FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Special thanks to Nameless, whose "Catfood" series inspired me to write - and submit - my first ever attempt at fiction. I hope you enjoy it!

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John had known Cynthia for almost a year, since she started working as a cashier at the grocery store where he worked in the produce department.

She was a twenty one-year-old skunk-girl. A slim five and a half feet tall, with the glossy, black fur with white markings and bushy black-and-white tail common to her race, a slightly unruly shock of stark white hair on her head to go with the most beautiful, big blue eyes he had ever seen, and a sweet smile that always seemed to light up any room she was in.

He had been in love with her from almost the first moment he met her.

This was made more difficult for him both because he knew that Cynthia had a steady boyfriend - another human named Zach who she had been seeing seriously since before he met her and because the few times he had spoken to Zach when he was picking Cynthia up after work he had always seemed like a colossal jerk.

He tried to tell himself that this was probably partially due to his own feelings toward Cynthia, but it always seemed that Zach treated her poorly whenever he saw them together.

For her part, she considered John to be her closest friend at work - despite his being a full six years older than her - although he made certain she never realized his true feelings. When they worked similar shifts they always took their breaks and lunches together. He could always make her laugh, and when he teased her, it was always done gently and she could always tell that he wasn't trying to hurt her. The best description of her feelings for him would be to say that she felt completely comfortable around him.

She valued his friendship a great deal, especially since many humans were uncomfortable around her species. Although there was not as much open discrimination against Furs of all races as there used to be, old prejudices died hard, particularly for her people, with the negative connotations associated with being related to skunks. Her upbringing was also a factor. She was an orphan, adopted by human parents when she was just a baby, and she was raised in an almost exclusively human neighborhood with virtually no contact with her own people. The cruelty of many of the children at school she attended had tended to increase her feelings of isolation and loneliness, and as a result, she tended to be quite shy and did not always make friends easily.

Despite this, she had a generally sunny disposition and so it was a matter of great concern to John when he walked into the break room at work at the end of his shift and found Cynthia sitting at the small table holding her cell-phone and sobbing uncontrollably. He immediately rushed to her side.

"What's wrong, Cynthia?" He asked as he knelt down next to her, taking her free hand in his. "Please tell me."

"O-oh, J-john! I d-didn't hear you come in." she said, hurriedly wiping her now red-rimmed eyes with the back of her other hand. "It's nothing, really," she continued, and stood up as if to leave, but he now had hold of her hand and he wasn't about to let her get away that easily.

"You've always been a terrible liar, " he said, holding on gently but firmly. "Please sit back down and tell me about it. It hurts me to see you cry and you know I want to help if I can."

She hesitated, her body halfway turned towards the door, but when she looked down at his earnest face she was suddenly overcome with a desire to have a shoulder to cry on. She sat back down and as she took her time putting her phone in her purse, obviously needing a moment to collect herself. John moved around to the chair opposite hers so he could look her in the eyes while still holding her hand across the table.

When she had swallowed a few times and had had a chance to take a deep breath he prompted her. "Now tell me all about it," squeezing her hand he added, "Please."

Avoiding his eyes with a certain amount of embarrassment, she began, "I just called Zach to get a ride home," John's stomach tightened at the mention of his name. "And he... H-h-he... broke up with me!"

She was obviously close to becoming hysterical again and since the break room was not the most private place for this kind of discussion, with employees coming in and out all the time. He suggested, "Look, why don't you go in the ladies room and take a moment to get cleaned up and collect yourself, then I'll buy you a drink and you can tell me more about what happened before I give you a ride home?"

She suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I don't want to put you to any trouble..."

"Nonsense," he immediately jumped in, not wanting to give her a chance to refuse, " I already said I wanted to help, and I've driven you home lots of times. This just isn't the best place to talk." He got up from his chair and came around to help her up and walk her to the door of the employees' ladies room, which was located there in the break room behind and to the left of the table. "Now you take your time and I'll be waiting right here when you're ready to go."

He smiled at her as he held the restroom door for her, but inside he was seething. That bastard broke up with her over the phone? While she was waiting for him to give her a ride home from work? He decided he had been right all along about Zach being a complete jerk, but suddenly realized that that was a massive understatement.

