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Fitting in was never my speciality. To be fair, it was always going to be difficult in any case. Physically, I was going to invite comment no matter where I went. I was six foot five of painfully thin teenage guy with a big nose and bigger front teeth, and soft grey to white fur. And my ears of course, large, sensitive, prone to twitching at any moment, and whiskers that I preened obsessively, and a long tail I actually managed to trip over on occasions. I also had a very English sounding accent even though I was born and raised in Melbourne from very Aussie parents. I was as uncoordinated an athlete as anyone had seen; my ability to fall over without provocation, run my lean body into doorways without expecting it, hit whatever ball was in play in the opposite direction to that intended, or generally embarrass myself bodily was already legend at my new school. I would cheerfully have disappeared into the basement of the main building and lived as some sort of phantom of the opera if I could, playing my oboe hauntingly but distantly, a ghostly pied piper unknown to my schoolmates.

It was some measure of my complete lack of cool that the oboe was not in the top ten things that made me a dag.

In some ways though being a pied piper would have been noteworthy and ironic in itself, given my species. Yes, I was a mouse. A six foot five uncoordinated mouse, in a school full of athletically gifted canines, equines, and all that jazz and here I was, a mere rodent, but one unable to even disappear into the skirting board metaphorically as I was too big to ignore. I blamed my parents.

Unfortunately a hermit existence was not to be, though against all the odds, and in ways both embarrassing and unexpected, I managed to be accepted, even admired. It was not something I ever could have anticipated. After all, I was king of the dags. And I had a terrible secret, one I was determined never to have known.

I had joined the ranks of my exclusive private school in year eleven. I was the youngest of five children, our family being a typical mouse brood in that sense, and by some distance. My four elder siblings had all left the nest to pursue their own lives. My father had decided it was time to retire to the seaside at a respectable age, and my mother had gone along with the idea once she realised he had his heart set on it. I would be a hostage to their change in scenery, moved from my school in Melbourne, where there were at least guys like me who were scholars first and foremost, to one in Geelong where I would be a complete alien in a school devoted to cricket, football, rowing, and making bookish guys like me feel like, well, rodents. It was bad enough being a new kid that late in my academic career, without being one with no socially acceptable characteristics at all. I knuckled down and determined to make the best of it, survive, and flee back to Melbourne at the earliest opportunity. Unfortunately, that was going to be at least two years away.

By the start of Year twelve and at the awkward age of seventeen I was at least tolerated, partly because even the members of my class most enamoured of the physical pursuits realised they might have to pass an exam or two and the colossal nerdy mouse who stuck out like a sore thumb could be useful. I had tutored several members of the first VIII rowing crew, trying to cover up the fact that part of my willingness to be helpful was driven by the fact I fancied their bodies like hell. As was usual, rowing tended to long limbed and bodied muscled types, and the first VIII had four equines, a stag, a couple of canines (a setter and a wolfhound), and even one exotic giraffe.

The equines in particular fascinated me, their bodies, their manes, their feathering. Their taut asses. Their sheaths. Oh my God, their sheaths and scrotums, under tight fitting rowing outfits. They left absolutely nothing to the imagination. One time waiting in the changing rooms for an empty cubicle so I could change from my PE gear in private, I had seen the stroke come in after training and for some reason he had dropped slightly. It was outlined well enough I could tell he had gotten a piercing in his cock, like he had boasted he was going to in our tutoring session. Apparently his girlfriend thought it would be hot. Fuck her, I thought. I almost fainted.

That was my secret, and one I thought at that age I might have to take to my grave rather than admit it to another fur and risk being unmasked and humiliated. I thought I was as deep in the closet as it was possible to be; I even surfed some straight porn on my dad's laptop and "accidentally" forgot to clear the cache so I could be sprung. I knew mum would give me a chewing out, she was always the one between mum and dad who gave me a blasting when they thought I deserved it, but I thought as an exercise in misdirection it was one of my better gambits. I was also really good at chess. I felt that was somewhere in the top ten daggy list.

