Right Where I Should Be.
#1 of January
Author's notes: This is my first submission in SoFurry. Feedback and critiques greatly appreciated. This one is a short story written over the span of couple of hours divided between two days. Don't be afraid to show me some love. But kidding aside...
Contains: Homosexual relationship, high school, dialectics. There's some yiff, too.
I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it. Thank you.
With that being said, I give you:
Right Where I Should Be.
-ALPHA.-
"OK, you're good to go."
I could swear I would miss this gurney, after having been strapped here for so long; after having been strapped here for so long, it feels as though as it had become an extension of me; an extension of me that replaced what I had disabled myself of, with a broken hindpaw.
"No drag," Dr. Hudson reiterated, like he had a million times before.
"No drag," was my stern reply. It wasn't quite what it sounded - drag racing. Of course, teenagers, being the spiteful, and foolish creatures that they are, are easily motivated into such... tight state of affairs (In my case, I thought it was a good idea to race the bulldog who made fun of my '97 Civic). I just happened to be a teenager, and ended up crippled, fractured in some places I asked never to find out, literally shattered to pieces, until Dr. Hudson, my orthopedic surgeon, little by little, pieced me together.
I was transported outside my confinement, escorted to a new wheelchair, overstated with red, helium, balloons and such. My mother held me in her arms. Somehow, her tone seemed promising. I felt as though a newborn, revealed to the world, a somewhat cheesy smile on my mother's face.
"You'd be walking in no time, honey," she chimed; it was quite impossible to miss the enthusiasm in her voice.
Did I really have it that bad? The first thing I noticed when I was pushed to the parking lot (apart from the breath of fresh air), was a new van. It was white, and much to my surprise, I am to be placed where my Civic's trunk used to be. It had these strange mechanisms that reminded me of a catafalque, except it made fizzling and geared noises when it went up and down. But no, my wheelchair rolled straight right in, and the door to our new van encased me. I found it difficult to believe that this new van was no less than a tribute, to commemorate my incapacity to walk.
We arrived home an hour after I was dispatched. My father was there, seated by the porch, expectantly scanning for me. I was snagged out of the vehicle before my mother could even reach the back door.
As far as I can tell, I have this fondness for certain things. The sprinklers in the lawn, the lawn itself, fresh, breathable air. I missed these, a lot.
But that doesn't guarantee I wouldn't miss the hospital, how my personal room smelled clinical, and how it felt almost clinically dead. Hopefully, I won't do anything too drastic to put me back on my beloved gurney.
-OMEGA.-
It had been several months since I got home. I was home-schooled for the last month of my sophomore year. It was said by Uncle Henry, I'd be able to walk - and everyone believed him; he was my uncle, after all, and not just that, he was also my physical therapist. But my father's final word was I'd be going back to school, wheelchair or not.
It was only a matter of time until I felt comfortable in my wheelchair. And in my own, little, unconscious, way, I discouraged them from trying to get me back on my feet.
Truth be told, I did miss school; just not the people in it. But then again, I never made any friends. At least it shouldn't matter; no one would care, nor miss me, nor bother to hear from me. The concerned teachers were informed I've been dropped, but the reasons provided were not really the veracious sort.
We moved to Connecticut, partially due to the nature of my dad's work (or so he says; I am yet to figure out how he toils land to cultivate trees where money grows), and my mom. She'd convinced everyone to start anew, especially after seeing her crippled son still crippled. Wow. Just wow.
I had exactly two whole weeks to adjust. But that meant I'd be a week late for the first quarter of my junior high school year. The inevitable doesn't fail to come, at least eventually.
So I paraded right in, a week late. I showed a middle-aged fennec fox my slip, and she seated me right in front, until she could find everyone a place. The obstruction made by the red helium balloons (diligently replaced by my mother) was making me self-conscious. Eeriness crawled through my spine, as I pondered why no one complained about it.