John realized that he needed to calm down. His growing dislike for Zach would only get in the way of helping Cynthia through her crisis, and, at the moment, that was his only focus. Fortunately she was in the bathroom long enough that he was able to get his emotions under control.

He had a smile waiting for her when she emerged, looking at least somewhat more composed. "There, now let me have a look at you," he said, putting a finger under her chin and raising her face so he could look her in the eye. "Oh!" he exclaimed, feigning shock, "your pretty eyes are so red. It's a good thing the bar I have in mind is fairly dark or people would think you'd been crying!"

She turned her head and lowered her face again, but he could see that she smiled briefly, in spite of herself. "Ah, that's more like it," he said, returning her smile with one of his own, "Grab your coat and let's go."

They managed to leave the store without talking to any of their coworkers, something for which he was sure she was grateful, and went out to his car and got in.

As they were driving he noticed that she was just staring out of her window and she looked like she might start crying again. Hoping to distract her with small-talk he said, "Can I ask you a question?"

She looked over at him, startled out of her reverie, "Oh, um, sure."

"I was just wondering. Is it uncomfortable to sit like that?" She looked puzzled so he added, "I just mean, with your tail scrunched up behind your back in the bucket seat like that. Not having one of my own, I get curious about that kind of thing." He said, glancing over at her.

She thought about it for a few seconds, "It isn't too uncomfortable as long as it's a short trip, I guess" she said, "At home I mostly have open-back chairs so I can move it around a bit, but it's pretty flexible, so I can keep it against my back like this for quite a while without much trouble"

"It must be tough: living in a world designed mostly by humans, for humans."

"I've been living with humans my whole life," she said with a shrug, "You adapt."

"Well, I'm still impressed," he said. "And here we are," he added as they pulled into the parking lot of O'Malley's, a small bar he occasionally visited.

As they walked up to the door he worked up the courage to put his arm around her in a way he hoped seemed supportive and companionable, rather than romantic; but having her this close to him felt so... right that he had to remind himself sternly that he was here to help her, not put the moves on her. Fortunately, the way she smiled weakly up at him made him feel more protective than amorous, at least for the moment.

They entered the bar. It was early afternoon and it was nearly deserted. He guided her to a secluded booth at the back and got her settled in.

"Just relax for a minute and I'll get us a couple of drinks. Okay?"

She gave him a silent nod and he walked back to the bar, returning a minute later with a pair of double rum-and-Cokes and sitting down next to her on her side of the booth. It would be more difficult to look her in the eye as they talked, but he found himself craving the physical closeness they shared on the walk in.

"Now tell me everything," he said, taking a sip of his drink as she toyed idly with her glass.

"I told you most of it already," she replied dully. "He dumped me. That about covers it."

"But why? He must have given you a reason."

"He said he found someone else who wasn't so..." she started to tear up again, "boring."

"He told you that you were boring?" He said between clenched teeth, becoming angry again.

"It's my own fault really," she said with something between a laugh and a sob, "Our sex life hasn't exactly been exciting lately."

He fished in his jacket pocket for the stack of tissues he kept there and handed them to her, afterwards putting his arm back around her shoulders and squeezing gently.

"That doesn't seem like much of a reason to me," he said softly.

After she was finished wiping her eyes and blowing her nose she responded, "Well, to be fair, we really hadn't been having sex much at all recently."

"Please forgive me for embarrassing you, but I'm just trying to understand. Why not?"

"It's just that," she said, obviously growing uncomfortable, "since I wasn't really enjoying myself I kept coming up with reasons to put him off."

"You don't enjoy sex?" he asked, and then quickly followed with "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that."

"No, it's all right, I did like it at first. It's just that it was always the same thing: we'd have sex, I'd fake an orgasm when he finished, and that was that."

"Wait a minute, are you telling me you never had an orgasm with him?"

Her voice got very quiet and she said, "I've never had an orgasm, period. He was my first partner. I didn't really date in high-school."

He wanted to stop, but he just couldn't let the subject go. "Not even with oral sex?"

