-zagging-fish gesture. "So terribly uncouth."

"It seems like, if you're gonna spend money on a car, you should get some sort of fancy car. You know? Like a Porsche if you're sporty, or maybe a Lexus if you're a dentist," Carter said.

"Or BMW if you are an asshole," Shin added.

"Ooh! Or a Beetle if you're Carter!" Carter drove a Volkswagen Beetle, the new and ostensibly masculine one. It was still quite round.

The wolf frowned cartoonishly. "Stop making fun of my car. Ken's roommate is the one with the fire-breathing Camaro. Does he have a mullet, too?"

"No, no, red highlights and he's sort of dusky otherwise. He looks a bit like a punk who works out too much," Macy explained. "It's actually kind of better than it sounds, like I wish I had a picture. Do you have one?"

And they all turned to me. "What? Why would I have a picture of him?"

---

I managed to survive a ride home in the Red Dragon, which is what I decided to call the Camaro. A tiger was my first choice, but mere muscular big-cat leaping seemed too tame for that thing. Just like in the morning, Buck might as well have been a chauffeur, if chauffeurs went to the same driving school as the kids in that Fast and Furious movie. I'll admit that I pretended to pay attention to one of those films, since Macy was interested in anything that had pretty colors and young bratty men in it, and I had this on-and-off interest in sports cars. Buck's car was certainly colorful, fast, and happy to produce all of those pop-hiss sounds that fast-car-driving bratty kids seem to like.

Buck was not very sociable. That seemed like a good quality in a roommate, although it made me feel a bit uneasy. He sometimes interacted with me, but as often as he seemed a little friendly, he would just antagonize me. Like with the dinner incident. Or with how he'd sit in the middle of my sofa to watch television. I wasn't exactly a fan of television, so I didn't have a large couch that wrapped around the room. It was some affordable thing I'd purchased with my old roommates merely to have furniture. With a wolf square in the middle of it, someone would have to consciously ask him to move over to either side. When I approached, he didn't move over. He stayed put. I considered that rude.

The wolf also had his own ideas about what he wanted to do now that he was living in 'a house' and not 'an apartment'. He wanted to improve the yard, yes, and that was very nice of him. But he didn't ask me about anything, to make sure it was allowed, and not like any of it wasn't allowed, but the thought counted quite a lot. For the first month or so of living with him, he simply spent his time turning the den into his own little man-cave, or planting shrubs and digging the weedy life out of the landscaping.

One evening, he walked right into my home office. I was not doing work; I was carefully curating some new entries to my porn collection, although I'm sure he had no idea that I was scouring Tumblr. He couldn't see my screen. I looked up and just one minute saw a shirtless wolf standing there. "This bitch I know is gonna come over to pick me up. You okay with that? Gave me shit about 'relationships' when I was looking at this place."

Aaand no more hardon. I saved all tabs and closed. "The point of that questioning was to make sure I wouldn't suddenly find your girlfriend couch-surfing while she was 'between jobs', or something off-putting like that. You can have friends over. Just let me know."

"Yeah, no shit, what do you think I'm doing? Anyway," and he turned around and left, but kept talking. "Her name's Gail. She's this biker wolf. Not a fucking hell's angel, I think she's the accountant for a school district or something. We're gonna go out to this bar she likes and then probably screw a lot."

I decided to follow him, since if I didn't, he would be talking to the wall. I closed my room and went after. The house smelled vaguely like cigar smoke. "That sounds like a wonderful night. I probably won't be home when you get back. I'm going out as well."

"Oh yeah? Where to?"

When I caught up to Buck in the family room area, I realized he was wearing leather pants and his engineer boots on the outside. They were clearly riding pants, with zip-shut pockets and that waxy, sturdy look. "Do you have a motorcycle?"

"No, but I used to. Was fun, until a friend of mine that I rode with died in an accident. High-sided going around a fucking bend and-" He suddenly dash-clapped his hands together, "Hit a parked car at one of those, I dunno, scenic turnout things. Two pieces." He made a throat-slitting gesture. "So I sold it. Figured cars are safer."

"Of course they are, especially when you drive over a hundred miles an hour. To answer your question, you probably wouldn't like where I'm going." Shirtless. Wolf.

"You going to some gay-ass dance club or something?" He walked out onto the patio and cleaned up the source of the smoke - a cigar ashtray, and the remains of a stogie. He ground it into the sink, then just tossed the butt into the disposer and send it whirring away. Now the kitchen smelled like tobacco.

There was that gut feeling again. "It isn't a dance club," which was sort of untrue. It was a nightclub, but the dance floor was in only one room. "It's more of a martini bar. Cocktail bar. That kind of thing."

"Yeah? I'm going to Tracy's. That biker bar downtown. Gail's probably gonna make me play pool while making out with me, then I'm gonna cream pie her front and back, maybe give her a nice pearl necklace."

I had actually been to Tracy's, for Carter's father's birthday. Tracy was a man, or rather a grizzly bear, and the place was actually quite upscale. If you were a biker and your bike cost as much as a family sedan, you went to Tracy's for steak and bottomless wings and Fifteen Big Screens showing every game of import at the moment. Not my scene at all, because while men in leather were attractive and I could ignore the ladies, no one there generally wanted to hide the sausage in a skinny little cross fox. "You are absolutely disgusting," I said, and turned away from Buck because I was having trouble looking at him half-naked in leather pants. Partly because it seemed rude, and partly because it was obvious he was not wearing underwear. Very, very obvious.

Underwear! There, on the back of the couch, were a pair of boxer briefs. They were charcoal-colored with a florid graphic design consisting of a tiger that seemed poised to spring out of the groin pouch. "Clean up after yourself," I hissed, snatched the garment, and threw it at his face. He snapped and caught them _in his muzzle_, then spat them out in his hand, stomped over to the garage hallway, and tossed them into the laundry room.

