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I see you are ready for more! Well, HERE IT IS.

The story now takes you back to the very beginning, when it all began. The life was still rather simple for both our main characters.

Disclaimer: This is an adult furry fiction that will contain violence, sex and some inappropriate languages that are not suitable for people under the age of 18. If you do not like furry, M/M, or sex, please do not read this series. The famous brand names within the story is not mine, but the characters are belongs to myself only.

Once again: Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - A Client to Remember, A Beginning to Embark On

I juggle the pencil in my hand, making sure not to drop it on my blueprint and spoil the finished work on my desk as I listen to the lecture. Professor D. Reinhardt explained the placement of the doorways, a subject I try my best to not to fall asleep on. "Remember now," the fox started, "doorframes are the key to your room; no doors, no entry. No entry, and your room is a fucked up box that no one can get into." That lame joke actually brought a few chuckles to the class, including mine as I peered back down onto the blueprint I titled 'my room.' It lacks creativity, I'm aware. But hey, this is the third class of the spring quarter, cut yourself some slacks, Joseph.

I adjusted my white cap that I've worn backwards, relieving that tingle that has suppressed my hair for four hours throughout today's courses. You hear people complaining about how they hate having three classes in a row, and at first you thought it is silly, cause it is nothing different from junior high school. Now, I can see why this triplet is a combo that I won't like all that much. Last class of the day, and boy, it felt like swimming across the Mediterranean Ocean from Athens to Rome.

"First thing you have to consider is the positioning of the door. Is it going to be at a corner of a room? Or is it going to open up from the middle of a wall? Should the door be on the opposite wall of the window? Or should the window be at its adjacent wall?" Professor strode to my side, and turned back to face the majority of the furs on the other end of the room. "It's important, as you can picture it in your brain right now. Just think," he walked away from me once more as his hand gestures draws this small box in front of him that the professor wanted to portray as a doorframe, "you put your door on the corner, and it would give the person inside it a sense of privacy, hence the bedroom tends to put doors in corners. Situating a frame in front of a long wall can give a grandeur feeling of welcoming and, I guess you can say, splendor, so they often use that for dining rooms."

He blabbers away on his overlong speech, while the rest of the class scrambles to finish the in-class assignment. Furniture placement, door situation, and window frame positions, just to name the few of the things I managed to finish ten minutes before the end of class. The prof. doesn't really care about how inexperienced the class really is; to him, he just wanted to collect something so that he would have the pleasure to write cynical comments on the student's one hour work.

What? I'm not the only one who says that. They all do on RateTheProfs.com.

"Well," Professor Reinhardt said, that old vulpine suddenly hovering over my head, "seems like somebody's finished already." How the hell did he just reappear at my station again? I swear to God he was still over there peering over that skinny weasel at the other side of the classroom.

"Uh..." I began nervously, "my dad is a construction worker, so I've seen this before." TheI words came out with trembles while I gave my explanations, adjusting my hat again as I glance up at my architect professor. "I thought two windows would be suffice to provide enough lighting to the rectangular room. And because this is to be a master room, the double door can be added to heighten...."

"Hey," the fox said with an unwelcomed slap to my back, "well done." He fixed his round glasses while he examines my blueprint, and nodded what I interpreted as a displeased approval: the frown on his temple says it all. "It's pointless to keep you here, anyways." Reinhardt faced the class once more, "Once you guys are finished, you can leave. As for the rest of you," the sly smile crept across his face, "eight minutes and forty-five seconds. Getta-going."

I date my finished product before I hand the stuff in: April 16, 2024.

I can already sense it: the spiteful looks on their faces. That sneer on the squirrel's large nose, those frowns on that kangaroos' face that spells out their dislikes towards a guy like me. I flattened the angled drawing table as quietly as I could, hopefully not to disturb the already pissed off crowd. I swear that otter with the ugly red-dyed fur tried to trip me on my way out, but I was nimble enough to evade the extended leg and walked out of the room. Jerks. You'll always get a few of those once in a while.

Not that much different from first year high school, but with one addition; that the class is curved based on the entire class's performance. It is effortless for anyone to see why I'm not welcomed. I mean, I can understand... somewhat: a seventeen years old human walks into a college, only to finish the task that was deemed 'nearly impossible to do,' as I heard the chipmunk mumbled in the seat beside me. My Asian small-stature tells any larger species that they can squish me with two fingers, yet I still get to walk out of class ten minutes early with the professor's full permission.

But I'm not what they think... I'm not a smartass at all, Never. I'm just taking a short cut no one has really considered.

Heck, I got a D for my physical education's class in high school. D. Yes. A D, as in almost failing because of reasons I really don't really have any control over. I can't outrun a cheetah, or a horse, for that matter: they'd be finished the race when I'm only halfway there. Do you want me to tackle rhinos or lions, as in 110 pounds against 300 or even 400? Let's not compare my clumsiness to the chimps and the - I don't even know what you call those scales... Gecko, I think - at wall climbing. I can't comprehend how my other human companions were able to bring down an ox in football, but I definitely couldn't. So I quit high school at my freshman year and came to this cheap ass college, where the only good thing is that I don't pay tuition for my "exceptionally high grades." 2.8 is exceptionally high, dead serious. HAHA, take that, people-who-have-4.0-but-still-can't-get-into-Harvard. Take. That.

Douglas Furs is filled with, by its name, furs. You can still see a few like me popping in and out of classrooms, but I dare say that out of 4500 students, only about 250 are homo-sapiens-sapiens. The world is 40% human, and 60% everything else, something that is definitely not represented in this mediocre institution. It's not as bad though: the prejudice, I mean. They might make fun of you once in a while, but you learn to live with it. Like I said earlier: no use in fighting in a fight you know you are going to lose.

Did I say that yet? I think I did...

