Single
"Single"
by K.M. Hirosaki ([email protected])
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story and call characters are copyright (c) 2010 K.M. Hirosaki
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One of my favorite things about being single is that I get to give blowjobs. I've never been comfortable sucking someone off when I'm in a relationship with then. I guess I just can't look someone I'm dating in the eye without thinking, "Man, it's hard to take you seriously knowing that I've had your dick in my mouth."
That's why I like guys like Jenner, here. He's pretty much my best friend, but every so often (like two or three times a year, at most), we'll let ourselves give in to our friskiness. We've got like this unspoken rule that we only have sex when sex just happens. Neither of us can push for it to happen; it just has to occur naturally.
Like it has tonight. And hey, for a ringtail, he's got a pretty big cock, long and thick, and in the moment, I concede that his is probably one of my favorite dicks to suck.
He's had a little bit too much to drink tonight, and so it's taking him a while to finish, but that's okay, because I'm having fun. Hell, I've had a lot to drink, too, and without that, I don't think that either of us would be where we are: Jenner stretched out on his bed, and me kneeling at the foot of it, bobbing my muzzle over his dick while clumsily jerking myself off in quick, five-second spurts. That's spurts as in, like, little batches of time. I'm not spurting yet.
Jenner's long, soft tail wraps halfway around me. I smile, and swish my own tail. Seriously, I don't get to give enough blowjobs. Especially since I'm so good at giving them. People need to run their mouth more about my skills or something, I guess, so that I can get some more chances at stuff like this.
But Jenner's not that kind of guy. He's my buddy, after all, and it's cool that he's not the sort of guy who'll talk shit about me. I totally need to sleep with someone who's more prone to blab, though. Someone who won't have any qualms about saying something like, "Hey, guess how much of a super-easy slut that squirrel Tory is." That'd be sure to increase the odds of my getting laid, and with people who weren't looking for anything but getting laid.
And that's exactly what I need.
Not right now, though. Right now, I should pay attention to Jenner. He's a good friend, and a good friend deserves a good blowjob. I can tell I've been spacing out, and so to make it up to him, I let my wide front teeth graze mock-accidentally along the top of his shaft. That jerks him out of his own alcohol-induced torpor, and he reaches down to grab at my head and run his fingers through my fur. His moans are, as always, super-cute.
I don't have a free paw to use to play with his balls, unfortunately. Being the very big ringtail that he is, I need the one paw to hold the root of his shaft steady, and I don't dare stop jerking myself off, because if I lose my erection now, the alcohol isn't going to let me get it back up again, and goddammit, I want to cum tonight. That's not too selfish of me, is it? Hell, I can get him off just fine with just my mouth, I know. And this way, I also get to avoid any cracks about squirrels not being able to resist playing with nuts. God I hate that shit.
"Oh, God, Tory," Jenner huffs. "Tory, Tory, Torytorytory..." His voice rises in pitch as it speeds up, and it'd make me giggle if I weren't concentrating so hard. This is it, I can tell. This is the cusp of climax, that precious little moment right before someone is about to get off, when the orgasm hasn't happened yet but it's too late to stop it from happening. There's probably some deep Zen shit I could compare that too if I weren't borderline drunk, but you know what I mean.
He gets off with a squeak. I know I'm running out of adjectives, but the sound is adorable, and I can't really think of a better way to describe it. Less adorable but no less welcome is the rush of jizz that fills my mouth in the following moments. He doesn't spurt particularly hard, but he has a lot to give, and I moan around my mouthful of dick as I feel that musky saltiness soak into my taste buds before I swallow it down.
It's during all this that I manage to get myself off. My moaning gets louder, and my lips tighten around Jenner's throbbing shaft as my body convulses with pleasure.
Told you I need to give more blowjobs.
Crashing in Jenner's bed isn't weird at all. We've got this amazing familiarity between the two of us. Thankfully, I didn't drink so much the night before that I'm hung over in the morning. Jenner seems okay, too. It's a bit early as we actually wake up together, in that way that you paradoxically tend to wake up early when you're more tired.
I take a shower. I halfheartedly try to drop hints to coax Jenner into coming in with me, in the hopes that maybe we can fuck, but he's either not interested or just doesn't pick up on my signals. I'm still sleepy, so it's not really worth pressing the point, and I end up just getting cleaned up alone.
Putting on the same clothes I wore the night before feels weird, especially since I'd been drinking. My shirt is kind of stained, and my boxers show signs of my having been drizzling into them for hours before I finally got down to business. It's not a big deal, and intellectually I know that I'm the only one who could possible notice. Just one of my quirks, I guess.
On the drive back home, I space out. I stop for coffee, get a donut for good measure, and scold myself for it even while I messily devour it with just one paw on the wheel. Whatever, though. It's not like I'm fat or anything.
By the time I get home, I feel somehow more tired than I did when I woke up. I resist the urge to crawl into bed and instead force myself to guzzle the rest of my coffee now that it isn't too hot to drink. I'll get back into the grove of the day soon, I'm sure.
It's only then that I remember that I don't actually have any plans for the day. I sit down on the couch, turn on the TV and leave it on whatever channel happens to be on, and flip through the contacts in my phone. Who's even around today? And who do I feel like hanging out with? Decisions, decisions.
All I know is that I don't want anything involving a lot of alcohol.