"I gotta go find my jacket," he said, and disappeared.

I barely had time to formulate a reaction before a thundering motorcycle roared around the corner onto the street, then into the driveway, then stopped. Seconds later, someone pounded on the door. "C'mon out, Buck!" A gruff, but still identifiably female, voice.

I answered the door. "Hi. The wolf you're looking for is still dressing. You just missed him chewing on his boxer shorts," I said, and then realized what I was looking at. It had to be Gail. Clearly a wolf, ashy pelt, riding leathers from head to toe including a vest with embroidered slogans and a number, a rack that could be used to play a couple of ball sports - and I mean could be the balls - and helmet in hand.

"Must be the lil' fox bitch he lives with. You mind if I come on in? Course you don't," Gail said, and pulled the door open. I had to back out of the way lest she knock me over.

"I don't think I'm quite a bitch. I have too many balls for that," I said, tail tucked a bit as Gail stomped around the living room.

"Got a nice place. You do all this decorating? Even got your pictures square. Where's that wolf? Buck, you gettin' a kink in your tail or somethin'?!" she yelled. This was, on one hand, the sort of situation I didn't want in a roommate. On the other hand, it was the second most amusing thing I'd experienced since being shuttled to work in The Dragon.

Buck walked out, and aside from the scowl on his face, looked like he wouldn't have much of a problem standing up to Gail. He now had a classic leather jacket and riding gloves, fingerless black leather that let his charcoal-and-claw fingers free, and a bandana on his head as a skull cap. It was black paisley with red highlights, just like his headfur. He ignored me and went straight to Gail, and the two embraced for a rough, nuzzling, biting sort of kiss. Usually when hybrids kissed it was a nuzzle and a lick, at most some teeth locking. But this was like they both wanted to eat each other's face, and eventually Buck snarled, almost flinched back. Gail really flinched back, stepped around, and gave the wolf a leather-smack to the ass.

"You two have fun," I said.

Gail bark-laughed and the two stomped outside. I took a peek through the curtains; when Buck saddled up behind Gail, he grabbed her tits through her jacket until she smacked his hands down. But I saw her scoot back against his groin before they took off, so it had to be a friendly smack.

I got my phone out as soon as they'd run around the corner. Time to call Macy. I felt scared, like someone would see me. "You won't believe what happened."

"Did Buck just bend you over the sofa and fuck you?"

"He's going out to some sort of biker bar with this wolf bitch. And I mean actual bitch. Not, you know, like how I'm apparently a bitch. Her name's Gail. I'm slightly afraid for Buck; she might try to eat him while mating."

"That'd be a shame, huh? No more scary wolf to insult you while you're cooking."

"He didn't insult me! He crowded me against the stove and licked my spoon."

"You have a very nice spoon."

"Macy! I'm not sure I really signed up for this. I don't think we could be any more different. A straight wolf who fucks biker babes and leaves his underwear on my sofa? Do you know what kind of underwear he has?" I found myself walking around in circles that slowly spiraled towards the laundry room. There they were, on top of the washer, hanging over the edge as if he couldn't be bothered to even throw them into hole. "Here's a hint. There's a tiger."

"Eww, Ed Hardy. Does he wear polo shirts with the collar up? Oh wait, I know what he wears. Those awful V-necks. At least he has a nice chest."

I picked up the boxer-briefs with the tips of my finger and thumb. Such a... slob.

Buck wasn't actually a slob, though. I wasn't sure what he was.

And the smell! They were even visibly damp, and it was right around where the tiger was. He'd... he'd...

"Helloooo, anyone home? Ken?"

"Macy, I gotta go. I need to do stuff around the house. Okay? Bye." I hung up and swallowed. Then, I took a big, close sniff. So, so male. So musky and sexual.

I hadn't been fucked in well over a year. Every time I saw Buck, or even thought about him, I got an awful gut feeling. I knew he was going to go after me, maybe was already doing it. He was restraining himself with every fur on his body. Gail? Gail was a distraction. And the underwear? He'd left them out so I would find them, and lose control of my inhibitions due to his Godawful pheromone stench!

I took Buck's underwear into my bedroom and closed the door. Time to play Make Believe. In my games of Make Believe, I played some sort of kept fox who had to dress up for his eccentric owner, and perform sexual favors for him. As a result, I had a closet full of embarrassing clothing which would result in the murder of anyone who uncovered them.

I decided to select something simple, because there was no telling how long it would take Buck and Gail to enjoy their cream pie dessert. First, a pair of black leather riding boots, because they looked so crisp and foxish on... a fox. Next, a pair of equally black leather riding gloves, for the same reason, and because black leather was so perfectly sensual.

That was it. My fetish was easy. Next, I selected something to play with, aside from Buck's sweaty underwear. He must've been working outside in them. My toy of choice was a big suction-cup dildo named "Harry". I thought it was silly that they named dildos, plus Harry was a terrible porn star name, but it really got the job done. Big, circumcised human dildo, with wobbly fake balls and a sturdy suction cup for a base. Perhaps eight inches long, almost two thick, quite unrealistic when it comes to actual penises.

I hadn't seen Buck's, of course, but I had seen the bulge it left in his pants, and it was alarmingly big. Maybe I thought it was alarmingly big. Maybe I hoped.

A bottle of poppers, a bottle of silicone lube.

And then, I got a terrible, terrible idea.

