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My GYM PARTNER'S BRO IS AT STATE, HO!

THE SERIES

PORTION IV

by Eightane

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Jerr's laugh tittered at the store entrance; his bare feet danced on the black rug, something like a mosh pit step. Instantly the sweet Cathy backed up a foot or so, although behind a counter fortified by candy shelves. His monkeyness cut a path to home essentials; It was a jagged J', like how he'd have said his name at this amped time.

Rod stood sweaty, in heightened state from showing some dick to unwitting dudes. The undies stuck on his chub's head inside shorts, wet from pre that came to praise two 7-foot macaque twins... Accordingly, stitching didn't rub the damp glans when he shuffled a bit; too drenched. This scene had changed though, with the thirst-pro arrived. Rod almost meekly stepped away from this gung-ho ball of man who walked on air towards him. Jerr was normally a trip, just not often on one.

"Was-suuuuup dangl'rrrrr, I see you doin' the salami juggle! Bet those green alien dudes gonna pull it down with y'!!" Yeah, the first part made sense, and then he lost Rod. The albatross hid face with wing for a sec; cowering overrode his dirty heat. Jerr had seen him flash it. No chance it may end there. Didn't make a diff how good the feel of being thanked for the deed, if they woke up in jail tomorrow. He'd have gone more flaccid, the batch hid away now from the one man who NEVER minded a shown shaft. But the chimp - tail high, ass bubbled and always owning thirst - had other fate in line.

He cut a view over... The macaque bro's were so tall they still showed over the bottom sill of giant glass panes, in the parking lot. Jerr put out a tone for liking the fact. "Tell you what, they prob'ly never stopped showerin' together. Close bubs are like nothin' else. You know they go suckin' and preppin' the other like NO motherfucker. Brother uhnf-ers." He put more punch into the 'uhnf' syllable than there are symbols to show it.

Rod's cheeks twitched. His smirk emerged like his spade-head from in the white foreskin. Jerr swung his bod left-to-right, seeing more than he copped to. The signs above were in Esperanto on the left; to his right, the weird alphabet from Predator. Cans of nuts on one display had a rotating label; not the can, just the label, like a carousel. But he'd started to figure what was real, and in that his acid journey wound down. To say it had been a good one was the short version... Well, counting hallucinated eight-legged bara what broke him at the house, before he wandered out and sprinted down the sidewalk, which morphed to a jogthrough exhibit of live shows from Amsterdam's fur sector of red light hostels. He'd quote-unquote 'seen' panthers in leather turn strong sissy muscle bottoms to cumfaced pansies. Then they'd take a wallop from skinny dudes with more dick and power than their core size ever preached. Yep, his porn surfing became all of earth, with the right dose of dot. Omar was a peach from how things appeared to be... And back houseward he carried two, middling those thicc legs...

"Jerr, what'chu doing?" Rod said weakly, but no stammer. It made Jerr realize a bit, he was swaying, head rocking. That Jane's Addiction song played on in his grey matter; to him there were weasel guys grinding a pole to the grunge rock beat. The poles were beams that held up the store in real life, and of course the strippers were fire hydrants.

"I'm cockin' out, man, song in my ticker, and the heart's got a leak o' clear! Hahah!! I'mma hold back, don't panic." He couldn't possibly make that reassure. The bird checked around, and sure enough, Garver had stopped dead and glared on such a straight line through to the chimp in a light shirt. The air between them might as well have smoked; two lasers burnt it.

Rod ducked his head; the beak pointed at ground. He turned a 180 so when he walked it didn't leave Jerr behind, but didn't openly acknowledge. "I just got one or two more things to pick up... You can stick by, I'll jam with ya..." Rod told half-truths but knew a chaperone was better than none, long as Jerr could keep it together. And he couldn't finish the thought of that sentiment before his ass was pinched the hell out of.

He almost whipped around and groused, but for Jerr's speed at turning it to a rub. It went deep, quick, and the muscle fiber in both buns lost knots of stress stuck in them for weeks. The soothe was real. "Shiit..."

"Good time, eh?" Jerr trilled, where Rod could tell the fanged drooly mouth was near to his bird ear. Less of any shame mattered now.

Jerr hummed an approximate guitar chord and walked on the beat; Rod filled in some vocals. Together the sound was pretty solid. They even acapella'd past the same section as Garver, who backed up away from them, careless, right into a peg section of some cough drops hanging. His own choice for avoiding them like the plague, and it landed him with an "OOF!" draped over the pegs, flabby arms out. His fear crucified him.

Jerr didn't laugh, though Rod had to cover face and nearly burst a blood vessel chortling. Funny that the li'l subby cuss could resist some things, and he guessed that getting through class without seething hate was the motivator. But Jerr's flat belly rolled under his shirttail; he cast one last longing glance to outside, but those two guys were already in a car and peeled off down the road. They had screeched their tires. Jerr's joyful self wigged out to hear it, thinking of demo' derbies, street dragging... What's cool made him hotter when it paired with musk and hairy junk, it was no surprise. He leaned into Rod again, from the side as they walked close now. "Those cousins drive stick, you heard 'em grind the gears... I could teach a pair o' G's how to handle a shifter. Get Will to be there demonstratin', an' they trade off oozin' his seed from their tailpipe..." He rubbed down white feathers on Rod's forearm, and girth there was squeezed at pressure points. Jerr took a strong breath and kept it in, he had to withstand his own throb. Rod was the frat's default president, making organized around there and keeping peace with the less-enlightened or gay-phobe staff of the U. And right now, he would blow it all in front of a fatass seal-eater, if he could just fall over this monkey and hump that 'til his nuts were cleared of every fucking sperm.

But he had a mission, and that mission was peanut butter. They'd wound a long circle just to head back to the food - bypassing aisles that had moms, kids or just folk looking disturbed - and came upon the white-label Jif. Their 'Simply' variety with less sugar, more peanut and wouldn't make him retch with fakeness. Good shit, last item he needed. The roll-cart resembled a pyramid now; Jerr saw the Coors almost fall, and bent low, put his shoulderblade out there, shoved once. It locked the beer back in place and safe. He shot up and acted more of a fool. "I fixed it, pharoah, now please don' whip me... 'Less part of you does the lashin'!"

He giggled. Rod laughed too. This was... Nice, shock that it was to exist in. Jerr had shades of not being fully-here, saying hey to racks that held popcorn or impulse snacks on the aisles like they were more macaques, in jocks or lace panties with bulge. While he panted, Rod cooled. Things might merely be a funny story to tell when they got back, only mild embarrassment.

And then Jerr clapped his hands once, did a backflip from level-floor, and in psyched celebration he tore down the end of the aisle and darted right.

Rod's eyes slimmed in an instant. He abandoned his cart, braked so fast the Jif jar fell and went rolling as he ran. It lagged behind storklike feet - Rod beat cheeks - and lost the 'race' to the corner. He stepped on a gum wrapper stuck to carpet, which wasn't his fault, really. And in truth, Jerr at a cardboard display of a guy in pharmacist clothes, tickling the board right where the taint could be if he were 3D, wasn't on Rod either.

Jerr played with the flat, inked-on pic and truly seemed to think of a real man's underside. Or more likely, he was best as actor on acid. There was love in how he went like he ran fingers in the folds bridging nutbasket and salt-rich dude butt. Expertise. Rod tried to come up on him, ask him to chill out, but Jerr saw something far from the both of them. Center of the store was where his tweaking self fixated. Over to there he jogged, sprinted, and jumped on a column to whirl around. Spins, with every revolution a pose. Tree-climber by birth alright. Rod nearly took to winging it to chase him down, but no good in this space, Jerr's nimble ass could duck and weave. He had the rear out alright, and A/C with industrial strength blew ice down it when he let go of the beam-column and cleared 12 feet of air with the stunt.

One middle-aged rabbit guy went 'Wow!' underneath Jerr's shade, having missed the early clowning. His impressed state turned to feeling sick though, far too straight to like the 4" standing junk that flew with Jerr and his rust-brown dick bush. Half-nude acrobat, backwards cap snug but lewd shirt billowing. He crashed down hard; a stack of store-brand napkins paid the price for his jones. They spilled out as a flattened pile. His furred poundage smushed the center down, chest-and-balls-first.

Rod got there almost out of breath; he wasn't made for running, unlike flight. Fearing the worst, he screamed Jerr's name and lunged to pick his motionless shape up off the ex-stack of napkins. Jerr was shook physically by him, and Rod's yell held concern. A chimp groggily moved; his spine was alright, legs and arms were fine. His nose twitched, and the tongue gone back in his mouth said hopeful things about his head too. "Are you good, J'?" Rod quieted a tad as he asked. He didn't beg. "Speak, buddy. C'mon."

Jerr rolled his head 'round his neck, and tipped one nod to the albatross, smooth as syrup poured on pancakes. "I got this, hunk." And he went up, fast as Rod had swooped down, for a peck with a dash of lick on the bro's beak. Then he slapped Rod's back. "It's a 10! Maybe ain't a sweet landing, but that ninja-star had some dick on it, cruisin' the sky!" Rod's blushing cheeks took on dimples of a huger grin. Go figure, the li'l guy flattered himself when feeling badass from a no-bike, no-board jump. He hi-5'ed Rod, low 5'ed, middle-clasped, fistbumped, snapped, pec-dapped, headbutted brows, touched lips, and jumped on Rod, arms around his back. Wanted to grind nips and happy trails, franks and beans... Then the figure of a guy in a tie was next to them. Speedy, too, out from where he'd been stocking in peace. Rod knew this manager. He didn't back fully down, Jerr had had his effects... And though birdboy meant to talk this collared guy out of the rage steaming that collar, Jerr did him one better.

"Listen, I'll pay it all and tip a hundo on top. Visa Black card on me right now says this ain't a problem."

The act was simple, unpageanted. Jerr reached under his shirt, fetched a card from god-knows-what-pocket, and handed kindly to the wordless super'. Two seconds spent examining... After, an also-silent walk away was what the guy did. Jerr was all-smiles and whispery to Rod in butch lisp. "Hate to see 'im go, love to watch those leave." There was bounce under the manager, alright. His pair had its way of showing past the leg split.

Rod muttered back. "I'm just gonna have to keep not asking, aren't I?" It referred to the future, day in and day out.

"Haah, you're on the spectrum o' me, now." Jerr was all the way stood up. Dusted off his shirt, his legs, acted like he was checking his dick by stroking its rigidness, four or five good times. Steady with grace. Groaning once, screeches low and soft in monkey lingo. Couldn't help it. He took his hand away, brave as fuck. "Remember, I roll with Will, there's more green in his family than in petty guys when they see his schlong!" Jerr elbowed the bird; it was all okay, by Rod's rising acceptance, hour by hour. They were about to cruise back to the buggy of buys Rod had shopped for. Garver's puffy-cheeked rage caught them mid-step. He blocked the drive aisle, an undiscovered sumo.

"Of what gutter-trash line are YOU, Jared!?" Walrus spouted, whiskers tense, blood pressure at critical. "I'm cursed that you sit in MY class, but now you tear my day apart!? I've half a mind to drag you out and toss your tail in their dumpster, if I didn't get the clap by touching it!!"

Rod tried to be fair and intercede. No reason to infer that this primate's full of STDs, but, nothing could be done. He couldn't stand up for Jerr when this blubber beast still blew hot ire and shook like a bowlful of smelly. "Are you on something!!? Should I concern Oliver, and have you buried in concrete!!?"

There was a "Whoa, whoaa!" said, but it didn't source from the shouted-down bird nor the over-it, neutral monkey. Coming up with a fastwalk, crammed into pencil jeans, was Jeff Mickey's otterness. He held a blue bag of dried fruit, and a sunny mood... Wondrous luck, that. Jerr's face had never gone glum, but it beamed almost like it did after the power-vault onto cushioned paper. Rod couldn't be scared either with this guy on-hand. "Garver, they're young, they're new here, it's not the first rodeo you corralled. Or that man in the suit's."

The otter ally started to reach out, help the fatter man put his pointing accusatory arm down. Wrong move; Garver dodged with a grudge. "And that means what, hippie britches?" The walrus had been at 11 or 12, now he was still at Rage-quotient-8 or so.

Jeff strove not to exascerbate. "I don't need to say how this always happens with students. But I am anyway. It's tough to keep that close, I get it." He called out the latent fear in many a professor. "You don't wanna think it's an upward trend."

"Downward", Garver snippily corrected.

Otter-showman took a breath, and resisted grunting. He gestured as warm as one can with just hands. "I guarantee, leave them be and they'll make their way to a better place. Won't you, Jared?" Jeff surely remembered the chimp's birth name... No mention of why.

The hat-bearer tilted head down, humbly. "I'm on a pilgrim's progress... Sir. My messes get cleaned."

Ignoring the entendre, there was good fortune; the manager reappeared. His face stayed stern but cracks formed in the hate, no longer a sourpuss. "Thank you much. Please finish your shopping and come back another day." He handed over the card, and a much-slowed Jerr took the item and put away, close to elegant. Rod's eyebrows lifted, rather snowed by the mature turn.

Yet Garver was still Garver. He rolled those giant lookers, and the stress of being him never left. "Here I thought it mattered how you represent your family. I was raised in that."

The manager had nothing to say to him. Not after months of complaints from other customers; this walrus guy was consistently shit for brains, when no pervert was around to resent. Off he paced, back to stocking the empties.

Jeff appealed to the man whose coat buttons lived life on the edge, every day they didn't snap off and careen somewhere. "Looks like we're fresh out of drama. Let's call it square."

"Square!?" He punched the walrus hair-trigger on accident; it would seem there is no good nature to appeal to. "When I have to worry every time I step in the ONLY druggist near-campus if I'm gonna want to puke?"