The sweet middle-aged lady was my math teacher. And I'm a part of her class. She began calling out names, and I panned my head to the direction of the raising hands after each name called. I can remember a handful of my classmates. It was a relatively small school, and everyone seemed to know each other to some extent. But despite how evident it was in my eyes, I could easily make out the posses delineated by imaginary lines separating them.
"Hughes," Mrs. Michaels called, saying it again as she spotted the hand that waved them. "Tennessee Hughes," she recalled correctly, almost fondly. It was the husky next to me.
-OMEGA.-
I had my eyes transfixed on Tennessee, a Siberian husky, the moment I learned of his name. Medium in build, maybe, the most developed I've seen in class. His eyes were of bright green, littered twilight of splayed blue hues, and these matched his dark fur quite perfectly. From my seat, I could only see fur of a different color - white - on his muzzle, and a considerable tuft of chest fur peeking from his tee.
The roll call had been long over, and everyone was looking at me.
"Hunter," I gingerly said, my ears flattened to my head.
"Hunter," the math teacher asked, appraising me, as with the rest of the thirty-three people in the class, whose eyes bore holes at the back of my head.
"Able Hunter."
Laughter ripped from the rest of the class, and the ever sweet Mrs. Michaels castigated the mockery of the assortment of wild animals with a pop quiz.
-OMEGA.-
The ringing sound had died, when I realized that we never left our seats, save for recess and the lunch break between our classes. This intact class of thirty-three plus a foreign German Shepherd was the smaller half of the two blocks that made the junior year.
I went home, defeated, knowing that I'd be in for a year of hell. I hated being in my special chair. I hated being disabled. I hated how kind Mrs. Michaels was, along with the rest of the faculty. This pretentious kindness must be a result of this place not seeing a cripple. And I hate everyone in class for laughing at me. Such a self-fulfilling prophecy of my personal impending doom.
My mom came home with my dad, a habit of theirs when there was only me to look after. I may be fifteen, but I am still treated like a cub. I even had a Happy Meal that was wrapped in a doggy bag set on my plate.
Dinner was metaphorically wolfed down, taking lethargic moments to complain between bites of my Big Mac. I felt sorry for taking it all out on the two of them. I went to bed, my heart still aching from the buzzing laughter that resonated in my ears, and the bountiful amount of oil I just ingested. I still had a lot to lambaste, but instead, I nuzzled my pillow, for it brought me what little comfort I needed through my first night.
-OMEGA.-
I went to the nearest art store, and got myself some decent supplies. It was a three-dimensional scrapbook I decided to make, one to contain my innermost thoughts, my greatest hates, and my tangential complaints.
Day 12, I wrote: The school now has a wooden ramp taking me places I've never been to, before. The rooftop was breathtaking. I think I finally found my place in this world. It felt as though they rolled a red carpet for me.
Day 15: I was invited to join Angela Bartee's table. The cheerleaders. They were condescending, almost, of my still-going-to-school-on-a-wheelchair. "Poor you," they said in unison. It's not always you see a crippled German Shepherd in high school, I guess.
Day 20: I completed my first school month in this Fur academy. Tennessee helped push me on my way to the library, and collected the books I needed for research.
Day 32: Tennessee asked me if I wanted to ride his iron horse. It was a mean bike. I held him tight, and he took me to the arcade. I think I'm starting to like this place.
My scrapbooking habit only lasted a little less than two months, until I started going out more. It had been noted, by my parents, that as a growing child, it was perfectly normal and healthy for me to see the world outside my home. And I couldn't agree more.
I began to feel sensations prickling my toes; like prickly cold thawing to heat. It may be a funny thought, but I imagined each pawdigit as a bear curled over in winter, hibernating, and such. They wriggled just so slightly, but I dismissed the thought to my wistful imagination. It didn't matter much, though. These sensations were lost a long time ago, when I got myself disabled.
