Evolutionary Curiosity
"Evolutionary Curiosity" (c) 2006 by Istences D'Austere (C. Kirkhoff) (Edited by A. Cox)
The inspiration for this piece struck rather suddenly. Included is one possible take on what could happen when sentient anthropomorphic beings are compelled to interact with their wild cousins, or the other way around. The narrator isn't necessarily based on me, because I'm sure that question would've come up sooner or later. Comments and criticism are welcome, as they will probably govern my motivation to try my paw at more of these around my graduate student schedule. You can reach me at cjkirkhoff(at)hotmail(dot)com. That said, enjoy!
- * * It was my third week in the Rathambore wilderness, and it felt more and more like home every day. For every tiger I saw out there, I saw myself-or at least what I could've been. I suppose it was just chance that I was born a tiger that stood with only two limbs instead of four, speaking with this ineloquent language instead of being in intimate contact with my senses like my beautiful cousins. I recall this particular day fondly. Never have I been closer to feeling truly feral; helplessly controlled by aggressive, primal passion. Call these acts what you will, or condemn me for them, but know that until you experience what I did (or something, well, similar if you fancy females), you will never comprehend what it means to be of your species. Speaking of comprehension of species, I'm an ecologist, so it was my job to better understand the interaction between them and how they get what they need to survive. I don't think I've ever gone a day when I didn't think how improbable it was that every single species of mammal, to the exclusion of other kingdoms, invariably evolved together into tool-using bipeds (like myself) and feral quadrupeds. The progression of traits seemed logical in primates (this conclusion is generally accepted by most of my peers, humans included), but does this logic exist for the predator that I should be? How could I be as close to perfect than that elegant three meters of cat that I so intently observe? Ironically, that was precisely what I was pondering out in the field that day until a leaf-passed water droplet struck my nose. I crinkled my muzzle then smothered it with a forepaw, but I couldn't prevent the inevitable as I reared back, tensed my tail and let out a loud, rasping sneeze that sent the nearby jungle residents scattering. I sniffed loudly and regained my balance in my low tree stand. The rain was warm, but my nose was not, so I did the best I could to keep it warm, wiping it against the warmer fur of my shoulder. Knowing that the rain of the monsoon wouldn't stay light for very long, I covered my equipment to the best of my ability and sealed up my field notes. This was my last tiger of the day to observe, so I could just save any coordinates I took in my GPS unit and triangulate them later that night. Monsoon rains soon began to come down in torrents. I flicked my ears and shook all the mist I could out of my clothing and fur before I slid into my poncho. All I could think about then was about how much I wanted to pass out in my warm bed at the lodge. I was scarcely able to hear my radio receiver start to beep over the sound of the driving rain on the jungle canopy. "Where are you off to in this weather, man?" I mused quietly to myself. I ran my paw over my chest to assure I still had my binoculars in close reach. The beeping of the receiver continued to remain at about the same volume. I grew rather impatient; this was my last 14-hour day out in the field before I got three off. "Come on, I haven't got all night," I said to nobody in particular, but I meant it for my cousin-tiger. The rain reminded me just how much I had to relieve myself. Great-this was going to be delicate if I wanted to keep myself dry. I leaned against the tree (letting it hold up my poncho), unzipped my trousers and stretched my sheath apart gently with two of my paw-digits. I must've gone for a minute. No sooner had I zipped my trousers than I noticed the beeping of the radio receiver become progressively louder. And quickly. The tiger was moving this direction, and fast. "What is your deal today?" I said aloud. "You're usually so lazy when it starts raining." I shook my head and waved my tail slowly, reaching a paw for my binoculars and pulling them to my eyes. Sure enough, I soon spotted the young male dashing toward the tree I was perched in, crashing through underbrush-his natural camouflage neglected by the haste of his movement. To my surprise, he stopped at the base of the tree I was in and immediately spotted me. I shut off the radio receiver, which was blaring as the signal came from directly beneath. "Well, you've seen me before out here," I called down to him. "Why are you so entranced with me today?" He seemed to ignore me as he attended to sniffing the tree. Even through the rain, he must have picked up the scent of my urine, which made his muzzle gape in an impressive display of flehmen. His gorgeous white teeth and tongue glistened brightly in the pouring rain. He made his intentions clear as he pivoted on his massive hindpaws and sprayed the trunk of the tree below me. As feral tigers sometimes do when they spray, the full length of his penis briefly thrust out behind him, also glistening in the rain. My heart skipped a beat. I could not deny that standing beneath me was my object of sexual desire ever since I was old enough to know what sex was. I flared open my lips and gritted my teeth together. I must not give in to this fantasy; it's much too unprofessional if nothing else. I closed my eyes and continued to attempt to erase those fantasies from my head. But the