The rest of the weekend blows by without incident or much of anything of interest. I'm bored and listless and spend Saturday at home, watching TV and fucking around on the computer, skipping lunch and taking a nap through the late afternoon. Nobody I feel like seeing is around for dinner, so I just nab some fast food, then spend an hour and a half browsing the bookstore without buying anything before coming home and watching more TV.
Sunday is still boring, but not as bad. I wake up early because I went to bed so early on Saturday night, and so I decide to spend my time doing productive things. For the first time in what feels like forever, I cook myself some breakfast, and while I wait for my laundry to finish, I finally finish a book I've been letting sit on my desk for weeks. Getting anything accomplished gives me the drive to make good use of the rest of my day, too.
I get lunch alone, but leaving the apartment gives me the excuse to run some errands, and that invigorates me further into putting together actual dinner plans. I meet my friend Caroline (who's been by my side since junior high and who has thankfully never become my fag hag) and her boyfriend Dan, and we get pasta together. It's simple, but nice.
They've got one of those relationships that I know is only still going on because of inertia. For years I was just waiting for them to break up, but they never did. I mean, I'm not trying to badmouth them or anything, and they're nice people and they get along well enough near as I can tell, but they don't have "relationship" chemistry. Also, if what Caroline has confided in me is true, I bet that she and Dan have sex about as often as Jenner and I do, and we're not even together.
The following Wednesday, my friend Shari asks if I want to come over, have dinner, and watch some TV. I give him an unhesitating yes, and spend the next several hours finishing up my workday while daydreaming giddily. Shari's the hottest damn dingo I've ever met, and the only reason I haven't told him outright that I want him to fuck me crosseyed is that if I said it out loud, it would make it too real, and then he'd have to stop all the flirting that he's thus far pretended he hasn't been doing with me. His only crimes against his boyfriend, near as I can tell, are lies of omission, and I'm okay with letting him have those.
Still, I'd really love for him to fuck me. Christ.
When I get to the house, it's not Shari who answers, but Zak, which is probably a good thing because it prevents me from trying to make eyes at the dingo and just getting myself worked up unfairly (and only semi-requitedly). Zak's a coyote, small and slender, and exactly the sort of guy who you can imagine a big dog like Shari sticking it to. He's a nice guy, don't get me wrong. I like hanging out with him and he's a great cook, but I can't let myself get physically attracted to both guys in a relationship because then if I get drunk around them I'm gonna end up trying to initiate a three-way and ruin everything.
Shari and Zak are a perfect example of how relationships always ruin everything. It'd be great for all of us if we could just fool around whatever, but no, they have to be all committed to each other and shit. Hell, it'd be okay even if they had one of those bullshit relationships that they didn't even actually care about except for posturing for their barely gay-accepting parents, where they both just cheerfully fucked whoever they wanted on the side. Then they could still cook dinner together and I could get me a side of dingo every once in a while.
Gah, no, I should stop. It's been a bad day and I'm just bitching. Shari and Zak are a great couple, and fuck, I don't actually even know anything about either of their parents'.
Dinner's not even ready yet, but Zak has already opened a bottle of chardonnay. He offers me a glass, and that softens me pretty damn quick, because I know Zak doesn't even really like chardonnay and only opened it up because he knew I like it. I accept; Shari just sticks with his beer.
It's just me and Shari in the living room while Zak stays in the kitchen finishing up dinner. It smells really good, whatever he's making, and it's only then that I realize I never even asked what we were having before gleefully accepting the invitation. Because I feel guilty, I keep the flirting to a minimum, even while I've got the perfect window of opportunity, what with Zak being occupied elsewhere.
Shari doesn't seem particularly flirty, either. That makes me wonder if he's ever been as receptive as I've thought, or whether my impression of his supposed advances has always just been filtered through my thinking with my dick. I guess it doesn't matter, since I've decided that I'm not going to really tease the dingo too much tonight, because it'll tease me more than it'll tease him. He has a boy to fuck tonight after I leave, for one.
Where there are appropriate openings, though, I do sneak in the occasional suggestive remark or sexy joke. Those earn me some toothy grins from Shari, and that keeps me warm along with my second glass of wine.
Dinner itself is served shortly later. It's great, both the meal itself as well as the conversation. Shari and Zak really do have a great thing going, and despite my earlier wallowing, I am legitimately happy for them. Shit, their relationship is a thousand times more legit than whatever Caroline and Dan have got. They tell me about their camping trip from the weekend before (which I didn't accompany them on because of Jenner's low-key party), and I tell them that I'd be happy to go along next time. Shari smiles and says that they'll be sure to invite me, and there's something in his grin that just melts me. Fuck. I shelve a fantasy about me and Shari camping together, just the two of us, before the details get too fully formed.
We have coffee and dessert (this great little raspberry tart that's store-bought, not homemade), and we talk some more. There's a lot interesting going on in my life, and as I talk about what few mundane details might interest them, I try to convince myself that I'm not boring because I'm single.
For my drive home, I put on some trashy dance music. The idea is that it'll put me in a better mindset by putting me in a simpler mindset. It doesn't work so well.
I'm halfway home when I start wondering what Zak and Shari are doing right at that moment. They probably haven't even had time to wash the dishes and put them away yet, which leads to imagine a scene where Zak is leaning over the sink, doing the cleanup, only for Shari to come up behind him and set his paws on the coyote's hips. Zak playfully tries to urge the dingo to leave him alone, to wait just a few more minutes, but Shari's not interested in waiting.