As each passing day, I felt myself lured into the beautiful husky. He wasn't, in any way, beautiful. But he was. Tennessee, how I loved the way his name rolled off my tongue. Every phone call, every text, answered. I was an accomplice to every gimmick; we truly were partners in crime.
There was one time we coated ourselves with honey. Fur slick; bodies sticky. We were pressed together, melded as one. The next moments, I would never forget; for the next moments forever changed me.
The husky thought it was a good idea to play with some bees. Of course, not the way I had intended and hoped for. Honey, as delicious as it sounded to me, must have sounded the same way to bees. So with a stick in hand, and me piggy-backed on Tennessee, he probed a beehive and made a run for it.
It would have ended alright if he ran fast enough. Or at least he didn't linger to wait for a bee (or four) to sting me, before he jumped into the shallow pond. It stung my lower back, I felt sore all over, and I managed to survive feverish spikes of thirty-nine degrees centigrade.
It was the day I laughed harder, laughed with others who laughed at me. There were other jocks from the basketball team, hiding behind the tree by the pond; they were the real accomplices, and not I. I laughed, and laughed hard - what was I thinking - how could this beautiful husky be genuinely friends with me?
"What a fag, he's totally into you," Jake bellowed, hysterically.
"Shouldaseenthelookonhisface!"
"Let's get the hell out of here," barked Tennessee, snatching the digital camera in Donovan's paw.
-OMEGA.-
There wasn't quite anyone else to blame, so I did not complain. I went to school three days later, after my fever subsided. Some people truly missed me, a list prepared to help me catch up with the work load I missed out on, and the cheerleaders pulling me in a lax one-armed hug, as though to show their concern. That video must have made me popular.
It could have been worst, I constantly tried to remind myself. The stings were painful, yes, and I felt fortunate. At least I was not put to my gurney, again.
Academic life went on as though nothing happened; I was quick to get back on my feet, on allegorical sense, and learned myself twice as hard, at home. I made a mental note to make amends with Tennessee, and the first cathartic step I took was to free my bright balloons.
"I'm sorry," I began.
He reciprocated with a talk-to-the-hand wave.
-OMEGA.-
By senior year, I learned that people come and go; like fleeting ships, all sets sail, some return, others do not. I was not as alone as I thought I would be; I learned to cut loose, to go with the flow. To take heart not to take heart. I share a few laughs, but what is a loud expression of deduced joy when the veracity of it is just as hollowed as it is forced?
Senior year came. Prom was just about to come. Tennessee and his self-righteous troupe took no one to the dance. I wasn't about to come, but some friends made me, anyway. How I wished I could dance.
Great improvement was seen throughout the last year; I could again move my feet, and while they cannot support my weight, I can at least paddle them, like I always did, as a child. It was fast cars like my Civic that drove me, and on prom night, after a few friends came over to clothe and fix me up, each paired with date, I got my keys from my mother.
"You look so adorable, honey! Enjoy the night out!" She dangled the keys right in front of my face, and I opened my palm, catching it.
"Yeah, huh..." I can tell I sounded least interested by the looks on my friends' faces.
"We'll take good care of him, Mrs. Hunter," reassured Marc, and I could feel my mother smile behind my back.
I'm not really heavy, per se, but these two friends of mine, Marc and Sonny, formed a throne with their arms for me to seat myself on, which I indulged them with. They placed me on the driver's seat, while the white van's lid came off, allowing them to store my seat. Jessica was particularly fond of my wheelchair, so she took that spot, and on her lap was Marc. Behind me, was a love seat between Sonny and Laika, all bundled up together.
Somehow, one should never trust a lame behind the wheels. My megalomaniac self could only smile, as I revved the engine to life.