March was still warm, and still early enough in the year that nobody was yet quite in that panic stage that comes from realising you are going to hit the wall at the final exams and splatter all over the countryside like strawberry jam. It was also peak rowing season, and for us, that meant the annual Head of the River on the Barwon, our own home river just down the street, involving all the elite APS schools. Everyone was expected to go, to cheer, and generally support our school. I had less qualms than might be expected, given how many of our first VIII I had a crush on, and the opportunity to see their bodies in strenuous action wearing surprisingly little was an underappreciated bonus.

On this occasion we were stationed next to one of our archrivals on the riverbank; Wesley. We set up a chant as the races went on, trying to drown them out, and even gave our boat race song a go even though it was horribly twee. But that day, that fateful day, one of my tutees and primary lust vehicle, Tony Campbell, the stroke, had joined us in the huddle to lead the chanting before heading to the starting line and his date with destiny with the rest of the first VIII. Tony was responsible for at least half my masturbation fantasies by then. A draft horse/quarterhorse cross, he had a glistening chestnut coat with bay points, a thickly muscled body, black feathering, and a smile that would make my ears melt they became so hot.

He managed to enhance that sexual allure, if that were possible, in subtle and not so subtle ways. He had died the tips of his black mane in white, and dared the school to order him to cut them off as the girls were allowed ribbons in their headfur of that colour. I loved the look of it as he tossed his head and made his mane flow like silk. More daringly, he wore a cockring to school once, until the librarian of all the furs realised something was up and ordered him home. That got him a suspension, and the awed admiration of his peers.

The piercing in his flare, however, was the most impressive of all for me. He gave me a blow by blow description of how he got it, including how he specified an amateur piercing practitioner who was the sister of one of his brother's mates with a special talent. A pantheress, she was primarily a jewellery artist and specialised in titanium and stainless steel. She used one of her incisors to pierce his flesh, apparently getting off on his whinnies of pain and the taste of stallion blood as much as the way his stiffy shrunk a bit when she bared her teeth. She was a lesbian, apparently, but not exclusive, and with nothing against guys. She just liked asserting herself this way against the patriarchy, and she rewarded him with an awesome pawjob, if I could believe Tony. She had also made him a special ring, with tiny horseshoes incised into the steel.

Tony was also one seriously mischievous git when he wanted to be, as well as sexy. I think it was Tony who was the mastermind of the plot; operation Simba.

Our school symbol was a Pegasus, and in my mind Tony had something of the mystical flying horse about him. Rumour had it that we had commissioned a sculptor to do a bronze of Pegasus, and Tony might be the model for it's head. Wesley's symbol however was a lion, and in demonstration of their pride and school élan they had brought a stuffed lion toy to their huddle as mascot. During their chants the lion was held aloft crowd surfing over their number and whenever they did well in a race he was tossed aloft. They had a large banner, as did we, and they used theirs like a trampoline to propel the lion into the stratosphere and then capture the cavorting feline as he returned to Earth.

Tony was an exceptional rower. He was a poor to middling mathematician, and as a chemistry student the less said the better. I thought I could get him to a pass in both and cross my fingers. But he was an even better footballer than he was a rower, a full forward of note who could fly like, well, like Pegasus, propelled by a pair of exquisite thighs that still occupy number one position in my erotic fantasies today.

It was Tony who brought me into the plot.

"When that stupid fucking lion goes up next, I'm going to use Steve and Trav there to make a path into their huddle, and I'm going to go up for the mark on their backs and grab that bloody lion and shut the stupid cunts up for good."

I nodded, stunned by his bravado, as much as the slight hint of flare showing in his rowing tights, not ever believing he could pull it off, nor that I had any part to play in this drama.

The boats came down the river, and Wesley were a comfortable second. It would get them into a repechage at least, so I knew from experience the lion was going to slip the surly bonds of earth any moment now. Tony knew it too; his fellow conspirators were ready. He had chosen fellow equines for the plot, Steve and Trav being likewise tall, muscled, and steely eyed stallions of noble mien. I watched entranced, and semi hard.

I blamed the Wesley cheer squad for what happened in a way. They didn't really take adequate care of their precious mascot in my mind, and when they sent him heavenward, it was with a distinct leftward trajectory, right into the waiting and majestically airborne clutches of my hero who only needed wings for his apotheosis as Pegasus.

