FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It had been a long day. They all were for me, my first year of university was not going well, mostly because of money. At eighteen earning enough to keep yourself and study full time was not an easy thing to do especially in one of the most expensive cities in the world. I was managing by not managing.

This Saturday night I was working late again. After a morning in a warehouse I had a night in a pub venue working as a waiter at a function. I got to dress up nice and spic, black pants, black leather hoofboots, white silk shirt, black bow tie. Cliché but it worked and the average punters who came to functions at the pub thought we were "very distinguished" based on feedback my employers were always eager to put on their promotional material.

Very distinguished. I was nothing of the sort, but you can hide all sorts of things under a good set of formal pants and a slick shirt and bow tie. Even a waste of skin like me.

It was a classic bogan wedding, a pretty common affair on a Saturday night for us. We alternated between weddings, twenty-firsts, eighteenths, and school functions. The level of aggro from drunk guys didn't vary much, in fact the behaviour in general didn't vary much. Forty or fourteen, drunk bogans were alike.

The cover band played really bad music, the guests drank bourbon and coke, and the speeches came and went. I was tending to the bridal table, watching the bride and groom dance-fuck on the dancefloor while everyone went a bit wild. One of the bridesmaids was still sitting at the table, watching with something approaching pain in her eyes.

"Can I get you something Sharon?"

We were on first name basis by that stage of the night. She had chatted me up a few times, and as trained, I had been polite and engaged. It was also my nature. I loved feeling the bask of something positive, especially from an older woman. This mare was definitely the right type, which was to say the wrong type. Equine like me, about forty, a bit frayed around the edges but holding it together with botox and Zumba and sheer will. Her body may be holding, but her spirit seemed to be flagging as the hours ticked by. Something about her troubled me I guess; so I did what I always did in those circumstances, overcompensated with kindness.

She looked into my eyes then, and seemed to shake a little. Then she gave me a smile, a really hot smile. My mane twitched, and I felt my ears flick.

"Oh Ryan, I don't think I'm allowed to order what I want from you..."

I brought her a bundy and coke instead.

The last dance was playing, and the bridesmaids were all on the dancefloor. I was furiously clearing tables, but I caught her eye. She was in the arms of one of the groomsmen, a bull who looked drunk as a skunk who was almost falling asleep on her as he stumbled all over her hooves. She gave him a hard stare but he seemed oblivious. I gave her a sympathetic shrug and then decided to intervene.

Ditching the dishes in the kitchen, I returned to the dancefloor and tapped her on the shoulder.

"My apologies madam...but I am told the manager needs to see you. Something about arrangements for the leftover cake?"

She blinked a couple of times as I tapped my snout in conspiratorial fashion, and then she giggled and apologised to her stumbling bovine companion. I led her to the bar, and poured her another bundy and coke which she downed in a gulp.

"You really are a gentlecolt Ryan...thank you."

I went back to my job, but I felt her hand on my ass just as I was about to walk off. Then the ominous words.

"What time do you get off?"

"One a.m. usually."

"I'm supposed to be staying at the motel next door, but I don't feel like it. Would you like to take a cab back to my place?"

She looked so determined, and so needy. She also looked hungry, and it wasn't for leftover cake. I felt the hurt inside me, as always, but I also responded. My groin burned a little, and my mane tingled.

"I've always thought heavy breeds looked beautiful Ryan. Are you a Clydesdale?"

"Yeah, mostly. I take after dad most."

"Hmmm...perfect."

The hand on my ass gave a stroke, then a grab. My cheek tingled next, and the tingle went up my cleft and into my tail. It swished like a flag caught in a gale.

"I have to get back to work..." the manager was eyeing me up with a shake of his head. My reputation was well known, and I had earned it the hard way. He gave me a sly smile, and I hated the fact that I was exactly what he thought I was.

When the bride threw the bouquet, my date was not in the scrum but standing regretfully to one side. She was crying I saw, tears dripping down a cheek. I walked past with a handful of empty glasses, and casually dropped a handkerchief in her hand.

"Still a gentlecolt, Ryan" was all I heard. I didn't want any more that that or I might fail.