Zak's pants come off (I've decided, for some reason, that Zak is also wearing an apron here). Shari grinds his dick against his boyfriend's ass, first with his jeans still on, and then again moments later with his jeans undone. "We're in the kitchen," Zak says in what's supposed to be protest, but Shari ignores him, of course.
Before long, Zak is trying to turn the faucet off, but his paws are busy supporting his weight as Shari works his dick under the coyote's tail. Soon, far too soon to be realistic, the dingo is in, and then they're fucking, alone together in their house, able to make as much noise as they want. In the midst of the frenzied lovemaking, one of them knocks over a wineglass, which falls onto the kitchen floor and shatters into pieces. Neither of them pay it any heed, and by the time they've both gotten off, they'll have forgotten about it, but neither of them will step on any shards of broken glass because this is just my stupid fantasy and those details aren't important anymore after the orgasms are done.
When I get home, I'm hard as a rock. I boot up my laptop and I check to see if Jenner is online, because some online teasing would do me some good. He's not on, though, and it's too late at night to send him a text in case he went to sleep early. Instead, I just look at some porn, but it's not really doing it for me.
In the end, I just crawl into bed and let myself have that fantasy about me and Shari going on that camping trip together. He sneaks into my tent at night, murmurs something nondescript about how glad he is that Zak's out of town on a business trip. I say something approving in response, I guess. I'm actually just too horny to make the fantasy all that real or detailed, and in less than a minute it's just the nondescript motions of Shari pounding my ass while I'm laid out on my back. Another minute later and I'm spurting all over my belly. It's an okay orgasm, in that it takes the edge off without being terribly fulfilling otherwise, but whatever.
I don't bother cleaning up. As I fall asleep, I'm still vaguely aware of the stickiness drying into the fur of my belly.
Thursday after work, I hang out with Jenner. There's no cocksucking this time-just take-out and video games. I kinda want things to go there, but I remember that unspoken rule about not pushing for things to happen if they're not meant to, and since we just hooked up not even a week ago, I know it's not going to tonight.
I guess I'm all right with that, though. I guess I'm just still horny because of the thing with Shari.
The ringtail's in a good mood because he just found out he's getting a bonus in tomorrow's paycheck. We bandy about ideas on what sort of things he can spend his unexpected windfall on. Electronic gadgets come up first, followed by the suggestion of an impromptu road trip. Mostly as a gag, I suggest different bizarre sex toys, which gets some giggles, but no serious discussion, and that's as sexual as conversation gets for the entire night.
Close to ten o'clock, we're getting kind of sick of video games. I suggest that we head out and do a late-night coffee run, and I expect Jenner to say no, but he says yes. I don't know why I expect him to say no, but he's actually pretty enthusiastic about the whole thing, and that gets me all excited, too, even though it was already my idea in the first place.
We end up hanging out at the coffee shop until five minutes after it closes up at eleven. I'm wired to the point where I know I'm not going to be able to fall asleep until well after one o'clock or so, but I don't care. It's nice, being giddy, and it's nice to have Jenner sharing my enthusiasm. We go back to his place and talk a bit more. He doesn't show any indication that he's just waiting for me to leave, even if the conversation just degenerates into us talking about whatever.
Soon, though, it's getting closer and closer to midnight, a fact that gets increasingly harder to ignore. I'm not tired, but I do have work in the morning, and so does Jenner. I tell him I should probably go, and I start getting ready to leave, but even then, it's still a full five minutes before I've got my shoes on and I'm actually heading out the door.
As I take one last look at the ringtail, I try to read the expression on his face to see if I'm doing something wrong. He hasn't left any obvious openings, but for some reason I wonder if I was supposed to offer to stay the night.
Jenner's always been pretty straightforward and direct when it comes to stuff like that, though, so I'm sure I'd notice if he were trying to hint at that.
Mid-afternoon on Friday, I get an IM telling me that there's a party at Eric's that night. It's a last-minute shindig, but it sounds like a lot of people are going to be there, so I decide to go. Heck, it's not even until after I accept the invitation that I realize I don't actually have Friday night plans, myself. Maybe nobody really did. Maybe that's why the party's happening at all.
I get updates throughout the rest of what turns out to be a lazy workday. It's just a get-together at Eric's house, nothing too crazy. Booze, food, probably a dip in the pool later on. Eric's got a nice one-story deal that's pretty spread out, ideal for hosting casual parties. He's a bit of a shy wolf, usually, but still outgoing in that way that wolves just seem to tend to be. Not a bad host, if I do say.
Jenner lets me know that he's going to be there, too. I ask if he's willing to give me a ride, since I might end up getting pretty drunk. He counters by mentioning that he's got a non-zero chance of getting wasted, too, but he agrees to drive anyway. Eric won't let anyone drive home drunk, and there's crash space, so I'm not worried or anything.
I ditch work a half hour early. Most of my coworkers have already left before then, including my boss. My big, bushy tail has a jaunty kink to it as I trot out of the office. I'm glad that there aren't many people around, because I totally look like a fag. But whatever. It's the weekend, and it's party time.
After I get home, I go to get dressed up all pretty-like. I play music in my head and even do a little dance as I strip out of my business clothes, yanking off my necktie and whipping it around before tossing it into the corner. I undo the buttons of my shirt as I look into the mirror, practically stripteasing for myself. Then I undo my belt, swing my hips as I shimmy out of my slacks, and leave myself in just my boxers. Both my paws frame the bulge of my crotch, and I think to myself, Damn, I look good.
