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“Ah, Christ--they're at it again! Dylan! Get out here!"

His grandfather cried out hoarsely through the screen door, and with mounting volume. Inside, the boy's ears flattened as a grating twinge ran down his neck, knowing that the old dog would carry on till his voice was ragged. Dylan's breakfast popped abruptly up from the toaster with what must have been the worst possible timing--the elder roared again with growing urgency, his articulation suffering for it, pulling the young border collie away with precisely the same amount of force that his Poptarts beckoned him back, and he stood balanced in place for a moment with arms outstretched in either direction.

“DYLAN!!" the hoarse call rang out.

In resignation, he huffed loudly, “Coming, grandpa!" surrendering his breakfast for the moment. No doubt it would settle to room temperature and all that hot gooiness would just congeal pathetically.

Dylan was into his second week of a summerlong stay with his grandfather, and if the small-town, quasi-rural lifestyle wasn't already wearing on him, the elderly dog certainly was. It seemed tolerable enough at the start, given the lack of alternatives. His folks were currently on a lengthy overseas vacation, cruising the full length of the river Rhône while alternately drinking Syrah and hunting truffles. It was certainly no place for a pup of fourteen--this much went almost, yet not quiet, without saying--and taking it easy for a few months on his grandpa's orchard at least carried the promise of catching up on some quality gaming, since God knows what else there was to do out here. Unfortunately for Dylan, just as the family hit the road to kick off their respective agrarian summers, his parents laid out a couple simple expectations: “help out your grandfather," naturally, and “visit the library every day."

Every. Single. Day.

His parents had apparently experienced some sort of media-inspired pedagogical awakening in the month prior and the importance of continued summer reading was fresh in their minds. The library was only a mile-or-so walk from his gramps' place, they'd argued, so there was hardly any reason not to take advantage of this wonderful public service.

“Dylan, if you don't get out here right this--"

“Coming!" the teenage border collie called as he grabbed his backpack from the worn hardwood of the farmhouse floor and slung it hurriedly over one shoulder. Only a packed lunch and a paperback novel weighed down the fraying nylon bag. He swung open the screen door and hurried down the porch steps. Standing out there in leather boots, stuttering back and forth in agitation, his grandfather looked like he was just about to start running out into the orchard himself but kept holding back.

“Out there! You see 'em?" a grey finger shot out toward the rustling far back in the thick rows of sun-drenched apple trees. Looking up from hurriedly tying his worn sneakers, Dylan could see that one tree in particular was sporadically shaking, even if it was too far to make out why. “This is the third time in a week I seen 'em out there, now go catch whatever it is and GET RID OF IT!"

With his grandpa apoplectically jostling boot-shaped divots into the yard, Dylan lowered his ears and obeyed, cinching the last bow in his shoelaces before running off down the dirt drive.

“Show some hustle wouldya? Before it gets away!"

The gruff voice faded behind him as he left plumes of dust in his footsteps, dirtying his sneakers, glowing gold in the morning sun. Further on, the dirt road narrowed down to a footpath with grass, bushes, and trees flanking high on either side. It skirted the rear border of the orchard and, if you followed it long enough, would eventually spit you out in a public park. This was how Dylan got to the library every day, but this morning he was decidedly more vigilant, peering alternately into the woods on his left and the orchard on his right, half-folded ears perked as high as they would go. He finally slowed to a relaxed pace, well out of sight of the farmhouse, but he couldn't make out any signs of the trespasser. His commitment to the hunt was pretty low to begin with, and he resolved to just carry on his way into town.

No doubt, whatever was in the orchard was long gone by now, and Dylan would have to find something else for breakfast before hitting up the library. He packed a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, so he could just eat that now, and later on get something at the--

FWOOSH!

The leaves gave way with startling abruptness, parting around a figure that leapt effortlessly right into the trail. Dylan froze in surprise, quickly realizing that the fox who jumped out into the narrow clearing stared back at him with wide, startled eyes, just as stunned. The very next thing the collie noticed was a pile of apples cradled protectively in the fox's arms--arms distinctively gloved in velvety black fur. Against any hope or expectation, he actually found the apple thief in the middle of getting away.

“OH!" his vulpine muzzle laughed out, “I thought you were the farmer for a second!"

The collie's muzzle went crooked, confused. It seemed like a wave of relief washed over the fox in that moment. His ruddy orange coat framed a slinky, adolescent build, cream fur trailing from his muzzle down to his . . . his . . .