Pandemonium ensued, with the Wesley throng trying to break into our mass to retrieve their household God. It was at that moment that I became a real part of the play.

Tony turned to me, his body shielding the lion from the baying crowd, and just before Steve and Trav succumbed to their advance, handed the lion to me like a barely subcritical mass of plutonium.

"Quick Adam, put it under your rugby top and get it the fuck out of here!"

Not being one to disobey a husky command from someone I wanted to get distinctly husky with in all kinds of ways, I took the lion, and shoved it under my top. Given my shoulders were quite broad actually and the rest of my torso wasn't, that meant my rugby top, which I had to order as a special because they didn't make ones like that, hung over my frame like a circus tent. The lion disappeared under my midriff, and it looked like I was a moderately pregnant mouse. Not knowing quite what to do, I legged it, as fast as my hindpaws would carry me, pursued by...well, pursued by nobody. The Wesley throng were inside our group now, but it seemed nobody had seen the handover and I was clear. Sometimes being a mouse had its advantages, we are easy to underestimate.

I panicked then, realising I was wandering around the riverbank with what amounted to stolen property under my top. The lion's tail had even poked out, a little golden tuft at the end hanging over my groin. I tried to shove it back under, which in my mind only served to draw attention to the fact I was committing the worst crime of my life since the whole porno surfing thing, which really wasn't a crime but my mother definitely thought it was. She had even threatened to tell Gran, which I knew mum would never actually do. I told Gran anyway, much to her amusement. Gran was an eighty-year-old Glaswegian mouse who knew the world. She was the only person on the planet who knew my secret and had told me about her brother who died in world war two who she had loved even though he loved the boy next door. For the longest time, a dead distant relative was my only positive role model for who I was.

Now, faced with the need for a sensible plan and decisive action, I failed slightly at one but succeeded at the other. I got away from the river as quickly as my gangly mousey legs could carry me and headed for school with my tail twitching in ways I was sure would give me away as a master criminal. I reasoned with everyone at the river watching the rowing like they were supposed to be, our house room would be deserted, and given my family lived a long way out of Geelong proper, I didn't have anywhere else to go.

My locker was reasonably bare, as I tended to carry everything in my bag which never ceased to amaze my schoolmates. I figured I would need most of my books on any given night anyway, when I wasn't hopelessly masturbating at the thought of some beautiful stud horse giving me a massage. I wasn't even imagining a blowjob often; just imagining Tony stroking my tight furry bum was enough for me to shoot a fountain past my head and onto the wallpaper from my rather, to me, disappointingly small cock. I was monumentally thankful it was an easy to wipe down wallpaper.

I shoved the lion into my locker, with some difficulty it had to be said, and locked it tight. And only just in time.

"Adam Carter, what are you doing here mouse?"

As I turned, I almost jumped out of my fur as I saw my housemaster in front of me. A grizzled looking bull with grey in his brown fur, horns a little chipped, a big nosering and a perpetual frown, he had a fearsome reputation. Mostly he looked as if he would send whichever unfortunate student was in his sights to jail if he could, without collecting $200 and without passing Go. He looked on a little puzzled on this occasion, and a little contemptuous.

"I know you aren't a great follower of sport Adam, or our School's ethos, but I think it behooves you..."

I always cracked up when he said behooves, given he was an ungulate and I, well, wasn't, so I had to cover it by interrupting him otherwise I was going to lose it.

"Sir, Mister Gilson, I just had to get something and I'm heading back to the river right now!"

"See that you do Adam, see that you do."

Congratulating myself on my successful completion of a bit part in the plot (not the lions share, I thought, and gave myself a pity laugh), I then did what I said I would and headed back to the river, forgetting for the moment that I had left a large stuffed stolen lion in my locker.

When I got back, I was in time to see the remaining races, including the A final in which we, alas, came fourth. I mourned for my beautiful schoolmates, though their impressive frontal bulges seemed to indicate that though they may have lost, they were in no way feeling like losers. The six seat in particular, Trav, a shire horse with thighs the size of treetrunks, had an appendage that was out for all to see pressed under lycra like a butterfly under glass and seemed to need its own timezone.