Otterman was thinking 'That's on you, friendo', then immediately wondered what person still calls an Rx a 'druggist'. But what he said went better. "We won't be the last, and it's worse all over the world than a young buck having fun. You... You don't even work here."

That marked the point where he quit babysitting Garver's feels. And the inflation of that history buff's head, the reddest of balloons, could pop with more teasing.

Jeff Mickey took the high road as an end to this. "Basic fact, we can always find that door if it gets to be crushing. I'll take my mango bites, you take your stomach aids, there, we'll call this crummy time a past one." He, feeling Jerr more than his faculty other, dove into the snack bag.

He chewed. Garver left, but not without tossing the antacids to the thatched floor below. Stomping brought him to the exit; there was muted speech, and Garver blew up again on the manager. It stung that the one who ran this place knew HE'D been the one to break a bottle. And he put the automatic door off its track, bumping on the way out. Manager-dude could shatter glass with his sigh, running over to fix the slider.

Bird, otter, monkey, all shook heads. Jerr came up on Jeff, tapped knuckles on his elbow. "Good dude. If I can fix a prob', he can get over his. There's a heaven for guys helpin' other guys." His look entreated downward, then back up to a handsome face. Jeff Mickey smirked, then used sign language. Rod recognized 'There's nothing to it' in the gestures, with a light joke about otters' equipment size. Rod stifled his chuckle. They said toothless goodbyes.

Jerr beat Rod to the cart and blinked a few times. He rid himself of visions, the majority anyway. "Bro, that's what we expect this whole semester, huh? History's gonna lick mad gash."

"Yeah, he-PshhhHHAHAHA!!..." The blackhaired bird was blindsided with that phrase, a clear alt to saying 'gonna suck'. Jerr wouldn't have to spell it out, no sucking could be negative. And the chimp reached down, got a hold of the paper towels, the fiber bars, solo cups, and hopped to the store's edge where Jif had come to rest. Their cart rolled far easier. "Thanks much!" Rod sounded chipper, what he'd be crazy to feel just two minutes ago.

It got even finer. The manager had well-trained spark in his voice saying "Afternoon sir, sorry about this!" loudly for the next buyer. Will's voice shot back with "Thanks but save apologies, you run a tight ship and stuff does befall us." Jerr's ear had its kind of training, half-swiveled like a tabby's. He loosened up on the first word, then 'tight' had a smidge of emphasis. He toted items he'd picked up all the way to checkout unaided, where Will had made a beeline. The robust fucker of a 'rilla knew what he wanted.

Rod followed, and found Will before a very attentive Cathy. The QB swayed a bit - a sure sign he was in famously good mood - and sought her help. "To save me time, you mind telling me the aisle number for oysters? The rectangled tins. I won't ask you walk me there."

She complied, saying 'number 12', glad and fluttering her fake lashes. Jerr was almost to the big guy's legs, and with a glance back to Rod he mimed sticking a finger down his throat. Rod spat out one snicker, then they were upon the footballer, so close his new grass stains invaded their nose. Jerr's tail wrapped into itself, hooping; scents had memories attached. Will had seen them come up, and set a hand on the blue top of Jerr's headgear. It covered the whole damn thing. One firm, unquestioning rub, and when he set off for #12 there were two guys like sidecars for him.

Jerr didn't get annoyed by much, but the fact of that register girl giving goo-goo eyes qualified. He gazed back to her, reached forward and felt up Will's ass... Steel toughness doesn't move easy. He winked at her, not friendlike, derisively. He didn't wait to catch her disappointment. Will's huge shoes got him to the right place, and in finger and thumb went the shellfish container. He needed only that to carry the thing.

Rod was freed of all anxieties. He let Will do the talking, as it happened to be. "Guys I have such a heap of news. To start with, I made first-string. Try not to faint."

He said it wry. Jerr just leaned his slight weight on the great ape, made it into a hard embrace. Ecstatic. Handsy with Will, exploring all in his hug, right down to creases under pec meat when Will bent down to grab him back. They reveled in macho grip of each other; Will pulled him in at the small of his twink spine, touched lower, used his best bud to an extent even here. Jerr squeezed with all his heart and might the sheer girth of his hero.

Will felt like one alright. Over Jerr's whoops and hollers that slid down into coo's, he expanded. "I start with a carnie troupe, too. Bunch of characters, but few had any chip to knock off or settle. Well those who made it, specifically."

Jerr's choppers were out in force with belly laughs. No question required. "Percy tried, didn't he?"

"Picture a gnat driving a tower crane. I.E. He showed up and it fell to the predictable." Deadpan-Will was the funniest Will in Rod's opinion. He lay a feathered hand on the aisle separators, slayed by laughs. Not unlike something he'd say, it maybe helped. "But that shit the coach handled. A stand-up fella, too. Jerr you'd dig into him like layer cake."

Jerr was half as spurned by the thought as the pierce of those dark greens down at him, past a 5 o' clock umbra. If his asshole could pre, he'd be dropping drips. "Well we all stand up, it's part of guyhood... Hehehhhh!" The pangs lived in that chuckle, no remix of his voice might subtract it.

Will milked the heat of that, also. "Daaamn right. The trees, houses, car tires, every one we've marked. The knots in barn walls." He watched Jerr fall to bits with crave, burying snout in his midriff, kilograms' worth. One good grope of Jerr's sidecheek, then a clandestine move to front parts.

Rod caught the shallow tug - spidermonkey dicklet in a hand that's magnificent - and swooned within himself for this and Jerr's reply. "Love you so much I can't fuckin' think straight, maaaan... Can only think gay... Haaah!" He dapped Will, and they abbreviated the whole routine, lest fears of jail actually come true. Rod saw though, as the monkey boi disengaged, floods at his gumline. He was making drool alright.

Will didn't run out of revelations for them, not yet. "It so happens I met the Dean, too. He's a man of the sport, I learned! Not so certain if he used to play, but he sure held a vested interest." Rod nodded, hearing all the bass-driven words. Will's neck turned left, then diagonal across the store. "I'm an oaf to think there's a produce section here. I have to swing by a market for cucumber. I'll do that on my own time."

Jerr's tail perked. Will saw it and settled it. "For a teammate. You know we brag, and he claimed he's elastic." He brought his lips into mouth then back out with a *pop*; he cared about confirming. "Not to say I won't test first. A thoughtful man vets. Is the cuke firm? Is it safe?"

"Dude, stop." Rod asked, about to pee himself with amusement.

"Can do. Hey, I'm loquacious and guess why?" He scratched his chin; Jerr could hear the stubble move.

"No clue, big boo." His best munk' provided. "Lay it on us."

Will's paunch drew in. "I set plans for tonight, with room for five. The riverwalk here's got gems in the way of eateries. Sure there's horsehockey to re-live in with the rest, but flush that shit from the brain. I'm getting stupid-merry. Some stud just rented out of Redbox, and that's for after."

He had more, but Rod had failed to bring this up, and now might be a good time. "I like the idea, but we might tie Jerr down first. He's in rare form." He boxed the chimp's ears. "You wan'oo admit the boneless indy you pulled onto napkintown?"

Jerr joked by lifting an index finger, opening maw, then putting both to rest. Will flung delight through the corner of his lips, as with most words from him. "So he's out of sorts... Maybe the lean freak isn't tuned for that aid, HAH." He hadn't forgot what Jerr took... Good for all of them, the effects waned in a hurry now. Not much room for visions anyway besides, when creme flowed in currents, mixed in the nads, proximity to Will at fault...

The footballer made it worse-slash-better, noticing the mild moment. He gave Jerr's recovery compliments with a taste of DMX lyrics. "Think you holdin' weight, then you haven't met the APES." He bearhugged Jerr with one arm. At last he could spill the rest of the beans. "Yeah I picked up The Departed, the blu-ray. But I wonder if you mugs have tried the ultimate treat night. Dessert and liquor." He winked, and put his hand like a gun, 'shooting' Rod. "No telling what's quicker."

Honestly the Latin bird would rather have what else fired in spurts from Will... He adjusted himself. Jerr reacted like he'd waited months for this, slamming Will a middle-5, monkey's hand going far in ape's with their size difference.

Rod had reservations. "S-ssure, if we drink a ton of water I guess. I dunno if I've the gut for that."

"Pshaw," Will uttered, low and play-mean. "Chew on a grapefruit rind, suck some heavy meat, you'll wake up bright and fine."

This helped to hell and back. Rod kept himself from saying off the cuff "So how do YOU do it, beef provider?", too active in the mind's eager change. Five meant all of them, turtle and kangaroo with this trio. It only made sense, if it was a party... Will made the team, they had just squicked by a bad run-in thanks only to a sympathizer who worked for the U, and... Fuck it. He was up for ANY goddamn way the 'rilla may commemorate today.

Back up to the counter Will ambled, and the two were with. Cathy, not as cheery now, took the oysters he handed her. Will turned to Rod another time, minced his words for mixed company. "And since I'm not the type to drink to excess in public - before a den or bedroom - let's make a game of it, what's left. Take a swig at The Departed each time Leo makes a face like a villain more than a protag'."

Jerr lost it. "M-man, I don't wanna die tonight!"

He was told the damage done was $2.46 here. He reached back, behind his pants, deep, deeper, all the way to under the crack that grew black fuzz. He didn't fumble but it took a minute to pry it free: a wad of 20's, in a clip, the temperature of his balls. Musked up by them.

None of them paid heed to Cathy, and her gag was missed. Jerr's electric blues were on fire with want. Will explained, for Rod's surprise and Jerr's near-to-swoon fix. "Show me a safer place for money and I'll do. The weight keeps 'em in place, both sides."

There were no words for the boil in Jerr's much-smaller pair; his dick could let off steam right now, kettle that Will made it. The athlete picked up change off the counter; he wouldn't get to be handed it by this attendant, ever again. He made way for Rod, receipt, bills, coinage and tin in hand. It occurred to him, something else for Jerr's hobbies. "Oh, lest I forget, check this out." He pulled his phone, did a number of taps and faced it out to his monkey man.

The orange tail went into swoops. Rod and Will had a normal stance, but Jerr's jellied neck proved what's on that screen was... Rich. Added to by the low grieflike begs from a speaker. A lighthaired human guy was all up IN a beefier male sapien, straddling a fridge in the world's cheapest porn set. Who cared about the backdrop, though, with nine inches of punch runnin' through a swole sub's gate? No less the top's legs like a figure skater's, deepening the gam-show as they tensed to stab meat in that big damn bottom. It was vintage, a clip from 40 years back, just as heavy and aggressed as the finest from Gay Hercules 7 today. So what if the music was plinky synth crap.

Will spelled it out for the little cuss, whose hand clutched his own flat chest, heart quickened. "He's good for a heavy splash, 2 minutes on. I can't ignore a blonde bomber like that, he owns a battering ram and it works like it." Every word of Will's came out delicious. "He's wooly as they come too. Thank you 70's for that. Jeeeez."

It wrapped up its runtime, just as Jerr wrapped his tail into his mouth behind his own teeth. He chewed to wick off saliva. It might have been from what they cut the acid with, but not half as likely as watching a human dude with the genes for fuzz AND hearing about it from the best voice, in his biased opinion. He contorted a bit, to look nonchalant while he leaned up on the counter, front-first, hiding boner.

Will stood closer himself, more than any straight would dare to. It faked giving Rod more space just to mess with Jerr. The outdoor scents, the body musk, it overpowered everything. Will heard the beep of Cathy ringing up Rod's items, in a relative tizzy, service-y questions asked and the bird answering yes or no. Jerr heard nothing but his own pulse, one in ribs and one at the counter's underside. The Orbit gum packets due-south of his uncut 4 were instant damages. 'Water'logged.

Unlikely it may be, but the surprise calmed Jerr, centered him somewhat. Easier to corral now, if anything. He could now follow whatever Will stated, which was good for the both of them. "What say we go out a little less than angels?" He'd dropped his pitch for privacy; his waistband, too, playing like he adjusted its pinch but really just pushing snailtrail on a bro's innie. Brushing out that divet. "I got some poppers and a bomb-ass upper from this hippo behemoth who made it on with us. He put forth he has a gland problem, or he'd be a sentient mattress. Since he won't overmedicate, he shares the wealth."

Will patted his pocket; Jerr could think only of the weight at the fly, shifted, in motion for a moment. It filled him with tingle, knowing he was always entitled to what lay behind.

Rod closed out his purchases. Bags - sorted much better than before in the cart, if we're honest - went ahead of him, next to them, as they walked for the door. A man in a priest collar headed in, but saw them three-across and stood aside, polite. His reward for graciousness was a look at Jerr's frank, too bursting with purple veins to view the beans beneath. He covered his bifocals, but left the flushed everything above his white-splotched neckline. Jerr shook that caboose only once going by, his version of courtesy. More like two-pronged respect.

Rod saw Will take over the buggy pushing, and let it happen just so he could go around back and shock Jerr with arms around his midriff. Jerr was picked up off his feet, cackling, then lightly slammed back down. A minor tripup just made the laugh better; they half-wrestled, half-hugged. He had to love the feel of Rod's wing; it crept on his head, then shaded as Rod rubbed the cap so hard he could Indian-burn a hat. "You over and done with your dosing, small fry?"

"For real," Jerr chirped back, nosing close as he could to the feathered friend.

Rod wouldn't say it, but Will had no issue doing this for him either. "You gave him butterflies, huh?" He never didn't know.

"I... *heh* Yeah, I'm had ain't I?" Jerr slapped Rod's back, firm and spindly. "My bad. I'm thinkin' they won't lean on you cuz o' me, if I'm wrong then take it out on my dong!" He whipped it left and right. "Cage him. Hahahah!"

It was more a taunt, a promise of what could not be, too much force of want to ever curb his tool... Never mind that they all rightly guessed he'd be subject to it, if any bigger guy said he should.