I hang my school bag sideways, reaching for my keys in my pocket to open the back of my hatchback Honda. This little baby has its own complaints, creaking as I lifted the back trunk by the handle. It gives another squeal of upset as I throw my black sidebag into it like an old lady that complains about children stepping on her lawn too often. After closing the hood, I got to the driver's side and climbed into my rather tightly packed seat. Well, my love. Let's see if you are a good girl today.

I turned my key to start the engine, hoping that my Honda could handle another 10 mile home. She churned. She bit down at the key. She fought against me, and what do you know! The engine dies on me. "Alright, you bitch. One more of this misfit, and I'll send you straight to the metal scrap junkyard_,_" I warned, rolling the window down to release the baking heat from the interior. I gave it one more push, and she, after the obvious threat, decided to give in and roared in her own run-down glory.

"Work ," I sighed, " here I come."

I passed out of the parking lot and continued onto the I-5. Luckily for me, it's rush hour; the peak of car congestion, too. Rush hours brings out the worst of drivers, including my own. I curse the truck that rudely shoves his way in, forcing me to press on brakes even if I am already going at 30km/h. Car horns blew in all direction at the truck, who blew his loud funk music to announce his arrogance at this enraged crowd.

Fuck! 2 miles to go and a car accident ahead? You've got to be kiddin' me.

Ugh...

I turned down the nearest exit I could find, since there's no use trying to fight my way out of that mess in the front. That looks like another good 30 minutes up ahead going into Everett. Damn drivers and their car crash. They are murders: not only might they've killed or injured some innocent passengers, but most importantly, they kill time itself. My time. And I don't have that much to give y'all idiots.

I passed the gas station, its big, blue and red label shines ever so brightly against the bright sun on this clear sunny day. This reminded me to look down at my gas meter. Meh, I've got a couple of gallons left to drive for a day or two. It's not everyday that I get to afford a godly 43.5 regular diesel fuel for this ol' gold digger of mine. Maybe it'll come down next week. It's the only thing that one can hope with each passing month, that or the impression that our country will finally be independent of gasoline and natural fossil fuels in a few years from now.

Yeah. Keep dreaming, buds.

Happy that I could make it to work on time, I parked in the reserved parking behind the restaurant, right beside the garbage can since some truck is in the loading spot. I took off my hat and navy jacket before I left the car, leaving the outwear inside the automobile for such nice, cloudless day.

In my armpit, I clenched onto a white button-down shirt, something the manager of this place requires all waiters and waitresses to wear as a formal attire, and remarked that we should just be glad that we ain't forced to wear a choking little red bowtie around our neck. And - Speaking of my manager - he stands in front of the back door, cigarette between his fingers and exhaling that grey fog out of his nostrils. "You better get dress before you walk through those doors, kid."

Stop. Calling. Me. A. Fucking. Kid.

Yet, being the subservient and obedient 'kid' I am, I nodded with the silliest grin I can make, "yes'ir", and slipped in my hands to the sleeves. My white t-shirt shouldn't show through, or else he would point that out too, giving me another stupid order to strip out of 'whatever that thing' I was wearing underneath. "Nice day, huh?"I asked.

He ignored me, taking another taste of the nicotine in his hand. Fine... FINE. Don't talk to me, then. That racist asshole can deny that I am a good employee, but he can NOT deny how much I enjoy working here. So he better not make my shift a hard one: he'd had to face the trouble of going through the work ethic's department, which I have sent him there once already for a racist comment.

This side of the restaurant shows the gritty and the dirty side of the place I work at. The garbage reeks with barbeque sauce and onions. Not those good onions smell: it has more characteristics of cheap onions, you know? The stingy smell that makes the back of your throat hurts for odd reasons. Homeless individuals sits in the corner, huddling near a fire build in a gas gallon. I know a few personally, nodding to the black man that looked in my direction. He nods back, before he pushes his Wal-Mart cart down the alley after he collected the glass and bottles for the day. That sad, tall fellow walks into the distance, shoulders hugs near his chest as the sun beams in between the buildings of the back alley.

Broken down cardboard boxes are scattered around, serving additional pavements for the truckers to unload our newest meat from Texas.

Premium Beef Ribs. This is the glorious eat-till-you're-full rib house that attracts furs, humans, and scales and even marine mammals all the way from Japan, too. It's also said to be the only rib house in the state of Washington that actually gives a damn about the quality of meat they are serving. Sure, it may cost almost a good fifty bucks per individual, yet it is a full house every time my shift starts. That itself is pretty self-explanatory. And judging by the full parking lot in the front, I'm sure today is no different, even for a Thursday.

Entering the back door, the heat of the grill scorch my skin even with this distance from the fire. Chef Duenas is screaming at the part timers again, his iron pan in the air as he shrieks at the Bulldog. "This is Chicken Tenderloin?! Smells like a fucking durian that went bad! And durians DON'T go bad!" He threw the piece of meat into the dog's face, "You can walk! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY KITCHEN!" That's typical, too. Usually, he fires the apprentice, but this is one of those rare time I've seen him blowing his steam on newbies. We all know how little it takes to piss of the chef, so we can only sympathize for those who gets kicked out of their job. Hell no, am I getting involved, so I walk pass the kitchen to I meet my best co-worker in the place, who is filling up the glass with some lemonade.

"Hey," Randy called nonchalantly, flashing the usual 'greeting' look, as he calls it: a quick'n simple raise of the eyebrow, and a semi-nod to accompany that canine smile of the blue wolf. Cheesy look, I'd say myself. "Glad to know that you made your shift." I would not say he is built, but he's not that slim either. The black vest he wore over the white long sleeve fits freely over the chest, a loose dress pants hangs around the slim legs. This tail swishes lazily side to side as he loads the lemonades on a tray.