Then it's time to pick out clothes. As flamboyant a mood as I'm in, I remind myself that this is just a get-together at Eric's place, so I steer clear of the real wild stuff. I throw on a pair of tight black jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and then top it all off with a dark blue overshirt. I add my little silver necklace and a watch that's just for show, and I'm all good.
Jenner pulls up in his car a half hour later. He's just dressed like Jenner always is-in whatever. He never comes across as being a slob who doesn't care about his appearance, though. He just wears whatever he wears, and that's part of who he is. I hop into the passenger's seat, and already there's loud dance music blaring. Jenner's usually a classic rock guy, but maybe tonight he's in a party mood.
We get to Eric's place, and there are only a few other cars parked out front. Usually I show up to parties a little late, when things are already in full swing, but me and Jenner are among the first ones here tonight. That's fine, though; that at least means that we can start drinking sooner.
Eric answers the door. He's a short, stocky wolf. Well, okay, so he's kind of fat, really. He's a good guy, but I've never hooked up with him. He's said he's bi, but I've never seen him with either a boyfriend or a girlfriend, nor have I ever really seen him go after anyone even at drunken parties. Maybe it's self-esteem issues. By that same token, though, I've never seen him unhappy or mopey about being single, and I appreciate that.
In under a minute, I'm working on my first bitch-beer. That shit's always the first thing to run out at parties like this, so I'm actually kind of glad I got here early for once. I guzzle it fast and toss the empty, then grab a replacement before folks can notice that I'm already on my second. This one I don't just knock back like the first, but I'm not exactly nursing it, either.
Most of the people at Eric's party are people I know well enough to talk to, but who I don't usually hang out with on my own. I don't even know the names of some of them, but I know we get along. When everyone's drinking together, though, it's easy to get along, and that's why I like parties like this one.
I chitchat with a rat whose name I don't think I ever learned and a lion with a shaved mane whose name I think is Allen or Alan or something. We talk about mundane stuff, like TV shows we've been following and lamenting the upcoming summer where there won't be anything new to watch. Jenner comes back into the room for a bit, chimes in once or twice, and then fades back into the rest of the party.
Eric himself is scarce for the early part of the evening. Evidently, someone forgot to bring some snacks that they'd said they would, and so Eric went out to nab them himself. In the meantime, the party guests have been obliging enough to not drink all of the booze. When he finally gets back, he seems no worse for the wear, still happy and cheerful, and hey, now we've all got more stuff to munch on.
Around an hour later, I notice something that I didn't notice before: Shari is here. More importantly, Shari is here, and his boyfriend isn't. Oh, fuck. This is so not what I need. See, now I'm already tipsy, most of the way to drunk (but not quite there yet). After how this past week has gone, I'm not sure I trust myself in this situation.
I try to brainstorm a plan as I sip at another beer (a real one, this time). The best thing I can think of is that I won't be tempted to try to hook up with Shari if I'm already hooking up with someone else, so I start going through the crowd for prospects.
The first and most obvious choice is Jenner. Relationships are complicated and Jenner is simple. I know I can count on that familiarity that we share. I know that he can make me forget all about Shari if he lets me let myself.
I find him and start hanging on him, and not just because the booze has gone to my head. He giggles a bit and doesn't try hard to shrug me off, but despite a few hugs and squeezes here and there, he doesn't initiate a whole lot of cuddling in return.
Draping myself against him, I try to use my own body to hide my paw from prying eyes as I work it down the ringtail's stomach, closer and closer towards his waistline and his groin beyond. When my fingertips reach his navel, though, I stop.
No, no, this is all wrong. It's only been a week-exactly a week-since the last time me and Jenner fooled around. Isn't this too soon? I'm not due to mess around with him again for another three or four months, at the earliest. The absolute earliest.
"Hey, is this okay?" I whisper into his ear.
"Is what okay?" he murmurs back, tilting his head.
I tap my fingertips against his lower abdomen. "You know," I say. "This. Us."
"'Course it's okay." I see his eyes warily scope out the rest of the room.
Something's in his voice, though. "Do you want me to, though?"
"Do you want to?"
"Well, do you not want me to?"
Jenner reaches down very briefly brushes his fingers along the back of my paw. "If this is what you want, just say so."
Did I just say Jenner was uncomplicated? Gah, fuck this.
I slide away from him, then, after whispering in his ear that I'll see him later. He waves and flicks his tail, and I give him a smile to show him, hey, no hard feelings. The world spins and tilts as I straighten back up, and I have to play at a quick little balancing act of holding out both my arms without spilling my drink. I pull it off, and feel momentarily proud of myself. No case of "squirrel overboard!" tonight, nosiree.
Looking at my drink, I find it dangerously full-prone to spilling if I have another such balance-related incident, so I chug it down to a more acceptable level. By then, though, it's almost done, so I finish it off and grab myself another one. Now we're cooking.
Small talk. Interrupting conversations. Do I even know you? You seem to know me, so whatever. Yeah, this is the last lime-flavored one, sorry. Yeah, the lime ones always do run out first. Yeah, seriously, someone should just pick up a case of the limes instead of getting the variety pack. Who the hell drinks the light shit, anyway? I mean, it's already just bitch-beer, right? Fuck.