Will had comfortably walked here but gladly helped the lode to Rod's car. He didn't even get to the sound-system'd 'chariot' without impatience to finish the tale. "So I saved the bonus from my guy, we'll pack a dugout also. I read only good things about the river shops. Plenty of seating, views galore. It's so unfortunate we'll chase every prude off with our heads." Sarcasm in regret's tone, a turn of phrase at the end, and... No response, from either guy.

He tapped Rod's ear; the one without a phone up to it. Gorilla teeth flashed happiness, reaching slow in Rod's pocket for keys and being allowed to. He had joy undiluted after a grand tryout, getting feels for his new colour-mates, and these buffoons locked on each other; Rod had dialed a contact, brought Jerr into his space, reached down to fondle the chimp's pipeline, in less time than you can say 'mutual J/O'.

The bird's words were softened, honeyed, to a man on the other end. "Heyhey, just me!... Yeah, all's goin' good, it looked like it wouldn't be for a bit but that's through with, heh... No, I'm not sick, far from it. Jerr's got hands on me, I've half as many on him... N-*chuckle*-nah, we'll save it for sundown. That's what I'm calling for, are you up for a night at the river? I mean drinking, good eats, gettin' familiar down to the wire?..." Will detected it was Omar he chatted up. Next thing he knew, there was change in Rod's expression, less careless, more curious. "... No, you don't HAVE to, Quentin doesn't either. I figured you might w-... Sure, I mean, one of you stayin' back isn't gonna break the frat up! We just got settled... No, curse that thinking!" He was back on the line of cheeky now, sort of blessing out the 'roo in positive ways. Will opened the trunk, loaded in the spoils of war, snacks, sundries, hearing right along. "No one's a burden if they don't decide to be, I was brought up to know. Just get dressed, if Quent' wants to sleep it off he's cool." Will loaded the paper towels in last, unlikely to crush jack-shit. Rod put out a final few ideas to a kangaroo whose nervousness beguiled him. "We can always Snapchat it for him. And what's more, he's called out hazing, despises it, so maybe we'll do initiation without him! Tee-hee!" The last laugh was purely fake, on purpose.

Jerr's breath was in-and-out, shallow as a foot bath, at max size in Rod's gay hand and loving on every inch of Spanish manhood. He now tasked himself with notions of how Rod might/would prank, to bring them into the frat proper. Fucking hell, it had been so little time already, though these boys felt like neighbours. Within spitting distance of family, it may well become...

Will shut the trunk, controlling his monstrous beef so it didn't warp the latch. "We're a soldier down, I take it. Did Mr. Q get too shitfaced by now?"

"HAH, that would be the day!" Rod made it a true kneeslapper. "He holds his liquor like a vat, only with a mouth on it."

The quarterback made a face like approval mixed with secrets. "And other such gapes." With no one else around in the lot at the time, he walked up, unzipped with those massive arms and thrust more manhood into their midst: more than either pal combined. Their gasps, even Jerr's after so many thousands of times with it, made his chub a thunderous I-beam. It swayed vertical, paid to gravity. Rod had length stand high, never more than with two scamps taking turns at tugs. Jerr's mini whipper pumped heat, coarsed delight, engorged in Will's thumb and forefinger. So many hands were busy. Smooth strokes of each man's shooter, varied as could be, clear ooze making audio and waves in nerve centers for the young horndogs. Will spoke through the heaven of this. "I'll go on foot. I want the leg workout. To be bruising lats and noses, yeah. Fuck an offseason slump." Just the F-word out of Will's dark lips was Jerr's whole candy store.

They saw a Cadillac pull in the entry drive, so they made like ants and scattered, tucking away. No shot done, making every schlong pent up. Will rubbed hands together, but started no fire, when it was inside them all. Hungry to extremes.

Jerr still had yet to learn the Dean's species. Or family tree.

...... An hour on, and water lapped at a sand bank as they piled out the car. Omar stood while tousling his head tuft into 'fixed', a learned habit. Will stood with a stretch, chest a double mass in the motion. Jerr and Rod were tangled in a bro kiss, but the former stepped his gangly self out and gasped; it was like 10 degrees cooler here than a mile off.

"Fuckin' dang!" Monkey dude howled.

Rod didn't wait at all to explain. "Blame the lay of the land, notice how it slopes up on both sides?"

Will had been driving, Omar to his right. So he reached playful back to Rod, gave a chuck of the feathered shoulder. "Geography major. I'm calling it."

Omar seemed to clamp his mouth down, but then raised that chin to the sky. One terrific belch turned heads for miles around. Will's fangs were in his laugh, and Jerr danced around the back fender to mime handing the 'roo a trophy. Omar mimed holding it up and spitting in. They bumped chests, two flasks of mirth here.

Well, four. The heads literally turned were in a set of tables. Yelp didn't lie, and Rod's boasts about this place on the short drive to here were cardinal fact. Brick pavers were grey, tan, cream, a warm blend next to white handrail. A foot from the footing of this footway lay unspoiled embankment. Light above was a carnival of stars in the late dusk, early twilight, next to a bubble of glow from downtown's concrete jungle; hotel towers and office obelisks in stable, cold colony. Their glow was their life, this far out, where rushing stream and brook eddies with a fish jumping here and there screamed nature's broad strength. It cut shops into two lines, bridged once. The suspension cables sat low. No vehicles allowed, all bodies permitted, this for the bridge and the boardwalk.

Truly, an inland wharf for steakhouses, Tommy Bahama, local shops, Lord & Taylor. Take your beige-stucco'd glass-fronted pick.

Will pimpstrolled to the front of the line, all dudes piled out and taking his direction. "I estimate forty paces. The 5-star joints are always tucked in the center, these sprawling types of place. Walks you past all the lesser draws on the way."

"No shit", Omar teased. "Well I'm trusting you, I hope you're intuitive past that."

Jerr stuck up for the apeman who needed it least, sizewise. "Hey, it ain't like your sweet ass wasn't right outside, dressed to go!" He called out the readiness Omar'd exhibited. They'd still come in the house, needing their own clothes change. He still felt stress relieved, that none of them had to go in his room. Quent slept like a KO'd baby.

Jerr's shirt caught more widening, disgusted eyes than their crass words. What he wore now had script reading "Do you know Y? Cuz *I* know Y." Tawdry enough, yet it was embossed over a pic: Swole western dragon guy, who pumped down there. His one hand barely held half the girth.

The weakest stomachs / holy personalities bailed first. A few snide comments were still quiet under their speech to each other. Rod sniffed his own pit, checking if he hit it enough with Arrid XX. Jerr of course spouted "Woo! Lift that!" and Omar checked his watch. No new alerts for his mobile tactics games. Will pointed ahead, to roughly 2 o' clock. There lay the sign at the eatery, "Sugar on the Rocks". Tall swooping letters in manuscript. Stools at the front, ten or so tabled seats right up to the railings. The name was for the spirits served and geography; an assortment of boulders lined this part of the river. Weathered, though the restaurant was kept to standard. Brilliant stool poles and paintjob.

Will closed his eyes and thought of novel ideas; never abnormal for him. "How's this sound: a vodka float. Fuck all the mixed cocktails, I want a scoop of pure vanilla drowned in triple-distilled."

Jerr chittered, a given approval. Omar stuck out tongue, wincing. "I'll settle for a fifth of Schnapps, peppermint, a brownie with it. Or somethin' close. No use bringin' back what I ate all down our shoes." He pulled the dugout, which they'd put on him to carry, assuming he could hide shit well. For some reason this didn't offend him. A puff of green, adrift through cooling air, then he passed to Jerr. It made one rotation, and he dropped it back in his body's pouch, spare for later.

The gorilla came right to the counter, plopped 70% of his ass on 100% of the stool. The place kinda shook when he put his elbows down. From inside, a mole dude stared out; his shocked alarm turned to ease, and then customer service. "Hi there guys, sit anywhere you like. I'll be with you lickety-split."

Omar chuckled at him, Jerr more with him. Rod didn't sit; he hated round chairs with a passion. Standing didn't hurt half as much. Jerr checked out the place, and the help: booze-making contraptions alright, with more freezers than counters. Nobody came for a burger. The mole's petite hands picked up scoops and spoons to put in a dishwasher, then he turned their way, and the chimp caught a pouf of fur gone from his browline; a birthmark shaped like a maple leaf. It kinda warmed the chimp's heart, and other details his tailhole. That area Jerr swung, while he got closer and the dollar-store body spray scentified them. "Need menus, or d'ya know what you're here for?"

"Menus, and a round of water. Doing this right." Will filled the counterspace with bass and his pythons. Jerr looked over, and couldn't help nuzzling an arm. Hot breath blew on the QB.

Mole-guy smiled at the rare display. "You got it, bossman." Will'd leaned into Jerr as the mole turned; this half of the wait staff didn't see Will lay a one-side stranglehug on Jerr, rub up under his shirt on that flatness. Pinch the fire out of one nip. When the guy came back with four menus, they were all well-behaved in a line. Only Jerr's lips ratted on their actions; hard to keep his tongue in with Will's finger jammed up his bare backside.

The ignorant mole handed all four their menus, when the other half of the staff there made his voice known. "You did put the deluxe scoop back, I mean ya did, if I floss every day." It had the clang of dishes follow right after, so the mole who opened his mouth to answer just said nothing; it wouldn't be heard anyway. Shade thrown, shots fired.

Will looked up, essentially settled on his idea, and saw the fretting of the server. "It's no trouble, if my words matter there. Business woes are a daily." He tossed out support, while Jerr bobbed his neck like Jell-O, kneaded through a worn-in buttsleeve. Will leaned onto that treeclimber, closed his lips on one ear of Jerr's. Just hid it in soft damp heat while his finger swam 'n' shoved. Priming the li'l punk. Making Omar shift in his seat, adjust the snake that pushed up his dark jeans. Rod just stood there and let his pulse in a tent; only the counter knew they're indecent. He rubbed that mound and imagined he was back inside Jerr's hothole... What he'd had drained so many ropes in the grip of twitching heaven, he'd swear he carried an empty coin purse for hours.

The second staffer, as it happened, popped up from back-left of the kitchen. Coyote ears were droopy, mangy, patterned with a pearlish fur and cowlicks of tangle. His face didn't mesh with this, however, a drop-dead knockout with brown eyes and the cutest nose. Will's bulge grew two sizes. Jerr's ass gave a doorknocking sound, unable to stop the twerk for a good ten-count. The coyote, not watching them any more than moleman did, tried a friendly zinger. "Business is a trip, sir, you're right about that. S'my business to bust his chops when he starts thinkin' he's good."

"Hey, fuck a duck and get lost in the vag' maze." Came the mole's comeback.

Omar had to pick himself up off the brick, after falling in laughter. Jerr's face puckered as if he sucked a lemon; he calmed, much as he could with Will controlling him through the ass's musk-well. 'Rilla man got a hold of the situation, no problem. "I might order now, selfishly. These guys will survive." He mugged to 'roo and bird, the fakest shittiest grin. Rod slapped his back, and Jerr moaned once when it shook his foreplay.

The mole guy attended him in no time at all. "What'll it be, Bluto?

Will shaped his emeralds into a mean stare. "I'm thinking a float. Two scoops, one mint, one vanilla, in Skyy. I'd go for Grey Goose but not after what you said with the waterfowl."

Jerr laughed, it was yet again jerky by the pleasure crushing his twink self. He managed to get his arm up, broomstick with smooth moves. "I'll put one in too, G', can you make, like, a cake shake and pour in Kahlua?"

"We got birthday cake flavour, yeah." The guy was used to this kind of request. "How you want it mixed, 'tipsy', 'turvy' or 'tumbletown'?"

Jerr couldn't answer that, falling into fits of chuckle. He and Omar were now 2 of 4 makin' asses of themselves. Rod was refraining from the same, but gladly watched Will dig his pointer out of Jerr, slllooooww, flexing it every so often, to hit Jerr with massage pulse. Right where he buried huge cock night after night.

Even the monkey couldn't keep this under wraps forever; the mole brought it up. "Somethin' wrong, my man? You been half-spazzing there, a good while."

As Will had just undone the reason - and sent it off with a tap, in the deepest and hairiest of that crack - he could get collected, with the white lies flowing. "Just the sweet tooth needin' hooked up! Hehehh!" He clapped, made it a dance like a gospel choir. Rod played along and whooped the word "Testify!"

Omar was busy now, darting looks around. There were good-lookin' meatstacks in this outdoor mini-mall for damn certain; a polar bear lumbered in his Reeboks, with green windbreaker and a tight white tank over chest muscle. A passing fossa and his giant hand broke a trashcan lid by flinging in an Izze bottle. A pine marten the size of Buicks jogged down the stonebed path, each leg wide. Will may have been the only footballer to be craving this place, but he clearly had peers who just barely didn't cross paths. Good studwatching with them on the way to steak or seafood joints. And Omar saw no one he didn't want to, either... He might just make it here at U, without bullshit.

Will stood, bathing the counter in shadow thiccness. "Hey heads-up, we're moving to that table," he yelled at where the mole scrambled to make the two they'd ordered. "You paid that this be built next to scenery, who are we to fail at making it count?"

The reply had warmth above the acting job of customer service. "You're the customers, big dog! Sit anywhere but on my face." Mole guy ignored the coyote's jabbering at him about bottle placement in the freezer; the words were left to rot halfway through his ear. Jerr swung his fist low, a soft curse for learning any guy was straight.

Will pushed his stool back to square; Jerr and Rod did the same, Omar just left his as-is. They headed ten feet distant to the waterfront; the server had one more token joke for them. "Gotta scope out the skirts going by, I got'cha!"

Cultured the tall ape might have been, but clean-minded he's not. Squeezing of his own forearm coupled with retort. "The losers can have that. Give me a mark who wears man shit, and loves it soaked as him when I'm encoring this horsecock."