"Hey, good to see you too," I said, adjusting my white collar in the mirror our manager very helpfully placed on the wall next to the glass cabinets. I adjusted my hair while I kept my conversation with the wolf, "I'd thought you'd be out today. Wasn't Bernard suppose to cover you?"

"Well... Gillian forgot that she has a class in an hour," Randy sighed, "so here I am. Three o'clock and going till ten."

"Shit, man. I feel for you," I looked at my own reflection one last time, ensuring that I am at least presentable. I flatten out the wrinkles on the side of my button down shirt and tucked it in my pants, "Worst shift of the day, too. Not to mention the fact that you've used up a leave." Then it hits me, "Speaking of which, couldn't you just take a day off? Spend the night with her after she got home!"

"Nah, whatever. I needed the money, regardless," Randy said, letting the tray rest on his right palm, "I mean, why would she care? I've ONLY wasted a day of leave out of two I can have every month. Fuck, She's so inconsiderate sometimes," The wolf turns with his back against me, "Anyways, same ol' same ol'?"

"Certainly; and I'll win this time... AGAIN." We have a little competition going on. You're probably on the right track: the sexy waiter with the most cash from tips win. The loser of this contest offers twenty more dollars to the already-large pile of tips for the winner, although not a lot, but it is something that keeps you motivated in such a dark, romantic atmosphere like this. "No more excuses this time, I have the same shift as you do!"

I head out to the front desk, where our female coyote hostess is standing, pawtips tapping the edge impatiently. "Joseph, table three to table fourteen for today, I can't let Jason handle 8 tables yet, so you're going to take some of his." Her enraged tone sends chill down my spine, "That idiot can't take anything yet. Table four left in rage just two minutes ago, said they never got to order their meals." she added stressfully, looking down at the table chart in front of her. Sincerely, I am actually more afraid of her than our fat ass boss, a man that does little to stop the best two waiters from being lazy once in a while. Tyra the coyote, however; one yell from her would make Randy want to cower in the corner and die, and me in the washroom cleaning the toilets for hours. Dominant mother's gene, I'mma guess. You do not want to screw around with those people.

"Cuenvas, five people, table 6." She instructs specifically, eyeing me to fetch the family. I brushed her red skirt lightly as I grabbed 5 of the colorful menus, and walked ahead of her to avoid the canine's hateful glare, secretly hoping that she'll never get married in her life. That damn bitch needs to know how to talk like a normal fur being like everyone else for once in her lifetime.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cuenvas? Welcome to the Rib and Steak Garden! We have a table for five ready for you." I said in the most cheerful tone I can muster, looking at the gigantic crowd in front of me. Then I saw a response from a raccoon family, getting up slowly as the mother motions the youngest of the children to get up. "Right this way." I turned to show them the table, and waited for them to sit.

" How long was your wait, sir?"

"A good forty minutes; you should really cut down the gang out there," the raccoon father grumbled as the family sat down at the table. The table was rectangular, completed with ketchup for the kids and salts for the elders. The table has paper sheets that overlay the cedar woods, an easy way to clean up after a messy meal our customers make while they munch on our mouth-watering ribs.

"I wish I can, Mr. Cuenvas, but you know you are dealing with the best rib house in the State of Washington." I laughed one of those work laugh I invented on the first day of work. Randy always scorn at me that my work laugh "too friendly," and call me a cheater for being too good at what I'm good at. That's one good little thing you have when you have narrow, Asian eyes like mine. Try this at home: squint your eyes with the left and right edge of your eyes while you smile, and you'd fool any psychologist that you are smiling genuinely. If you master that, try putting a little less stress on your chin when you smile, and trust me, it's a natural.

I looked at the family more closely now without the horde outside. There's of course the mother and father, and what appears to be the princess of the family, in her 20s and smiling brightly at me. The two younger brothers, one probably in mid school and the other in the elementary, sit with their round eyes looking up towards their parents, and then back up to their server. I gave them a smile in return, handing out the menus to each member of the family. "May I ask if this young lady is back from out of state?"

The parents looked at each other, surprised. The female raccoon smiled lightly, "Yes, I was studying in Pennsylvania... how'd you know?"

Ah. I can sense the extra tip coming my way already. "A good guess," I laughed, "I've been working too long to not know a family reunion like this." I reached for my pencil in my left pocket, digging it out with my right hand. "To start out, I'm Joseph Zhu, but you can just call me Joe," I scribbled my name on the paper overlay, writing it so that the fonts face the family. It took me five weeks to master writing letter backwards, but trust me, boys and girls. First impression is everything in a career like this. Neater words, higher the amount. Experience tells me so.

"Wow, mom!" The youngest raccoon exclaimed joyfully, pointing to my font on the table, "He's writing backwards!"

I let out a lighthearted chuckle before I continued, "Today, there's a special for all beef ribs; 45.59 for all you can eat, but 16.00 for a-la-carte. Everything else remains the same: pork ribs is 40.00 and 12.00. Goat rib is 42.50 and 14.50. And steak is 43.50 for all you can eat and 18.50 for a la carte.

"Choose your favorite flavors: Honey Garlic, Seasoned Thai, Mexican Chilly, Original Rib House Sauce, Barbeque Deluxe, or Sesame Butter." I wondered why they didn't add something that related to mustard, but Chef Duenas commented on that matter before; that he believes the mustard "ruins the flavor..." Serious. Bullshit... Mustard, especially stone ground mustard, would make my day, any day 24/7.

"Now, may I take your drinks first?"

---

It's impossible to squish four of us down in one of those four seat bench. Todd and Wilson would take up all the space, not to mention me and Greg. Who are we, you ask? Just a few of the bigger species: That Alligator over there is Wilson. The Lion here with me is Greg. Rhino is Todd, and me, a humble lil' tiger.