-OMEGA.-
I paid little attention to the grandiosity of the ball. How could one like I pay mind to something I could not enjoy? The two beautiful black wolves, Marc and Jessica, were dancing, making a mess out of themselves, each spilling the tropical punch held in their paws. Sonny and Laika, the former a jackal and odd one out (for the scarcity of these things), the latter, ovine, were by the balustrade overlooking the rest of us. They alternated between one another, one talked, while the other seemed more intent in not missing the goings-on downstairs.
I still had my best bet on Tennessee; he would be the prom king, and I could not stand to find out who the prom king was going to be. I did not stand to see him. Instead, little by little, I picked myself up from my special chair, leaned against the pillars holding the night together, and forced myself out to get a breath of fresh air.
This disappearing act of mine caused my friends to worry. But I was seen outside in the garden; it wasn't like a disabled German Shepherd would make it out much, anyway. They fetched me, placed me on my aluminum wheelchair, and stared at me in wonder.
One was suddenly angry, three others rejoicing this feat of walking. More appropriately, writhing my way out. In the long run, I got scolded for wandering out on my own. That was the last recollection of that night.
-OMEGA.-
I now could walk with the help of the cane. All feelings felt. Warmth, cold, and even pain. High school had been done and over with, and there were, again, ships. Some set sail, they find themselves coming back to me. Easy come, easy go. Rolling with the endless tides, unknowingly disappearing into the vastness of the open sea. I wonder how many bays I've touched and left, as a ship. Could it be I lost my way and never found it back to Tennessee?
Over the break, I received a call. It was one of my favorite wolves, Jessica.
"Able, Able!" I practically snapped my head away from the phone.
"What's up, babe?" The she-wolf was all gigglefits behind the feed.
"Reunion. Marc. Laika. Sonny. You. Me. And yes, so soon. Some agreed, and you have to attend to know who. Kay-kay, I gotta goes, bye-bye!"
The phone call was abruptly cut, before I could even reply; I terminated the busy dial-tone, and a text immediately flooded into my cell.
I knew I was in. I may be down, but not out.
-OMEGA.-
We dated more like this, the five of us. Until we were all separated when we started attending our respective colleges. I was still met up with Sonny, from time to time; he managed to attend the same university, as a swimmer-athlete to support his college fund. Within that same semester, I heard Jessica dropped out. As for Laika, little did she respond, if at all. The last time I heard of her was before she moved to Washington D.C.
Marc was first to land a job as a McDonald's cashier. He had to. That same semester had been eventful; with Marc working and studying at the same time, and Jessica dropped out. They had greater responsibilities, to one another, and to their cubs to be. I knew they were to be, right from the very start. It was only a few months later I started looking after the wolf cubs, soon to be called Uncle Able.
-OMEGA.-
On our last semester, we were catching up, out of the blue, in our college's lunch area. He sat perpendicular to his duffle bag and his German Shepherd friend. I had never been quite the audacious mendicant that I was, but I mused on asking him, anyway.
"Say, you want to treat me something," I playfully asked. At the back of my head, this familiarity bred contempt.
"Like what, hotdogs and eggs," Sonny retorted, half-playful, a paw about to empty his pockets. In his paw, a few dollar bills, and his phone, which he showed me.
-OMEGA.-
"Oh, shit. This is going to be big."
"Uh-huh. Now shut yer trap, they're coming."
SPLASH!
"What a fag, he's totally into you!"
"You fucked that bitch real good!"
"Shouldaseenthelookonhisface!"
"Let's get the hell out of here."
I snatched Sonny's phone, mortified, and deleted the video recording. I sheepishly handed the phone back to the jackal, looking away.
"That was stupid. You didn't have to do that," I whispered softly.
"I know, and I'm sorry. C'mon, what would it be, sunshine?" He did sound sincere. As though he were about to cry.
"I'm not hungry, anymore." It was tact, a work-around. Suddenly, I didn't feel like dealing with a foolish jackal, at the time. I heard no reply, but the one I am talking with had gone.
