FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I left my phone inside my parked car, as instructed. I also told no one about my plans. Excitement and dread filled my swishing mutt tail as I walked several blocks away from my lot and pretended to be one of many Devout Americans trying to go home on a Friday night. It wasn't long though before I carefully entered a flight of stairs leading to the sixth floor of the parking garage I'd been told to go towards. The old labyrinth made from concrete and steel was one of many in Detroit, a Brutalist trophy case to the auto industry that my grandpa spent decades working for. Only the cars within were mainly hybrids and electric cars, rather than the gas guzzlers that still brought PTSD to those who lived through the 1970s Gas Crisis. It had to already be around midnight. More than once, the trickle of paranoia in the back of my skull led to me looking behind me. To see if police, the Archangels, or maybe a demonic shadow followed close behind me. I wondered if the Archangels already had a file on me, knew I not only was a closeted homosexual, but that I frequently searched for the outlawed pornography that would result in me being given hard labor. No second chances at a conversion clinic, let alone a chance to ask for forgiveness with the Lord. I sighed, searching repeatedly for the description of the car. Who could have thought reading a map would be so difficult? Then again, it needed to be difficult for Devout Americans like me. According to most obscure forums I'd frequented and conversations with double meanings, there existed ways to find it. I didn't need to solely rely on my repressed imagination or think about Adam's nakedness in stories about the Garden of Eve. The instructions were simple: go to a certain parking garage on an odd-numbered weekend date at midnight. A certain car would be unlocked and have a series of shopping bags placed in the backseat. Cameras were timed to be on a loop during these times, so I wouldn't need to worry about being spotted. At last, I found the car, an aged orange truck older than the Devout regime and with a faded U.S. flag sticker on the bumper. I cautiously opened the backseat and beamed at the sight of several shopping bags: red bags, blue bags, purple bags, and white bags. I picked up a random red bag without much thought, gently closing the truck shut before beginning to walk as fast as I can out of the garage. As I did so, my ears perked at a noise that started to echo from the emergency staircase. I froze solid. Sweat trickle down the back of my neck as the door swung open and somebody stepped out. It was a great wolf in his mid-twenties. He wore dark clothing like I did and appeared to not be on his phone like somebody else would be. The two of us stared at each other for a few seconds, his eyes directed at my red bag. I couldn't see his face, but he did exchange a nod with me and walked past me without another word in the direction of the truck. In the end, I ran for my parked car a few blocks away and sped the rest of the way home to my apartment on the outskirts of the city. My chest felt like it was going to burst at any moment. My eyes continue to dart back-and-forth between the windshield and my mirrors, anticipating the white lights passing by me to suddenly turn red and blue. They never did, and I returned to my home, clutching the bag for dear life, even after I locked the door behind me, shut all the blinds, and literally sat myself in my walk-in closet, where neither my TV nor my personal computer could possibly voyeur. Of course, I did leave the interior light on, and stared at the red bag, as if it were the aftermath of a horrible crime I had just committed. From what I gathered from relatives and hearsay, such things to possess were not illegal. Once, they were even sold in bookstores and airport shops. My tail curled and even wagged at the lecherous thought of living in such a time. Back when America was more anarchical...freer than it claimed to be. I had been born a preteen Labrador in a moderately liberal family before the Revenant Party came to power after the 1996 election. Mom and Dad struggled finding work after being fired repeatedly from different office jobs for different reasons, ranging from toxic workplace environments to their former employers disliking how they kept 'voting against God and Country'. While they continued working in retail with no prospects of retirement, I took government-sponsored 'purity' scholarships that paid for computing college. Pastor Sam ironically helped me learn how to navigate the deep web and search for items that would lead to me being arrested. Sitting against the wall of the closet, I pumped my crotch and sighed. I had already made it that far. Might as well look inside. The magazine in my trembling paws, it wasn't that new. L the paper had been worn, and the pages repeatedly turned with use. Whoever had had owned it, though, clearly took gentle care with it and the other lured reading materials within the red bag. They included another magazine with a pair of red foxes kissing on a beach. As well as a pamphlet titled "Safe Sex Between Men Who Have Sex with Men", plus a series, a newspapers that depicted gay rights achievements in other countries. My primary focus was on the magazine in my fingers, and on the naked men, either seductively staring at me or at other equally naked men who supported erections. They were so handsome and masculine and athletic and- Suddenly, with a turn of the page, I let out an aroused gasp. Two of the men- one of them, a border collie, and the other and otter, both of them incredibly naked and well-built in their late thirties- we're kissing each other with as much romantic passion as a straight man and his wife. They held each other in their arms like affectionate Greek heroes, their hard penises rubbing together and eyes closed in satisfied bliss. Finding myself in that same kind of state, I let out a deep exhale of breath. One of my paws reached down and unzipped the fly of my jeans. I shimmied them down to my knees and kicked them away until I sat in my underwear. Peeling the front of that down as well, my musky maleness throbbed in the air in front of my greedy fingers. At last, I allowed the final barrier to break. I allowed my hesitations to dim. I grasped my penis and stared at the image of those two men and began to stroke myself. My palm rubbed my shaft up and down as I panted heavily over the image of two sodomites in love. And I continue to stroke without a care in the world.