Our alligator friend is probably the smartest of us all, despite what everyone perceive reptiles as. His large build came from his genes, a thing that makes all of us envy, as many would have to train for months to get a size like his, while he goes only once every couple weeks. Wilson was one of the worst friends you can have during exam weeks in high school as well, since he never truly understood what "studying" means. He's one of these people that had never, in his entire life, opened his algebra or physics textbook, and he would call you and ask you to play some b-ball with him at the local gym when you are down to one last day of cramming for your chemistry. Of course, as his good friend, you can always invite him to your study session, and he'd answer any question you can possibly have on all the science of our class. He'd go on telling me, in the boredom of our studying, that he thinks engineer is a path that leads to no excitements or challenges, and that is why Wilson in medical school, soon to be the intern of the Nation's number one research hospital located conveniently next to my school . This might sound a little weird, but you would feel honored that he views you as a friend. Insightful, decisive, and brilliant.

Greg was my best friend ever since elementary school. Not as big as me, but still decent as a large feline. I don't know if it is because we are felines at the base, but we can sometimes look at each other, and after a couple seconds, understand easily what the hell the other is thinking. Greg does have this nature charm that tells the others, "I understand, and I will lead you and help you." This lion was the head of the student body, and ran in councils whenever and where he can. He was invited to join football, but he refused the offer, knowing that he would be about to commit that much to the team when he has the entire school's business to handle. "Football? Pfft," he said once, "Don't tell me you are willing to put yourself through all that training as opposed to doing well in school. Life in high school can be fun, and there are more options than football." Greg the Lionheart, people call him that due to his irresistible urge to assist the ones in need. Volunteering in Africa, teen help lines, and so much more. Would you be surprised to know that he's in University of Chicago? No. Rather, I thought that was too small of a place to hold such a kind soul like him. Supportive, Charismatic, Understanding.

And I? I'm just a lucky guy who had the fortune to meet these wonderful people. Greg and I beat well on the first day of school, and our alligator sidekick was my superman in class. I'm not the smartest, nor am I the most caring. These people made me appear as if I were: Greg pulled me to Africa twice, letting me see the people and the animals that needed so much more attention than they are receiving. Wilson showed me the intricate nature of the world, allowing me to grow interest in various field of work. And what do you have? A nontechnology bioengineer whose plan is to create better medicine for people, animal, and plants alike. I had to say, though, that these are the only people I've ever open myself to throughout my whole life. Not that anyone else is not worthy of my time, it's just... my tiger instinct... Right. That's it. Us Tigers work alone.

Sometimes, though, it gets a little too lonely in here too. Just sometimes.

And yes, I'm not going to be talking about that grey hunk of meat there. You'll see why soon enough.

I can see Todd's anger building up already, but luckily, we had a decent waiter, who, after talking to this bitchy coyote in the front, lets us sit in the eight-seater. The table was up in a high rise, and the seats were actually comfortable, cushioned backs and iron railings for our paws. As soon as we settled into our seats, and menus given to us, we listened to the special orders the Asian kid listed.

"And if I hadn't said this already, I'm Joseph. If there's anything, gimme a holler if you need to." Funny; of all the times we came, there's only one waiter that bothers to write their name on the paper of the table. I guess he actually cares about his customer's satisfaction.

I don't usually pay so much attention to the servers anywhere, but he's definitely got mine this time, whatever the reason is. Not so tall, 5'6 or so, and his defined arm and shaped shoulder blade under his white dress shirt suggested that he probably works out every so often. He's not skinny, and he has this higher pitched happy-go-lucky voice as opposed to this flat, monotone characteristic they have.

But what is more charming, though, is the warm smile he puts on. It's not too fake, nor is it exaggerated. A natural expression lightens all the hearts of those who looks at him, me included. His narrow eyes drifts to my direction ever so often, letting me notice his brown eyes that glimmers with so much spirit within them.

And I swear I've seen this guy somewhere... really.... I think I do know him!

"Whoa!" Greg watched in amusement as Joseph wrote, "I've only meant, like, three people that can write backwards!"

The server gives a light laugh as he stows away his pencil. "Can I take your drinks for starters?" he asked with a grin, showing his white, organized teeth against his dark, red lips.

"Sprite." Greg spoke first, raising his hand in the mean time like a school kid answering a question.

"Coke," the rhino spoke with a hint of annoyance, obviously still angry at the previous incident.

"Coke as well," Wilson nodded to the Asian human, who nodded in return before looking at me.

"Just water, please," I said, internally proud of myself being the ONLY man at the table to say "please" at all.

"Oh," Wilson added, "could we have a plate of Calamari first?" he pointed to the menu as he spoke to Joseph.

"Done. Two Coca Cola, Sprite, one glass of water, and one order of Calamari comin' right up. It should be about 5 or 10 minutes for the Calamari, since we have the oil pan already heated up and ready now." We waited for our server to leave before we started to catch up on our old times. I did manage to catch a glimpse of his rump. The curvature is dying for a good squeeze...

Shit... Sorry...

Where was I?

"Gosh, it's been forever since we've met like this," Todd started, "the last time we met was... what? Two years ago?"

"It's not like Wil and I could come back that often," Greg stated, circling his claw on the paper, "he's in New York, and I am in Boston, if you had forgotten."

"Yeah, thank you, Greg," Todd rolled his eyes. "Well, ever since you and Wil left, Tom and I hang out a lot less, too. He's so busy at UW, trying to get his degree and all"

"And you dropped out," Wilson added, smirking lightly at Todd. "Econ's not all that hard, is it? I mean... Efficiency, Equilibrium, that's it, right?"

"Hey, now. I'm no Einstein like you, Scaly." He extended his arms outward to show some awkward pride none of us can seem to understand, "besides, Trinity Western University at Bellevue ain't so bad, either. And that, my friend, is also why I don't get to see this tiger right here that often no more." He pats my shoulder lightly.