When I'd first seen Buck's car, I'd thought it was laughable. It was garish and unnecessary. But after I'd ridden in it, I'd been so giddy that I felt embarrassed. As much as Buck was crass, insensitive, and even threatening, he was more often than not silent and affably stoic. This was especially true when he was driving me to work or to the grocery store, as I decided whether to get my poor blown-out Accent's transmission fixed or to scrap it. (He'd even offered to hook me up with a friend who wanted to train a mechanic's apprentice on my car.) His car? Like riding Zeus's thunderbolt. Like riding a dragon, hence the nickname I gave it. Like a roller coaster.

I took my toys out to the garage. It was hot in there, obnoxiously muggy, and it smelled like all manner of unpleasant things. Oil and gasoline, hot rubber, a hint of garbage, dirt, lawn clippings. But there was Buck's Camaro, sitting silent, brooding and snarling with its goofy headlights-too-big-for-smile face and the jet-set curved, let me get this correct, Supercharger sprouting up from the hood.

I crouched down, mostly naked, and spit on the base of the suction cup. Then, I plastered it against the front of his car.

I hunkered down between the concrete platform that led into the house and the car, squirted lubricant onto the wobbling fake dick, then backed up. I'd nailed the placement on the first try.

I set Buck's underwear down on the concrete in front of me, opened my bottle of poppers, and took a sniff. Bleah! I could never get over the awful chemical-

FUCK

MY

ASS

Head swimming, pulse pounding, I backed up and the big mushroomy head of the toy plowed my loosened asshole apart. I clutched at the concrete ledge, then leaned down against it, face against the damp, male-stinky underwear. I nuzzled the Ed Hardy tiger's face and rocked backwards, then arched up and stretched onto full all fours as I pulled off.

Oh Buck, don't fuck that biker chick - she could have babies from it! She could have wrinkly breasts! She could have a vicious yeast infection! She isn't a pretty, slender fox who can take a big dick and will roll around in your smell without even being asked!

I was a pretty, slender fox. I'd even wear panties if Buck wanted me to. I'd probably wear a dress, but only one of those fancy evening gowns that encases like a sausage. I'd wear lipstick, in some hot color so it'd show up when I rubbed it off onto his fur.

As I pulled back and forth, head aching a little from the rush of nitrites, delirious with penetration... I heard a sound. I froze. The sound stopped. I moved again, and there it was, a subtle creaking, and not the one from my leather boots. I craned my head around and watched as I plungered myself on the toy; I was rocking Buck's car back and forth on its tires, all three-thousand-odd pounds of it. That wasn't really strange; any car would move slightly when pushed hard even with a finger. It was the thought that counted.

Another sniff of poppers, and I slid back all the way, feeling the toy's head knock me in a very deep place. I hunched forward, and felt the fake prick nudge into me. I picked just the right rhythm and made the car fuck me, because it was the closest thing to Buck that I had.

I licked and nuzzled at his underwear, nestled my face into them, grabbed them up into my gloved hands and breathed through the deliriously musky fabric, and dusted my tail back and forth over the black and red corner of his car's grin.

I shot without touching myself, without even feeling an orgasm at first, just a hot urgent clenching and the wet splattering sound of spunk hitting underneath me. I arched up and tried to crush my prostate against the toy and There It Was, hard enough that I yelped out and whimpered and almost actually cried. I pulled off the toy and in the absence of the car-creaking and my fox yelps, I could hear a visceral Shlurp as it slipped out of my quivering asshole.

How Satisfying. I felt a little sore and very empty and fur-tingled with bliss. Then I looked down and realized that a good six streaks of fox sperm had lashed across Buck's crass boxer-briefs.

I gathered everything up, wiped off the bumper of his car until there was no trace that I'd stuck a dildo onto it, threw his undies into the washing machine, and hoped for the best.

---

Buck's terminal aloofness wasn't one hundred percent of his character. His strange need to landscape the yard also provided us with roommate bonding opportunities; every week in the summer, he badgered me to get out there and work with him. So I did.

"How'd that thing with Gail go? Was that her name? The biker lady," I said, puttering with the lawn mower instead of actually using it so I had an excuse for a conversation.

Buck was digging a hole, which seemed like his natural state outside. He was planting some privacy trees for around the patio. "I don't think I'm gonna tap that again," he said.

"Too much baggage? Too many saddle bags?"

He looked at me with a dull look, like I'd just said the stupidest thing possible. "She talks too much while fucking. And it's not like good talking, you know, sexy talk. It's just..." And he put his trowel down and stood up. "If I'm fucking you, and you wanna talk, I wanna hear you say stuff that makes me feel good about me, good about fucking you. She made me feel like I wasn't really doing it right. Like she wanted control over me."

"That's no fun," I said, and started getting That Feeling again.

"I like butch women. I don't like girly girls - they always have daddy problems. Gail wasn't like that. She didn't want to use me for stuff, but she knew what she wanted and it wasn't exactly what I was doing, and I dunno, that just didn't work right."

"She was a power bottom," I said.

"Yeah. Something like that. You figured out if you're gonna fix your car, or do I have to be Drivin' Bitch Daisy forever?"

I gave him his own dumb look right back. "Seriously?"

He sniffed. "That was pretty stupid, huh? Sounded better inside. So you gonna fix it?"

"One of your friends, that coyote you work with, the one you had come out and look at it? He's going to fix it up enough that I can sell it. I think it's time for a new car. Or at least a different one. Preferably one that doesn't come with one hundred and fifty thousand miles of dubious caretaking as baggage."

"Nice," he said. Then he crouched down, patted the dirt around the shrub he'd just planted and doused it with water. "Hey, you wanna come look at something with me? I wanna take care of that nasty spot behind the shed." Then he turned and walked over to said Nasty Spot. There was a low area there at the corner of the lot, and it turned into a mud bowl.

"I'm not sure why you think I'll be of any use. I already told you I can't make anything survive if it's a plant, much less look pretty," I said, but walked over anywhere. He was going to take me behind the shed. Behind the shed, where there wasn't any line of sight to the neighbors' houses. He knew, he knew, he knew.