Tony managed a brief word as he was ushered away by adoring family.

"Is it safe?"

I had seen Marathon Man on TV one night when they were doing classic movies when I was over at his house trying to get him to understand calculus and he was more interested in his barbells and his yifftube. He knew I loved the movie though, so I felt a little extra pang of love seeing him use the reference. I found out later he hadn't realised at all and it was a complete accident, but at that time, I swooned.

I knew his fondness for bad music, including one particular track after we sang it at the house music competition last year, so my response was I hoped equally endearing.

"In the jungle, the miiiightly jungle, the lion sleeeeps, toniiiiight..."

"You sing like a moron Adam."

Well, so much for that.

Lost in the beautiful wonderland of so much attention from Tony, I forgot all about the practicalities of my mission. In particular, my leonine friend remained, as before, securely, or perhaps insecurely, in my locker. The next morning, with the school digesting the news of the scandalous exploits by the river, I carried a warm inner glow as we mingled in our house room, everyone wondering who had the lion. Then came mister Gilson.

"Right, as you may know, yesterday at the Head of the River, someone or ones from our school committed an unfortunate act of theft against our rivals from Wesley. The Headmaster of Wesley had been in contact, and their displeasure is I can assure you matched only by the displeasure on the part of our own Head at this school being involved in such a thing. As the, errr, mascot is still missing, members of staff have been instructed to carry out a search of the school to determine if the unfortunate beast is here. Let me assure you, if one of you has possession of it, you will soon be as stuffed as he is."

I felt lightheaded then, my vision almost fading to nothing as I watched, helpless, as our housemaster and two of our year level leaders took out master keys and commenced an orderly search of our lockers.

For a supposedly smart mouse, I really was not much of a master criminal.

One of the first VIII was beside me, the stag Kyle, and he nudged me in the ribs.

"Adam, where is it?"

"My locker."

"No, really, where is it?"

"My locker."

He looked at me, I think not believing I was serious. When I began to almost cry, I think he got that I was serious, and he suddenly and precipitously left my side and tried to move as far away as possible like a deer on the first day of hunting season seeing one of the nice gentlemen in orange. He probably thought that the imminent explosion scheduled to occur in my vicinity might cause collateral damage, maybe take out an antler. He was inordinately proud of his antlers, almost as much as his balls. Rutting season would be coming soon, and the female population of the school would be encouraged to stroke his silken newly velvety antlers soon at every opportunity, with a view to getting them to stroke his equally silken scrotum soon thereafter. If only he realised how much an uncoordinated mouse could be gentle when required. These paws could barely open a can of coke, let alone damage something as impressive as that hefty set of stag nuts.

It should not have been a surprise really when they got to my locker and opened it to see the yellow furry arse pointing at me, the stupid tail flopping down unheeded and superfluous like my straight porn sites. But I still gave a gasp. I had mentally formulated several winning strategies but realised none of them would save me. And worse, if I gave up my co-conspirators, my chances of a sly wank with any of the rowers were gone, not that they were high to begin with but I had harboured dreams.

My housemaster the bull Mister Gilson stared. Everyone stared. The yellow furry arse didn't stare, it just was, but that was more than enough.

"Who...whose locker is this?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Errrr...mine Sir." I felt like nibbling a hole in the wall right there. It was that kind of moment.

There was a gasp, and then something akin to an explosion of laughter, shock, bewilderment. I stood upon the burning deck, my face and especially my ears burning worse, and looked at Mister Gilson and nodded when he asked if he had heard me correctly.

"Well Carter...that is something I did not expect."

My sentence would be learned tomorrow.

I slept little that night, my thoughts consisting of equal parts terror of the yelling and shame, of the thought I might cry, and worst, that my audience might laugh. Because as bad as it was knowing, a day ahead that I was to front the Head for a monumental dressing down, it was worse than that. My mother had received a call, and would be joining us. And, for final humiliation, a couple of representatives of the Wesley rowing setup would be present too, to receive my apology, and to receive back their pestilent feline. I curled up in a mouse ball and tried to wish myself to death or at least to this time next year when this whole stupid thing would be over.

One mistake I had avoided though, and was able to communicate the same to Tony.