I gave Todd a glare. "That's because you decided to not go to the gym with me anymore. See?" I smack his stomach with the back of my hand. "It's growing each time I see you. Don't tell me you would look good with that ring of fat around you. " I added later when I saw his face wince a little, "Or, you are drinking a bit more than usual because you are hanging out at downtown Seattle to find those hookers you've met a while back."

"What the...." Greg started "Dude..."

"You fell in love with a hooker?" Wilson first stared at me, waiting for a note of confirmation. I nodded lightly before I let my eyes trail to the ceiling.

I dribbled my nails on the surface, "I'll make the story short: Nina left; he went to bar; he sees woman, buys her drink. Realize she has a pretty face. Offers to spend the night at Todd's place. Gives the girl a hot pounding. The girl demands money later."

The red faced rhinoceros stare at me angrily, wanting to plant the fist in my face so hard. Greg and Wilson just laughed hysterically, hugging their bellies has they tried very, very hard to stop the hilarity "Wha... haha... wait..." Wilson tried to start, only to have his scaly digits cover his face once more in the laughter.

"Enough now, guys." Todd's stern face flushed crimson under those grey-toned skin, looking back to the entry and avoiding any of our eye contacts. "Fuck, where's that drink when you need it?"

"You know, Todd would be that type of guy;" Greg panted, face still grinning for ear to ear, "The stereotypical hot head. Thick skinned, bold, and sometimes just a little radical."

"You didn't believe she actually loooved you, did you?"

"Shut up, Wilson. Whaddya know?" He cracked, "you look at hentai."

"Oh yeah, bring it, big guy," Wilson said, his hands to each side to challenge Todd. "Let this be the contest of 'who did the most idiotic thing.'"

"Did you guys not remember?" Todd folds his hand together. "We went to his house one day, right? If I remember, it was... like... the first day of senior year," he went on, giggling to god knows what he is about to say. "We are in Wil's room? So, when he was taking a crap or somethin', we looked through his files; and long beholds! Tentacles, comic figures, and magical erotica."

"Hey, what's wrong with that?" The alligator leaned into the cushion, his tone still very casual. "I can live with that. But can you live with falling in love with a prostitute?" We laughed again, my hands patted the rhino's shoulder, hoping to calm him down whilst I suppress my own amusement from showing. "But seriously... get yourself checked out soon."

"You never knew what they had with them," Greg stated, "crabs, syphilis, HIV..."

"Drinks for you all..." Our server returns, his left hand with a tray full of assorted drinks. "Starting with this sprite for you, sir..."

"Oh, look at me," Todd blurted to the lion in a high pitched tone, "I'm a freak."

That got out waiter's attention, head turned to Todd as he sets my water in front of me. "I'm an innocent little girl that is in the dark, magical forest when I'm REALLY suppose to be at grandma's house. I wondered deep into the woods, and suddenly, out of nowhere, a black puddle decided to stick out and GRAB me."

He gave Wilson his coke, who now is a little embarrassed by this rather blunt display. The Asian waited for the thick-skinned to finish. "Oh, dear, what am I suppose to do? It's... oh noes! It's taking my pants off and rubbing my vagina. Help! Help! They are going to rape me! These tentacles are... are turning me on... so... much..."

Silence. Greg covers his face once more, but this time, in shame of his dramatic friend. Wilson looked out the window, pretending to have never met this imbecile. Joseph, our waiter, looked at me dumb-folded. I shook my head, giving him the most apologetic look I can give at the moment for my friend's stupidity. God, I don't want to see that ego-centric face he has on right now.

The server blinked once. He blinked twice. And then, after the third blink, he giggled through our silence, as if he has his own little trick up his sleeve. "Well, sir," Joseph said to Todd, "may I... should I say... entertain you with some Calamari." Wilson, Greg and I looked up at the waiter, jaws lost their ability to stay shut. He did NOT just say that. "If you find that your urges are hard to control," Joseph points politely at the inner corner of the restaurant, "washroom is in that direction. I must advice you, though, to please do be discreet about your noise level." Now, I've heard of very personable services, but this is unbelievable. We muster our laughter as much as we could, seeing the shock on the rhino's face was absolutely priceless.

"I will be back soon to take your orders. In the meantime, enjoy your... Tentacles," The Asian waiter said, snickering lightly as he left. Greg was the first to rupture into uncontrollable outburst, followed very closely by Wilson. They high-fived each other, and leaned flat on the couch, tearing the air with their howls. Bent forward onto the table, I contributed to the overall chuckle at this table, pounding my fist to ease the pain in my stomach from the tense laughter. Todd, nonetheless, just sat quickly, taking a elongated sip of his dark drink.

Oh... how I love this rib house already...

---

"Fuck this shit," I hear Chef Duenas growled with his Texan accent as I settle the dirty dishes in the tray, "no fat, no pepper, no salt, no barbeque sauce. Rare steak, but not too bloody. Goat ribs with no bones. Caesar Salad with no cheese. What the fuck do these god damn people want?"

I was greeted by the blue wolf again, smirking wide and big. "Don't worry bud, I'm gonna get that twenty," I yelled over the kitchen's machinery, "I'm so sure I made more than my week's salary today."

"What? It's not like I'm braggin' or anything," Randy shrugged jokingly, leaning against the wall near the kitchen entrance. "I just think I have a chance at beatin' ya today. This bear couple," he went on explaining as I fill up the drinks for table ten, "they decided to dough me big this time."

"Old customers," I stated simply, grabbing the last glass and filling my front pouch with more napkins. "You mentioned them more than once, I remembered."

"Just be ready to give me that twenty, Joe," Randy said, heading back into the kitchen.