Yammering. More talking. I'm following this all, honestly. Sometimes I just space out and-
Shari! Hey, Shari's back in the room! Yay, Shari. I pad on up to him and give him a big hug, and I also (very subtly, mind) grind up against his crotch. Shari, being the good sport, pats me on the head, because I'm a good squirrel, I guess. I'm glad that Shari likes me.
Somehow I end up not talking to Shari after that. Instead I'm talking to Allen or Alan again, or whatever-you know, the lion?-and I don't even remember why I give a shit.
I wander.
I want to lie down but I think I might just get bed spins. I grab myself a bunch of mixed nuts (haha, don't I wish, right?) and chomp 'em down. No one makes any squirrel jokes. Awesome.
Eric walks by. I walk up to him to ask him if he just invited Shari, or if he invited Shari and Zak and Zak just didn't show up. It'd be weird if he'd just invited Shari, right? And I mean, if you invite someone, isn't it just implied that their S.O.'s invited, too? Unless you're a total douchebag and specifically non-invite someone's S.O. In which case, fuck, why would anyone want to go to your party?
Now that I'm standing face to face with Eric, I've forgotten what it is I wanted to ask him. So I just tell him that he's throwing an awesome party and I kind of lean on him.
I didn't black out. I still mostly-kinda-sorta remember how I got here. Well, not in here, specifically. Fuck, I'm still drunk, aren't I?
Anyway, me and Eric are kind of making out. Holy fuck, seriously? I know I said I'd never seen him hook up with anyone before but-oh, god, I hope I didn't tell him I felt sorry for him. I vaguely remember saying that, but maybe I just thought it.
No, if I'd said it, we wouldn't be hooking up right now. He'd just-
Okay, we're kissing again, and wow, okay, he's actually a really good kisser. He's got a hungry muzzle, and I'm not just saying that because he's a chubby wolf, either. No, he kisses like it's something nice and raw and carnal, and I could not agree more, at least at the moment.
He's warm and cuddly. The cuddly aspect surprises me, and I guess it shouldn't. I've never made out with a fat guy before. I always kinda thought it would be, y'know, gross, but it's kinda hot, having him being so much bigger than me, and not in a Shari way (oh god, fuck, Shari-please tell me I'm misremembering all that). When he holds me, it's almost possessive, but not in a creepy way. It's reassuring. I feel safe.
Maybe it's just because it's Eric and I know he'd never hurt a fly. Or maybe it's because I secretly think he's a virgin. Wow, how are any of my friends virgins, what with me around?
Oh god, I really just thought that, didn't I?
Whatever, I'm drunk. I think a lot of stupid things when I'm drunk. But this thing with Eric isn't stupid. This thing with Eric is nice.
His paws are big and meaty, and his thick fingers have a surprising amount of dexterity to them. Despite the fact that he's got this intense hold on me, though, he doesn't just go for my ass or anything. Oh, he kneads my hips and even my lower back and he pets my big bushy tail a fair bit, but he doesn't grab my ass and he doesn't go for my crotch. Something about that-I don't know if it's the logical reverse of "heat of the moment" or what-makes me hesitant to do the same, but the more I think of it, the more I realize that, horny as I am, I don't need this to go there.
For Eric, I can tell, this is just as intense as a no-strings-attached blowjob. My nose tells me he's hard, so my paw doesn't need to check. I think I almost thought that someone who was overweight and had low self-esteem would be more whimpery and eager and, well, desperate to get a paw on his cock when the going got heavy, but Eric's not like that at all. Normally I find whimpering kind of hot when two dudes are kissing (shit, I know I do it a lot), but here I kind of like that the only sounds are the hot, snarling panting and nasal huffing in the air, accompanied by the distant clamor of the party occupying the rest of the house.
I don't even know what time it is anymore.
We continue like that for some time longer, snuggled up against one another, me resting my tired and dizzy head on his padded chest in between brief spurts of passionate kissing. The resting soon gets longer than the kissing, and he strokes my back and side and I pet his belly. He murmurs little things about how this is nice (I'm only half able to pay attention), and I mostly just nod and hum in response.
I lean up to kiss him again, and just as my lips reach his, I see his ears perk up. I don't hear what they hear, though, and I don't turn around until the bedroom door opens-I hear that perfectly. Standing in the doorway is Jenner.
"Hiiiiii, Jenner!"
The ringtail's eyes are wide and his muzzle hangs open for a second before he speaks. "Uh, hey, Tory," he murmurs before turning his gaze more towards Eric (who is pretty wide-eyed himself). "Eric, hey, sorry. Someone's trying to make margaritas and they don't know how to work your blender, and so I-"
"I'm being all slutty again, Jenner."
"I-yes, I can see that, Tory. Anyhow, Eric, before someone loses half their fingers, could you-"
"Do the guys know I'm in here doing this?"
"I don't know, Tory. Just be quiet." Jenner takes a deep breath.
Before he speaks again, I take my opening. "I don't want, like, everyone thinking I'm a huge slut. Is that what they think?"
Jenner looks like he's about to snap at me, and I can't figure out why, but before he can, Eric locks muzzles with me and pushes me down onto my back. "Shhh," he breathes into my ear as he pats me on the chest. "Just lie down. I'll be back in a little bit." He leans up and looks over toward the door. "Sorry about that," he murmurs.