Buck shrugged and stood there in battered work boots, dirty baggy jeans, token undershirt, dirty work gloves. He surveyed, and did quite a wolfish job of it. I always imagined wolves to be surveying things with that look they gave the world. Wolves were supposed to be social animals, and of course humans are. Foxes are always at odds with it, just our little nuclear families and all those YouTube videos of natural foxes bouncing around on silly things to dissuade the solitary reality. Foxes are sneaky and cunning because they work outside of society; wolves are threatening but iconic because they have their own. "I think we gotta dig a drain hole."

"That sounds, ah, difficult?"

"A dry well. You just dig a hole and fill it with gravel." He scanned back and forth across the mud. "If you do down beneath the clay, bingo. No more mud. It'll stop the mosquitos."

"Mmm-hmm," I said, and had no real idea what he was talking about. We'd originally met while working on a river cleanup project, but I hadn't been doing it because of my love for nature. I'd been doing it because I had a crush on one of the ferociously straight other coordinators, which had been a fruitless crush. Plus, after actually working with the guy on something, I discovered that his head was as empty as a canyon. At least Buck seemed to have something going on, even if I often had no idea what it really was, or had a creepy feeling that I did.

Then he pushed me into the mud. He just slipped his hand behind my back, patted my shoulder like he was doing to leave me there and stalk off, then knocked me right off balance with a hearty shove. I tried not to actually fall into the mud, but my old shoes weren't exactly good work wear and I staggered, slipped, and not just fell but flailed and crashed down with an awful splash. "What the fuck?"

This was serious mud. I tried to get up but part of my forearm sank down into the slime, and when I pulled my hand back, I came out sans work glove. I rolled over and stared up at Buck. Now, instead of that "I own this land" wistful stare, he showed a little teeth. Then he uncrossed his arms and slapped his thighs.

"Oh you want to PLAY, is that it?" I said, recognizing him for the dog he was. Terrified, pissed off, and filthy, I grabbed his ankle and pulled. He steeled himself, bending that knee and letting it scoot forward, and we pulled each other closer as he slid and I slid. "Come ON, you're so stoic you can't even fall over! You're a-" and I arched my back and yanked at the back of his knee. "Stick in the mud!"

I could feel him actively let me pull, and he came down with a crash atop me. After the momentary shock, he was all over me. He tried to pin me down and I freaked out, thrashing around in the mess, winning only because every time he tried to grab at one of my limbs, it slid muddily out from under his grip. He snarled and growled, tail arched, boot toes stabbing into the mud. He got footing and pinned me down on my chest with a slap, splashing my face right into the slimy clay. I slapped my hands into it and twisted around, dug forward, then turned over. He shifted and lurched forward, straddled onto me, and jammed his hands down on my upper arms. Then, angry-dog smirking, he wagged his tail hard.

"I," he panted, "Win."

I started to feel like I was sinking. "Get off me, you creep!"

He pushed up and off, and suddenly I was merely stuck in the mud, not stuck in the mud and held down by someone's erection. I tucked my ears back against my wet fur when I realized _that_. "What a fucking mess. Gonna go shower. Unless you wanna get soaked by the hose?" He stood up and stuck a hand out for me.

"I don't do well in wet tee-shirt contests, since I don't have breasts," I said, trying to pull things back from being viciously wrestle-attacked by my roommate into a submission hold. Then I grabbed his hand and he pulled me up and out.

He shrugged, grunted, and headed up into the house. I followed, after quite some hesitation, and found all of his muddy clothes in the back foyer. That meant he was both conscientious of making a mess, and also walking around completely nude. I listened carefully; the shower from his end of the house hissed and splashed.

My own shower was difficult, because as soon as I was nude and wet, I got a wicked hardon. Just like his, I thought. When he was on top of me. Buck liked women, or at least did a very convincing job of acting like it, but he also apparently liked me. Erections aren't uncommon in greco-roman wrestling, but he'd intentionally chosen to throw me down into a mud bowl behind my own (well, rented) house. I was so hard thinking about it, but jerking off in the shower to my own dubiously creepy roommate felt creepier than he did.

Once I was clean, I solved my problem by ordering some Chinese delivery and eating it in my bedroom like a college student. Perhaps if I completely avoided Buck, I would eventually forget what happened.

That didn't work, because ordering in Chinese food made me realize I couldn't leave the house to get food because my car was broken and there was nowhere within walking or even reasonable biking distance, meaning I would have to rely on Buck to get somewhere. Within days, my car would be fixed, but that meant days of strapping myself in against the leather sport seats of his car and being rocketed around by a grimacing, quietly crass Wolf if I needed to go somewhere.

Once the sun had slipped below the horizon, suitably late on the summer night, I decided to venture out to other parts of the house. I could smell a hint of spicy, dark smoke, which meant Buck was probably smoking a cigar out on the back deck. I decided to fix a drink and confront him, which became "just say hi" by the time I went to open the sliding door.

"Quite hard to survey your territory with the lights off," I said, and slid the glass closed behind me. The silence of the house gave way to the constant low noise of Outside, breeze rustles and crickets and roosting birds and a soft creak of leather.

"Keeps the bugs away," Buck said, and his face glowed dusky red as he took a big puff from his stogie. It made him look positively evil, in that very attractive movie villain way. He was seated at the patio table, leaning back against the siding of the house, wearing black leather.

Wait a minute, what?

"Going out again? I thought you said that Gail wasn't working out for your loins." I sipped my martini to end my bratty statement.

Puff, and then a discreet head flick to send the smoke somewhere other than towards me. "Nope. Just felt like it."

"Really," I said, and sipped again. It was dark, and I was seated under the edge of the table. He wouldn't be able to see my erection.