"O-oh okay, man, live your best life then, I say!" A bit of flustered.

His 'help' didn't help there, pouncing on the moment of stammer. "He will if you can quit bein' awkward as a three-legged emu... 'S dad."

"Joe, I swear to God, man..."

So, coyote-breath was cheeky but not pleasant. Not much added thought went into him from the foursome, picking seats and hearing the rush of water. Their dude, on the other hand, had Jerr's hand flip onto his lip, playing with it, watching from afar the talent of a mole's hands, flipping flasks, bowls, making up the two dishes. He leaned up to Will's ear, reached on his core just for a feel. "Y'know wassup, Will... No man's an island."

Where he'd muttered, Will said it plain as day. "They all get a hot throbbing plane crash one day." It dripped with allegory, his dickhole dripped something else. Soon he had shorts soaked through in the shape of a wrist; the head was simply that big.

For Rod, a thought sprung into him, funnily with all the rub he did, the tent of meat fed by his arm under that table. "Omar you had a fast answer, earlier. Didn't take much convincing for you to party, eh?"

Caught off-guard, the 'roo whipped through confusion, panic, then swagger, in series. His smile stuck the landing. "Shhiiiit, if this is a party I'm Goldilocks. Might be a lead-in to one. We'll find out." He looked to Jerr, and found the li'l cuss moving his tongue, making shapes. The simple loop, a triple wave, rolling it, some moves that were hard as macramè to do. He felt no longer the stress of before. "Y' want that birthmarked geek, I'd have to be dead to miss."

Jerr went into a gang sign with a hard twist of gay. "Two-eleven, Steel Boyz!!... If he don't get to sample, I'm the one that's wasted."

Omar laughed, reached across and punched his chest, almost knocking him out the chair. All was fun and games, no foul. Jerr had meant the last word as a move from dead to being skipped; Omar switched it up on him. "Oh you'll be smeared alright. It ain't sugar gonna knock your dick in the dirt." He looked through the menu more, realizing he wanted this more than Will had. He allowed his mouth to just flap. The outcome was varied. "Might change what I said earlier, their Frostbombs page looks good as gold. Ice cream, cookie, liqueurs, pie slices on 'em. Shit... Warm out here. Yeah Rod I wish Quent' could be sippin' with us, he was knocked out pretty b-buuhhhhbad from being tired. He'll sleep it off tonight, I guarantee."

Will piped up, wrapping both hands behind his crew cut. "Yeah that's typically how sleep works, I've found." Maxing his relaxing, in the very heart of hakuna matata. He gazed back to running blue currents, enjoyed one last 'drink' of the surroundings.

Omar pulled at his shortcollar, airing the sweat. A baldfaced lie he'd done, and that same lie he'd sold. Right about that time, the mole came out from that counter, two high-piled frozen treats on their way. Rod whispered exclamations to God, never thinking they'd have that much per item. It might take a golf cart later to bring them home.

The mole never shed his sunny looks, either. "Two on the ride to ruin, enjoy, boys!" Only one glass clinked the table, the one for Jerr; Will's monster mitt took it right outta the server's, thirsty as he was heavy. Moleman let it be plucked, kowtowing to it. One could almost say submitting. He swung to Rod. "I'll check back in a minute what you two pick 'n' lock it in."

Jerr had his eyes glued to guy and drinks, and just jonesed to ask. "What's your name, bub? Forgot to ask, my bad!"

"I, uh..." He looked up to the marquis on a nearby hat shop, stalling for time and comfort. Will put his mouth on the glass and drained a fourth of it, no strain. His eyes crossed a second and went back fine.

Jerr sensed the server's unease; he wished to help. "Heeey no big if you wanna stay anon'. I getcha. Strange world out there."

Mole dude bounced in the throat with one chuckle. "Nnno, it's cool. Last name's Glasshouse. First is Reince." He put his face down and sideward; more being funny than glum. "Yep, like the politician, sad to say."

Jerr saw no problem nor call to laugh. He did see Omar sneak out his own pouch with a pill, oblong, big 'n' powdery. Secrets there were kept as the 'roo applied both hands and split it; half went to Will, half to himself. Jerr needed NO uppers, being all of himself. "Cool, bruh! Nothin' bad about it, don' be pressed." He reached out, soft-punched the fella's leg and swept it with fingers on the way back. It didn't bring any scowl; the sensation of short grey fuzz brought a chub to the chimp. "Ain't your fault what's on yerr birth papers."

But from off in the distance, coyote-Joe had a bone to pick. "I heard that. Tell 'em the truth, why don'tcha."

Reince dropped both hands and stared at the bloke behind the counter like he would go off on him. But anger was not to be; instead, mildness stood in for it. "... Fine. Reince is my middle. First is... Uhmm, Stoney."

Rod and Will went still. Omar cackled like a madman, gave the bare-minimum respect by ducking under the table's edge with it. Jerr didn't laugh, but it was a struggle. "So, I'm shootin' the shit with Stoney Glasshouse."

Moleman crushed his eyelids he rubbed them so hard. "... Mhmm."

"Oh dude," Omar shot up and interjected, "Forgive me for losing it. You just really threw me."

Stoney sighed and started walking away... No, marching. Deliberate. Will called him back with gruff kindness. "Eeeaasy, there! Forget the jumping jackass, he's undergone empathy damage from all that hair dye. You have no boundary a name could cause. C'mon back, cowboy, I'll bop this fool in the snout if it assuages."

"Hey now-" the 'roo protested. Then Will held up an arm like he'd wrestle with it; the idea itself was humbling. So ended Omar's act-up. Jerr took a swig of his own drink; the sugar and octane dose had his core shiver but his head warm. He tilted neck and said 'ahhhh' like an old man with coffee.

Stoney went up to Rod first, as his smile was a lighthouse compared to the blue-loving 'roo bother. "You know what you want yet?" He'd forgot he didn't actually give them more time.

Luckily Rod wasn't hard to please. "Hmm, well I can just start simple 'n' go from there." He reached under his top, felt around his chest for a crumb stuck on tender smoky nipple. It was pulled out, past condensation in feathercoat. "I saw somethin' about a Butterboiler, does that mean butterscotch is part?"

It put Stoney back in a neutral place. Tone leveled off. "Uh-huh, that's the base. Our second-best-seller there, got your butterscotch rum, vanilla liqueur, butter pecan ice cream and a shot of High Hat 20 with a dash of sea salt and powdered sugar. We limit at 2 unless you can prove you got transport."

Jerr took a second drink, then a third, but had an idea and didn't miss a beat. He clapped once and hopped out the chair. "BRB, stallions!" Spoke as if it were the three letters, and his tail did dances unknown to science. Will watched knowingly, indulgingly. Booty on a mission.

Rod had barely let his forehead come down from shock. "Uhhh, that's a concoction alright... Ah what the hell, that'll be me for now. Might want a bonus after, don't tarry!" He winked, not smooth as he would wish. Will reached to his bird bud's neck and rubbed it; the fact Rod was pent became a chore to ignore, whereas that ape's callouses exterminated stress.

Stoney nodded. "As ya wish. I'll be back around." He walked straight-away from Omar, no cares for the 'Hey wait' and 'Dude!' from that location.

Still, the 'roo took it well; his sneer was half a grin. "Good shit's for those who wait. I'll just steal some off this barrel of monkey if I gotta." He slogged Will's paunch; it was thick 'n' static. Will's hand was the first of those when he grabbed the 'roo's wrist back, and felt on it. Some condescending suck-noises happened; Omar showed resistance to getting violent, letting it be 'til Will released.

"My mistake," joked the 'rilla, taking another jumbo sip of his. "Jerr had something to do and I got twinksick."

Omar started to play-fight him across the table, over Rod's head. The albatross held up an arm and cut that foolery off at the pass. "Boys, boys! Save it for the sheets. Or take it to Joe Rogan's pad, once he clears out the dead hookers."

Will laughed rich, loud, and tipped his glass up. Less than a third was now unkilled. He felt tingle alright, no matter that his body mass could take a wallop. He reached down and adjusted; a passing humpback whale with a sailor's tat got leered at, for making eight inches of hot beefstick rise and bunch up the denim. Will thought of getting up and tackling that tall wanker, showing how they do it on the gridiron, then how they ruin the locker benches. He could punch that dude's asshole with so much he'd swim funny for months. The man stopped walking, threatened to beat his ass if he tried shit. Will just rubbed that bunch silently, knowing he could take him. A few slurs and the sailor was on his way. Will's two-liter cock alone could knock him cold; pumping in and out a slippery ring, showing straights the error of hate, and what luscious times can be...

A bell rang, with undernotes of rust. One second more and Jerr's core was by the table, his head back, butt close to the walkpath. On a bike, popping wheelies. Going to the open while Rod cheered, to start a spin. He swept the air with tongue and hopped by his rear tire. Flaunting - no less with his shirt freshly gone, goin' skins for the breeze and the showout - he put some space between he and Stoney's workplace, so he could jump it onto the rail. His whoop of "Yehhh, gay babes!!" complemented a pegstall. Rod came out of his seat, applause ready. Will put fist high. Omar's jaw flung open and stayed. Jerr got it back on pavement, jumped a 180 twice for a perfect 360; lastly for now, he brought the Mongoose-brand BMX to the rail once more, and grinded. 50-50 style, ten feet solid, and jerked the handlebars up... Thus his landing was a backflip. Rod vaulted like a concertgoer; nothing was expected.

Jerr got off and walked it back to their table, but Rod headed him off with a running hug. They rubbed 'n' half-tussled, manful in every grabby move. Jerr's thin six-pack took any squeeze put on it. The bird had lost volume control. "That's prime badass, cousin!! Hah, rascal, you planned it eh?"

"Y'could say," Came Jerr's reply through a dap, "But straight-up I got other plots." He peered at passing groups of 20-somethings, and the dudes among them cheering. They'd 'Woo' or shoot him a down gesture, he'd hit 'em back with an A-OK sign but at junk-height. Rod swaggered with him back to the table, where Jerr half-headbanged onto the glass of his, drinking deep. The burn in his gut was grand; the balls of his got so low for any bro's esteem they could almost swing depsite his size.

Rod got a booster shot of 'smooth' from the exhibition; he watched Jerr's fifth limb flick while monkey teeth grabbed the rim and tilted up, where his li'l system took the brunt in no time. The bird had words. "You do you! And that doesn't mean 'go fuck yourself'."

Omar would've set back into snickers, but feeling half-bad over earlier he stifled it with Stoney on the way. The guy was more on-edge than before, but yelling in the kitchen had caused this. Walking faster meant he bounced more, a bit stockier than his apron had first hid. Rod's drink joined their table and Stoney did his duty towards Omar. "You ready to decide?"

Kangaroo nodded. "Just gimme Limoncello inside strawberry shake. Jumbo. I got beach dreams right now so I'll do what I can." Rod took a small taster-sip of Will's, the mole said "K" and was back in a fastwalk to the counter. Jerr polished his off, licked his peachfuzzed lips and looked on. Will sent a judgement out one corner of dark lips. "Stress has him by the gooch. I wonder how a gent like that unwinds." This and the pill's half had his brain in overdrive... Arteries below, in zested pump.

"I know how he will." Jerr flatly offered. He got up again, less than forty seconds after setting down. "If he comes out soon, order me up what Rod has. It's good-lookin' shit." One livation down, and the bike he'd leaned onto the table he unleaned and remounted. This time he just took it 'round his buddies, doing small tricks to stay a part of things.

Will gave them a topic. "Let's dig... Name your biggest moments of shame or embarrassment. Cock out with it." He didn't slur yet, but the change in character wasn't undetected. Omar showed a countenance like he wasn't sold on the idea.

... Then, Rod was the opposite, more than fine with non-sequiturs. "Hahah. My nephew, he's gaga for games, loves to include me. First time he asked me to help him on one, he'd got stuck on New Super Mario Wii. I took the controls, and proceeded to die and die. And die." His eyes rolled enough to show the capillaries. "I just put the joysticks down and hid my face. I can ignore plenty of things; a tickled, unsympathetic kid ain't one of them."

Omar sat nonplussed. "What a tribulation." He jutted out his bottom lip and blew up where his scalp tuft danced. "You next, poser." He referred to Will as the one who posed it, and didn't mind the extra meaning. Natch.

Will reached over slow, and plucked one hair from the boyo's blue coif quick. He spoke through the reactive jerk and scowl. "As you wish. My first car was Dad's gift at 16, a gunmetal-hue Corvette. I mean so rich a grey you could swear they liquefied rifles and made lacquer from them. I gave thank-you hugs, got in the pilot seat and backed it out the driveway, by papa's approving face." He paused a sec, while another jogger passed. An ibex male with more chest than his slenderness suggested; he reached within millimeters of the asscrack. The guy went on ignorant of it, Rod hummed nice at the forwardness. The footballer continued. "Then a bicyclist promptly passed, swerved and lost control. Left the side panel with the hugest dent. Now it wasn't my fault, the guy drove two wheels like a tweaker drives one, I'm talkin' unicycles. But it stayed in the shop for a week... And in the meantime, guess what my loaner was?"

"Not a clue", Omar tossed back.

"A Tacoma. Slashes on its hood looked like treebark scars, I was the talk of the cul-de-sac for every wrong reason. Then Dad kept the 'Vette. His basis?" He affected an even deeper voice than typical, his pop's. "'It's not that I don't trust you. I don't trust FATE.' A genuine crock of shit, eh?"

Rod had his wings on his head, beside himself. "That licks gash, big guy! No, like, disrespect to your old man, but he sounds like a real piece o' work."

"Hah, he's an opportunist. It built his wealth but it bites my two-ton ass." He reached back; a rub or two got the guys' spitglands producing.