"I took the fall Tony. I told Mister Gilson it was all me, even said I took the lion out of the air. After all, I'm the tallest guy in the school, so I have the reach. It's my fault mate, I should have hidden it better, or moved it out of my locker when I had the chance. It was obvious they would do a search."

He looked at me then, partly in shock, partly in pity, and partly something I bathed in like honey. Admiration, even love of a sort. And then he shook his head.

"Adam, you are not just a colossal nerd, you are the worst sportsman possibly in the history of the school. They won't buy it!"

"There is one benefit to being a colossal nerd and a noted moral coward Tony. As much as he couldn't believe me, it was harder still to believe I might willingly take the heat if I could get out of it."

If he wondered then indeed why I was doing it, he kept that question to himself. I had made him smarter, but thankfully not too smart. He just slapped my back, then a little hesitantly, my bum, and gave me a hug.

"Adam, the head is going to tear you a new one. Detentions, suspension, public execution. Ok, not the last, but it won't be pleasant, especially as you are the bright eyed mouse academically and you are the only one taking the heat. Let us take some of it mate."

I shook my head, my whiskers prickling as they tried to make me take him up on the offer. "Tony, after the number of stunts you have pulled, he is just looking for an excuse to kick you out or suspend you for ages. Don't take the bait. He will go easy on me, compared to you guys. My arse will be just fine. My ears may burn, my cheeks may sting, my mum may tell me precisely how much she is disgusted with me, I may lose my parents love and respect and be sent to a workhouse to eat cheese gruel for the rest of my days and..."

He was laughing now, his cute horsey eyes sparkling in blue. I wanted to drown in them, followed by urgent muzzle to muzzle resuscitation. He looked at me with new respect, and also something brotherly. I was looking slightly differently, unless this was an incest fantasy in which case, sure, brotherly it was.

"I know how much you hate being in trouble Adam. You almost cried that time you got sprung sharing notes around in Maths class last year for us and Miss Denning yelled at you."

"Tony, I may be a mouse. OK, yes I am a mouse, and I hate that. Must be the big ears or something, yelling makes my whiskers twitch. But I am ok with it. Trust me. But you will owe me horse."

He gave me a wink then, one that made my tail shudder, and slapped my ass again, harder this time. "Come back with your ass or upon it, Spartan."

He was not bad at classics. I had to give him that.

The next day at the appointed hour I swallowed hard as I was led into the Head's office. My mother had her mouth pursed and her whiskers twitching in ways I knew were not good. I was also shocked to find the two Wesley representatives included one teacher, who I found out was their head rowing coach, who of course had to be another big bodied equine dammit, but also one student my age. He was their school captain, and it turned out, the bow seat in their first VIII. And to my shock, and amusement, he was a feline. A lion, to be precise. The deliciousness of it made me close to giggles.

The stuffed lion, as opposed to the, as I saw, quite hunky rowing lion, was sitting, like a giant yellow turd, on the Head's desk. I took in the little tableau, mentally crossed myself, and hoped to God I wouldn't cry when the yelling started.

The Head gave the most monumental dressing down, with my mother nodding and, I saw, crying herself a little at the way her prized youngest had turned into such a bad mouse. I looked at my contemporary, the Wesley rowing captain, his leonine eyes communicating support and a little mischief. I turned to look at the lion on the desk beside me. He was no help at all.

At the end I had managed to hold myself together, even when the Head went on about disappointment, disgrace, and even threw in a "real rodent under the façade of a nice boy" to get at me. Then I learned my fate. I was to spend two weekends in detention, but not here. I was to attend the Wesley boat shed, and personally wash every boat, every piece of gear, and then the shed itself. Physical labour. With an audience to comment on my failings, and watch me flag like a pricked balloon. An audience of rowers, in their tight fitting lycra bodysuits laughing at me, as I slaved over their racing shells in my school PE kit. Oh fucking hell.

I managed to apologise to the two Wesleyites, and hand over the lion to their head rowing coach, still in control. The head then told me to leave with the Wesleyites for a moment, while he talked to my mother.

Outside the office, I lost my composure somewhat. I cried buckets and fell into the arms of the Wesley school captain. The lion stroked my ears and whispered consolingly.