I shook my head lightly, "We'll see who gives who the prize." Randy doesn't know I'm on a roll today. With a few minutes left in my shift, I doubled what I had yesterday. I didn't get dimes or nickels, but tens and fives that I had no trouble stuffing in my back pocket. So when they asked me whether this job pays me well or not, I would answer like so: The minimum wage suck balls, but the tips are awesome. Gotta like how things are so damn expensive in here, and fifteen percent of a two hundred dollar bill could make any server happy.

But back to what I was saying: he doesn't stand an effing chance against me: he goes about his job like any part-time student would do. Me? I'm a fucking professional. I believe it's a serious failure if I had to let anyone call me to serve them. You refill their drinks when they are half empty by bringing another glass of drink. You make recommendations that should suit the people's taste, not just stand there and merely take orders they wanted. And you never, NEVER leave them more than fifteen minutes without checking in on them. Give me customers, I say. 'Cause I live to serve.

And serve I do.

"Here we are. Root beer... and coke," I announced with a smile, "So we'll have the House Salad for the gorgeous lady on my left, and.... For you?"

"Medium rare sirloin steak with American chilly, Si'l vous plait," the skunk bowed politely, looking over at the squirrel ahead of him, "I'll share with mon fleur ici." French... now that's a romantic dinner of some sort, I guess. I swear, though, that I heard a Hispanic accent in there somewhere, and believe me, French do NOT use American chilly as a dressing for steak. French, surprisingly, like their meat well done, but he ordered medium rare. Oops, bud. I gotcha there. This trickster probably hooked up the poor girl at a local college to bed her and would dump her the next morning, telling her that he's this political major when he doesn't even go to that school. Shame. It's probably her first time, too...

"Of course," I replied happily, though I have a serious distaste for this fella here, "steak would be about twenty to thirty minutes. Be sure to keep your gal company, monsieur." I grabbed their menus and, out of the corner of my eye, I see the four studs in the high-rise laughing once more. The lion mouthed something dramatically, then returned to his chuckle.

"Gentlemen," I saluted, walking next to the tall table, "I assume that you guys are having a great time. Need another round of those ribs?"

"No, thank you, Joseph" The lion said very kindly, "we are extremely full."

"Okay, then I guess there's no more room for desserts," I replied, pulling out a white slip, "here's your bill. I'll leave it right here." Here's why some people call me a screwed up piece of shit. I have no way of controlling my mouth to not reveal the next sentence: "You know, I'll make sure that I will address this concern of yours," my right hand pushing against the edge of the high table, looking at the grey rhino. "Maybe we can have add an all-you-can-eat Calamari's on our menu. I'll be sure to check with the chef."

"Dude," The alligator puts both of his hands up, he stifled a quiet snort, "we'll throw up all these ribs if you pull one of those again."

"Woah. Wouldn't want that to happen," I laughed formally, "Well. If you need anything else, be sure to call my manager. He's right there. My shift is done for today, it's been a pleasure serving you tonight." I specifically shook the rhino's hand, who took the shake much to his dismay... Todd? Was it? "Have a great time, good night."

"We're about to be done here, too," the tiger called nicely, a gentle wave accompanied by his rather handsome smile. "Have a nice evening yourself, bud." He stood up, and....

Holy shit.

You should really see this titan. Abercrombie and Fitch would die to have a body like that posted on the display windows. I wasn't really paying attention to the tiger when I first seated them, focusing on soothing the Rhinoceros' painfully intolerant anger, and even after, I thought that this tiger was just another guy with a very attractive look, defined eyes with green pupils, a tanned orange with a magnificence mix of black stripes on the sides of his face, and a manly maw with deadly and beautiful ivory.

Now that I can understand why the tiger have such long arms when I see him grabbing for the ribs, Fuck, I only go up to his firm and wide chest. The polo he wears hugs the body ever so tightly, his top pair of distinct abs bulging against the fabric restrains. This hot body of the tiger combined with that grin... flawlessness. Simply. Perfect.

"Um...Joseph?" The tiger curiously looks at me, hands in front of me. Shoot. Every single time I'm confronted with a hot guy...

"Ugh..." I snapped back into the embarrassing reality, "You too, champ," Surprised, I accepted his hand, nodding my head lightly for my rudeness, "sorry, I never caught your name."

"Thomas Hahn." His deep magnetic voice sent shivers down my spine, like I've heard the words from St. Michael himself.

"Nice to meet you, Thomas." The name rolled off my tongue so easily, inwardly rewarding myself for not getting lost within those eyes. Tom... the titans of the tiger. "Um... I gotta..." My thumb points backward to the crowd. He nodded with that smile.

God on the frickin' cross...he's HAAAWT...

I ran as fast as I could, red blush burned my cheeks slightly as I moved hastily away from the godly figure.

I'll definitely remember you, Tom.

* * *

I can't stop thinking about Randy's face when he realized I've just made 432 dollars and 76 fucking cents. He couldn't speak for a whole minute, and that, to me, is priceless. "Meh," I commented to the wolf, "keep your money. The amount is barely enough to fill that hole between my tooth," I pictured my glorious victory taunt as I entered my hatchback.

It's not everyday do you get to be satisfied with yourself, you know. Did I tell you already how I was a loser in high school? Well, I did tell you how I got a D in my gym class, but...

Shit... here I go again...

... I don't even know where to start... here, how about this. Picture that Asian kid that sits in the back row of your history class, a cap worn backwards like I wear it now, minding his own business and watching the clock attentively. He bites onto his pen and packs up earlier than anyone else, waiting for the clock to reach the number '12' and the bell to ring and, when it does, runs out the door. You don't know him, other than his name and that he is nearly the shortest in the class. You know why he runs, because the bullies make it public when they taunt him all the time in the hallways. Should you find him, he's either reading or drawing, or head down in the hallway. He'd often take the long route to class, because taking the shorter way would mean serious trouble.... Serious, serious trouble.