"Nah, it's okay," I hear Jenner reply, and he sounds like he's trying hard to not sound upset. He and Eric disappear from view.
I lie still for a moment. "Hey, anyone want a blowjob?" I call out to the rest of the house, but as the words leave my muzzle, I can tell that I only just say it to the room, and that's empty except for me.
It's after seven o'clock in the morning when I wake up, and I'm not in Eric's bed. I'm on Eric's couch. The living room has seen better days, but it was a lot worse last night, so someone did some cleaning.
I listen for any other sounds in the house. Maybe someone's awake and making breakfast or taking a shower. All I hear, though, is snoring, but I can't tell what room it's coming from. Birds chirp and tweet outside the window. The sound is soft and quaint and it hurts my head nevertheless.
Sitting up hurts my head, too. The inside of my mouth is dry, and my uvula is swollen. I don't taste vomit, though, so that's a good sign. Hesitating and making sure I have furniture to grab onto in case I stumble, I try to get to my feet. Yep, I'm hungover as fuck.
I stumble my way into the kitchen. I grab a big red plastic cup from the stack that's still been left out on the counter. Opening the fridge, I initially go for the water filter before spotting the orange juice, and so I pour myself a cup of that, instead. The mere thought of drinking it doesn't sicken me, which means it should be safe to drink.
It takes me a bit of thinking to remember what happened last night, with hooking up with Eric and then passing out. I either got up and moved to the couch at some point, or someone moved me, but either way, I don't remember. What I do remember is that Jenner drove last night, though, which means now I'm stuck here.
Annoyance fills my addled mind. I can't believe Jenner would just ditch me here. He did seem kind of irritated with me last night, but for him to bail on me just rankles. I hope he doesn't think that last night with me and Eric meant anything, and that it somehow obligates Eric to give me a ride home. I mean, sure, I know Eric will give me a ride home, because he's a nice guy, but seriously.
I walk down the hall to Eric's bedroom. The door is closed, but unlocked. I open it just a crack, just enough for me to see the big wolf lying on his back, snoring soundly. He looks like he's sleeping like a log, and I don't have the heart to wake him.
The bathroom is nice and sparkling clean, which means that someone threw up in it last night, and I'm ninety-nine percent sure it wasn't me. I debate taking a shower, but it's not my house, so I just wash my face in the sink. That right there makes me feel a lot better, even if I still kinda reek.
It's then I realize that I'm hearing snoring that isn't coming from Eric's room. So, I go back out, backtrack through the living room and kitchen and on into the den. The lion whose name I don't know is sleeping in the middle of the floor, no blankets or anything. He doesn't look at all uncomfortable, though. I hope he feels the same when he wakes up.
Curled up on the loveseat with his tail wrapped around himself is Jenner. I can't even see his face, but I know it's him because I'd have remembered if there'd been another ringtail over last night (I don't kid myself into thinking I wouldn't have tried to get into his pants).
Peering out the window, I see that Jenner's car is indeed parked out on the sidewalk. So he didn't ditch me after all. I flick by big tail (and urgh, I can feel how gross the fur is after sleeping on it weird), and I lean over to check on how soundly he's sleeping. He looks like he's in a deep, solid sleep, but despite the fact that I don't touch him or even make any noise, he opens his eyes and looks up just from my hovering over him.
"Oh, hey man," he says. He sounds really tired, but nowhere near as hungover as I am. "You ready to go?"
What I learn on the drive home with Jenner is mortifying, and I'm glad it's just me and him alone in the car. As it is, I still curl up on myself in abject shame. When I hear the details, my brain remembers them, or at least remembers pieces of them-enough for me to know that Jenner is telling the truth.
The worst part by far is the incident with Shari. Apparently, I loudly announced him to the entire den as "my favorite big-dicked dingo." Also, what I had initially remembered as my attempt at a subtle grind against his front was actually more me reaching down to the front of the pants while saying something like, "here, let me show you." Shari managed to politely push me away before any further damage was done, and in my drunken state, I waddled away pretty quickly.
It's only eight in the morning when Jenner drops me off at home. I stare at my phone and consider texting Shari immediately to apologize for what I did. He's probably asleep, though, this early on a Saturday morning. I could send it now so that it's waiting for him when he wakes up, but I also don't want it to wake him up (and give him another reason to be pissed at me).
Worse yet, maybe it'd wake Zak up, and then he'd see it and wonder what was up. Because that would be awesome.
I still don't know if Zak is even in town for the weekend. I can't think of any good reason that he wouldn't have been at the party with Shari, but then, I also couldn't think of a good reason not to try to go after Shari's dick in the middle of Eric's den, so trusting my judgment might not be the best thing. If Zak's not in town, though, maybe I could apologize to Shari in person. That might go over better.
(Or maybe he'll cut off my attempt at an apology with a deep, passionate kiss, grab my shoulders with his big canine paws, and tell me to just shut up for once, that he's wanted this for a long time, and that it's just the two of us and no one will ever have to know.)
I throw my phone onto the bed, grab my head in both paws, and flop over onto my back. God dammit, why am I like this? I already just as much said to Jenner's face, "Hey, look at me, I'm a total slut," and I'm clearly willing and ready to go after anyone who's got a dick and the time of day, so why am I obsessing over Shari so badly? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Rolling over, I grab my phone again and text Shari anyway, telling him that if he wants to get together and talk at some point this weekend to let me know. I wait a few minutes and don't get an immediate response, but I wasn't expecting one. With that done, I scoot up along the mattress and rest my head on the pillow to get a little more sleep in-sleep in the comfort of my own bed.