Black leather motorcycle jacket, black and red muscle tee, black riding jeans, and his fancy flame-tipped cowboy boots. My eyes were adjusting to the deep dusk. "Figured I'd be ready for when you came to chew me out for what happened earlier." He tapped his ash off and puffed up another cloud. "Nice night out for it, at least."

"It was rather rude," I said, and started feeling tipsy. I'd had a few swigs of gin on the way to the full martini, to help brace myself. "You could have asked nicely. Hello, Ken, would you like to come out into the yard with me? I fancy a roll in the mud, because I'm a wolf and I love to roll around in smelly things."

"Picked the right animal to roll in the mud with. Foxes stink." Then a whole fucking mouth of teeth in a big smirk.

"Cigars stink."

"Guess we both like things that stink, since you're sitting here giving me shit, and I'm sitting here chewing on it." Crrrreak, as he moved in the metal patio chair.

I slugged my martini down. "Can you explain why you decided mud wrestling was your new hobby?" No immediate answer. "Will you explain?"

"Every time I see that big mud puddle back there after a rain, I think, I wanna roll in that mud. Maybe I'm part pig."

"Can you explain why you dragged me into it?"

He leaned back further. When he puffed again, at the stub of a fat cigar, the glow even lit up his fingerless gloves, glinted off his choker chain. He seemed to think for a while. "Maybe inside, in my den, while I get stoned off my ass."

Nervous feeling again. "I see."

He snuffed out the cigar onto the plate he'd brought out with him, then carried it inside. I stayed put to cool down my racing heart. Without the smoke, a few mosquitos ventured over and I decided that joining Buck would be better than feeding blood to insects.

"Your den?" I said, and leaned into the doorway. He'd transformed it into a low-key man cave, just like he'd mentioned weeks earlier.

"Yeah. My den. You said I could have this room, so I have it. Now I'm in it." He had a leather stuffed corner sofa, a big television panel, his humidor, a coffee table with car magazines on it, a few big posters with suitably manly cars and motorcycles (Porsche, Harley-Davidson, a Mustang horse logo). He was fooling with some sort of odd device that looked frankly like a piece of garage shop equipment. It had a gauge on it, a big trigger handle, black and yellow plastic, with a coiled metal gooseneck that sprouted from the top. "You mind? I mean, you mind if I get stoned?"

"I'd rather you not smoke inside, frankly. It's terrible to get out of the paint."

"Not smoke, this is a vaporizer," he said, and picked the device up by the handle and brandished it. "You're welcome if you want, I'm not gonna be a dick and bogart it all." He was still wearing all of his leathers. He set it down and the gauge started moving.

I sat down on the other leg of the couch. "You were going to explain why you thought it would be funny, or fun, to attack me earlier."

He shrugged and slipped out of the jacket, leaving him in the muscle shirt and fingerless gloves. What a wolf. Not really huge, but everyone was big compared to me. So nicely built, though. Then he picked up the vaporizer and made like he was playing an oboe with the end of the spiral part, inhaling with a soft hiss. He set it back down and motioned to me, then eventually exhaled a streamer of faint smoke that disappeared almost instantly. It smelled clearly, but mildly, of marijuana.

"Are you just going to shrug at me? You're terrible," I said, and really couldn't be mad at his recalcitrance. His means to get high made me curious, and I took my turn. I could barely tell I was inhaling anything, save for mouth-drying warmth. "Are you sure this is working?"

"It sneaks up. I love cigars. Loved 'em for most of my life. Reminds me of when I was a kid and my dad would have cards night at home. It's not one of those kinky-ass things like some people. But they can turn my fucking stomach inside out, and this turns it right-side out again." He took another drag and passed it over.

This time, I could taste the grassy, slightly nutty flavor. "I don't really know what to think about you, Buck. I suppose that's intentional. You obviously care how you look, you care how your car looks, but otherwise, you're a wall." My heart started pounding again, from chemical excitement. "Marijuana makes me terrible," I changed the subject. "Makes me drowsy, and frankly, incredibly aroused. I spent some time in college going to too many clubs and parties downtown. Quite the party fox. Quite the party favor," I said, and giggled stupidly.

"Figured a queer-ass little bitch like you would go into that kind of stuff."

"Excuse me?!" I giggled so heavily that it sounded like a sneeze-cough fit. "What makes me think you're a queer-ass fox? Oh shit! What makes you, think I'm a queer, ass, fox?" Holy Shit. My misgivings about how well his electronic vice worked were replaced by a serious high. "You, Mister Bradshaw Daly, are the one wearing leather pants and fingerless gloves, inside, not straddling some roaring machine."

"You came on my underwear, so I shoved you in the mud," he said, then took another 'hit', just like how I would take a sip of my drink after saying something Oh God he knew.

"Oh god, you know about that? How do you know about that?" No sense in denying it.

"You fucking came on my underwear. You think I'm not gonna notice the smell?"

"But I WASHED them! I put some of that Oxy Stuff on them! I made sure to air dry them so it didn't bake the smell into them!" True.

Buck seemed to have enough of the vaporizer. I took my last, and left it idle. I felt so good, so embarrassed, but so good. I felt horribly filthy, and that was always fun. What can I say? Buck just leaned back and propped a cowboy boot up on his coffee table. I looked at it, he looked at me looking at it, then he gave me a half-lidded wolf grin. "I almost came in my fucking pants while I was on top of you. Ever since I saw how it got all muddy back there, I've been wanting to throw you down in it." He made a gesture that looked alarmingly like throttling me and then discarding me into the trash. "Pin your cross-foxy ass down against something and get on top." He squirmed in place, then looked up and rolled his eyes while he grabbed and shifted his sausage around.