tiger below me did not appear too interested in my introspection. He bared his claws and took two massive strokes, cleaving huge gouges in the old-growth tree. The vibration rattled my bones, starting with my hindlimbs all the way up to my skull. He looked up again and growled at me, as if saying "come down here so I can talk to you!" A ragged sigh escaped my muzzle. There was no way I could resist now. But how would the cousin-tiger react when I advanced on him? Naturally, there was no journal research on such topics. I stopped myself, shook some water off my face and grinned slightly. "Well, perhaps I might have to contribute a new brand of research; I have to feel what it's like, I need to know!" My inhibitions were leaving me, but whether any of this would come to fruition was another story. After all, I would do nothing that a cousin-tiger wouldn't want, especially a male. It's quite possible that he just wants me out of his territory. The rain became lighter, so I discarded my poncho in the stand. Actually, it could've started pouring again at any moment, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I tied the safety rope around my waist and rappelled the short distance down to the jungle floor. The young male remained stoic, staring silently each time my gaze met his. I clumsily slid down the last two meters and landed hard on my hindpaws, sending two darts of dull pain up my spine. I growled softly, yet still he continued to stare. I undid the rope and glanced over at him. He was standing about three meters away, swishing his tail from side to side. "I'm here now, man. What is it that you wanted to say to me?" The cousin-tiger cocked his head for a second, and then chuffed softly at me. I chuckled. "I apologize, where are my manners?" I inhaled and did my best chuff back. He seemed to be pleased with the response, as his tail stood on end and flicked playfully in a very friendly posture. He cautiously strode toward me and began to sniff me up and down. I smiled warmly and began to run my forepaws through his cheek and chest 'ruff and under his radio collar, scratching deeply. My tail swished to and fro with utter contentment. This is the first time I handled one of my own out in the wild. Such interaction was something that was becoming more common as the behavior experts discovered that, with little variability, wild cousins rarely react very aggressive towards their own species. I was about to find out. As my paws surveyed other parts of his body, combing through his lush, black striped orange fur, I scarcely realized he never stopped sniffing. He continued vigorously, and was concentrating on my groin, pressing his nose forcefully between my legs while uttering a low growl-whine. I gasped and hesitated at the sudden realization of the sensation, and then glanced between his hindlimbs, and sure enough, it looked as if he was thinking about the same thing as the pin-like tip of his pink penis coaxed its way out of its cream-colored sheath. Pulling off my binoculars, I gripped both paws around his shoulders and panted with desire. I could feel him tense up and hesitate for a second while I did this. I rumbled about as well as any tiger could, and looked down into his piercing yellow eyes. "Are you telling me that your girlfriend left you again? Well then-let me help you with that problem you're having back there," I rasped as clearly as I could muster. I slid my hindpaws underneath me and he must've been listening, because he crumpled down right with me. Pulling my striped tail out from under me, I rolled onto my shoulder. The cousin-tiger rumbled loudly and flopped onto his side, giving me a perfect view of his sheath and balls. Only the very tip of his penis remained in view, but his swollen sheath and cinched-up balls suggested that the rest was ready to come out given the slightest persuasion. And I was not about to disappoint. I crawled along the saturated ground until my muzzle was between his legs and inhaled deeply. The scent of male tiger musk was unlike the scents of any of my past mates, no, this was deeper, thicker and more satisfying, and the warmth of the scent made each and every one of his pawpads tingle. I slid my right forepaw under his balls, cradling them gently, and then stroked his sheath gently with my left forepaw. His penis slid out obediently, quivering back and forth, awaiting release. I could feel (not hear) him rumble in gratification as my pawpads clasped around his tigerhood. The pleasant heat of the tiger cock permeated throughout my body. I wanted to lie playing like this for hours, but I wasn't about to upset my partner by playing too much while his balls ached heavy with seed. I stroked his member vigorously with my left forepaw as I brought my right forepaw up to tease his sheath. The moisture in the thick air and his consistent spurts of precum made my pawpads slide effortlessly over his beautiful, symmetrical penis. His chest was heaving; I knew he was close. Almost without thinking, I closed my eyes, opened my muzzle wide and buried it between his legs. Clamping a forepaw around his stretched-out sheath like a vise, I took his cock into my maw and danced my tongue around its length, his stiff barbs cutting into it. He snarled, and I sucked as hard as I could, pulling up on the base of his shaft. Eight short spurts of hot tiger semen washed over my tongue and the back of my throat. I'm not sure if it was the heat of the moment, but I swear it was the sweetest liquid I have ever tasted. I lapped all of it up like fine wine. I released his cock, took some time to breathe, and then dutifully groomed the area where I did my work. He reciprocated, licking the side of my face with his scratchy