"He tried it once after I had been bugging him about it for a long time, but he quit because he said he couldn't handle..." her voice had been growing softer and softer throughout her last statement and finally trailed off to inaudibility as she stared directly at the tabletop. He got the impression that if it weren't for her fur he would see that she was blushing furiously.

Once again he couldn't let it drop. His increasing fury at her asshole ex-boyfriend pushing him onward, "What, he couldn't handle what?"

She took a deep breath and sighed, clearly gathering herself. She then looked him straight in the eye and said in a remarkably level voice, "The smell. He said that because I'm a skunk, the smell was too much for him."

Unable to contain his rage any longer he brought his fist crashing down on the table with a force that nearly spilled their drinks.

Through his anger he could see that Cynthia was now looking at him with fear in her eyes. He immediately attempted to calm himself, not wanting to scare her any further, and said quickly, "I'm sorry, but it makes me furious. That selfish prick breaks up with you on the phone, refuses to satisfy you in bed, and then tries to cover for his inadequacies by trying to make you feel bad about yourself? It just makes me sick that a wonderful girl like you could be with a jerk who doesn't treasure you, especially when I..." At this point the words were tumbling out of him so fast that he was barely able to stop himself before he said something he knew he could never take back.

Cynthia's expression had changed from frightened, to surprised, to curious as he spoke, and when he broke off she cocked her head to the side and asked, "Especially when you what?"

He quickly looked away, realizing that he'd gone too far. "Nothing," he mumbled finally.

"No, really, what were you going to say?" She asked.

John realized he needed to make a choice. He could either put her off again, in which case she'd probably drop the subject and he might never again have the chance to let her know how he felt about her, or he could tell her his true feelings and risk having her reject him, the thought of which was so painful he didn't want to consider it.

He glanced up at her and saw that she was still waiting for him to speak. Oh well, he thought, at least this way I'll finally know.

Now it was his turn to take a deep breath and gather his courage. "Especially when I love you so much it hurts." He said as plainly as he could.

He could see she was taken aback by this revelation. "You're not serious." She said with a nervous half-smile on her face.

He was suddenly desperately afraid that she would dismiss his declaration of love as some kind of joke, and almost without thinking, he suddenly leaned in and kissed her with all the passion he could muster. She was obviously too surprised to respond at first, but within moments she was returning the kiss with more enthusiasm than he could have dared hope. He had fantasized many times about what it would be like to kiss her, with her short, furry muzzle and her teeth, which were slightly smaller and sharper than a human's. It was different, to be sure, but it immediately felt right to him, is if their mouths were made to fit together - as if they were made to fit together.

He broke off the kiss and pulled her into an embrace, which was slightly awkward because of the booth, and spoke softly but urgently into her ear, "I've never been so serious about anything in my life. I've loved you since the first day we met but I couldn't tell you because you were already going out with Zach at the time.

"Oh, John," she whispered back, "I never knew you felt this way."

He leaned back from her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders and gazed deep into her eyes, "Would it have mattered if you had known? You're not the kind of girl who would break up with a guy just because you knew someone else liked you. That's one of the things I love about you."

"I suppose not, but I'm glad you told me now." She looked away, suddenly shy again and continued, "Do you suppose we could continue this conversation... back at your place?"

He had never been so happy in his whole life. He smiled at her and said simply, "Let's go."

After helping her put on her coat, they exited the bar and returned to his car. He was so happy it felt to him as if the car was flying as he drove to his home, a fairly large two- story house in a quiet residential neighborhood.

When they pulled into the driveway and parked Cynthia turned to him and said, "What a beautiful house! Do you live here by yourself?"

"I grew up here," he replied as they exited the vehicle and walked the short distance to the front door. "I inherited it when my folks died in a car accident a few years back. It really has more space than I need, but I just couldn't bear to sell it."

She turned to him quickly and put a hand to his cheek, concern clear on her face as she said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

He smiled reassuringly at her and as he unlocked the door he replied, "It's all right. Like I said, it was a few years ago."

No sooner had he shut the door behind them than she pulled him into an embrace, kissing him with even greater passion than she had shown at the bar. He returned the kiss at first, but was suddenly struck with a pang of guilt and pulled away. When she looked up at him, puzzled, he whispered hoarsely, "I feel like I'm taking advantage of you. After all, you just broke up with your boyfriend less than an hour ago."