Dylan's eyes widened as he realized that the fox stood before him totally--unmistakably--naked.

“That woulda been my hide if that old dog caught me!" he shook his slender head with a toothy grin, thick-furred chest rising and falling as he recovered from the fright.

Still grappling with the scene, Dylan looked the fox up and down: he held those apples piled high in black-gloved, vulpine arms . . . he stood poised in the middle of the trail on bare, black-socked feet . . . and between his legs--Dylan swallowed nervously--the flaccid pink length of his penis hung plain as day.

“You want one?" he held out a red and green mottled apple, so freshly and hastily picked its stem even bore a couple of leaves.

The fox struggled to balance the rest of the fruit in his arm, but Dylan could only stand there, barely noticing the friendly offer of stolen goods so much as the erratic wobble of the offeror's post-pubescent genitals. The fox boy's foreskin, he noticed, was just long enough to taper over his head, smooth and snug enough to clearly outline the rim of his hidden glans. Draped over a neatly packed pair of full-grown balls, the flaccid length of his peach-pink penis bore a few superficial scratches--from all the nude bushwhacking, no doubt.

“No? Okay then!" the fox tightly clutched his apples once again and gave Dylan a good-natured smirk before springing off into the bushes and hurrying on his way.

Snapping fully back into the moment, the collie called after him, “Hey! Wait!"

Stumbling blindly through the thick foliage, Dylan found the ruddy-furred thief scampering deeper into the woods, his thick brush of a tail flitting behind. Carried deftly on elegantly dark feet, the fox wove between trees and skipped over logs effortlessly. Giving chase, the collie dodged the low branches of oaks and ran through the crunch-crunch of stale leaf litter. “Wait! I need to--" he huffed out, panting loudly in all-out pursuit, “I need to . . ." It occurred to Dylan that he wasn't even after the fox to get back those stolen apples. He didn't honestly care if his grandfather got a little less produce out of his orchard, or who was responsible. Instead . . . he just needed to know more about this mysterious neighbor he didn't even know he had.

While Dylan was attempting to rationalize his own motivations in the whole affair, a mossy log came rushing up under him with surprising abruptness--and down he went. Face-first into the leaf-strewn forest floor with a THUMP. His backpack nestled its way up to the base of his skull, bearing down on him with the modest weight of its little payload. A defeated sigh escaped his muzzle before he pushed himself upright, one oak leaf after another separating itself from his tee-shirt and falling back to the ground. But when Dylan raised his head he was met with the black velvety feet of the fox, toes curled around the moss-carpeted circumference of a broad horizontal log, his slender vulpine figure standing tall above, a proud smirk on his muzzle.

“Yeah? What is it?" his tail swished effortlessly behind him.

The border collie hurried back to his feet, brushing leaf litter from his clothes. “I uhh . . ." He didn't even know what to say to this kid. 'Why are you out here naked?' was the burning question on the tip of his tongue, but asking that somehow felt just as embarrassingly blunt as being caught naked himself. He felt like he really ought to ask about those pilfered apples still piled up in his arms, but the panting canine decided he'd totally lost interest in playing farm security.

“Wh--where are you headed?" He hurried out what seemed like a much more reasonable, non-confrontational kind of question. Something to keep him from just running off, at least.

The fox bared the tip of a canine tooth in his tilted smirk, raising one of his apples just a bit, “Off to eat these. Where else?" With that, he hopped off his perch with a thump and continued into the woods at a more leisurely pace. The leaf-strewn dog took this as an invitation to follow along.

The fox carried himself like some kind of child of the forest. Even over root-riddled ground he never stumbled, his bare feet merely embracing every ridge and bulge in the earth below, leathery pawpads sweeping over the familiar texture of his forest home. Of course, it was impossible to ignore his carefree nudity, and Dylan felt a kind of visual dissonance watching the elegant, effortless saunter of the fox through the green undergrowth paired with the unapologetic wobble of the teen's genitals. It was more than a little distracting . . . The last time Dylan has seen anyone's dick but his own was in the middle school showers after swim practice, an experience he didn't exactly relish at the time, and which wasn't much helped by the unwanted attention his own aggressive puberty earned him. Through furtive glances, curiously sizing up the other kids' lathered lengths, the collie realized that adolescence was more generous to him than most of his peers. Possibly all of his peers. Time and again, he'd wipe the soap from his face only to catch other boys taking the opportunity to score a peek at his awkwardly dangling junk. Feeling their eyes lingering upon his conspicuously gifted length, he'd always hurry through his showers till he could secure the modesty of a towel. He didn't know if they teased him behind his back, but the mere speculation of it was enough.