-OMEGA.-
He trod his way back to the table, and I could see in his paws, a tall cup of familiar fries. New York Fries, clearly my favorite. My head panned to the direction of the salty-smelling French fries, along with the delicious honey mustard dips he bought along.
My irritation dissipated when he first shoved the dip to my direction, along with the tall cup. He wordlessly hanged his head low, and I took it as an apology. I licked my maw wet, and began to help myself. Dipping my fries into my dip, dogging it down with the help of my long tongue. Sonny was there, watching me, watching me make a mess out of all the dip, and the fries. Satisfied with what he saw - my nourishing myself with his fries - but felt as though he still needed to make amends. He took a napkin, wiped my cheek, and smiled at me.
"Someone sure looks hungry," he reminded me, as he watched me gorge another pawful of fries in my famished maw.
"I said I wasn't hungry; I didn't want to disappoint you." The fries, almost emptied, had been shoved back to Sonny, emphasizing my oxymoronic point.
"You got your fries; I said I'm sorry, what else do you want me to do? Get on my knees, and beg?" He was genuflected, muzzle placed over the side of my table. His swim team buddies hooted and whistled, calling my attention. My ears automatically panned to their direction.
"Who's that lucky guy!" I heard an otter call out, while swishing his tail to my direction.
-OMEGA.-
I glowered with anger and embarrassment, taking Sonny by the collar, and shoving him back to his seat. My eyes were trained forward, tips of my ears slightly red. Holding on to the last thread of decency, I breathed through my nostrils, hoping I would calm down. Sooner or later.
It was impossible to stay angry; at least I thought so. Especially when I always apologized when I ended up mad at someone. And the jackal, about six-and-a-half feet tall, leaned in, taking my paw in his own. Smiled genuinely at me, causing my anger to dissolve.
Wordlessly, I absorbed as much of him as I could. He had always been this assertively silent.
His training as an athlete agreed with him. His paw, in mine, let my gaze trail to his well-defined arms, resting by his wide shoulders. He had a chiseled upper body that was underneath his oversized shirt. Those gunmetal-grey eyes looked so soulful, the cloudy, muted shade of gray lit by a few specks of gold. He seemed so spare, almost lanky, this foolish, clumsy friend of mine. A paw thoughtlessly smoothed his messy hair, face-palming, before...
"Do you remember my surname?"
How could I not? I had only been with Sonny for two years of high school, and occasional get-togethers in college. I confidently replied, "Hutchence."
"Oh," he said, pawfingers rolling my paw in place, just between his own, and continued, "didn't think you paid any attention to it."
"What are you talking about," I spat. It didn't sound much of a question to me.
"Your first day, do you remember it," he whispered, bass rumbles in his chest breaking. Before I was able to reply, he trailed off, "Ford, Gavin, Hughes. That's where you stopped looking, Mr. Hunter."
"Excuse me?" I wasn't following this jackal. He hardly made any sense to me."
"I was hoping you'd at least look at Hutchence on your first day. But Tennessee got the best of him."
I had to turn my head away, swallowed the lump in my throat. Out of the corner of an eye, I could feel Sonny smile wickedly. And the moment I turned to face him, his warm muzzle was upon mine.
-OMEGA.-
I did not mind. Long had Sonny been a friend to me; but it was only until now I realized how warm he was. I wasn't ashamed to admit I pursed my lips. Maybe more than a little, to kiss him back without him knowing.
A true friend, that he was, and it brought me comfort. Comfort in knowing he had just gotten himself upon me, and like a helpless prey, I sat still. What was there to do, other than let myself be kissed?
The funny thing was this: A kiss can neither be given, nor taken. If it was one thing, it would have to be a Mobius strip of give-and-take. I reveled in this close-lipped display of affection, as I inhaled his scent. The self-conscious jackal, in turn, pulled away; before I could even apologize for it, he hushed me.
"Thank you. I've always wanted to do that."
My jaw dropped open.