A couple more hours spent napping followed by a quick lunch kill the remnants of my hangover. When I woke up, there was a text message waiting for me on my phone, and I spent a minute almost too afraid to read it before I got the balls to check and saw that it was just a little message from Eric that said, "Thanks for last night. You're a really good kisser." Yes, with proper punctuation and capitalization and everything.
I don't respond, though, because I don't know what to say and because Eric is just about the last person I need to get tangled up with right now in the midst of all my personal drama. I'm glad he had a good time, and heck, maybe I'd even do it again sometime. Of course, I'd probably be drunk, but hey.
I take a very long, very warm shower, washing off the nastiness that I can feel clinging to my body after crashing on someone else's couch. Despite all the conflicting emotions running circles inside my head (or maybe it's because of them), I'm rock-hard and super worked-up. I tell myself that I'm not going to give in to base urges and jerk off, and then less than thirty seconds later I do it anyway. Getting off in the shower almost never feels satisfying for reasons I can't explain, but I've got a huge edge to take off after last night.
Once again, my Saturday calendar is clear. It's tempting to just stay inside and feel like an idiot. It'd be no better or worse than I deserve, but I'm not sure I have the discipline to do it. Instead, I just text the sentiment to Jenner: "Thanks again for sticking around for me last night. I feel like an idiot."
A minute later, he writes back: "no problem, wasn't gonna just leave you there."
I smile when I read that. "Glad to know you've got my back."
Again, he's quick to reply: "you know me, i always got your back."
Late afternoon, after I've spent a few hours lounging on the couch catching up on some shows on my DVR, my phone rings. My friends and I communicate almost exclusively through IM and text messages, so someone actually calling my phone gets my attention. I'm pretty sure I feel my heart stop when I pick it up and see that it's Shari.
I think to myself that it might just be best to let it go to voicemail and see what he has to say, first, but even as I'm thinking it my thumb is already pressing the button to accept the call.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey," he says.
There's an awkward moment and I'm sure we both feel it. "So, like, I got your text this morning," he says. "Do you have time to talk for a bit?"
So, we're going to do this over the phone, are we? All my fantasies of this conversation degenerating into full-on passionate fucking die in an instant. He hasn't even said anything yet and already I can feel a pressure behind my eyes, like I've just gotten dumped or something.
"Yeah, I can talk," I say. "What's up?" Not that I don't know.
Shari takes a big, heavy, canine breath. "So, first off, I just want to say that I'm not mad at you about last night." He pauses to let me absorb that. "So you don't need to worry about apologizing."
"Really?" I mean, I believe him, because Shari's always been forthright with me, but still, he's got every right to be upset with me.
"You were drunk," he says. "It was a little embarrassing, but probably more so for you than it was for me."
Or would be, if I actually remembered it clearly. "Yeah, I guess you have a point," I say. "I still kinda feel like a dick."
He barks out a laugh at that, and I don't understand why until he follows it up with, "I'm gonna let that one slide." Clearing his throat, he goes on. "But yeah, I think we just need to iron some things out."
I sigh. My pulse starts to race and my throat tightens up. I'm deathly afraid to have this conversation. "Okay," is all I say, because it's all I can get out without risking my voice cracking.
There's a strange sound that comes over the phone, which I can only guess is the sound of him scratching his head. "Look, I know that you're really into me and attracted to me," he says, "and to be fair, yeah, I haven't exactly been the best about dissuading you in that. But I guess I didn't fully understand how far you were taking it."
How far I was taking it? Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me. The only place I've "taken" anything is inside my own damn head. Yeah, okay, I had too much to drink and I tried to jokingly grope him. Once. It's not like I was going to blow him in a room full of people.
(But I would have, wouldn't I? Under the circumstances?)
"Look, I flirt with you and you flirt back," I say. "I know it's not, like, hardcore flirting, but that's all it is and all it's ever been."
"Is that all it is?" Shari asks. "Because trying to kiss me while trying to get at my cock seems like it's more than just harmless flirting, alcohol or not."
Shit, Jenner didn't mention I'd tried to kiss him. Maybe he didn't see that part, or maybe he thought it was less important than going for his dick. "I thought you said you weren't mad at me for that."
The dingo sighs. "I'm not," he says. "But I am worried about you. I mean, flirting a little is one thing, but you know I can't... do anything with you, right?"
It's the first time that Shari has ever actually come out and said that. Yeah, it's probably something that could have and should have gone unsaid, but since he'd never said it, never specifically put it out there, the undercurrent to his flirting with me was, well, different. Different than he apparently thought it was. "Yeah," I say. "I know."
I know, but I don't understand. I don't get why two consenting adults who are attracted to each other aren't allowed to indulge in that attraction to each other. I don't get why me having the hots for Shari and him having the hots for me (and I know he does) has to result in this pain and frustration instead of something nice and pleasurable for the both of us.
"Don't get me wrong; it's not that I don't find you attractive," he says, and before he can finish his sentence, I jump in.
"If you weren't with Zak, would you fuck me?"