This of course included Jerr, popping front wheelies, even stopping short and 'humping' the ground. He was behind Will, and his lifestyle had his baby blues focused on Will's strong back, not as much the rump, no matter the unflawed state of it. "Bro..." He cooed, reaching out while he tricked to rub Will's lat, fully hard now in his naked ride. "My go, I guess. Check this out, I was age 7, class went on a field trip to a potato chip factory. I got th' whole class kicked out, together, when I talked peers into thinkin' they could get the freshest Ruffles by sayin' the magic words and reachin' in the output funnel." Other men still watched him on the BMX; he stunted for them, it was crystal-clear the bias. "It's a long awkward bus ride back to town I bought us... Worth it though, seein' four girls and a dumbshit boy say 'hokey pokey' and cram paws into machinery. One after the other." He shook his head like a swoop, recalling sweaty shame; not a mood he often felt.

Omar started to respond. "Man I'll be honest, that's kinda weak of a tale-"

They were interrupted as a dolphin breached. In the river, no less; just another traveler, on the way upstream, but Will's empty glass tips over and rolls when he kicks the table leg from shock. Rod picks it up, Omar stares into the current... And Jerr was licking his hand, to smooth out bangs, so he alone missed it. "Wh-what, z'ere a ghost out there?"

"No, better!" Rod pipes up, not really knowing what to say. He waves it off, so the chimp won't feel left-out. "Keep eyes peeled, you might see what we did. Meh."

"Tchh, suuure. Might just be buzzed and half-kooky." He'd gotten around to Rod, and played with the bird's ear. Another wheelie, with a sick double barspin, and he set the bike down, same as before. Now, though, he left a seat empty, making Will's spine his La-Z-Boy. He draped over it chest-down; alcohol crept into the brain, the feel of low mahogany fur softened beef's contours on Will. He leaned into the now-grinning QB, whispering, licking, hugging tight as he could.

Will stood up, stable but a bit of sway,and picked up his glass. A few drops were stuck in the bottom; he walked to the riverbank, turned the glass over, and those drops hit water. "For the Baiji. HIS relative." Jerr guffawed, then sounded like remorse. Omar konked his forehead on the table, incredulous.

Stoney came out with Omar's order; Will did as Jerr asked about another drink for him, though wearing the monkey like a scarf. Jerr's lower weight meant the strength of those slurries drank came apparent. His foot found its way to Will's junk, and a jutting shape moved while kneaded by five toes. They noticed no recoil from Reince while witnessing. Rod asked for a bottle of peppermint stout; Omar just passed on an early 2nd glass. But minds and drawers were heating up. Jerr jumped down, got into Will's armbend, and sniffed like he just came up for air after deep-sea diving. He went to his knees; lust crippled him a moment. "Ffffuuuukk... Gimme that in a bottle, hulk..."

"You're getting so much more." Will's plain stating it drove Jerr and Rod's erections. The tallest ape around spoke again, after swiping his thumb on Jerr's tongue, using it to slick down the back of his mussed crew cut. "No breaking news there. Just a break-in."

Jerr put a hand on Will's leg at the kneecap; no way in hell could he ever cross that circumference. Rod's tongue went through his beakline, tasting the last of glass-one. His brain was pickling; he blurted what it took on. "Wish I still had my copy of Cho Aniki... For when we're back at the pad..."

Jerr knew instantly what he was talking about; his hand went up, pointer high. Lazily. "My maaan, that's some next-level good, there. Oiled-up gods. Ask Will 'bout it."

Rod set his dreaming eyes on Will as the ape swiftly started talking. "Hehhh, that's my speedrun fodder. I went for months and honed the skill 'til I mastered routing." He took his palm and smashed it on his chest; neither one could break. "It might stun you how much of a breeze it is to run that game genre. Except when your bulge gets so high you can't see the screen."

"Braggert", Omar tossed out, not even buzzed. Jerr had music in his head, from the game; he danced casual, emphasis on booty moves. So many muscular bods he didn't forget. Plenty of times he helped Will take care of that issue he just copped to. The feel of hot pre running down his throat, sounds of guys the size of tractors duking it out in pixel-land behind him. The Will of today had Jerr feel on his forearm, reminiscing; he flexed and lifted, and Jerr was picked up, legs swinging, boner wiggling its short self. Rod laughed the laugh of a man half-shitfaced... They sure didn't play here when it came to cocktails.

Jerr's mind ran on needs with every vein in Will's heaviness popped out. He knew where other ones lay. He also knew what it felt like to lay under that pants-ripping bulge, gulping down want while the whines came up, when Will sat open-legged and killing it on that game. Those times if he lifted up, he saw the screen's action, if not, he had mammoth black nuts on him like an eye mask. Hiding the world in earthy beanbags. Whisking nut hairs through his eyelashes. Tonight he had .07% of alcohol in the bloodstream already... And the bladder felt a change, oncoming purge. "B-bro, I gotta go ask Stoney where the boys' room is, or walk behind there 'n' stain that wall with it!"

Will guffawed, loving his own imaginings from the telling Jerr did. "Go for it, creamsleeve." He let Jerr down, sent him off with a spank to the buns. A smack so loud it made the river currents jump. Jerr yowled a squeal, monkey tones dominant from a guy so not. He set off to the counter, and though he'd told the truth, he told a portion of it.

Back with Rod, he got giddy. Reached under the table, gripped Omar by the knee. Put the hand over tan fur and the shape of bony flesh. Omar let him, but brushed at his face impatient. He would take a while to get that soused. Will's inebriation grew, pulling up his shirttail, tying a knot. His six-pack was now everyone's business. The bulge, never invisible, had more to it now than ever. Chubbed at the older men who now ran past, head down, headed for a sports bar. Will spoke at the 'roo. "Hey Blue-McRoo, say I ask that you guess their anti-size. Could you do it?"

Instantly confusion was on Omar. "First, call me that again and you get to be in surgery. Second, fuckin' what?"

"HAAH!! I mean the backdoor, its depth. I'm pegging they're a ten, eleven-inch cave. Roomier if there's toys the wives don't find." He bit the fire out his lip. Rod formed an 'O' with beak and just traced Omar's leg firmer. Higher up, near thighmeat, where bone was buried in a mass grave made hop-muscle. The kangaroo had shine on his pierced ears from the moon rising; he felt the first of a buzz, and let the bird in on the party downstairs. Rod's eyes fluttered, not able to see under the table but as right about the scope of that tapered dick as a blind man about his house's layout. Omar felt white feathers in the scooping of his snake; it grew, and Rod's already leaked its lube out his 5. None of Will was dry, aware of all this. He reached on his blessed equipment and 'picked himself up', so obvious in motive. Jerr's asshole was across from them, in the open as he crowded the counter, chattering at Stoney who rinsed out an ice machine. Rod assumed it was down to asking where he could hold his cock and spray male piss in a bowl made for it.

What was coming out his drawling mouth were these morsels: "Hey bro-face, we heard some bad vibes earlier, I hope you ain't in a Hate's Kitchen sitch." He put it quiet, where Joe would be unawares. "You run a good ship, if taste's any test." His tail lay at his neck, wrapped over and up his skinny curves, scratching at a mosquito welt. He still managed to style it up.

Stoney approached with a smile more real than put-on; he had a cloud on his nose from leaning in a freezer case. "Don't mind him. He lost the lottery last week and it's wore on him, he bought the Lambo in his mind already."

"Heheh!... Hey can you pour me a Remy shot? Ain't here for a break from the gang, just nosy 'bout yerr ice palace." Small talk from his huge mouth. "Lovin' these machines, you never see 'em in a Best Buy."

"Whatever bakes your cake. Comin' right up!" He reached under the counter; in his bending the backside was obvious, two hills of junk-in-trunk. If Jerr was Will he'd be climbing that partition to meet and greet. He still squirmed, seeing hair ride high from the gap splitting shirt and khakis. Stoney righted himself and filled a shotglass; he worked there and still loved watching the fluid, smoky ripple. "You were stupid-good out there bikin', my friend. I got an uncle who rode UCI championships, 2013, he never pulled off those stalls. Been at it a while?"

Jerr put his head sideways, then slow back square like cocking a gun. "Facts. My fam took me at age 6, I picked it out. They said I's too little for a set like that, I said there's no size I can't ride." He looked through the top of his peepers, hunched down, face over the shotglass. His lips parted, latched on the rim, tipped it up and made it history. He kept pulling in and had it full-inside the maw; when he set it back down it was clean as a whistle, not a speck there. And topend-down. Stoney knew he didn't see one move in that jawline. The mole's birthmark scrunched with his impressed stare. He knew warmth in his face when he felt it, flushed like he'd been drinking instead.

"I tell ya, find the right street course, you can be that!" Jerr encouraged, fist reaching out, commissioning a dap. Reince felt more than fine with returning it. He chanced to look beyond, still a working man, seeing Will and the other boys. They closed in on each other; hard to tell where the playfights ended and glomping began. Jerr's tail swung across the view like windshield wipers.

"You saying you wanna take and teach me?" Stoney said it with hope. Intent.

Jerr's tongue clicked, the 'voltage' in his blue orbs growing. Two things down low were blueing up equal. "I said nothin', cat." He reached to his ear, grabbed it, flashing all the signals. "I do gotta ask where's a bathroom. Pressure's built. I might be there a while, hangin' it." He knew the pleasant guy would get what he'd hang. Even this had two meanings.

Stoney lost the war of wills to everything Jerr let slip. He had it on his brain; this monkey would stand loose for a leak, emptying. And the skills, the want, he just maybe started wondering about. He ran a hand on his mole neck, testing the temp. "Funny you ask, It's my time for a lunch break. It'd be easier to show you."

Across the footpath, Will was in leaning stance atop Omar, showing him types of tackles that would bring him down on the field. Omar's back held up to even those amount of pounds; Will's drunkening ass knew this to be the case. The 'roo laughed hearty, got hotdogged through the clothes in which Will packed fat salami. Demonstration turned to play. The moisture grew, none of it sweat now, all clear. Omar palmstruck the table like he 'tapped out'. His tail wrapped on the railing behind, steady as he goes. Rod was back from the action, reaching under shirt again; it came off as he pulled up, and he wrapped it on Omar's face. "Surpriiise, air raid drill! Lights out! " He'd seen too many Looney Tunes shorts; the other denizens around saw more of his succulent chest buds than they'd ask for, deeper tan than the shot Jerr had downed alone. None of the three waited on him.

Rod's feathered hand twisted his own pec button; He couldn't bear it any longer and leapt up on Will, a triplicate now of morons with hair and hardons. Will ripped the front of his pants just puttin' moves on Omar. The tapered-dick 'roo felt flesh start hitting that, and the slide turned to a push. In. He embraced it and the back of a chair. "Shi-iit... Never had this kinda night, workin' the PAper... Shop..." Named his last temp job while he moved with Will's anal punch. He and a bunch of teens back then handling supplies for surveyors, contractors etc. and all they did was go bowling once. Never pry each other's cheeks open from a baseline of enjoying man time, sharing fight stories to inner wants then making good on the latter. He felt burn at the navel; Will's massive rod gave him cramps, and the balls to chase a dragon if that got him deepdicked here for longer.

Rod huffed; he could contain nothing. "Same as fuck... No day where I was washin' windows had me this ready t' spill." He shortened words a little more, throbbed a tad quicker. His hand had swept from chest to midriff; there was dark rich carpet to rustle on the way to downtown. Will didn't care he was parting up that 'roo in front of God and everyone; why should the bird stop from pawing his own member, putting the girth in grip. So it was. He flogged that maleness, watching Will put more and more hip fire into it. Rocking the table, bending seatback that Omar clung to for dear bloodshot life. Omar's pouch filled with a mound where that ape cock hit it HARD. Belly distention. Rattling his smokes and other effects. Gearing up and savouring.

Joe had been stocking mint pistachio, far end of the kitchen. His helper and Jerr slipped right by. He heard the timeclock's beeping and took a part of the implied as being all of it. "Have fun playing on your phone", he needled Reince, who had his ears turned off to coyotes. Jerr's tail slipped in last through the thick white door, to a sparkling lavatory. Stoney started to take his pants down; Jerr shoved his thin arms in the way and did it himself. Undid the clasp. Bent sweet and close with monkey core, sliding down a khaki zipper. Got a good whiff of collar; the scent Stoney dabbed on, laced with backsmell of a man's pores trying to break through. Stoney put a hand on Jerr's asscheek, rolled over it. Pinched. He was boiling inside, and only now did he realize his problem. Jerr reached in, found a wall of briefs. Reached into that, and found the widest filler.

It was no joke to say a power line pole's glass shielder wasn't this thick. 2-liter bottles were less in width. Jerr's audio brought heat to join desperation; he was starving for it, two seconds into knowing what this hunk grew in his adolescence. Monkey voice wailed just low enough to stop at the locked door. Stoney wanted this so, and still choked back his fright, the sour anticipation. He was so fat and full there yet soft, in the chimp hand that held while Jerr slid down his gutcurve. Fuzz at Jerr's moustache line felt marvelous, and he could even ignore dreading how the subby thing reacted. Jerr was on his kneecaps the tenth time that day, the first only for a public worker. He licked lips, opened wider than Jake's friend Slips around Thanksgiving turkey. He no more cared about the state of that incredible dong than he wanted Stoney to.

An inch at a time. He acclimated swift, and the taste scrambled his brain, SO impossibly good. Salted like the best bag of chips. Tender as a T-bone. still pulsing with the mole's living force, this tool his testo bought him. Instrument for the joy Jerr worked in that server. It didn't have to be a steel flagpole; heaven still hit the mole's sense from each and every flick. Jerr's tongue whipped under both sides. Gumline did what that licker inside him couldn't hope to reach. Stoney's hand sat under the blue cap, tousled brown hair curls. "Ohhhh-" he groaned, not used to this. Not from the best he ever knew before. "Down the haaaatch, guy... Fffffuck mee..."