Friends? Yeah, I had a few. These are the people who usually gets along with everyone, and they seems to only take to me for a few reasons; trying to get a few free drawings off me, or simply sympathetic of this lonesome aura that I seem to have trouble getting rid of. Either or, they would accompany me to class, share a few grunts and protest against the teacher's homework and tests, but that's about it.

I guess they tried to be friendly to me. But I don't let anyone in; the life I am living currently is too complicated for a teenager - or anyone here, for that matter - to understand fully, and I sure don't want to see those sympathetic faces they'd make as if they know what I go through every day. It's hard enough to explain that your father is a construction worker who's about to lose his job, and how you constantly fail him day after day. You try and cheer him up: handwritten cards, new Kung Pao chicken recipes, funny jokes and internet sites. Yet, he just wants a good letter grade... the only thing I have trouble giving to him.

It'd be even harder to clarify how my mother left us for reasons I barely even understand myself.

Left turn here, and I'm in my paved driveway. My house. Lock the door. Grab the food I ordered for dad. Reach for the key. Check behind you to see if anyone is watching you or stalking you. The usual, and... yeah... turn the door knob with a bundle of crap in your hand.

"Dad?" I called out as I opened the door. No sound, maybe he's asleep in his room. "Dad?" I called out again. Shit. Finding him would have to wait.

I REALLY need to pee.

Rushing into the bathroom to relieve myself, I drop the paper bag on the kitchen counter and shut the door...

Hey....privacy, please? I need not to tell you how I piss in the toilet, do I?

Finished. You can look now. I tried to remind myself what I was doing before. Right, dad. As soon as the thought came to mind, a pungent smell strikes my nose that is all too familiar.

He's drinking... again.

I walk out of the bathroom, setting my cap on the surface of the table as I followed my nose, odor of scotch and vodka getting stronger and stronger as I enter the living room. "Papa?" I called out one last time before I saw the man who raised me single-handedly. He snores on the couch, a bottle of cognac laying on the floor near the couch he is asleep on. For god's sake, he's still in his work clothes, dirt and mud stains the yellow worker's wear and his boots....

Dad... I just vacuumed yesterday....

I walk up to him, taking all the beer bottles to the recycling bin in the kitchen. I work on his boots next, pulling off his filthy rubbers and laying them to the sides while I shake him awake. "Yo, paps," I spoke in more of a stern voice, hoping to bring him back to conscience. "Dad, you should get to bed now,"

"uhhhhhhfff," his light groan brings more smell of alcohol into the air, lightly shifting as I pull his arm. "Gan mahhh la! You shi mei shi jiu bu yiao jiao wo(What the fuck do you want? Don't fucking wake me up if all you are going to do is NOTHING)." He spoke in Chinese, irritation in his slurred voice.

"Get to bed now, you'll have a back pain again if you sleep on the couch," I carry him with one arm over my shoulder, his weight on my body. "You promised me you'd stop drinking," I added, lifting him to the staircase.

"Fan si le. Wo zi ji zhi dao fen cun, bo yong ne guan. (Shut up. My business is none of yours, I know my fucking limits)," he retorted annoyingly, pulling away from me as I hug his wobbly waist more tightly. He might puke on the carpet floor, but that would not be the first time I cleaned up after him.

"Wo ye bu xiang fan ne, dan shei jiao wo shi ne de er zi. (It's not like I wanna help you, but it's too bad I'm your son.)" His room is thankfully located right next to the stair case. If I can just drop him off onto the bed, take off that dirty clothes, and everything'll be just fine, assuming he cooperates. I kneed open the door, slumping him on the edge of the bed, "Xian rang wo ban ne tuo diao ne yi fu (Let me get rid of the clothes you are wearing)," I informed him, beginning to work on that thick, dirtied piece labor outfit. I got to the zipper in the front, pulling it down quickly as I sense his patience is running thin. As I pull it off of his arms, dad swung his upper limbs hard, pushing my hands away. Startled, I stood up.

Same damn thing every night he drinks.

"Why the fuck are you still here?" He screamed, somehow, in English. "Can't you just leave your dad alone for one fucking second?"

"Lo Ba, ne zai jiang she me la? (Papa, what are you talking about?)"

"Shut the fuck up, you useless piece of shit. Your father deserves better than your mother and your shitty attitude!" he slams his fist on the mattress, "That bitch..... oh... I'm...I'm going to get her good...."

"Dad..." I said, finally able to get the shirt off him, pushing him into the bed, "go to sleep, you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," he said, fighting my grip. "Why would you care anyway? You're never home anymore, cause you can't stand to look at your dad for another second, can't you? Just like your mother..." he trailed away, my head shaking violently.

"Dad...you'r...."

"LEAVE ME ALONE." He barked, falling on top of the bed, "Might walk out of the door. Like your mother did, But remember," he said, with the last ounce of energy left in him, "don't come back. Ever. Your mother didn't make that mistake."

I bit my lip lightly as I watch his topless body get buried under the mattress he pulled over himself. No use getting mad at a drunk man, as I've learned. You can try screaming at him, slowly and patiently explaining to him, even punching to him, and he won't be able to remember a damn thing in the morning. You can't blame him for not seeing anyone else's pain but his own. You won't be able to stop him from drinking, because things will just get worse from that point.

Well...

I live to serve, right?

Serve I do, then.

See what I mean? How am I suppose to tell my friends that I was taking care of my dad when I was seven?