"I'm so sorry mate, none of us wanted any of this shit. Our Head is a bastard is all, and apparently he has some sort of rivalry with your head so he loved the chance to score some points. We all thought it was kind of a funny prank was all. Would have done the same to you if we had the chance. Here, just let it out mate..."

His embrace felt warm, so warm and understanding, and he handed me a handkerchief and I blew my big mousey nose in the most unstudly way possible, but he made it possible for me to get it together. When mum came out looking like she would disown me, and I shook the Wesleyites hands with only the remains of tears at my eyes and told them again I was sorry, I showed them to the carpark and made it back to my house room.

My composure cracked again when I saw the whole rowing VIII waiting. And they gave me a round of applause. I spoilt it a little by crying into Tony's mane, even wiping my nose with the green white and blue hairs. He didn't seem to mind.

"You need to let me know the favour you want me to do to make it up to you mate." Well, I could enjoy those thoughts tonight much more than ones I might have had. But strangely, the sensation that stuck with me the most was the warm embrace of the Wesley lion cub. And the feel of his mane against my neck. The thought had some consequences though, and as I rested in Tony's arms, I realised something was up. Literally.

"Ahhh Adam...check your house, something is stirring, even a mouse..."

I wanted to take to the bastard with a riding crop then. Come to think of it...

I had a couple more pleasant surprises that week though. I opened my locker to find someone had broken in and left me a present.

A small stuffed lion, only about the size of my fist. And he had a band-aid plastered to his ass. I knew I was accepted then, truly. Though I didn't know who left him there.

I grilled Tony, but he denied all knowledge. I decided he was lying, and at our tutoring session that weekend, my last of freedom for a while, I threatened to torture him with a riding crop for the truth. His eyes twinkled as he showed me his ass daring me to try it , shorts dropped, and I saw a cute horseshoe brand on his perfect muscular left ass cheek. I ogled, and he obliged, making it jump by flexing his rear. I almost shot. And I had an idea.

"Where the fuck..."

"Same panther girl who gave me the piercing. She likes branding too, well all sorts of body modification. She made the brand herself. Fuck it hurt..."

"Tony, I know what favour you can do."

"Yeah? What, want an introduction? Need some cheese branded onto your ear or something?" His big white grin made me quiver.

"No asshole. Show me...show me your piercing."

You could hear a pin drop. I thought I might have gone too far, not counting on the fact Tony was, at heart, an exhibitionist and natural extrovert. He gave me a wink again, turned round, dropped his shorts to his hooves, and dropped something else. He held it, the great length of horseflesh so big, and so alive. And then, to my astonishment, as I started at it and not the shiny ring threaded through his flare which was only the alibi for my real desire, began to stroke. It hardened before my eyes, as my ears poked out and my whiskers twitched and my eyes went out on stalks.

"I know you like guys Adam. I know you like me too. It's ok."

I gasped then. It was not ok. It seriously was not...except, it seemed it might be. He wasn't sending me away. Fuck, he was openly masturbating in front of me.

"That wasn't the favour you wanted to ask for though, was it Adam."

I swallowed.

"Ahhhhhh..."

"Go on Adam, ask."

"Ahhhhhhhhhh..."

"Are you a mouse? Ok, ignore that...come on Adam, ask."

"Can I...can I touch?"

He smiled a thousand volt smile of pure heat, and lay back on the bed like a renaissance painting, minus the annoying sheet draped over the important bits. He shimmied his perfect ass as he pulled his shorts down, and then pulled his top over his head and lay back ready. I managed to avoid hyperventilating, just.

"And what else Adam?"

I blinked, stunned, but drawn along like a mouse to that nice big wooden and metal thing with the convenient piece of cheese on the metal plate. But I didn't give a fuck if it snapped. I wanted that cheese.

"I want to see you cum Tony..."

"Well, you better do something to make it happen mouseboy..."