Jerr's B-flat groanhum was all that dick could take, so much meat to hold the note and not shoot flaccid. Jerr held onto Stoney's short legs; bobbed on it, which the mole gasped over. So much newness here. Jerr tasted the cut line where Reince'd been snipped. It was wavier than Will's cut; it collected salt and natural taste like margaritas Stoney'd serve others. Jerr paused breathing on the head's bottoming-out, both nostril's back passage cut off. He made a way to respire between dives; such was his way. So rare had he struggled to, and with this knowledge he flogged his poor twink dick, beat red by the friction. Jerking off hard as any time in months while tending a dick he could tell didn't get its fair service... Not tonight though. He ached in both sides of chin, no man was made to open so far. Stoney staggered, his back hit the tile wall. Jerr stayed latched on and never skipped a dip. Out and back in his head guided. Up and down went Stoney's chest with true ecstacy's arrest.

Will's monster had the pouch on Omar open, shut, open, like it talked. Beating in the other side. Pummeling that pink ring. Any more force and he'd turn Omar's dyed scalp grey. The meatiest hand around, Will's callouses along it, found Omar's ear and its piercings. Teased what he knew would be sensitive. Omar groused but it was spun by pleasure. He itched in his crack where the steel wool of ape's dickhair scrubbed it out. He barely held air in his lungs, Will's reamwork shuttled it right out. One ape's hand pet the ear at its jeweling. His other vicegripped a male kanga'breast so hard it bruised.

Stoney shuddered on the chilly wall, monkey below turning that head, putting four moves into every dive on him, often five. Bliss was insane. He blew out sprays of roped spit just taking it, never mind what flowed in a creek from Jerr's DSL and down the sack which simmered sperm. He still wasn't hard; it didn't matter a smidge. Jerr's ass rolled in waves that twinned his neck motions. Stoney couldn't view it, his bod was out of his control. The li'l chimp found a way to power bottom with oral. He smelled that Reince showered sparingly; this meant a buildup of the most direct musk. Jerr's twinkesss curved at the flat belly, the apex of surrender.

Stoney/Reince had his own way of pessimism; he never quit enjoying but had to apologize. "Sorry, it won't make it to firm... Jus'... How I am..."

This Jerr could tell... And in-kind, he knew a man who could shoot off soft when he tasted one. Tongue tumbled, lips held a suck like it could have been the mole's first though it wasn't. But he wanted so bad to make this all-good for the bashful bro. Confident as Jerr lived, he had traits to leverage here. He forced willpower to pop his mouth off the prize. Replacing with his hand, keeping Reince in dire stimulance, he rocked his pelvis to put the goods forward. "Face down to me, duuude... I know it's a chore, but you'll wanna, swear to Gawd. Trust yerr jizzcatcher."

Stoney did want to trust the sucker. This wasn't nebulous, he'd gave himself over already. When he did make his chin dip, he found something alright; very little. Jerr knew he lived with a small one perpetually; now an anxiety-riddled man knew this fact too. It debuted a smile with teasing edge on Stoney's face. "Well, well... We all have a drawback..." He spoke though approaching the edge, Jerr's paw doing dirty.

The capped monkey did what he so seldom would; he blushed. "S-sure as you got more to play with, maaan... I'm used to it, fine as can be. I see my best G' out there though, the gorilla y'know, and when he sways... I sweat. Love him so much, and I can still wish..." He only half-exaggerated. Will's blessings might as well be his, all of them. No more to be said. Jerr's hunger retook them, and Stoney was beholden to a deeper suck than the first of this. Prose can't carry how hard Stoney sighed, getting there, more and more, his bigger softness pumping nervefire, balls pulling up to his taint, rank with guysweat...

Omar squealed. Will struck his gland like lighting a match, over and fucking over. Shoved his greedy baller hand in the 'roo's mouth, ordered him to suck fingers. Omar jumped out his skin when every cockshove landed; Will's monster feet kept them right where they were. Rod stroked with one hand, teased the head with the other. He couldn't keep it in. Neither could Will... He put a faultline in the ground, shook the table, Rod's sinuses, Omar's very world. "FFFFUUUUCK YOUR ASS, BOY!!"

It was less a flood, more a damn lahar. Omar screamed and bit his gum; cursing hard, never thinking he'd be sub to this torpedoed job. He hurt so deep and flung swears that could get construction guys fainting. He nearly did, chestmeat pressed hard in Will's ballgrabber, his ear pinched in the other. Giant throbbing mass put what felt like gallons in him. Will loved men like Jerr in amount, but in diff practice, moulding their needs. Sculpting innards. He had fangs and used them, gnashing at Omar's neck. Turned a chunk red. Good that Will's legs were strong as his everything; Omar's simply gave out as he gave in.

"Ohhh-hh-hhDUDE!!" Stoney went to his own heaven in that restroom cubicle. Jerr's artful doing brought the first shots to speed out. They had momentum, flaccid ways couldn't rob. Jerr's tongue fluttered, his throat sent it all to gastric place. He made more noise than Reince, addict for the salty flow, needy in his soul for it. Proud for every tadpole taken. He manipulated his own, three fingers for the few inches, and had one last sullen sound while on that dick, his kindly urge to grow somehow. Wouldn't happen. He would always serve these fuckers, and his blasts of monkey seed messed Stoney's work slacks at the ankles. Heavier and heavier. He could always fire off like the man he was. The shoes and slacks wound up webbed with hot mess.

He pulled back, no less lip sucking there than before the O' and its surge. He opened eyes, lowered face a bit, booped Stoney's mega-head with snout, stared at its perfect hang. Admired thickass manhood, its state now after discharge. Moleman's dick, flopping when he heaved a breath, still trying to process the good he'd been put through. He reeled. His arm locked on a silver bar, the one behind him meant for handicapped guys who had to 'go'. Jerr shot him a wink and a tongue flip; the mole'd have trouble walking normal a while, alright.

Nothing like Omar would, though. He splayed across the table, gut down and flattened, elbow out, face behind its pit. Will gazed down his own chest hair from a leanback; the 'roo leaked. Whimpered. Showed himself to be everything he hadn't before, the gung-ho was gone. His asshole gunked with untold shots, it could only drop splatters. Will fondled his own chest mountains, as if all manpower in him lived there. He listened for the *splat* at every thick drip. Omar's hole took on the look of a Hot Pocket, only ten times as appetizing. So it was that Will went low; muscles in his back rolled as he stuck his head where the sun don't shine. Omar's butt acreage was earmuffs. He did what Jerr loved so hard he threw false gestures with every limb when it happened to him: Will ate that creampie like a starving sugar fiend.

Omar's bitch moans cleared the area. Those that hadn't gagged and left at first held their ears and vacated. But even service came at a price apt for the ape; Omar snarled in a scream, one eye open like a king named K. Rool, when he got bit a next-level hickey on the battered pink. Will had the teeth to leave a scar on the sarcastic fucktaker, and that he did.

Joe at the cleanup station fiddled around with Apple's Settings menu... Never mind that he was deep into what he chided Reince for, wasting time with phones. Better than checking up on the revelers outside and the scene they made. He'd already rang the cops. Never mind also that there was stumbling behind him, he just assumed the mole sampled their own liquid wares. He didn't hear too well with his schnozz buried in the gadget, since again, two sets of footpads were around. Reince spoke less than nothing, it would seem, and Jerr waited wisely 'til he was out the front of the counter, in case a coyote's ears up and decided to switch on again. "Duuude, not gonna be thirsty a while. If I'm sayin' that, Tom Cruise can say depression matters. Hahaa!!" He did a dance, still a man with 0.14 alcohol to account for within. It would be diluted though, as much as he just took down the cakehole. He got an idea, leaning on the counter while a stumbly Stoney did the same from opposite. "You got liquor cakes here? I wanna say it's a safe bet." He tended to talk softer; just feeling sperm swirl inside his gut was a pacification like no other. Excpeting, of course, the ache of his jaw. That thing had been two monsters holding hands as far as he'd felt accomodated.

Stoney slurred; he would for days, at this glowing rate. "House special, Key Lime rum tart. I'll wrap it up nice for ya." Well that would be unlike how it had just shaken out.

"Solid. Meet me back at the table, I gotta get th' chumps in gear to leave. There's this hunch we're on borrowed time." He nodded slight as the Tower of Pisa's lean to Joe's checked-out self.

Stoney/Reince nodded, knowing. "I'll throw in some Haika bread. It's a family heirloom, great with chipped beef. Eat it off your go-rilla." He chuckled, richer than rich. His junior-daddy cock swung behind the apron, fleshier than it had hung since time immemorial. Closer to a monument. Then under a chiller machine, to a plastic tote, inside of which were linen napkins. He took out a wicker basket; it was still steaming, Jerr saw, lips licked. "I make it every day at U, they can't get enough. Shame it doesn't translate well to frozen bites. Sure gets chess club less growly."

Now, Jerr's monkey ass caught the best news yet. Better than Stoney's turnaround, better than his size. Their school's culinary program and chess fans had one face he could pick out in any crowd after tonight. Moreso if it was looking up at the crowd on his primate kneecaps.

Stoney handed him the basket. Jerr's petite hairy hand had sure grip, even as it shook from enduring pleasure. On the linens inside, under crisp, porous loaves of leavened bread, was a phone number.

This guy could be smooth.

A wink, some warm notes of 'See ya, beast-D' and the loosest happiest walk from a monkey who lived that way regardless closed them out. Joe just then felt secure enough to shoot them the look. It called for hellfire; Jerr got to the table, admired Omar's slow recovery and his 'fuck' and 'goddamn' barrage, and Will's brief tale of how he opened up paradise and closed it with a crunch. Jerr called for them to head out. "Don't look now bro's, but if we don't leave our shadows here they'll cuff and hold us."

Will rolled humongous eyes. "There's no bedposts nearby, so I'll nix the notion." He looked at the two parcels Jerr held, one basket and one cake, and did mental meth. "Logic tells me there's a hundred-percent chance one of those isn't virgin. So the beat goes on, at our dominion."

"Suuuure-'nuff!" Jerr supplemented. He focused to Rod, who was funnily last to zip up. "Watch it w' junior, man, he'll raw hisself good if you think o' what I know went on when I was in the can." This was experience speaking.

Rod blew positive acknowledgement through his beak, moist as it was. Will reached in his pants, they just now rewarmed to his body temp after a spell at his ankles; fist into his jockstrap, then out with a few bills, all embossed with Benjamin Franklin. Time now to leave, quick and careful. They all got to watch one final treat on the staggering, zigzaggy stroll back to the car: Jerr rode his bike no-hands, but slow, preserving tart and bread AND his face from falling to stone ground. They didn't get destroyed, his snout didn't get bloodied, while three dudes followed at 2 MPH. The manboi had skills. Plus, impetus... They'd all be getting more tossed off of lime in the frat pad sooner than soon.

...... 'Comfort' was the word for getting home in one piece, uninjured, unarrested. So they all breathed easier walking in the door, to the crusted beautiful innards of college home. The single sour tone was Omar cussing at Will, still hurting right where the bite took place. Will slapped his back, massaged it and told him to piss off with the urge to be mollycoddled. Omar would've punched him back, but why break his hand on raw strength. He'd need it to jack off later, thinking of that footballer. Rod belched the words "Hey, Quentin", in the middle of the four-strong pack, thinking he'd get a 'Yo' back. Nothing so far. He looked at the half-killed can of Pabst on the near-table, and wanted a buzzfeeder, so he considered it fair game and downed the rest. Then he said with actual voice "Marco". There wasn't a 'Polo' sent back. He looked up at Will. "Did the Langoliers come through here'rr somethin'? He's never away at times 'ff no class, an' no game an' a stocked fridge."

Will slurred a bit less than him, but it occurred alright. "I know him less, so you're th' familiar one. You have legs, you can check 'round while we spoil this cake."

"Uh-uh, ohhh no." Rod got his balls in his chestfeathers, as it were. "I've fell for that before." Omar, still drunk, nevertheless began to sweat. Jerr took neutral ground and opened the napkin flaps over the bread Stoney gifted. It looked like naan, maybe closer to pita. Something Baltic. He copped a piece and took it to his mouth for a nibble.

As he swirled it for a taste, Rod felt argumentative. "I always had to check on that fool, make sure he di'n't drown in his own upchuck. Yerr stronger'n any of us, dude, you can drag your concrete ass in there while I dig into this rummy nummy."

Omar took a break from being nervous to laugh. Jerr blew crumbs out accidentally, doing the same. Will just mugged at the silly damn rhyme of that bird's, above this intellectually. He gave some other thoughts. "I can make it worth your while. How 'bout a show, with Omar here, I'm horned up heavy from how he took me and I'm a hobbyist. Once is instance, twice is a hobby-hhheheh!" He skewed into snicker.

Then Omar cut him off more than that did. NO way would he get his asshole plugged again tonight, so overfucked from ONE time as bottom for Will he felt close to herniating. "DON'T try it. If you even blow air on there, King Dong, you're next in line for nanner reduction surgery."

Jerr had actually missed this, so the laughs weren't from him; mouth was chewing bread anyway. His twink belly drew in, compartmentalizing zesty carbs. "G's, I'mma leave you some o' this, you'll wanna get it while it ain't gone. Stoney's family cooks, I mean it!"

"Yeah in a minute, cutie." Rod seemed bothered. Missing the tortoise didn't mesh with his stupor. Omar's sweat deformed his blue hairstyle.

Will vouched for his monkey bro, and what he loved knowing went down, the perceptive stud. "Alms from a cute mole who had Jerr in the lavatory for a pow-wow. And I see by the chapped cheeks, a gargantuan rodeo."