I grab the notepad on the night stand, lightly scribbling the kind reminders that the work clothes are in the washer. "love you, dad," I added at the end. Stick it on the door knob, and I throw the working garments of his down the machine, amongst the other dirtied stuff he left for a week. He was the one who suggested that we should wash our clothes separately, since his is usually rid with filth and stains. After I set the timer for the dryer to activate in the duel washer/dryer, I leave the garage, cleaning the leftover garbage he has in front of the TV. Candy bars, beer cans, napkins, disposable chopsticks, and chip bags. . I can't say he's a sloppy man; he's just really busy all the time, I guess. Construction is a few days behind, and the stress can sometimes be a little overbearing, and he's not the type that thrive under stress.

No class tomorrow. Work starts at the same time. It's only 11:00 PM now, but I am tired as hell. Oh wait, Randy switched shifts with me last week. Whoa! Entire Friday free! Maybe I can finally clean the roof's gutters then...

I sighed after the immediate works are accomplished. It's my shower time. My entire body reeks with the smell of barbeque and the face seems to be damped with grease in the kitchen. I walked pass my dad's room and closed the door lightly as so to not disturb him.

Actually... a bath sounds much better at this point in time.

I turned the knob and waited for the water to accumulate in the tube as I brush my teeth. The sound of water flow somehow seems to relieve my stress for the day, giving me a good, thoughtless teeth brushing. I climbed in to the hot water, tensing at first due to the higher than usual heat. As I sink deeper, I can feel every inch of my muscle expanding and unwind from their knot, letting out a soothing grunt when I hit the wall of the tub.

"...you useless piece of shit. Your father deserves better than your mother and your shitty attitude!" my father's words replayed in my brain.

Mom's somewhere in Taiwan again, now with her new husband that owns an industry of some sort. Why mention her, dad? I'd thought you'd forget after these twelve years of separation, but apparently, her back as she leaves the house still haunts you when you sleep. Your passion for her twisted into some sickly hatred that will last until the end of time. I can't say I forgave her, but I don't talk about her all that much anyways. Heck, she left me when I was four. What is there to remember? A normal child's memory develops at three, so I only have about a year with her, while you were engaged for five years.

I don't ever understand, in mid school, why the juveniles complain about the parents. Parents' jobs are to be nagging at you constantly about your misbehaviors, and it is their duty to make sure to pull you on to the right track when you went off of it. But in the end, they'd do almost anything to save you, even if they know that you are the one who caused the misfit.

It's so much better to have one that cares then to not have them at all...

Time wears everything away. Just like how it's burning my strength right now.' Tired, I grab onto the edge to pull myself up. I can barely remember drying myself, because the next thing I know, I was lying on the bed, eyes closing in hopes of a good night dream. Perhaps I will dream of my conquer at the rib house today, or I'll just dream of my embarrassing moments in class today. Or, if I slept on the wrong side of the bed, I will remind myself of who I was in mid school, or worse... picture my mother once more. Or, even better, I'll dream of this hot dude I met at work today.

The pictures of Thomas ran through my head again. The dark stripes on his face blended so well with the orange-yellow color of his fur, his muscles sit so nicely over his large body. I let my imaginations run wild, the burning sensations rise in my stomach as I see the tiger press against me, the shameless grin on his face telling me that he needs me, physically... and emotionally. His firm hands caress my face, and he pulls my body into his...

I pump my dick with fervor as I imagine his paws slither under the covers, feeling my waist and purring ever so lustfully. I whimpered, my own hands trail around to the back, pulling him in and down for a kiss. His body climbed over mine, his head tilted to accept my lips as his hands trailed around and into my hair. At first, the kiss was soft, his tongue prodding against my upper teeth as if challenging me to do the same. And I do accept the tongue-match, parting my mouth a bit wider to let my muscle creep into his, feeling the sharp canine tooth as he murrs louder in response.

I can feel his passion; the urge that tells me that he has been waiting for centuries for this feeling as my legs were parted with his knee. The dominant tiger parted our passionate kiss with a harsh suckling sound, nipping my neck that generates a shiver down my spine.

He grinned mischievously. From that, I got the feeling that foreplay is over already.

He pulled me on to my fours and he, without trouble, thrusts his large member into me with a sloppy wet sound. I moaned louder from the sudden intrusion, he growled from the astonishing pleasure. Wasting no time, Tom rocks his hips slowly, savoring each texture inside of me as I gasp from the torturing ecstasy. He angles himself, pressing his weight on top of me just to see my face lost in the heat of the night.

With each successive punch, the rocking grows into firm pounding. The rhythm never differs, slow enough to keep me hanging at the edge and fast enough to satisfy his hunger for release. The clawed paws grip my waist, stopping me from ever escaping from this blissful prison. And without warning, he rams into me with a thunderous force, letting all of his length sink into me. I screamed as the world spin with each shove of his massive cock. He groaned and brings his body on top of mine, holding me up into him as he mercilessly gave his all. The paws went to my chest, taking me on the ride of my life. My prostate enjoys its abuse, punched over and over and over and...oh... I'm so close... so close....

I came. The white cum spatters, letting the load land on my chest and belly as I propel the remaining fluid. My dirty little fantasy came to an end, and I can't help but notice my wide grin, amused at the glinting globe of seed sticks on to my skin. Grabbing the Kleenex tissue on the bedpost, I clean myself up and threw my own mess to the side. It's okay to taste your own cum once in a while, but having to taste it every time would be a little overwhelming.

I felt my body to make sure that I got all the drops of cum on me and climbed back into the bed, sleep now hanging under my eyelids. After one big yawn, I pulled the mattress over me and sunk into my pillow.

In my head, Thomas held me tightly against him, and the last thing I remember before I fell asleep was a soft whisper that the tiger blew beside my ears.

"I love you, my dear."

---

To be continued

Update on Hase: I WILL NOT be uploading the next chapter as fast as this one. Midterms are coming in, and I NEED to study.... BAD.....

But please... do keep reading! It wont be up next week. But it will certainly be up the week after! This is NOT an empty promise. Look forward to seeing all of your responses.

Hase