"I'm flattered!" I burbled. "I should go put on a red sweatshirt, and then the big bad wolf can pretend to be my grandmother and... that's quite incestuous, maybe I shouldn't try that."

"I fucking love femmy boys. Butch girls and femmy boys. You all have this sexy thing, the way you move around and cock your fucking hips out and arch your back around and wear tight and fancy clothes and talk like you're so fucking full of yourself. When that shit's on a girl, they're trying to fucking use you, and they can have BABIES. I don't wanna have babies. I don't wanna get sucked into some shit. I wanna have a tough girl who knows what she wants and how to fucking do it. On a boy? I wanna have some little squirming twink who wags his fucking tail and shoves his ass out and acts like a desperate little moaning SHIT. He probably just wants to get off, and that's fine. He can get off all he wants. And when he wants to move in and get his rent paid, I can tell him to fuck off and he'll listen because he's not a subversive little bitch, just a regular little bitch."

"That certainly doesn't describe me," I giggled. "If I'm not mistaken, you're paying Me rent." Buck wanted me! This was turning into a Penthouse Forum letter.

"Bull shit. You're wagging your fluffy tail around right now," he growled, then grappled his hands over his chest, like he was going to claw his shirt off.

"Oh don't do that, do it like this," I said, and because I was stoned and quite buzzed, went hands on. I grabbed his clingy, stretchy shirt - clearly from some trendy discount shop that traded in camp shirts and things with dragons on them - and started to roll it up from the waist. Instead of reacting, Buck just sat there, one arm sprawled back on the sofa, the other dumbly by his side. He breathed very hard, and stared at me. I turned his shirt into a cord that stretched across his pecs, arching over the middle of them. He trimmed his torso fur save for the ruffy part right up top around his collar bone where his choker sat. It felt like warm velvet.

"I dunno about this. Might be a bad idea. We're fucking roommates. I just like femmy boys and wrestling around and shit. I couldn't help myself."

"Well, Buck, I couldn't help myself either," I said, and slinked up into his lap. It was so easy, Bermuda shorts sliding against taut black leather. "I couldn't help myself to take them and steal them out of the laundry, then put on something sexy, then take a nice, big toy out into the garage and stick it onto your car, and fuck myself on it, while I rubbed them all over my face." As I spoke, I leaned in, hands massaging those big, firm pecs, like I was hunkering down against something. I made sure to wave my tail from lock to lock behind me.

He didn't grab at me. He just stared down at my face, breathing. "You fucking what?"

I was quite stupid by this time, and simply nuzzled his chest, sniffed at the dark smells, let my hands wander down to the sides of his hips. I took his not-reaching hand and pushed it against my shirt buttons. "Hmmm?"

He made a fist, puckering the fabric. "You fucking did what to my car?"

"Don't be mad, Mr. Big Bad Wolf," I said, tucking my dark little snout. Ken, maybe you should be careful, because he's unpredictable, a little voice said to me, but it was hard to hear over the pounding in my ears.

He suddenly pushed me down onto the couch and straddled on top of me, holding my upper arms again. I squirmed, and he held harder. "What did you say you fucking did to my car? Say it. Don't play your little bitch games."

"I stuck a dildo onto it, and fucked myself with it. It was amazing," I said, and couldn't help trying to word my way out of the situation.

"Show me," he growled, then got up and grabbed me by the shirt. I tried to follow without getting my shirt ruined. He then pushed me out into the garage, his own shirt still corded up over his pecs, ears splayed slightly, headfur ruffled up. He growled.

"Don't be so serious!" I said, but pushed back when he shoved. "It was right there, I think," I said, and pointed down to a part of the body work at the lower left of the bumper. "It had a suction cup, so I uh, stuck it on there, and then I crouched down here," I pointed around with a dark finger. "It rocked back and forth as I pushed and pulled, and that was so amazing. It was like your car was fucking me. Quite a stupid thing to do. But, Buck, I promise I was very careful with it. I gently buffed the paint to make sure there was no fox spit on it."

He grabbed me backwards against his body with an arm around my chest. "Don't fuck with my car. If you want me to fuck you, you should just ask." He was still hard. I could feel it throbbing against me.

"Fuck me?"

"Yeah, I said you should ask me if you wanna get fucked."

"I'm ASKING, Fuck me?"

He pushed me away, growled and snarled, grabbed his corded shirt and instead of just lifting it off over his head, chewed and rended it until it tore in half. Then he flung the remains of it in the general direction towards the garbage. "Go inside."

I scurried back into the house and he followed, stomping instead of hurrying. I paused, looked over my shoulder, and when it was obvious he was on a collision course, continued to scurry. Towards my room. Where else would I go?

I flung the door open and kept moving until the bed tripped me. He strode in and slammed the door shut, not like there was anyone else in the house to hear us. "So this is your fucking room, huh?" Suddenly, Mister Tough Wolf just sounded stupid. Then he started going through my closet.

"You're rude. You shouldn't just look through my stuff," I said, and started trying to take my clothes off. It was really more like I rolled around in bed, squirming against my shirt and shorts, until I realized I could actually peel them off and unzip them, and in the correct order. "If I wasn't stoned and horny I'd tell you to stop."

"What is all this shit?" He took something out. It was a leotard. Not anything explicitly sexual - it was an actual performance leotard. Then he took out a tail coat.

For underwear, I only wore a stretch spandex jock, and my cock strained it out away from my hips. Embarrassing, not to mention what he was doing. "I like to dress up."

"Dress up for what?" He kept looking through my stuff. He encountered all of the sexy things, and all of the girly things, and didn't seem fazed beyond gruff surprise.

I got out of bed and gently wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, stroked the leather covering his thighs and cock, and pulled backwards. "For play time," I said, softly, against his strong back. He smelled so good. So dirty, and so good. Cocoa butter Furlax coat wash and spicy musk body spray and hot leather and hot Sex.