She gazed at him with pleading eyes and practically begged, "Please, I really need this right now."

He needed no further encouragement. He pulled her back in to his chest and whispered, "Then let me give you a taste of what you've been missing with Zach."

Leaving their coats in the hall, he led her into the living room and turned on a single lamp. There was a gray sectional sofa in an "L" shape in front of the large picture window - the curtains of which were closed - with a matching square, overstuffed armchair with a low back across from it, and a glass coffee table in between.

Positioning her behind the chair so that she could lean against it, half sitting on the broad back, he kissed her deeply again as he unbuttoned her plain white blouse and pulled it off her, at first forgetting to unbutton her cuffs, so that the shirt hung down from her wrists behind her until he noticed and bent down to fix the problem.

Next he turned his attention to her bra, managing to undo the hooks at her back with surprisingly little trouble, sliding it off her arms and dropping it to the floor.

He took a moment to admire her rather small but well proportioned fur-covered breasts and whispered, "So beautiful."

Suddenly self-conscious, Cynthia covered herself with one arm and protested, "They're too small!"

John gently moved her arm aside and said very seriously, "They're perfect. Everything about you is perfect."

He bent down and kissed first her right nipple and then her left. They responded instantly, poking out from her fur slightly as they hardened. She closed her eyes and moaned slightly. He would have loved to spend more time on them and intended to get back to them later, but he had other plans at the moment and he was impatient to get on with them.

He then knelt down in front of her, and while she kicked off her shoes, he unzipped her tight jeans, but he needed her help to deal with the closure in back which went over the top of the hole which allowed her luxurious tail to poke through. "I'm sorry. I've never had to deal with a tail before." He said, grinning up at her.

"You'll get used to it," She replied, returning his smile and undoing the necessary clasp for him.

"I look forward to it," he said

He quickly slid her jeans down to her ankles and she stepped out of them. Not pausing, he slid her tiny, pink panties down and off. This was easier than her jeans because the waistband looped down under the base of her tail, so there was no hole to deal with.

Cynthia now stood naked before the kneeling John. "Did I mention how beautiful you are?" He asked, tracing with one finger the boundary dividing the black fur on her sides from the white on her chest and stomach.

"Yes, but I haven't gotten tired of hearing it yet. I'll let you know if I do. Maybe in a hundred years or so." She said with a cute little giggle.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't stop saying it that soon," he said, continuing, "Now do me a favor, turn around and bend over the back of the back of the chair."

She looked doubtful, "Aren't you going to take off your clothes first?" She asked him.

In truth, the erection now trapped in his own jeans was starting to get a bit uncomfortable, but he was anxious to give her what had been denied her by Zach and wanted to stay entirely focused on her needs, so he simply replied, "I won't need to for this," and gently steered her around, pressing lightly on her back to guide her over the back of the chair. "Now support yourself with your hands on the arms of the chair and spread your legs a bit. There, that's perfect." He leaned back on his haunches for a moment to admire the view of her pretty little bottom displayed before him with her bushy tail held straight up like a flag. "Absolutely gorgeous," he said.

He moved closer, placing his face between her spread legs and rubbing his nose lightly in the soft, downy fur there.

Suddenly Cynthia's feelings of self-consciousness came flooding back to her and she started to stand up, saying, "Isn't the smell bothering you, John?"

He responded instantly by placing his hands on her back and lacing his fingers together so that he could gently but firmly hold her in position. "You smell wonderful, Cynthia, darling," he reassured her, adding, "Here, I'll prove it to you."

He buried his nose in the fur directly covering the scent gland just above her vulva and inhaled deeply. The sensation of the air rushing through her fur was intense and she gasped, immediately ceasing her efforts to rise.

"See, I told you," he said, "You have just a hint of sharpness to your scent which only makes you more unique. I love your scent precisely because it is YOUR scent.

"By the way, your fur fluffed up in the most amazing way when I did that. I take it that means you enjoyed it?"

"You take it correctly," she replied, her voice slightly shaky with arousal.

"I'll have to remember that."

"Please do."