Chimp-dude snickered subbily. The distracted kangaroo did what he would've thought first, if sober. "Here I'll check in there, I's with Quentin longest today." Ohhh shit, it already didn't sound that great. If God forbid nothing had changed and Q' didn't wake up...

... Q's green plods stumbled in the den, scaring the living daylights out of Omar and startling the other three, noisy as he spazzwalked. Omar settled down instantly though, calmer than he had been; no ER visit, no headstone for the shellback. Quent' looked less-than-good, though. One eye was red as a beet, the other perfectly fine. He stood about as tall and steady as Jack fuckin' Sparrow.

Will lifted the lime tart, 'toasted' with it like a beer. "Rough day, I'm hypothesizing?"

Quentin said nothing. Then he jeered, with whooshes. Then he made his way to talking. "I'm... Never better... Boys, I'unno..." Omar got anxious again, waiting for what he got at with this. "Feels like... Dogcatchers napped me..."

Jerr joked, seeing nothing nonordinary. "Brown liquor. Been there seen that. Do it to it, big-nuts." He licked lips, the crumbs and thoughts of crotch both called for tongue.

Quentin, as he was, dazed and truly confused, just agreed. "I don't... Shit I'unno. More likely than fuck-all-else. Coulda fell 'n' passed to blackout, won't be the first." He held a hand up and knocked his temple with a palm at its gnarliest. The eyes rolled around, he blinked a bit, and was now merely drunk as all hell in action. He pointed to the round tray in Will's mitt. "Whazzat? Looks like so'm scrumptious."

Omar was fully chilled now. They wouldn't find out after all. He breathed relief; getting off scot-free renewed him in doing better and not living out some antagonizing turd. He dropped his tail to the couch, took care of one discomfort, the shoes. Untying each, he popped them off. "It's that alright, up your alley to the N'th degree. Hair of the dog, y'know, with lime."

"Yeeahhh!" Quent' showed more enthusiasm now than two apes saw even last night with their fighting-tourney. So much for fearing he was sick. He put his thumb out toward the kitchen. "I'll grab Coronas. Omar, y' sss-salt me with what's in those Converse, hehhheh."

Rod rolled his face muscles in queasiness. Jerr, though, had the opposite reaction. Omar peeled a sock off, then the other one... There was a long way to go with each desleeving. So much foot, and all of it had male sweat, of which Jerr would never be unaware. The smarmy 'roo spoke out about his troubles. "Daamn, always glad to go naturale on the walkers. Goddamn shoe stores never carry my size, and I'm callin' it specist. Ain't like we're dying out."

Jerr had set the basket cautiously down... He had spindly tail in the air, balancing a sneak. Being all about it, like a solo hyena stalking prey. Omar didn't know yet the boi's talent there... He was prying the second sock off, looking where he tossed it into a corner, before he felt a tickle on his other foot and almost jumped out his skin. Apparently some nerves from his predicament early hadn't all sank to dust... But leave it to Jerr to finish the job.

He had wet, red oral muscle stuck on the sole. Gliding up the lines in the 'roo foot. Finding the pit where they joined toes. Missing not a speck in the valley. Omar's mouth relaxed, his irises rolled back. It pleased in a way totally new to him; he'd had footworship, never like this. Jerr's scruffy trace of a moustache teased his nailbeds down there, right before toes were took in and sucked. Will let Rod have the tart, he needed both hands to work his nightstick while he watched. Rod tried not to watch, seeing Quentin go around them instead while cracking the Mexican beers that fit perfect their dessert. He started to fail avoiding, though... God bless Jerr, his dedicated self made this look good. Almost tempting... Rod's drunken brain connected more and more dots.

Jerr felt the wind on his asshole, poked out while he worshipped Omar's foot. Opened up and took half the whole thing, then retreating to the sound of Omar's "Ohh fuuuuck lookat'chou man!!" The wind was Rod moving in. The carpet crunched as he got to his knees. The kangaroo had two feet, now he had two workers. Jerr glanced over just to see the beak dart a tongue out, do all the bird could to please and it was plenty enough. Omar's ears tapped a metal sound on the couchback he pinned them so fast and fervent, all joy. He ordered Rod around that full, giant foot. He didn't have to say shit to Jerr, the little guy was drowning himself in toes and suckling at a heel. Omar's neck rolled. Will grabbed his nuts and stretched, roaring in ape language, beating an anaconda.

Quentin had been handed the tart. He leaned back and forth, dick hard now but unable to hold five beers and a pie-shape parcel. He fell, but held the tart steady, and even caught four of the five Coronas from busting. The fifth, he just ignored the break of, and immediately wrapped hand on his veined green unit, then leaned to the carpet. Through the side of his lips he drank off the burbur floor, before it could soak in and become waste. Omar reached down and pushed Rod over the widest part of sole. He laughed at the gag. He grit teeth and leaked pre handsfree, knowing he never heard the same strain from Jerr, though the bastard treated his stinkin'-ass foot like a fudgesicle.

Jerr couldn't get enough. He saw Rod get less reticent, more filthminded. He'd turned out a fellow cur into new horizons. This felt so good, more than the taste of baste from the sock that Omar towed around that night. His chops were on every curve of the foot, its residue. He noted twitches that ran far up the leg of the kanga'... He'd brought the same out of dicks more often, so he knew euphoric abandon when feeling it. Rod learned more of how perspiration thrilled him; the smell undersold the tastes, a banquet he hadn't guessed. Jerr's round cheek flesh rolled in tidal waves, anticipating. Certain Rod would swiftly close in on gushing thick ropes, from only footplay.

One thing Rod couldn't get was how the jumper got off so sweet without a finger on his dick. Omar's flex-worthy tree was high and hard as any real piece of wood; the taper swamped with clear. Rod sure had his own bird hand wrapped on himself, and Quentin and Will on theirs, and Jerr with two fingers on his tinier pistol, flooded with adrenalized love... Thoughts of all the man shit around them, their own bodies and the house itself, a stash for male hobbyist hoardes... It was too good to be true, yet it was, and Omar's jerky legs put context to the moans, the whispering 'fuck' and 'yes'. Ego punctuated. Jerr's talent drove it. He felt his manbrew leave the marble-nuts... Monkey man wriggled and put his unbeefy arms to Omar's legs, the tank guns of moving muscle... Quentin drank as he jacked, and Will's slapping nutsack was louder by mass than the rush of a deep scream at Omar's moment. "Y-YEEAHH Y' PIIIGS, RRRFHHH!!"

He sent a pearl necklace to his own fur. Jerr's batch hit the carpet, he was red in the face and heavenbound, struggling only to take this much pleasure, still on that huge foot like a shoe sized too small. Rod picked up quick how to make his tongue stand in for the beak sharpness; even Omar's kicking legs were spared laceration. Albatross yearned now for the funk; it invaded him down the throat, tinted all the booze and sweets of yesterhour. Will was hearty in glory, shouting how he got Jerr across the back, batterdipped from a meter distant. Shot that far from his enormity. White showers hit Jerr from his best ape, and some even splattered the crack, but now from Quentin. No bruise in the skull took away from schlong-power, never mind he was an athlete too. Testosterrific fuel that laid Jerr to a soaked slutty mess. The surging O'-dance from Jerr, his scraggly shape in peaking flexes, bought them all extra time on the money shots.

Omar ended up in a bath of his own hot globs; all his warmblooded real-estate steamed it up to bake it in. Will's chest showed veins the girth of carrots, and his cumblasting meat pumped near to that level of dermal pipes. Jerr gazed over one time to the show of tensile might in his busom bro, and he was nowhere but perfect inside.

Once it wound down, there was cleanup. Jerr would have full gut and stink of cum for a while, and their rubs of gratitude stuck with him in tingle-form. Thus, Quentin shared the lime treat with Will, and Rod took off a slice... In thirty minutes' time the gorilla was standing like a hurricane moved in on him, but never fell. Quent' got giggly and dumb, nothing queer to report - oldtime meaning - about that. They were even all talked in to the Trivial Pursuit game, auto edition. Will thought he would run rings around them, having family that collected makes and models with the money to burn. Omar figured he would sweep the board, and gloated off each point gained like a sore winner. It was Rod that took the day, however. Sports Car mags, I.E. reading them ad-infinitum when he helped his sister niece-sit, at last had their time to make good. Quentin fumed, losing bad with a burgeoning 0 points. He decided he hated shit with wheels anyway, so, no harm done.

Night fell while they busied themselves with each other, appreciating, drinking, puffing, murdering the tart. Before they knew it, yawns were there and contagious. There was plenty to sleep for; classes plus a new item for Will to do alone; it would be Wednesday. The only one of the year he donned a smear of ash on his forehead, what it said of devoutness. Beginning of Lent.

They retired to their rooms, or in Will and Jerr's case, on the springy couch. A bed of their own could wait... Less room to move meant more being crunched into each other, close as fucking hell. Rod telling them goodnight was the last they said before they all fell out.

... But most of them would live inside dreams that night. It could have been the sugar... Maybe just a fluke, or the moon's phase. They had visions and wild scenes their brains painted, and Rod was first to feel it come on.

He tossed and turned, prone on his mattress, eyes shut. Within him it all came together:

The car was on its last leg, cruising up with a sputter and Rod within it. His scraggly chin hairs had included the popping-out of grey and white; the first smattering of age for a man's mid-30's. He checked his mirrors, though he was already on the road. In fact he was nearly there... They needed adjusting as the loud knock in his muffler jigged them out of place more and more. Before he knew it, there he was, pulling into the driveway. In twelve years the house hadn't changed. Two-bedroom hovel with character, no damage, not even any dirt or faded siding; this was less than realistic, but everything looked a slight bit ethereal... He wouldn't notice. The driver's-side door creaked like it cried as he opened it; so too did the front door of the old homeplace, as she stepped out the moment his footweb hit the gravel drive. Her hair was frizzed; she had a smokey pattern at her eyes. He'd never seen her in makeup. His niece wore it well, and thinking back on the memories from times past, cheerios and Nick Jr., he smiled like he hadn't in all those years betwixt.

_ He did so alone, though. He walked toward her, crunching rocks underneath, but the distance didn't seem to shrink. At least not until she made her way down the stoop, and came for the welcome... Which, by her curt demeanor, the impatient flair, didn't look as straightforward as it should have. He opened his mouth to say hello; it didn't make a sound. She spoke, and it flowed as if her blond, developed, winged self had memorized a soliloquey. "I don't suppose you got the text I sent, huh. I changed my mind. You might have come to see her, but she doesn't run the house now. I bought it off her. I'm fixing it up, she's in no condition to."_

_ Rod's eyebrow twisted confoundedly. He tightened at the throat. So much he needed to ask, now, on top of the 'hi'. He got nothing above a stammer out. She carried on._

_ "She's asleep anyway. Those medications knock her out, more than the sickness. I'm not waking her up to see the likes of you. Maybe you can convince her when I'm at work, and she calls you up again, believing you're anybody who makes things better."_

_ Desperate, Rod broke through the paralysis of this odd state, and said one thing. "I'm her brother! I just want to be here-"_

_ "I KNOW what you want." She yelled now, and his stature's dizzying was by it. She had hands on her hips, elbows out, like she protected the place and her mother. "And how you lied. I don't remember a thing you said you did, Rod. Not one. All that filler about keeping me safe, bashing the TV when it static'd and failed, making egg sandwiches... Those were some baby's-first tall tales, bucko. You coulda dreamt them up over a beer one night, and you did. While you probably fucked your way through a biker bar the same day."_

_ Now, Rod was truly confused. Getting scared. He didn't know where all this sourced from but one thing was certain, she wasn't cooling down. More and more she fluttered at the lips, talking faster. "I read the goddamn news, buddy. You've been on it three times this week. 'Unidentified man, public indecendy. No ID on the suspect, lewdness charge'. They've booked you a few times, it said as much, but the rest?... You piece of shit. How dare you drag our family name through the mud. Maybe you don't have eyes that work right anymore, old man, but you see this baby bump?" She poked out her stomach, and sure enough, it had the telltale rotund profile. He wanted to cry for too many reasons. "She isn't coming in this world to find you around her. I'll do this right. My mother may have been weak enough to trust you, but I'll see her AND you locked under the prison before I watch my daughter grow up knowing we deal with any of this! What kind of lady associates with some cockgoblin who treats public like his own personal bathhouse? Go! Get in your car. GO!!"_

_ Rod realized he couldn't convince her. He had been there for her as a kid but she wouldn't receive it. He couldn't tell her not to let her baby come first. He couldn't appeal to how he was family. In her eyes he would never be. She was 'phobic, mistaken, overguarded, angry, amnesic. And he was never going to see her or his family again, and all because he didn't keep his gay happiness out of the world at-large. He started falling..._

... And he woke up shaking. His whole body jerked, lying on his side. His pupils went every which way, processing... He was safe in the frat house. Dark and still. He breathed in, held it for four seconds, let it out. His heart slowed back to regular. He knew fast that none of it was real. No part of it had consequence... And yet, of the change in him, he had started to perceive these past few days... The coming out of his shell, perhaps careless, even down to whipping it out behind two men in a pharmacy, in a parking lot... At the wide-open boardwalk, no less... He closed his eyes again, and couldn't return to sleep. Not if he didn't think it through. There was so much good in what his bro's were doing for him; that's not to say it wouldn't come back to haunt his future. This nightmare brought gravitas.

He made a silent pact, repeated it in his head a few times, just so it wouldn't turn to vapor when he drifted off again. Which he did, steadily, and the starlight brought no more trouble.

Across the hall, Quentin snored soundly on his air mattress. He didn't concern himself with any dreams; he didn't have any. The concussion saw to that. It would heal in time.