"I've never even seen you bring someone home. This what you do at that club you go to? You a dancer or something?"

I gently goaded his hand to hang things back up. "No, I'm not a dancer. I'm just a little kinky."

"You like to roleplay or something?"

I opened his fly. It had buttons instead of a zipper. What a cock tease. "Well, that varies. I like how I look in various things. I like how I feel in various things. Roleplaying per se? That depends on the other person." I reached in. Wow. Just Wow. Uncut, throbbing, sweaty, and hand-filling. Instead of taking it out, I took my hand back and let go of him. Then I stepped back against the bed, scooted my jock down, and tossed it over into the hamper with my foot.

Buck turned around and stared, shoulders up, elbows out, face even wrinkled up a little. At first, it was a hot, dangerous look, but every passing second made it look more like he was either broken, or upset at the situation.

That heart-pounding sensation came back, or rather it came out on top of the already-thundering sensation from the liquor and the smoke. "Yes?" He wasn't eying me, just staring. Despite the sudden growing panic, I couldn't quiet my erection down.

"You've got a big dick. You skinny guys always have big dicks."

"I don't know what yours looks like yet," I scoffed, and crossed my arms, cocked my hip a little.

So he dragged it out. Not a long one as much as thick, and he really stiffened up fast. When it bobbed, the whole thing moved as one, instead of wobbling around. That alone made it something worthwhile, but he had A Tattoo On His Dick. It was a tribal pattern, in red against his black, that rimmed around the shaft behind the head so the foreskin wouldn't disturb it. "It hurt but it looks cool," he growled, anticipating my question.

On and off for the last few minutes, I had a fantasy of unrolling a condom onto his cock. It seemed like such a sexy thing to do, because it guarantees that you're going to get fucked. There's really no other reason to do that. I suppose you could just lick it through the rubber, but a condom seemed like a poor choice in that case - something more extravagant was in order for that kind of fetish play. A condom was just to keep what's yours to yourself. But with the tattoo on there, I couldn't... but I had to... but I couldn't. "Lemme get ready," I said, and giggled profusely.

Buck mirrored my stance and crossed his arms, stepped back, and leaned against my closet door. With his foreskin forward and his shaft straining upwards, the design pointed up underneath and right to the tip. Good choice.

I slinked into bed and crawled across to the nightstand, then opened it up. Strip of condoms, loosely rolled up, which I took out. Lube, which I took out. Poppers, which I took out.

"What's that shit?" He grunted, cock bobbing, but he didn't indicate what shit he was unsure of.

"This?" I showed him the lube. "It's so you'll be _slippery_," I mocked.

Buck stalked over and swiped up the bottle of poppers instead. "No, this."

If I hadn't been stoned and aroused and nervous, I would have given him a detailed explanation. Instead, I just squirmed around on the sheets and laid back, then pulled my knees up. "Sniff it. It gives you a head rush and makes your asshole loose."

"I don't need a loose asshole," he said, but uncapped it and sniffed anyway. A big sniff, a few huffs, thanks to the drugs. Pot seemed to make us both breathe hard. "Yuck," he snorted, then capped it and set it back down. I clutched onto it and waited. After a few seconds, Buck looked like he was going to sneeze, then groaned like someone waking up groggy.

"I said it gives you a head r-"

And he attacked me. Not really attacked, but suddenly he was in bed, cock smacking up against mine, arms at either side of me, angry wolfy face way too close. "You gonna slick me up? Or are you gonna lie there like fucking roadkill?"

Stunned, I grabbed the bottle of lube and messily squirted it all over my hand. I would have squirted it on his red and black shaft but there wasn't enough room between bodies. I reached down and massaged his length, and his eyes dozed shut while a hot, smoke-tinged grunt puffed into my face. Kind of gross, really. I reached over with my other hand and uncapped the poppers with one hand, then brought it over for my own sniff.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. A ton of cock-shaped bricks. I was already stupid and wound up from the vapor earlier - adding a blistering, thundering head-rush made me feel like I was going to explode. I clutched onto Buck's bare shoulders, back, lower back, then his leathery rump. We squirmed against each other, and that disgusting meat and smoke smell of his breath was suddenly so immensely hot that I tried to suck it out of his snout until he growled from being tongue-tickled and shook his head back.

And he stuck me. "Wait, wait wait," I yipped, but splayed my legs apart anyway. The feeling of a big dick starting to push my hole in made my heart flip-flop a few times, and the poppers did their work. But then his bare, slick cock really shoved in, half of it, all at once. It was too much, and it hurt, but only a sort of cramping ache inside, not that terrible sharp feeling of actual damage. "Unh! Buck! Easy!"

Pornography tends to give the impression that one can simply cram their cock into another's asshole. After a lot of preparation, or if the asshole's owner is limber, that's certainly true. In general, I took quite a bit of fussing and playing to really get ready, and Buck seemed completely oblivious to that. "Mmm. Fuck that wolf bitch, she was loose. Shoulda gone with you from the start."

The cramp started to subside and I stopped pushing at him, and instead limply fell back against the sheets, swooning and fox-whining. I turned my head and saw the condoms, still in their little roll on the nightstand. "Oh shit," I breathed.

Buck looked over, then grabbed me by the face and turned my head back to point upwards, at the ceiling, at his own face. "You complain too fucking much."

"Buck, you really should-"

"I'm a fucking wolf and you're a fox. Nothing's gonna happen. Quit bitching and either shut up or say something nice." Then he Moved. While I was pretty sure he hadn't ever fucked someone in the ass before, hence the sudden rough penetration, he did seem to know how to move while performing the general act. Instead of just jackhammering, he used his whole body to rock back and forth, which both made a racket out of his leather pants squeaking against his boots, and ground his thick shaft right up into the right place.