"Well then, back to the business at hand, so to speak," John said, and moved his face back into position. But instead of going directly to her now-moist pussy, he moved his mouth upwards and, spreading her cheeks a little with his thumbs, quickly inserted the tip of his tongue into her tight little tail-hole and wiggled it around.

Cynthia squealed and jumped about an inch - not an easy thing to do in her current position. "Now what are you doing?" She demanded.

"My tongue is just taking the scenic route on the way to its destination," he replied innocently. "Why, didn't you enjoy it?"

She considered. "I'm not sure. You just surprised me, I guess. Zach certainly never did anything like that to me."

"You'll find I'm full of surprises," he said, "and I'll take it as a compliment that I'm doing something else that Zach wouldn't do. Anyway, maybe we'll come back to that little maneuver later, but for now, on to the main course!"

Now using his thumbs to gently spread her fur-covered outer lips, he moved his tongue in to lap up the juices which had now started to accumulate around her thin slit, and moving it slowly and rhythmically up and down the outside of her inner lips. Her taste was just as intoxicating to him as her scent and he felt as if his senses were being overwhelmed by her in every way possible.

Cynthia moaned involuntarily. She had never felt sensations like this before and, until now, had frankly doubted she was even capable of feeling them.

After a few minutes exploring every part of her sex with his tongue, John turned his attention to her now-swollen clitoris, moving the tip of his tongue gently around it in circular patterns, starting slowly, but gradually moving faster and more insistent as he felt her body start to move in response to him. He allowed her to set the rhythm, responding to the speed and force with which she was moving herself against his face and tongue.

For her part, Cynthia was rapidly losing herself in the intensity of the sensations now washing over her in waves. A part of her understood that she was now making noises she would normally be embarrassed by, but she couldn't bring herself to stop. Or even care. Her entire being was lost in the intense buildup of what she realized was going to be her first-ever, full-blown orgasm.

"Oh, John," she managed to gasp, "I think I'm about to..."

AAAAAAUGGH!!!

John's scream immediately snapped her out of her pleasure-induced trance. She whirled around as quickly as she could make her shaky legs move, to find John writhing on the floor in obvious agony, his hands covering his eyes.

The odor picked up by her sensitive nose immediately told her what had happened: at the moment of her orgasm she had involuntarily sprayed him directly in the face, and in that position he had taken the full stream right in his eyes.

She panicked momentarily. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" She screamed, rushing to his side and kneeling down next to him, clasping her hands over her mouth, unsure of how to help him.

She quickly realized that he needed a doctor. She tried to calm herself as best she could and spoke as clearly as possible, "John, I'm going to drive you to the hospital."

She hoped he could understand her through the haze of his pain, but he gave no sign, now on his knees with his forehead pressed against the carpet and his hands still clutched over his eyes. He was now groaning with every breath he released, over and over again.

Not bothering with her bra and panties, she hastily threw on her jeans and blouse - not taking the time to button the latter - and slid her feet quickly into her shoes. Returning to John's side, she was suddenly grateful he hadn't bothered to undress ; she didn't think she would be able to dress him in his current condition.

"All right, John. I have to get you on your feet now, but you're going to have to help me because you're too heavy for me to lift by myself."

She managed to get her head into the crook of his elbow and lifted him, staggering, to his feet. She could see now that his eyes were tearing profusely, and his eyelids were red and swollen. Guiding him carefully to the entryway, she realized she wouldn't be able to get either of their coats on without putting John down again, so she just grabbed his car keys off the shelf as they passed and helped him out the door and into the chill November air.

She managed to help him stumble to the car and got him inside without any major mishaps, then got in on the driver's side, profoundly grateful that his car had an automatic transmission - she had never learned to drive a stick. She started the engine, backed out of the driveway, and took off, driving as fast as she felt she could without losing control to the nearest hospital, which was fortunately only a few miles away.

As she drove, the terrible nature of what had happened struck her. She might have just blinded John, who had been so kind to her. She started to cry. "Oh, John," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me." Then as she tried desperately to watch the road through her tear-filled eyes she found herself repeating over and over again, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Suddenly, she felt John's hand on her shoulder.

"Please... don't cry, Cynthia," he hissed, obviously still in tremendous pain. "I could... never hate you. Everything's... going to be all right."