Two years later, Dylan continued to explore his growing self--tentatively and privately. But summer with his grandfather put the kibosh on that. The positively antique farmhouse walls were thin enough to hear a fruit fly buzzing in the next room, and if Dylan took longer than ten minutes in the shower the old dog would be pounding at the door laying admonitions upon the selfish water-waster. And even in the summer heat he didn't risk going to bed in anything less than a full set of pajamas, lest he get told off for that. So, whenever he could, Dylan kept what was between his legs safely hidden away.

This fox lived by no such rules. To look at him one would think he'd never worn a stitch of clothing in his life--which might very well have been the case. He even seemed oblivious to the discrepancies in their states of dress. With a blush in his half-folded ears, Dylan silently imagined what it must be like to grow up like that. Never learning shame or awkwardness in the natural state of his male body. As the fox nimbly navigated between moss-mottled tree trunks, the pendulous length of his post-pubescent penis on carefree display, the border collie followed behind and tried to put his personal hang-ups aside for the moment.

“So, what's your name?" The bright, vulpine voice broke the silence.

The collie's ears perked back to life at the abrupt question. Apples in paw, the fox was looking over his shoulder.

“Uh . . . Dylan," came the answer with a friendly, if slanted, smile. “Yours?"

A few excited flicks worked their way down his full, bushy tail. “Reed," he replied pleasantly. “Nice to meet you," he nodded, lean arms keeping his pile of fruit under control.

“I uh . . . wasn't expecting to see anyone out here . . ."

“Me neither!" Reed's tail swayed happily. “Like, nobody ever uses that trail, and then one day I suddenly run into you. Well, thankfully I didn't, like, run into you."

A laugh broke from Dylan's muzzle, and a smile widened on the fox's.

“So umm . . ." the collie summoned the initiative to get to know this kid better, “. . . do you live around here?"

“Mmhm!" he nodded. “The whole forest around here is basically what I call home. The fields to the south and east . . . and that old dog's orchard if he ain't lookin'." the fox winked and flashed his toothy grin. His tail curved in big emphatic swishes with every step, sweeping over his well-furred buttocks.

“And you . . . ," he hesitated nervously before broaching the subject head-on, “. . . you go around without clothes?" he asked, clutching the straps of his backpack awkwardly.

Head tilted, Reed answered with a laugh, “Of course! Why wouldn't I be able to? It's only you civilized animals who get up to serious business that seem to need them."

Dylan felt a blush in his cheeks for having asked, but the fox's emphasis on the word 'civilized' was playful enough that he felt no ill will. He was a little out of his element in the untamed forest where the animals were apparently very content with their own fur.

“Just a little further up here there's a nice spot to chill," Reed tilted his head to indicate. “If you've worked up an appetite, you're welcome to some of the haul."

Dylan followed with a slight spring in his step. It was thanks to his grandfather he missed out on breakfast today, so a couple apples from the orchard seemed like just compensation. As they mounted the rising slope of a hill, he could glimpse the back of the vulpine's white-furred scrotum dangling candidly between his thighs, just beginning to sag with the new weight of his swollen teenage testicles. Oddly enough, the collie felt a little braver seeing those hormone-filled orbs bouncing indifferently off alternate thighs as the fox climbed ahead of him. For a moment, the experience of growing into his own masculinity felt a little more normal.

Dylan pictured himself adventuring through these woods like he might have in the innocence of his youth. But instead of grass-stained shorts and a ratty tee-shirt, he imagined doing it like the fox: clothed comfortably in nothing but his own fur. Leaping over deep brooks, climbing some of the sturdier oaks, spending entire days getting lost in the forest . . . all completely naked and totally free. It was just as appealing as it was taboo. His ungainly canine body nude in the unjudging embrace of nature, where he could shake off all his self-consciousness in the tender caress of the sun and the wind and the leaves on his whole body. Even his naked maleness. Trailing the fox, Dylan pictured how his own balls might dangle and bounce, trying to reason away the scandalous blush beneath his cheek fur--they were a natural part of him, after all. He imagined them, plump as they'd ever been, wobbling conspicuously with his every movement. It would start to feel normal, right? Hanging out in naked, nonjudgmental fraternity with this other teen, the sag and sway of their grown-up maleness on proud, open display. As he considered the possibilities, Dylan felt the swell of an unbidden erection snaking its way down the left leg of his jeans--he shook his head to dispel the thoughts.