In the den, a wrapped-together monkey and ape sawed logs. Jerr's foot twitched. His nose soon did this also. In his sleep, a story of his own unfolded...

They were all over him, three broadshouldered human hombres. Dressed different, in the garb of what they all were: construction foreman. Bodybuilder. A street-rap artist. Tight tank-top on the first under a hard hat, above a harder slab of monster thickness. No shirt for the second, a jeri-curl on his darkskinned cranium and leopard-print short shorts, for a man whose pecs could slice cheddar they were so sharply fine. The last had loose threads, white shirt and baggy denim, but had something longer than Will could boast, in the cradle of going commando. It hung below the cuff of those blue cutoffs, peeking head. They all bound him up in standing PDA. Sucking his earlobe, flexing on his poor crowded snout. Pinching his ass. Pulling his tail, to tingle the asshole. He cackled, they called him shit like 'cool boy', 'fairy', 'cock monkey'. Recognizing his split life between twink and real guy. He was in the greatest place.

_ Then there was a change. He had reached down and fondled the rap star, but he lost the guy's shaft, and couldn't relocate it. Nowhere around the bottom of the shorts it poked from. The bodybuilder's mass stayed, the part composed of chest, thick neck, arms that outclassed Hercules... But his leopard shorts went looser. Less hilled. And the foreman, his bulge in the long jeans crusted with dirt and cum... It too took a vacation, for parts unknown. Jerr's concentration broke. He felt around, quicker by the minute. There didn't seem to be... ANYthing now._

_ "You like it?" asked the bodybuilder. "It's been that way. You just didn't notice."_

_ Jerr didn't get a bit of this. Nonsensical turns, like the albatross in the other room, but he could not find why. He just knew there had been dick, and now..._

_ "Don't you know?" blasted the foreman, voice like a saxophone. "We're transitional. Not like, real trans, we don't wanna change sex. There's a lot more to wish away than gender, it's not about that."_

_ "Yeah, we're just tired." The rapper filled in blanks. "Lugging these cumbersome things all day. It's tough, word up. Nullo's a better look."_

_ ... Jerr squeaked, and squawked. Terrified in a hurry. Not for himself, but for them; what on Earth had they done?_

_ The bodybuilder lent more to the idea. "Just 'cause we're burly don't mean we feel right being full men."_

_ The li'l monkey scrambled, trying to grip them where it should be. He didn't think it was possible they could be right. No way in any man's mind. Frantic but getting nowhere. Panicking, getting wet under the cap._

_ "This time next week, we'll all be the same guys on the inside." The foreman said, so wrongly peacible in tone. "That means the prostate's coming out too. They just have to dig out our-"_

"GAHHHHH!!" Jerr screeched, throttling awake. He kicked Will's leg in his screaming bloody murder, and the big guy rustled, tough enough to come back conscious smoothly. Jerr's panting slowed on a curve, at first not changing then swifter in a calmdown. He needed only to perceive he was on his bro. Will sensed a problem; he felt the shape of his monkey bud, and squeezed that palookah tight. Chimp dude told it out just to let Will hear him. "H-hold me man, sorry for the freakout..." All up Jerr's back muscle, Will held his wiry maleness. Jerr sighed, and every nerve in him brought on respite to his brain. "Mmmnnphh, that's niiice..." He had his mouth up to Will's pecs. He kissed, and held his lips on there. Facing down, he felt Will's junk with his own. It was there. It was still huge. He had balls right on the shaft of a 'rilla... He moved down a click or so, and when he felt Will's nuts on his - renewing the gay, as it was always told and sweet, both - he could smile again. Nothing more was needed to put him back in dozingtown, of which he became occupant in a mere six further seconds. "Zz-zzz... Zzz..."

Will, with head higher up on the couch, taller than his best G', looked up to the ceiling. He watched the fan, one of its blades, on a swirl around the center. Hypnotized back to joining Jerr, he arrived to thoughts of his own, in a dream...

The room beat down LED light, full of two hundred spectators. Thirty reporters. Family of this year's draft picks, all up on stage. There were more pounds of beef on that elevated platform than ever before, 6- and 7-foot giants, all behind the suit-wearing grins of the rich, the jetsetters, NFL owners and rep's. Advertiser banners ran throughout the auditorium, stapled up with care. Everyone present beamed; any man to have his name called, looked forward to fortune the same as fame. Twenty-eight names so far, and a deafening applause for each of them. Shutters clicked from those holding cams for the networks. Jerseys were handed out. Corporate plugs over the 'dead air' that would have been, if they had resorted to small talk between reading off the lucky few. But it was all seamless. A polecat-type strawshaped man was at the speech podium, a mouthpiece for the owners of the New York Jets. Will stared down at the humongous beaver boy in front of him, the ass bigger than a camping cooler. He was diagonally back; Will was in the camera's view, and the fact his favourites the Colts had skipped him over was the minor-est of slights. He was finally here, this ultimate moment.

_ "This has been, just a spectacular day," the pinstriped weasel at the mike padded his part, "And we're not done yet! There's one more name, one spot on this year's roster, and I think this may be the first year there's nobody guessing who." A pandering laugh rose in the seated crowd. Cameras flashed, they didn't take a break. "He had incomparable years at his school of choice."

Will pumped up his boulderlike chest with air. He did show them what-for on the turf, rare were the losses._

_ "His overseer would go on to call him 'the greatest athlete I ever coached.' And we don't have to try and figure that out."_

_ The face of the ape was three-fourths smile, it appeared. He did remember the dragon saying similar, if not those exact words. This was his moment. His time._

_ "Yes, the incorridgable 'Bear' Bryant couldn't say it better. So straight from his ascendant ride through Alabama-"_

_ ... Wait. What was happening. Will's mouth thinned. He blinked._

_ "-Carrying the Crimson Tide to halcyon days, now to his kairos, we at the New York Jets stand proud in picking..." A man emerged from three guys to the right of Will; the invader hadn't even been there five seconds ago. He was brunette, smoky-skinned, human, famous already._

_ The weasel cleared his throat, at the same time Will's heart fell heavy out of its height at his. Here came the name. "-Joe Namath!"_

_ And it was. Fuckin' somehow, Will stood behind a young Joe. He'd either time-travelled to 1964 or this was hell. He rubbed his lymph nodes, feeling sick all the sudden. Joe was on stage to cheers and more camera light than ever before, embarking on his storied career. The beaver guy swore up and down, muttered death threats. Will didn't have the fortitude to even smack his pert ass, wish them both better. Couldn't even chub up from its perfect shape. He felt robbed. Trapped. Flaccid._

_ It got even stranger. Joe rasped at the microphone like he was in the 2010's inside, not out. "Fellas, I could make some joke about havin' a legacy. I think that's more your kinda field." Hearty laughs were elicited. "I didn't ask to be immortal in football. Not every guy gets to relive his greatness all over again. But hey, this one goes out to you Tatiana."_

_ A lot of 'awww's and faces in the room deeply charmed. Will watched young-old Joe take his jersey from the weasel guy - the same damn number from the '60s - and beam. Other hopefuls started filing off the stage, quaking the auditorium. Will couldn't budge. His jaw lay paralyzed the same, low as it could go. Then it went lower when one voice in the reporter box came clear as a bell. "Quick, get a shot of William, he's crushed! He thought he would be the choice to get in, what a riot!" Even the verbiage was old-school._

_ He misted up. He felt lighter, too, in the arms, in the belly. In his pockets. He looked down, patted them both. His wallet was thinned. Somehow he knew this meant he was broke, the family money was gone. He shriveled to one-ninety from 320 pounds. It was over. The cheers got softer, the laughing louder. They destroyed him. The people he came to rock 'n' roll, they took everything._

_ He was totally, woefully inadequate._

... Will jarred himself out of sleep. He blinked; took one of his arms off of Jerr and rubbed his head. He felt its weight better than the past few moments he'd perceived, whatever timespan they'd been. Nothing was gone and done. He didn't wig out, but was quickly placated. The draft hadn't happened. He'd JUST made the college team. Joe was still old. He snickered. Then he put that arm down on his monkey, the one rustling on his chest forest, in dreamland but having a good one now, helped by the maleness bound to him and taking up the couch with him. Will rolled his thrower-girth over the boi's spine, felt Jerr's shaft leaking on his bigger one. A good dream indeed, and he let the tame gay overtones lull him to the other side of cognizant.

In Omar's room there was very little. The floor was his for now, until he'd go to IKEA. The big box still held in smaller ones, a corrugated rose with inner petals, though tomorrow's clothes and his toiletries were unpacked from it. He lay stomach-down, his head to the side. Plush pillows weren't his speed. He hitched his knees now, so his lower legs went up or sideways, nowhere else to bend... It was racing through his noggin...

There were two pieces left to stick on. His model-Zero was a thundering success, or it thundered just from his mouth making plane sounds. Engine's roar, the eck-eck of turret guns. And he could whistle better than other 13-year-olds, holding delicately its new wooden body, tipping it down in a dive-bomb. He got it close to the other plane that had just been glued together, the cat boy's. At the last second before they'd collide, he brought it back, but mocked up the noise of explosions.

_ "Silly dude," Kyle said with a giggle. "Zeroes didn't bomb other planes, they bombed ships."_

_ "Yeah yeah." Omar rolled his eyes, but never felt called-out. It was innocent every way. He watched the Siamese kitty take the bottle of Elmer's, and force one last tiny bead of glue out its cap, for the very front of the flying machine. He had just the propellor sitting near on the toybox top. Kyle's undeveloped hands picked it up, and tried to move it where he held the outer 'blade' of grey plastic. He'd picked it up wrong, and goo'ed up as his hand was, there was no fixing that now. He struggled, ungraceful, dexterity still lagging behind the kangaroo teen's. Omar didn't laugh, though it got harder to not, as the struggle turned into an attempted flick. Kyle tried throwing it off his own hand onto the platform, it was stuck fast now. Omar tried encouragement. "Do it in, like, one toss, fast. You got it on, you can get it off."_

_ "Nahh it's no use." Kyle grunted. "Now my finger can fly." Omar cackled, his voice breaking. Kyle cought the contagion of the fun of it. He handled problems well. It always brought out Omar's better nature, so they seldom argued, got sad or angry. These Saturdays were just the best._

_ "Hey whaddya think of mine?" Omar brought attention to the Japanese fighter, he'd just barely completed it. There was a chip off the paint on the tailfin, he'd been careless once. But otherwise the thing was a spitting image of the Emperor's loyals._

_ Kyle nodded with his lower lip stiff and pooched out. "Looks cool! You gonna torment my sister when she brings her boat into the bathtub?"_

_ "Hahaha, nah I don't want your mom beating me up. She looks like she could take me with one hand tied behind her."_

_ Kyle cocked his neck, just the right way to show he couldn't discount the truth. He spoke again, and now it was level. Different. "This is great. Man I missed this."_

_ Omar agreed right back, assuming he understood. "Yeah! The week sucks, but I always have fun here." His voice had stopped breaking. It went lower than the puberty register._

_ The cat buddy exposited the point. His hands had never been that stable, so they shook. "Yeah, me too. Makes ya think, don't it?"_

_ "What d'ya mean?" Omar retorted, sympathetic but unsteady now. Like his chair didn't fully hold him up._

_ "You know. Where I'd be today." Kyle's head was in the same place. But the kangaroo looked down on it now._

_ That 'roo squinted when the sun bounced glare off his ear's jewelry. "K-Kyle... Don't..."_

_ The Siamese shook his head, fervid. Resisting what Omar meant. "My dad said they never thought it'd happen. You think you know someone, right?"_

_ "... No... " Omar's voice crackled, but now it wasn't adolescence. Choking up. He said out loud "It's happening again."_

_ Kyle acted like he didn't hear it. There was no emotion now, he carried nothing. "I was fooled too. Greg had that awesome bike. Remember taking turns on the backseat? I mean I can't believe he did what he did. The day he had to sell it..."_

_ "No! God, no!" Omar's adult voice was in tatters. Water streamed down, he wiped it and it flicked onto the only plane there._

_ "And he got all hopped up like that..." From Kyle's ear, a sprig of red appeared. A drip, then trickles. Crimson. "Did what he did, just to make it. Did it for my forty bucks."_

_ Omar reached out, but his arms wouldn't make it the distance._

_ "I can't believe he shot me." Kyle's face contorted into death, as it had been in the coffin. Blood poured from his nose, his left earcone. "I can't believe I'm gone."_

_ " NOOOOO!!"_

He woke up soaked in cold sweat. Omar's eyes were puffed, crying before he could discern. He snarled. Balled his fist and beat on the floor. It hurt like hell, he didn't care. The pain was preferable. But when he stopped this, his punching hand fit under his other arm, wrapping both over his torso. They hugged himself. The sobbing was soundless. His whole body jerked and every time sent more spots to the carpet below. He hated himself, no matter what he didn't do. "F-fuck my life... Kyle..." His hands locked on his ribcage, like tightening would take it all away. "Oh Kyle..." In the darkness. Alone. Vulnerable, the only times a fly on the wall might see. And it would if it were there, day after day. He relived it every night. Composing himself, he conciliated with a look at the moving box; the only lesser one outside of it and still unopened he'd placed by his head that night. The one he'd hurt their Lacrosse player for, rashly. The kangaroo didn't need to open it. Just reached with what was now his 'good' hand, swooped it up. Inside there was still the bottle. That empty vial of Elmer's, with the label took off. The way Kyle always used it.

He looked up and out the window. There was only stars. He felt better with a new moon out; like he hid it all from the boy who went before. In that he carried, and carried on.

Into a heap and wreck he folded himself on the room-temp floor. There would be rest, he'd grown hardened to this life. Tomorrow was another day, of chance, opportunities. Friends.

Quentin's snoring through the wall brought him to forgetful still.

To be continued...