It turned out mouse paw felt good on horsecock. I held it, feeling the heat, the power, and the life. It jerked in my grip, pulsing with blood as he whinnied and snorted. One paw on his magnificent scrotum, one on his horsehood, I gave the first pawjob of my life to the object of my fantasies. He lay back full length on his bed, knees spread wide, hooves up towards his groin, hands behind his head, eyes closed, muzzle open. His little pink tongue poked out, and he let out something else, grunts, nickers, and then sighs as I worked him over with a stronger grip and more certainty until I was rewarded with a gush of sticky stallion spunk that splashed all over his abdominals, taut and straining against his chestnut fur. I sat back on my paws gasping for breath, realising I had shot off in my own shorts without even touching, and stared at the sight before me, and finally his sparkling blue eyes.

"I just won a hundred and sixty bucks!"

Now I had no idea.

"Wha...what?"

"The guys in the crew have been waiting for the day you would proposition one of us. You kept looking at our groins like you wanted to make like a mouse with a whole block of cheddar. So we had a pool, twenty each, winner take all. I can buy Sandra that bracelet now!"

I learned a valuable lesson then. Straight stallions may let you give them a pawjob, may make your heart flutter, may even give you a sort of love, but fuck you will want to kill them at some point. And they wont love you the way you dream. That was ok though, because as I calmed down and stopped trying to squeeze his nuts to death and only succeeded in making him moan in pleasure, I realised I had something better. They knew. And it was ok. And I was still their mouse bro. I wasn't alone in this, even if I didn't have the one. And that was something else.

When I headed up to Melbourne and the Wesley boatshed, I was still buzzing in the warm embrace of that pawjob and the realisation I was ok just as I was. Nothing more had come of it, and I knew better than to ask, at least not just now. Of course the whole crew knew what had happened, as the prize had been claimed. I was asked by Trav to confirm the details, and nodded solemly. He sighed.

"Fuck. Was going to see if I could give you a nudge myself next week. Damn."

Fucking equines, hornier than a two peckered goat.

I found the experience of being the slave mouse for the Wesley rowers not as bad as feared. Yes, they were the usual mix of breeds I lusted over all clad in body hugging lycra, including more than enough equines to run the Melbourne Cup in my masturbation fantasies. But it seemed my little prank had won their admiration too, and so they brought me iced tea when I told them it was my favourite drink, and even though they laughed at it, cheese scones. They were fucking delicious too.

I was back tomorrow, and the Wesley school captain had offered my parents to let me stay at his home so I didn't have to go back to Geelong. It appeared I had a new friend, and one who it turned out had some similar tastes to me. We both were set on Melbourne University, and I realised I might have another friend there when I went next year. He was also fucking hot. When we stripped down for bed, me in my t-shirt and boxers, him in just his briefs, I made my usual careful and discrete survey of his body. Rowers. Fucking rowers. His chest was plump with muscle, nice fat pecs with big dark purple nipples made almost more prominent almost by his light brown fur, a tuft of white between his pecs that turned into a snail trail across his belly button and dived into a thicket just poking above the waistband of his briefs. I felt my cock twitching again, which given I was wearing only boxers was a bad idea. I hopped into the small trundle bed beside his in his room and settled in to teenage guy banter. Football. Beer. Football and beer. Chicks. Anything he wanted to talk about really. But I was curious.

"Ummm...Colin?"

"Yeah mate?"

"You're...a lion."

"Nicely noticed Adam. You Geelong guys are really perceptive."

I gave him a squeak, and a frown.

"Wesley...lion...kind of...well funny...the school captain, a lion and all..."

He gave me a look, and a roar. My whiskers twitched. I felt such a doofus...and then he laughed.

"Mate, everyone laughs at it. I don't mind. Besides, all the fucking equines you have, must be a few school captains in your history with a bit of Pegasus in them. Pity nobody has a mouse as a symbol. Anyway, you're a mouse. Kind of funny too..."

Now I was intrigued. "How so?"

"Well, felines and mice...not a great combination supposedly. Though historically, we could be friends. You know the fable. You are supposed to remove a thorn from my paw, and I shall be eternally grateful."

The idea of making him eternally grateful was one that made my ears burn again. He seemed to sense it, and meowled, his tail swishing a little to the side of the bed, the tuft reminding me of the toy lion that had been my responsibility for a brief time. He had a much nicer tuft, one I wanted to nibble. The toy lion would have tasted like shit.