Of course, failure was my natural state anyway. At 1:25 I exited to find her standing against the fence in the car park outside the back entrance. She was still done up in her green chiffon dress, high hoofboots, and the most ridiculous tiara thing on her head and ribbons in her mane. She was a palomino, with white mane and buff coat, and the combination with the dress really didn't do much for her, but I guess that was a bridesmaids lot. After waiting for a whole lot of these functions, I had come to the conclusion that brides dressed their bridesmaids in the worst thing they could find as some sort of cosmic revenge. Bridezillas of the world unite, you have nobody to torture but your best friends.

Her smile went right through me to my tail.

"I wondered if you would still be up for that cab, Ryan?"

"I have my own car here..."

"Oh...well, can you drive me? I mean...not like a cab, I mean..."

Her confusion made me angry. I knew what she wanted. She knew what she wanted. If I wanted to be caught, I didn't want her to be clumsy about it. That made it feel like I had wanted it, like I intended to be caught. Like I wasn't the victim, just the volunteer like I fucking well knew if I had a wild moment of honesty. No, far better that I should feel like she seduced me with her sophistication and her charm, even though a drunk forty year old bogan bridesmaid called Sharon was hardly a predator to be feared.

Except of course she was, for me. Because I needed to be trapped.

My clapped out Ford was hardly the limo she had arrived in, but she slid gratefully into the passenger seat. One thing to be said about the EA falcon, it had crap suspension, electronics that broke, rust prone panels and a fucked up radiator but it had a nice big inside and a comfy front seat. It took the slightly oversized palomino mare and one sizable Clydesdale with room to spare. I gunned the engine into life and headed for the exit.

"Err...you kind of have to tell me where we are going Sharon..."

"Ringwood. Do you know how to get there?"

I gripped the steering wheel and fought for composure. The unease grew but I clamped down. Staring out the windscreen I hoped to fuck she couldn't see my eyes watering.

"Ahhh yeah...I can get us to the Maroondah, you will need to guide me from there."

"Sexy stallion, and smart. Drive on Ryan."

The trip was easy this time of night, even up Punt Road to the Eastern Freeway. She told me about her friend, the bride, and her beau.

"We went out a few times, but it didn't work out. He and Melissa hit it off really well though, and they...well, you saw them. They are great together."

It wasn't hard to hear the bitterness in her voice. She seemed to want something to sweeten the atmosphere; I felt a hand creep over my thigh.

"You are a sweetie hon. You looked after me so well all night, like a real gentlecolt. I hope you aren't too gentle though."

She had reached my groin by the time I turned off Punt Road towards the Freeway. I barely made the tight turn as I let out a nicker and my body shook. Once safely on the freeway though, her hand roamed free. Across my groin, and over the bulge of my cock. She felt my flare through my dress pants, and I gasped when she cupped my nuts and squeezed. This one was a handful; it was one reason I liked the older women though. They knew exactly what they fucking wanted, and weren't afraid to go for it. I admired that directness.

If there was something else I was after, I was sensible enough not to acknowledge it.

"What do you do Ryan, when you aren't seducing women at functions."

My face burned a little at that. It was one thing to admit to myself I wanted it. It was another to say I had seduced here. I let her know my displeasure by letting off a whinny of anger, and by firmly pulling her hand off my crotch and putting it on her own lap. She had lost her groping privileges for a moment.

"I'm at uni, studying Science."

"My, smart as well as handsome. Some filly is going to be lucky one day."

Now she had me smiling, but it was partly in regret. Oh, I knew amongst the guys I had grown up with back then, just getting to uni was an achievement. I had new goals now though, along with survival. Maybe I could make something of myself, maybe I could actually be something other than a useless piece of shit I knew I was. Maybe I could actually get a job and have a life.

When I ended up in foster care, the caseworkers had set the bar low. Just getting by, being able to do basic things for yourself, heck not going to fucking juvenile detention was a win and I failed even in that for a time. It also definitely cut down on their paperwork. But I had spent enough time now amongst a new set with my last foster family to see a new way of living. I pressed my muzzle to the window of the glittering shop and dreamed. Not willing to smash the glass and take it, I tried to earn it, but I always seemed to be slipping backwards every day.

No, I knew I was really not anything special. Amongst the people I hung with at uni I was a plodder amongst a constellation of stars, smart, gifted, with money and ambitions. I might be ahead of my old life, just, but I was nothing really. I knew the nothingness at the core of me, the colt who deserved everything he got. The waste of flesh. He beckoned, and he beckoned hard.

No filly was going to want the aggravation. But horny cougars, they knew what they wanted, and I could fill that role just fucking fine.

