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Night 3: Begin the Begin

Staring out at the darkened parking lot through the windshield, I kind of wished someone would walk by as I came in my paw with a pretty solid grunt. Not theatrical, not like I was trying to draw attention; just the kind of grunt a coyote might give after he'd been thinking about his wife while he pumped himself off all over his fingers. And a little on the steering wheel. Well, I'd clean it off eventually.

"Jackson?"

The flutey voice from the back of the van was pretty soft, like he was trying not to wake anyone up, only I was pretty sure his boyfriend was awake, and he knew damn well I was awake. "Gimme a second," I panted, and gave another grunt, that one a little theatrical.

"Fucking hell." That deeper voice was Matt, the boyfriend. "You couldn't wait 'til we were asleep?"

"What," I called back, "you mean like at five this morning?"

That shut them up for a minute. Then Lars, in his soft voice, said, "Sorry. We thought you were asleep."

"Yeah, you thought wrong."

Matt chimed in again, with a growl. "For Christ's sake, Jackson, you're finished, put your cock away. Anyone could walk by."

I squeezed my still-hard knot and slid fingers up my shaft, brushing a couple leaky drops from the tip and shivering. "A, if anyone walked by, I could see them before they saw me. B, unless they were ten feet tall, they wouldn't be able to see over the dash to get an eyeful of my delectable length. The only reason you can see it is because it's reflected in the angled windshield, which brings me to C, clearly you're enjoying the view, and I shouldn't wonder it's probably the finest cock you've seen since...how long have you and Lars been exclusive? Is it a year now?" The big wolf started to growl something, and I hurried on. "D, if you'd come out to the bar to be my wingman tonight, I might be showing off privately to a lovely lady and not to you all, and E, most importantly, as you know, it takes us canid family males a little while to completely, shall we say, detumesce following an orgasm. So you have about ten more minutes of the Jackson Show. Enjoy it while you can. You too, Lars."

The arctic fox, of course, stayed silent, while Matt engaged with my banter. "Don't blame your striking out in the bar on me having a steady boyfriend. I don't see why you can't just jerk off in restrooms."

"What, you mean like Zeb?"

Matt hissed, "Jackson!"

"Easy," I said. "He's still asleep." I looked to the side and back, at the rail-thin kit fox curled in the back passenger seat, his fluffy tail curled up around his legs. His gleaming eye met mine, and I winked at him. He'd put his cock away, but I didn't know whether he'd finished or not. "What do you think he was doing for twenty minutes in that Chevron at Bolo Ranch?"

"I don't care what he was doing. You could've waited until morning. The stall at the Happy Donuts locks too."

"Yes, well," I waved my paw around, in case the scent wasn't strong enough. "Masturbation is what happens while you're making other plans. Anyway, I just can't fantasize about Jazmyn in a filthy restroom stall."

"Isn't that where you met her?"

"I met her in a spotlessly clean restroom stall, thank you."

Zeb had looked away, and now his head was down, his breath fogging the van's window. In the rear view mirror, Matt's eyes gleamed out of a wolf-shaped shadow over the dim white glow of Lars's head and ears. His head was lowering, and he said, "Well, just tell us next time and we'll leave you ten minutes in the van alone. And we'll do the same when we want some time."

My cock was still dripping, but I could feel it going down. I cradled its warmth in my paw, still feeling quite pleased with myself. "Sounds like a good ground rule."

"All right. Behave yourself, then."

His head disappeared from view. Lars's eyes stayed open for a moment, then closed.

So I grinned, slid down in the seat, pushed my rear up onto the steering wheel, and proceeded to lick my cock and paw clean. I don't know if anyone walked across the parking lot. If Matt was still watching, he didn't say anything. But when I looked back at Zeb, I saw the shine of one eye before the kit fox's head dropped quickly again.

Day 5: Talk About the Passion

We rocked this little club in San Marino, second show of the tour. The first one, back on day two, we'd been a little rusty, but this time we went through our set smoothly, and they applauded enough that we didn't feel like douches coming back out for the encore. We did "Find the River," one of my favorites in our repertoire, and a sentimental favorite of lots of R.E.M. fans in San Marino, judging by the applause it got.

I left the stage last, tossing my guitar pick to the crowd like my much-more-famous counterpart, and hurried back to the cramped dressing room. The first thing I saw was slim hips bending over with a fluffy tail curling around a tight little ass, and I thought, wow, lucky me, I bet Jaz didn't think I'd actually get any on the road. Then the hips straightened and I saw the bass guitar case the same time I recognized Zeb.

Well, shit. I just stood there with my guitar hanging out, until Matt came up to me and said, "Mind chilling here for a drink? Lars and I want the van for, oh--"

"Sex," I said, recovering my natural coyote poise. "We get it. Go fuck and be fucked." I made a sign of a cross in the air between us. "You have my blessing."

"Well, thanks," Matt said sarcastically, but Lars gave me a sweet smile and blew me a kiss.

"What they don't know," I said to Zeb as they walked away, "is that my blessing ensures them a grand old fuck. I'm like a god of eroticism or something."

He giggled and nodded at my guitar. "Put that away and I'll buy you a drink."