tongue, causing my black lips to separate with each stroke. I couldn't help but smile and laugh. I managed to pull my aching limbs under me and sit cross-pawed, tail flicking as I gazed admiringly into his eyes. He flicked his tail as well (their paths crossing) as he chuffed deeply back at me. I wanted to do the same, but I couldn't muster it after my exertion. He looked at me insistently, sniffing and flaring out his muzzle. I smiled as I pulled of my wet t-shirt of my damp chest fur. "Would you like to help return that favor? I would certainly appreciate that!" I stood up stiffly and his head jerked up suddenly in response, seemingly wanting to keep constant eye contact. I unbuttoned and unzipped my trousers and cast them aside with a quick stroke of a hindpaw. Now unburdened, I knelt in front of the fellow with whom I seemed to be connecting with, for some odd reason. He shook a bit of the dampness from his fur and looked and stretched the stiffness from his bones. The entire situation was surreal. I felt like I was learning what it was like to actually be a tiger. Although no one creature lives for sex (well, maybe some insects, but they don't count), no other act can covey such unfettered emotion. My arousal is what brought me out of my reverie. My sheath hung heavy and thick, completely soaked with an aromatic mix of jungle rain, the oils from my body and precum. With a coy smile to my partner, I clutched my groin tightly, coaxing my sheath intently. My cock slid out slowly, its heat causing it to steam slightly in the saturated jungle air. I cradled my genitalia in a slick paw to present the new anatomy to my cousin-tiger. He stared at the different design of tiger-member quizzically. He flehmened slightly as he craned his neck down to sniff. Besides the way we stood, the other major difference seemed to lie in the organs between our legs. Mine was longer, more slender and cylindrical, with only the remnants of those stiff barbs that studded half the length of his penis. "Go ahead, help me out; it won't bite," I panted as invitingly as I could as I began to masturbate forcefully, my slippery black forepaws sliding around the base of my cock. It didn't take long before all my tigerhood liberated itself from my sheath. It was then the interested observer decided to participate. The impressive mass of his body lowered itself to the soft jungle floor. I breathed hard with anticipation as I braced myself with my right forepaw (the left one still tending to my arousal) and swung my hindpaws around to anchor in my partner's luxuriant fur so that my cock was in convenient range of his muzzle. I cannot adequately describe what it was like when I felt the first touch of his tongue. Every claw on my body unsheathed simultaneously, my tail behind me tensed to the point of being a sculpture of solid iron as that hot, fragrant and rough tongue engulfed all of my tigerhood whole with each and every single stroke. I hissed in gratification as I released my forepaws and collapsed backwards. I was reduced to snarling and writhing as his clawtips clamped around my rump. My orgasm was almost spontaneous, catching my partner in mid-stroke with a jet of cum that caught him in the nose, making him flinch away from my cock in reflex with a low rumble of more satisfaction than annoyance. My reflex after that first shot was to arch my back, directing one shot that caught my open muzzle and weaker ejaculations that spattered onto my white chestfur. With a deep breath and a deep swallow, I reclaimed the seed that had entered my mouth. The tension loosened from my body with a prolonged moan. For that moment, everything was perfect. I chucked and apologized to my partner as he groomed off the semen dripping from his pink and black nose. I hoped he had learned as much as I did today. I couldn't move very well, consumed in afterglow. He stood and flexed his muscles for me once again, flashing me glimpses of pawpads that were twice my size as he positioned himself over me. What was he up to? He flexed his muzzle with a throaty rumble. The motion of his tail drew my attention to his dripping arousal. The last lesson of the day about being a tiger would be taught by him. I wasn't nearly ready. He gritted his muzzle as he pinned my rump between his hindpaws and thrust his sharp penis into the sensitive flesh around my tailhole. I growled in pain with each stab, little knowing at the time it was just part of his plan to get my tail out of the way of his target. I roared loud enough to shake the earth as his cock slid into my anus, and began to rip and tear at me from the inside with three thrusts a second. The weight that was pressing down at me-I thought was going to crush my pelvis. I squirmed and whined helplessly as I stared at the killing teeth of his gaping maw. That vice fell upon my neck and pulled, thankfully without the intention to kill, but within five seconds my fur was stained with the result of dozens of cuts. With a mighty roar, I felt him pump his semen into me. Leaking from everywhere with more fluids than I can name, I lost consciousness beneath the greater cat. I must have waked an hour later, as it was twilight. The jungle was quiet, calm and drying. The other tiger was nowhere to be seen. My muscles burned, my chestfur was sticky with blood, and every strand of fur of every color was matted down to the skin near my rump. My balls throbbed, as they must have been bruised. And as I mustered enough energy to raise my head, I noticed the other discoloration on my chest. I sniffed and flared weakly at his mark-on me. That day, I learned who the real species of tiger was. Anybody that tells you that bipeds are better evolved should re-evaluate that position.