The rest of the Eastern Freeway passed in silence, with her hand on my mane. I let her have that for now. I had to keep some sense of dignity, even for one without any.

It was when we got onto the Maroondah that I began to lose my composure. I had not been back since I was twelve and my life almost ended in pain and degradation. The tacky shops and the traffic and the suburban sprawl were so familiar even six years later, and it ached. My heart raced and I felt like throwing up. Every direction she gave me made the sense of nausea increase.

I was about to burst by the time I pulled up at her home, a run down brick veneer in a sidestreet populated by many. Suddenly eager for the light and warmth I trotted to her door while she followed on unsteady hooves.

"My my stud...you are keen..."

"Just got to go to the loo..."

"Great, I will get us some drinks while you take care of yourself."

I managed to vomit prodigiously while staying relatively quiet. She had muzzle wash in the bathroom thank fuck, and I skulled a good portion and sloshed out the acrid taste and tried to pull myself together. I always knew I could come back one day, and I knew it wouldn't be easy. In the end I had done the equivalent of pulling off the bandage along with half a forest of hairs and the pain was still reverberating through my skull when I joined her in the loungeroom.

She had music on, a nice slow dance, and cans of vodka lime and soda and bundy and coke. I took one of the vodka mixes and slammed it down, wiping the froth from my muzzle.

"Do you think I look good Ryan?"

Ahhh the question. The answer was always similar too. Women assumed I would want the usual shit, thin as a rake and curvy, like some sort of cross between barbie and Algelina Jolie. The truth was I found things to like in all my partners. This mare had a delicious coat, nice big breasts visible in the plunging neckline of her bridesmaids dress, a big but curvy body that I knew would feel good in the sack, and a kind face with weary but hungry eyes. The last was normal for me, it was part of the attraction.

You see, I didn't feel anything, not really, not physically. All I felt was the hunger, it invaded my body like poisonous honey, but it did the job. It was the only thing left that could touch me, and I craved it along with the things I couldn't have. The ones I dared not name.

"You look great Sharon, especially in that dress. Can you dance for me, I want to watch..."

No woman could resist that line.

She agreed eagerly, writhing to some Kenny G. Oh God how much I hated the soprano sax. It must be the instrument they played in hell. I loved watching her though, and the way she watched me, and the way her nipples hardened against the fabric of her dress.

Once long ago, with the memories of rape at the hands of my mum's boyfriend fresh in my mind, I believed I could never have sex with a woman. In his desire to hurt with his voice as much as his cock he told me that I would always be a hole, just a useless fucking hole to be fucked. I had believed him until my first time with a woman at fourteen, and thereafter I saw each new fuck as a two fingered salute to him as much as anything. They seemed not to know somehow, which surprised me too. As a young teenager I felt like the shame was tattooed on my forehead so everyone could see, but apparently not. The cougars didn't know, or didn't care, they saw my hard cock and felt like a million dollars and a little transaction fee flittered down to me, sometimes morally, sometimes in cold hard cash. A downpayment on reparations as I saw it, for too many years of torment.

Tonight was merely a moral transaction, but I felt that was ok. She was clearly one on the edge, this mare, and it just felt too good to find someone who I could actually make feel good for a change. If I couldn't help myself, I could at least do something good somehow, and pleasing a lost middle aged mare was my ticked to salvation for an evening, until the next bout of self hate made me hate what I had done.

"Do you think I look good Ryan?"

In my reverie I had not noticed she had stripped off the dress, leaving a silken black camisole underneath. It pleased me that I knew what it was too; I had learned to be attentive to these things. It often helped with tips.

I let my eyes do the talking. She did look good. A little out of condition, but I didn't care. Big tits, wide hips, long legs, the palomino colouring just so hot. My cock began to speak with its usual monosyllabic eighteen year old vocabulary. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Ohhhh..."

She had seen the bulge now. I took her hunger and returned it with interest, and got my reward. She smiled, and she touched herself under the cammy. She was open enough with me not to be too precious. In my experience a woman prepared to touch herself in front of you was one you could have a good time with. She knew what she wanted, and didn't care you knew it.

That proved the case pretty much. She walked over to me and kissed. The alcohol and the muzzle wash masked the vomit enough thank fuck. We kissed hard, and I bruised her lips, and fondled her tits, and she slid her hands inside my pants and fondled my cock. Her moans and groans became more appreciative as she got my jeans off my hips and down to my ankles, and she licked the tip of my exposed cock and I let out a whinny of appreciation. She was into me, into this. I was something, in this moment, something worth having even if only a cock and a body and a diffuse provider of needs.