"You see, I really liked this cute German Shepherd in class. I was just right behind him. Hunter, Hutchence..." Sonny's paw grew ever tighter, curling my pawfingers.
"... But I had a girlfriend, since he liked another guy. Way out of my league."
"Laika is attractive, and I could not compete." It may have sounded dry, but I had to defend myself, didn't I?
"There is no competition. When we snuck out in our prom, I totally messed up."
"You two seemed perfectly fine, then."
His eyes glinted with nostalgia, deeply reminiscing, reliving the night. "She took me behind a bush, her paws all over me. It felt good, and all. She used her soft, wooly paws, rubbing me where it best felt. 'Oh, faster, I'm going to come! Ah, yes... I'm coming, I'm coming... Ah-Able!' I figured it would disgrace the senator's daughter, so we pretended I didn't do anything silly. Daddy's little girl always gets it her way... It is unimportant."
My collar tightened around my neck. I choked, shook my head in disbelief.
"Was that why you were angry? That night?"
"I was, at you. Angry for the command you had over me. For deluding my mind with such sinful, and pleasurable thoughts. I hated you for being able to walk; I could not walk by your side. Do I stand a chance in this competition?" Sonny asked me, appraised me. Lips quivering from mumbling answers to my yet-to-be-said reply.
"No," I chuckled, but his eyes were downcast. I repeated loud enough, for him to hear. "No competition."
-OMEGA.-
We moved together right after we graduated, lived in our humble home, in the city, where we began to climbed life to find our place. His career in architectural design fared well, given a job opportunity before he even graduated. The first night we spent together was very special, intimate, in fact.
I was curled in bed, without a single thread of clothing on me, and he just got out of the shower. The gentle giant made his way through the sheets to reach me. It was very suave of him to do so, and he had always made me proud like that.
"Who goes first?" He leaned to kiss me, long canine tongue sweeping past the crack of my lips, to tease the tip of my tongue. I sucked on it in response, drawing a soft murring sound from him.
"Mmm..." My pawfingers wove through his hair, as I set him on his back. He looked at me, taking the hint. Sonny flexed his entire body, his tight, lean frame rock hard under my paws, as with other bits of his body.
Blood filled the two of us in the right places. I rubbed his muscled thighs as I parted his legs. The back of his hindpaws, he solemnly lifted to rest on my shoulders. We both knew our roles to play that night, neither objected.
The slick tip of German Shepherd meat brushed between the jackal's rear. Pre-come began to mat the fur between the supple cheeks. I pushed, little at first, until a loud wet pop was heard. It was the sound of my member's helmeted head making it in.
His entire body was tensed, but he was unmoving. He took it silently, pawfingers and pawtoes curled in slight discomfort. My eyes seeking his twinkling own, alluding to what I had told him earlier.
"Trust me."
Sonny relaxed by the time I hilted in him. Delicately, in and out. I pushed, struggling to keep with this pace, when all I wanted to do was gore his guts to spew him all my hot love. His tight ring redefined the pleasures of maw and paw.
I was kneeled perpendicular to him, our pawfingers entwined as we made love. He was first to come when I hit his prostate, and such a beautiful sight it was. A few more thrusts, and I came, overflowing his tight hole with torrents and torrents of my love. It smelled of hot, passionate, love.
It was the first night we spent together.
The best feeling I felt was comparable to a single dock, two different ships, and two different lighthouses. I knew I was right where I needed to be.
-OMEGA.-
I am no longer in my gurney. No longer in my wheelchair.
It has been years since we're holding steady. I am twenty-four, and he just turned twenty-five. Much is to be said about our relationship, but to keep it short, all I could say is that we are perfect together, and that Sonny, that foolish jackal, is adorable. As much as I would like to talk of heart-aches, of love, of great possibilities, and certain realities, it would have to wait until the next time. The doorbell has just rung, and I have an architect to attend to. But one thing is for sure: I am in for a rather good night.
I am right where I should be.
-INFINITY.-