"Oh," I huffed, and absently petted the sheets, then my own chest, then wound my hands around his supporting arms. "You're really strong."

"Mmrh," was all he said, and then he nuzzled me.

"And your cock is really huge. It... it almost hurts." That was true, but I'd also learned that every man loved to hear about how big their dick was.

"You said this shit makes you loose, well, here," Buck gruffed, then grabbed the poppers again. This time, he snatched an errant sock, wrapped it around the bottle, then shook it.

"Oh don't, you'll waste them," I whined, and reached up to stop him, but really just squeezed his chest. He was hard as a rock. If I'd have punched him, I would have hurt my hand. I couldn't believe someone actually felt like that, and kneaded and stroked away. Meanwhile, he took the now half-full bottle out of the sock and set it aside, then smudged the sock into my face.

Poppers are really quite gross to sniff. The only reason the smell is tolerable is because of how awesome the end result is - after an afternoon playing around with them and a rather slender cheetah, he fisted me with no ill effects aside from a headache and a case of the sniffles the next day. Since Buck wanted me to sniff them hard, fine, I sniffed them hard. When I nudged his hand off, he took the sock back to himself and had his own few whuffs from it, then just tossed it over his shoulder.

And fucked me. Really hard, almost brutal, but very aroused. He was extremely into it and jammed up deep enough that it made me writhe around to make sure he could really go far enough without bruising something. Sometimes he slowed down and pushed right at my prostate, and as much as I wanted to kiss and touch him when he did that, I just couldn't move or do anything but squirm and yowl underneath him. Sometimes he just pumped in, at the wrong angle, so it just missed where I really wanted it. And the whole thing was such a hedonistic, heart-pounding, frothy-headed blur that who really cared about orgasm? I didn't want him to stop for a second.

I came for four shots without even realizing it; Buck then grabbed onto my cock and milked hard and I screamed while the next four splashed me in the face and painted the wall with wet splatters that I could hear bouncing off the paint. The wolf pulled out and throttled his cock, and it terrified me for a moment thanks to the red tattoo work around the shaft - but no, that wasn't blood, that was art. Painful, permanent art. He came all over my cock and balls, and the shots would have gone just as far if he didn't intentionally wrangle his cock with his half-gloved hand to splatter my twitching, sagging dick and slippery orbs.

The best part was that afterwards, instead of just storming off to the bathroom, Buck looked spent and stayed kneeling on the bed, dazed and dribbling onto his leg. When he went soft, he stayed big. I liked that.

"You didn't cum in me," I finally said. I felt small. My voice felt small. Somehow, after having someone do something stupid and reckless like fuck me bareback, not getting it all the way was a letdown.

Buck shrugged. "I didn't wanna wear your asshole out."

That's why? I thought. The only reason why? While I thought about it, Buck wiped his leather pants off, then loped into the attached bathroom. He came out with a towel and threw it at me.

"You wanna shower with me? Or do you like going to sleep crunchy?"

I wasn't going to pass up showering with Buck. And by showering with, I mean he scrubbed me down like a housepet. I think I actually lost a little fur, he was so serious about cleaning me off. He wouldn't let me do anything myself, either, attacking me with the fur soap and a scrubber and everything. He even got me between the thighs and up the ass crack, which made me howl and kick from the tickling. It was this weird kind of mindfulness, and while still stoned and bristling after all the poppers fumes, it was a kind of hedonism I'd never experienced.

After the shower, Buck's romance ended. He didn't want to sleep with me, in the literal sense. "I don't sleep well with other people. I bite and stuff and if they roll around I get pissed off." Then he left with a grunt and a backhand wave, like he always did.

I really hoped it wouldn't be the last time.

---

"Oh no," was what Macy had to say when I showed up for Lunch Gossip.

"Oh no what?" I actually was surprised - I looked down at my shirt, in case I had some sort of awful stain from carrying my coffee over from the bar.

"You have that _look_." Carter agreed: "Totally. Totally totally." He resumed picking at his salad, a decidedly un-wolfish thing in my opinion.

"What look?" I started feeling that creepy crawly feeling over what Macy was talking about.

"You've been fucking," Shin said, and pointed her fork at me. "Macy, did wolf come in with that look?"

Macy's eyes went so wide, he started to fluff up. "No? No, he comes by every other week to get his highlights topped up. But when he _does_ come in, I'm going to ask him all about how YOU are," he said, then turned to me with a raucous grin.

"You can't possibly tell that I've been fucking by just my facial expression. Foxes are second only to coyotes in trickster abilities. Besides, it's none of your business."

"You called me on the phone to tell me about Buck's stinky underwear!" Macy hissed.

I attempted to drink my coffee, but one lick sent it rushing over one side of the cup. "Well, we only fucked a little bit."

"A little bit!" Macy's tail curled onto and pulled over the chair behind him, bothering the deer trying to use their laptop on the next table over. "You can't fuck a little bit. Maybe if you're Bill Clinton, but even then, that involved a cigar so it's kinky and makes up for it. So what'd you do."

I sighed. "Well, we wrestled in the mud a little. Then, I stuck a dildo onto the bumper of his car and fucked myself on it, and came all over his underwear that I was sniffing. He found out about it, and gave me shit about it. We got stoned, then he fucked me like a girl in bed and came all over me."

The other three sat there and stared, apparently not expecting me to actually tell them. But it was a trick; too much information is the best way to stop an annoying conversation. Behind them, the buck at the other table looked aghast, but snapped his eyes down to his computer when he saw me spying back.

"No wonder you smell like a wolf," Carter finally said, then looked amidst all of us. "What? I mean he does, I should know."

And that was how it started.