She pulled me by the hand to the bedroom. I did my duty as a stud, condom in place, muzzle well placed too. I licked her with enthusiasm, for she really did taste good, and her moans when I lapped at her nipples and her big breasts made my ears curl. I kissed down her belly to her sex, the lips already spread and glistening, and I gave her my best. I knew this was my one real skill in life, the place I was home. Nothing much good for anything, but I could fuck. I could really fuck.

I gave her a couple of orgasms with my muzzle, alternating between her lips and her clit, then I slid into her as she begged. That sound was like air for a drowning horse for me. I gulped it in and lay back content. I knew I had work to do though, and I entered her nice and slow and held her in my arms and pressed my muzzle to hers and looked into her eyes. They were closed and she had the most transported look of bliss on her face. Even better. She could not see the emptiness in mine.

There is something beautiful about a woman orgasming. They are all different, all unique. She arched her back and let out a little sobbing cry and collapsed against me. I held her, still hard, nowhere near cumming, and spooned until she fell asleep. I pulled off the condom unfilled, my balls still aching, and tried to hold her as she snored.

When I woke it was to screaming, and the screams were mine. I had had the dream again, and every part of me hurt, especially my ass. I could taste him in my throat, the taste of his spit, his hate, and his drugs, and most of all, the taste of my blood.

"Shhh...hon....shhh...its ok...shhh hon...I'm here..."

Surprised beyond belief, I realised she was holding me instead of freaking out. I let myself collapse on the ruined sheets in a pile of sweat and she just stroked my mane and my back.

"Hon...come with me...I think you need a shower."

Led by the hand again, I tumbled into the bathroom. She had a double shower, nice and big, and she joined me with a silent shake of the head when I was about to complain. Lost and frightened, I let her take the lead, and she washed me like a young colt, soaping my back, and then my mane. When she turned off the water I was more than a little disappointed.

Sitting on the bed, unable to do much else as an unwanted dawn poked through the curtains, I felt her fingers on me. First she dried my body and my mane, and then she sat down beside me and went to work.

"You are beautiful Ryan. You should show off more."

Methodically she began to braid my mane. I refused any ribbons with a smile, and she kissed my shoulder anyway and continued the rite. I felt dangerously home.

"I used to do this for my colt, till he got too old for it."

I nodded, unable to speak.

"He is off doing an apprenticeship now, got his own money and friends. Uses this place like a hotel, but I know he is just being a teenager. I hope your mother doesn't put up with that from you Ryan."

I stiffened as she completed the braid. She gave me a pat on the shoulder, and a lingering stroke on the cheek. I looked in her eyes and saw concern warring with need.

"He doesn't approve of me I'm afraid. Im just grateful he hasn't seen you here, he would probably want to fight. He thinks I'm a slut and he wants to be with his dad but his father is not much of a stallion really. I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear this, but I need someone to talk to. Brad my son doesn't want to hear it, but somehow I know you understand Ryan. You are like that, I can tell. I don't know what is wrong hon, but I know you are a good colt, and more. You care."

Oh God I was so not the colt she thought I was it hurt to see it. Instead I used the skills I had to stop the torrent of words.

This time somehow I managed to cum, with her fingers on my back and her eyes wide with the sensations and my body moving like the wind. I let it all out, through my kisses, through my thrusts, and mostly through my cock. She felt the scars on my back, seeming to be fascinated, and the tingle of her touch was disturbing but beautiful. I had one especially deep one on my left shoulderblade and she rubbed it in time to my thrusts and licked my ear.

When I came it surprised me enough that I didn't think to stop, I just rode it out as she yelled 'yes' over and over in triumph into my ear. I lay on her in a bath of sweat until she fell asleep again in spite of the birds squawking at the window. She seemed to respond to orgasms like a guy is supposed to , but by now I knew that was pretty common amongst women. Maybe the stereotype said more about how often guys left their partners high and dry than anything else.

Pulling on my clothes, I really wanted to leave, but I found I couldn't yet. Instead I trotted into the darkness to my left as I stood at her door, four houses up.

I had not expected this I guess.