It only made her feel worse. There he sat hunched over in his seat, possibly blind, tears streaming down his face, and HE was trying to comfort HER.

"Don't try to speak, John. We'll be there soon."

Sure enough, moments later they pulled into the hospital parking lot. She pulled into the first space she found and, putting his arm around her shoulder again, managed to half-guide, half-carry him to the emergency room entrance. Once inside she shouted, "Someone please help him! I think he's been blinded!"

Suddenly there was a rush of doctors and nurses taking him from her and issuing instructions. "Put him in Examination three and get an eye-wash kit ready." She started to follow, but a nurse stopped her, saying, "You'll have to wait here unless you're a family member."

She would have liked to lie so she could go in with him, but with her a skunk and him a human she knew it wouldn't work.

She now noticed that, because of all the commotion everyone in the E.R. was now staring at her with her shirt untucked and hanging open in front and the tail-loop of her jeans undone in back. Wishing she could turn herself invisible, she fixed her appearance as best she could and moved to the front desk, where the receptionist had some questions about John. It embarrassed her that she knew so little about him, but Cynthia was able to provide her with his name and the name of their health insurance company through work. "He probably has his insurance card in his wallet," she offered helpfully.

When she had given what little information she had to offer, she took a seat in the corner and tried to look inconspicuous. She picked up a magazine and leafed mechanically through it, but she didn't even see the pages.

After forty five minutes or so, one of the doctors who had taken John away - a woman in her fifties with glasses and her gray hair tied back severely in a bun at the back of her head - came up to her with a serious expression on her face and said, "I'm Doctor Marx. Would you come with me please? I have some questions I need to ask you, Miss...?"

"Black, Cynthia Black. Can I see John now? Is he going to be all right?" She asked as she hurriedly stood up.

"Please follow me," was all she said as she led Cynthia down a hallway and into a sparsely appointed office.

"Take a seat, Miss Black." She said as she sat behind the desk. When Cynthia somewhat nervously complied she continued, "The first thing I need to know is whether I need to contact the police."

Cynthia's jaw dropped. "W-what?" She finally managed to stammer, shocked.

"If he assaulted you and you sprayed him in self-defense we need to get the authorities involved right away."

The skunk-girl shook her head violently, "No-no-no-no-no," she insisted, "It wasn't like that at all."

"Well, his injuries and your own physical and emotional states when you brought him in tend to lead to that conclusion. If it wasn't that, perhaps you can explain to me what DID happen," the doctor said sternly.

Cynthia thought about what she must have looked like as she burst in with John, with her clothes in disarray and her eyes no doubt red from all the crying she had been doing today. She realized she would have to tell this woman what happened and felt her face grow hot. She began haltingly, "Well, what happened was..."

After she had told Dr. Marx the whole story, staring at the floor the whole time unable to look her in the face, she sat miserably in her chair, waiting for the doctor to speak.

Dr. Marx snorted, then chuckled, then began to laugh uproariously.

Cynthia looked up at her in shock, followed by outrage. "This isn't funny!" She shouted.

Dr. Marx gradually was able to bring herself back under some semblance of control. "I'm truly sorry, my dear. I know it isn't funny." At this point she removed her glasses and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "It's just that, when you've worked in the E.R. as long as I have, you think you've seen everything, but I have to say this one is entirely new to me."

Cynthia smiled a little bit in spite of herself. "I suppose it is a bit bizarre when you think about it."

"Just a bit, but now that I think about it, it reminds me of something. Some women experience something called 'Female Orgasmic Incontinence', which simply means that they urinate involuntarily during orgasm. This seems to me to be an analogous situation."

"But does that mean I'll never be able to... come... without spraying?"

"Not necessarily," Dr. Marx continued, "For some women it doesn't happen every time. Others find that emptying their bladders completely prior to sex helps. Spraying' just before you have sex could be especially helpful in your case, since I'm certain that skunk-scent doesn't build up nearly as fast as urine, which accumulates constantly, as you know. That way even if you spray again during orgasm it wouldn't amount to more than a drop or two. There are also special exercises which I've heard can be helpful in some cases. Possibly they could be adapted to work for you. Of course, as a last resort, there's always surgical removal of the scent gland, which would eliminate the problem entirely. You should talk to your gynecologist. If she has experience treating skunk-women she's no doubt heard of this problem before. I'm certain your case can't be unique."