"I promise not to steal any more toy lions Colin. Cross my heart."

He giggled then.

"You shouldn't need to mate."

"Huh?" now I was lost.

"My cousin is in your house at Geelong. I got him to leave the little lion there. Least I could do when we caused you to have your ass reamed by your Headmaster over it all."

Now it was my turn to giggle, and I fell asleep with a little lion on the chest of drawers beside my rollaway bed, and the sound of a real lion snoring softly in the bed across, his chest rising and falling gently as I watched him and began to relax.

I woke feeling groggy, and the window was still dark so I knew it was early still. Rowers rose early I knew, and this mouse liked to rise late, but it was early even for the rowers I realised as my watch told me it was three thirty.

One rower had risen though I could see, when I let my eyes wander and in the moonlight, I saw that he had thrown off his covers in the hot March evening, and lay perfect in repose, with his briefs down under his ass, and his thick long cock in one paw slowly jacking. I could see a line of precum, glistening in the eerie light, as it dripped to his fuzzy belly, decorating his treasure trail with a garnish made in heaven. I gasped, and closed my muzzle, and gripped my own suddenly hard length and stroked in time, hoping not to disturb him.

One leonine eye turned to me, and winked.

"Mate...wouldn't consider dealing with the thorn in this lion's paw would you?"

I froze, like I did at first with Tony, my cock aching, lips unable to form the words. Yes would have been a good start. Instead, I kind of gurgled. He winked again.

"Mate, my cousin told me about you. And, lets face it mouse, you were eyeing me up like..."

"If you mention cheese Colin, this will not end well for you." I mentally began to rethink just how well I was keeping in the closet. As it turned out, I might as well have turned up every day to school as a different Village People character singing YMCA.

He stroked his nipples then, tormenting me. He could mention cheese all he liked. Fuck, he could cover himself in Mozzarella like a pizza if he wanted, as he tweaked his nips with clawed fingertips and my cock leaked.

I didn't need a further invitation.

My second cock. Different to Tony, smoother, shorter but thick still, the barbs so intriguing, the tapered tip so different and feeling so good on my paws. I stroked his piss slit, making him roar softly, back arched, muscles tight. I ran my paws over each of them, his pectorals, his abdominals, his pelvis, his thighs. Then I got my first taste of a guy, as he guided my muzzle to his length, and gently encouraged me with nudges to my head as I lapped at him and gave him a slow, hesitant, but successful blowjob and tasted a load of lion spunk. His fuzzy scrotum looked amazing when he came, scrunched like he was trying to force every lust sperm into my throat, then relaxed and ready for more.

Lying on my belly on his bed, my rear propped up with a pillow, I felt him lick my fuzzy tiny hole, my tail lifted daintily in one rough lion paw, and wondered if this was really a good thing after all. My pucker was really tiny, I knew as I had gotten a dildo, nice and small, and tried shoving it up my ass with enough lube to drown the cat and only managed to injure my pucker. And his cock though nowhere as big as Tony's, and nicely pointed at the tip, did spread out to a rather imposing thickness at the base. But I realised the time for fear in my life was over. This mouse was not for turning. Tora Tora Tora.

Ok, I did squeal a bit when he spread my pucker with his head, and more as he sank into my depths and I felt his well lubed shaft and the rough barbs slide over sensitive skin inside me. But when he lay over me, his mane rubbing my back, his teeth nibbling my neck, his fingers stroking my ears, I gave precisely zero thought to the pain and lots to the incredible pleasure and resolved that from this day forward, felines would be for me, no matter what the poor history of our respective species together. And as he hit my prostate over and over and I spunked all over his bed and apologised, only to have him chuckle and kiss my ears and continue into another slow perfect fuck, I resolved to wean myself off equines forever.

Well, at least until after I finished up my detentions.

"Let's see if we can make this mouse roar Adam."

As he began to rapidly hump into my ass, his body writhing on mine, pelvis hitting my butt and his thickly muscled rower's legs spreading mine wider to get a better go at my hole, I did indeed roar. Or something close enough for the moment.

And all the while a little toy lion with a band-aid on his ass looked down on us and smiled