Where my old home had been, site of too much pain and yet also some happiness, there now stood a block of townhouses with for sale signs on one and a family of cheetahs in the other. Strange how easily a house can be obliterated, but not what it meant or what happened there.

"Hon?"

I didn't realise how long I had been standing there, nor that I had been standing there in my pants and nothing else. It was cold in dawn's early light, but that was not why I was shaking.

"Hon?"

"What happened to the house that was here..."

"It was demolished a couple of years ago hon."

"What happened...to the people here?"

"I don't know hon. There used to be a family here a while ago, a mare and stallion and their colt, the colt used to play football and went to school with my Brad. The mare was here till it was sold and knocked down, but it wasn't a good story"

She suddenly stopped and looked at me, and then she let out a strangled gasp.

"Danny?"

She hugged me then. I could not stop shaking.

"Danny, is it you? But...why are you called Ryan now?"

"I use my middle name. I wanted to forget."

"My God Danny...you're ok! I was so worried, nobody knew anything...my God!" She sounded genuinely pleased, even elated. I fought back the tears.

"Do I look ok Sharon?"

"Come inside...it's cold."

I followed her, strangely wanting to obey the voice of the mare. It was comforting, and that made me sad.

Lying on the bed she hugged me. I hated this, the way it made me feel, the bitter bile of tears. I hated feeling as much as I craved it. I hated that a simple hug could break me so easily. How can you explain what a hug means to people who take them for granted? What feeling home, secure, and protected means when you have never known it. It is like describing colour to the blind, and about as frustrating. The anger was born of that frustration, and it drove me to tears.

"Shhh colt...you are doing so well. I'm so sorry..."

"Its ok. Did you enjoy it Sharon?"

"Of course D...Ryan. But...are you ok?"

"Tell me how good I was."

"Ryan, you know how good it was. But you are good too, in yourself. You are a good colt Ryan, I can tell."

"And you are something Sharon. Brad is lucky. He's got an awesome mum, I always knew it."

It was sick and twisted and ugly, but it was what it was. We were each reaching out for something not there, seeking approval from one who would not approve. So instead we took the path of least resistance, and found the approval in each other, and ignored the missing and the damned and pretended. It wasn't even sex, or so it felt. Just being with someone who seemed to give a fuck, and who was prepared to tell me I was ok for once. Amongst the myriad disappointments and poisons of life, maybe we have lost sight of how much that matters. Just to be told you are ok, even if you don't believe it.

"Sweet colt...I'm proud of you..."

When it was over she lay there quietly and stroked my recently braided mane. I told her I wanted to go to the bathroom, and I pulled on my clothes as she watched, knowing I was lying but not calling me out. Instead I went down the hall. I remembered the room vaguely, it had been a while ago. Brad was still messy, still into sport and bikes and hot babes. Even at twelve he had pictures of naked women draped over cars. Show me the colt of twelve, and I shall show you the stallion.

It was surreal being here. He had been a friend, actually one of the few who stuck with me from primary school when things were bad and mum's boyfriends became increasingly sketchy and I couldn't have anyone over to my place at all. He leant me a football, which I lost, and on the day before it all ended, he leant me fifty cents so I could buy an apple for lunch because he knew I had no money to buy anything and there was no food in the house to take.

That apple tasted so fucking delicious.

I left him fifty cents, I guess I felt I owed him, and for some reason I left him my watch, as it was the only thing I had I thought he might appreciate. I was going to leave a note, but I didn't know what to say. About the anger when he never tried to find me, about the way I missed him and his stupid jokes and his many kindnesses and how lonely it was without him. Or about the regret for being another one of his mum's conquests, even though in some ways we were exactly what each other needed that moment, in ways no normally adjusted teenager could comprehend.

Maybe if I saw him when I was forty I could begin to have the conversation, but not now. And not this way. Fifty cents and a watch would have to do for now.

I waved at her from the doorway. She looked lost, and as if she might cry. I trotted in and gave her one last kiss, and licked away the tears.

I found her number on a post it note in my pocket. I threw it in the gutter, and didn't look back. I never heard from Brad, and perhaps that is better. If I make it to forty, I will find the bastard and buy him a beer, and offer to let him smack me round if I can smack him round for not being there when I needed it. And if I found the thing I needed most in his mother's arms, just being told I was ok and feeling like I had a mother who cared for a moment, that was something I hoped by then I would no longer be ashamed of. Just not right now I'm afraid.