I can hear in his voice that he's flustered, at least a little bit. "I'm not going to answer that," he says. "I'm not going to play hypotheticals." That means that he would; if the answer were "no," there'd be no reason for him not to just say so, especially now, of all times. Points for honesty there, I guess.
"Look," I say, "it's like you said: I was just drunk. I didn't... I didn't mean or expect for anything to happen."
"And it didn't, and I want to make sure you understand that it's going to stay that way."
I can't say exactly what it is about him saying that that makes me start to cry, finally. There's no cruelty in his voice, no anger or impatience with me. It's just Shari-open and honest Shari, reminding me of something I should have known full well all this time. But here they come, tears starting to spill down my cheeks.
It's all I can do to not sob openly over the phone, but when I tell him, "I'm sorry," I know he can hear that I'm crying. I cup my paw over my mouth to muffle any other sounds I made immediately afterwards.
"You're a really great and a really cute guy," he says, and again, he says it so it's not just patronizing or trite, and I hate him for it, "and you're also single, and so I mean, I guess I just don't understand why you put so much focus into flirting with me when there are so many other guys for you to go after."
And that's when I hang up, because I really do start bawling at that point. If he really didn't understand before, well then I guess he has enough pieces now to finally connect the dots.
It's an hour later and I've been in my bedroom since hanging up with Shari. The sound of the TV buzzes faintly from down the hall; I never bothered to turn it off after running in here to hide and cry.
I stopped crying a while back, but I keep reaching up to brush my fingertips over my cheeks, feeling the stiff and matted fur where my tears have dried in it. My touch is delicate, almost reverent, as if I don't want to mess up the fleeting fossils of my own sadness. Look at me, getting all poetic. God, I'm such a fucking sap.
I'm a sap and I'm a wreck and I'm broken. There's obviously something wrong with me, something that everyone else gets except for me. It's like the rest of society got together and decided on all these rules and regulations on a day where I was sick and didn't get invited into the discussion. Every one else I know, even the slutty ones who get drunk at parties just like I do, seems to be on the same page. Everyone but me.
Wednesday night at Shari and Zak's place comes back to mind. I think about what a good time I had with them, even though none of us got naked and fucked in the heat of the moment just because we could. It's not like everything has to be about sex, and I get that. But, I mean, we're all friends, and we all have a good time together. Why do I have to be patted on the shoulder and sent along home so that the other two can enjoy the rest of the evening without me?
I try to convince myself that there's no way I can know for sure if they even had sex after I left. Well, not short of just asking, at any rate, and I don't think Shari would much appreciate that now. Even if they didn't, though, I'm over there all the time, and I'm sure there have been some nights where I'm not even home by the time they're naked and panting together.
Meanwhile, what do I have? Very occasional sex with one of my best friends and a series of drunken hookups with people I didn't even mean to hook up with? Here I am, thinking that everyone else has it wrong, but it's not like I have anything to show for it, other than a crush on an unavailable friend and a libido that makes me act like an idiot and embarrass other people.
But can I change how I'm wired? Can I do it easily? I'm not ashamed of myself (well, except for right now, as regards Shari and the fact that I'm a fucking wreck over it). They always say, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," but I don't even know if I'm really broken or not.
My eyes are dry now, and my breathing is back to normal. I look over at the clock and see that it's still kind of early, but it's starting to get late enough that if I don't decide what I want to do with my Saturday night soon, it's going to just be me, alone. That might not be a bad thing, I tell myself, but it's not appealing.
I roll my phone around in my paw, and I'm not even looking at the screen but I know what I'm going to do even though I tell myself that it's a dumb idea. I continue to reaffirm to myself that it's a dumb idea even as I call up Jenner's name on my contact list and call him up.
He sounds confused when he answers, because like I said, it's almost always text messages with me. "Hey, what's up? Everything all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I say. "Hey, listen, I know it's kind of last minute, but do you want to do dinner tonight?"
"Sure, if you want," the ringtail says. "I was just gonna order a pizza or something, but if you wanna come over and get in on that and just play some games or something, that'd be cool."
"Would that be cool? Just hanging out, I mean?" I ask. "Or would you rather it be, like, something more than that."
Jenner hesitates. "What do you mean?"
I take a deep breath. "I don't even know what I mean. Never mind." I chew my lip and resist the urge to smack the phone against my head. "Would you rather, like, go out someplace and get dinner?"
"Well, I'm not married to the idea of pizza," he says. "I guess we can go someplace. What did you have in mind."
"Just anything. I'm just wondering if you want to do more than just hang out."
There's an awkward chuckle in the ringtail's voice. "In what sense?" he asks.
"I don't know. It doesn't even matter." Where am I going with this? And why can't I just say it? "It's complicated."
"Getting dinner and hanging out is complicated?"
"Yes. No. I mean, I don't want it to be." I close my eyes. "I don't want it to be complicated."
I can hear the smile in Jenner's voice over the phone. "So just tell me what you want to do tonight. It doesn't have to be complicated."
"Well, does it just have to be us getting dinner and hanging out?" I asked.
He doesn't even pause. "It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be."
I take a look out the window and gaze at the late afternoon sun. It's not quite sunset yet. "And what if I just kind of want things to go where they go?"
"That's all well and good," Jenner says. "But I'm not going to know what it is you want unless you tell me."
It's still early, I can see, as I stare at the fading yellow sunlight through the trees. "Can you come and get me?" I ask.
"Yeah," Jenner replies. "I'll be there to get you."