"I thought about the surgery for other reasons, but it's considered elective, so insurance won't cover it." Cynthia offered.

"I would tend to recommend against it in any case," replied the doctor, "There's no point in mutilating yourself unnecessarily when there are simpler solutions. Besides, it's uncertain what effects removal could have on your orgasmic function, since I think you've proven the two are linked in some way," She got a far-off expression on her face, "It would be interesting to find out if there's been any research done on the subject..."

She snapped out of her reverie and changed subjects, "But about your friend."

Cynthia suddenly felt guilty for thinking about herself when John might be lying, blind, in a bed somewhere in the hospital. "Oh yes! Is he going to be all right?" She asked.

"He'll be fine," replied the doctor. "His eyes are very irritated, but there wasn't any permanent damage. Cleaning out his eyes was made more difficult because skunk scent is designed by nature to be pretty indelible stuff, but he should be as good as new in a couple of days." She continued, "He asked about you, but I wanted to talk to you first."

"Oh! Can I see him now?"

Dr. Marx smiled, "I don't see why not, he's just recovering now. Why don't you come with me?"

She led Cynthia from her office back to the E.R. and from there down another hallway to a room where John was sitting on an examination table with his eyes covered in bandages. He was just finishing up some paperwork with the help of a hospital staff member when they arrived.

Dr. Marx spoke, "Mr. Peterson, it's Dr. Marx again. Your friend is here to see you."

"Cynthia?" He asked.

She rushed to his side and took his hand. "I'm right here, John. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good," he replied more cheerfully than she would have expected. "The doctor gave me some eye drops that killed the pain like magic," he continued.

"I'll leave you two alone now," sad Dr. Marx. "You can leave whenever you're ready, Mr. Peterson, just be sure to pick up your prescriptions from the front desk before you go, and don't forget to make a follow-up appointment with your own doctor for about a week from now. Oh, and try to be a little more careful from now on." She gave Cynthia a broad smile and followed the hospital staffer from the room.

"Hmph," said John after she had shut the door behind her, "She sure seemed more friendly just now than when she was treating me."

"Oh!" Cynthia said, realizing why, "I think I can explain that," she continued and went on to explain about Dr. Marx's original suspicions about the circumstances under which he had been injured.

When she finished John burst out laughing. "Well, that explains her lousy bedside manner. I suppose we must have made quite a sight, stumbling in from the cold like that."

She had to smile, remembering, "Especially with my shirt hanging open like it was, not to mention the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra at the time."

She quickly turned serious again, however, "Oh John, I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

He squeezed her hand and said gently, "There's nothing to forgive. It was an accident."

"But how could you know that? All you could have known was that I had sprayed you. Didn't you think I had done it on purpose?"

He smiled. "Well, to be honest, I wasn't able to do much thinking at the time, but I guess I knew instinctively that you would never do anything intentionally to hurt me. I love you remember? I trust you absolutely."

Once again she felt her eyes tearing up and she couldn't keep her voice from breaking when she replied, "Oh, John, I think I love you too."

"Hey, no more of that. I think we've both had enough crying for one day, don't you?"

She smiled. "You're right, let's get you home."

"Oh, about that..." he began a bit sheepishly.

"What is it John?"

"Well, It's just that the hospital won't let me leave unless I have someone to stay with me until the bandages are ready to come off in about twenty four hours, and since I don't have any family I was wondering if you might be willing." He continued hurriedly, "I don't want to impose on you. I could probably have one of my friends come over instead."

"Don't be silly John," Cynthia replied. "I'd be happy to stay with you. It's the least I can do after everything you've done for me - and everything I've put you through today."

"No," he said, suddenly very serious. "You don't owe me anything. You've already given me far more than I can ever repay."

"What are you talking about?" She asked, confused by his reaction.

He considered. Then sighed. "I'll try and explain it to you later," he said. "This isn't really the right time or place. For now let's just go home."

"Yes," she said smiling as she helped him to his feet. "Let's."