“Here we are!" the fox called from ahead.

Just over the ridge, Dylan heard the gentle susurrations of a river, and where the oaks opened up to the late morning sunlight soft tufts of grass had grown in. Trotting downhill to the riverbank, Reed padded here and there, looking for a nice, flat piece of earth. The collie followed quickly behind; he didn't even know there was a river running through these woods! The fox finally dropped his apples with several little thuds, letting them scatter on the grass as he spread his arms out theatrically. Then, unexpectedly, he padded a little further down the riverbank and without so much as a pause of preparation, dove in with a loud splash.

Dylan watched the rippling water, Reed suddenly out of sight. When he resurfaced, his cheek fluff was weighed down sleek and dripping. “Come on!" he yapped as black-gloved hands wiped the water from his eyes, “Hop in!"

The border collie twisted his muzzle, ready to voice his hesitations, “I mean, I don't have--" He was about to say 'a swimsuit', but it struck him as a totally invalid complaint in the company of this dyed-in-the-fur nudist. “Yeah. Okay!"

Pulling his tee-shirt over his head and prying off one sneaker after the other with deft footpaws, the collie eagerly disrobed to join his new acquaintance. But reaching down to unbutton his jeans, Dylan paused in a moment's hesitation. His heart was pounding and he couldn't decipher if it was from exertion or anxiety. With a deep breath, he unzipped and slipped out of his jeans and boxers in one committed motion, leaving his disheveled clothes where they lay and running for the river before he gave himself a decent chance to think about what he was actually doing.

SPLASH!

The collie surfaced, gasping from the shock of the cold as water streamed over his face. Some dearly needed warmth returned to his limbs as he rapidly tread in the languid river. His toes scraped at smooth stones and stirred up faint plumes from the silty bed. He turned to the fox already settling into a playful backstroke. Not for long years had the collie set paw in a lake, river, or stream--but he now found himself swimming against the gentle current slowly flowing all around, tugging at his fur. Dylan laughed suddenly at the sheer fun of it all.

“How's the temperature for ya?" Reed grinned, the snowy sheen of his chest floating above the surface.

Dylan blew the water from his wet muzzle before teasing, “A little cold. Think you could turn it up a bit?"

“Yeah—no can do!" he chuckled.

The crisp, late morning water dragged through the collie's long fur, nipping at the skin beneath until every muscle in his body seemed to have woken up. He instinctively settled into practicing his strokes, something like his days in swim practice--he only gradually eased into the idea of swimming for fun's sake, watching his vulpine friend's enthusiastic zig-zagging against the current, switching between backstrokes and frontstrokes so often he was sometimes just rolling around, otterlike. Dylan swam upstream and downstream, diving below the surface now and then, and losing himself in the idle flow of this river hidden away deep in the forest.

* * *

It wasn't until they had finally climbed out of the water, their fur slick, glistening, and weighed down with a pitter-patter of drops trailing behind them, that Dylan was again aware of just how naked--how utterly, unassumingly bare--the two of them were. With fidgeting hands, he grabbed his tail to cover his crotch out of instinctive modesty but . . . he only held it at his side, instead letting the breeze gently caress his dripping genitals. A sunlit sheen glistened along the generous length of his penis, hanging down well past his white-furred scrotum. His abundant foreskin was more than long enough to sheath his head, cinching into supple, fleshy wrinkles below. And even though Reed finally caught a clear, unhurried look at the collie in his natural state, he made no mention of his nudity. For the moment, they were just two males, young but grown, enjoying each other's company without the learned burden of shame. The fox, of course, made no effort to cover himself, padding through healthy tufts of riverside grass as bare as ever with more comfort and confidence than Dylan could manage fully clothed. His apples were still waiting there in the sunlit clearing when he picked one up. With a soft thump the fox was on his back, sprawled out in the natural forest carpeting and drying his fur in the warm sun.

“There we go! This is the spot," he sighed in satisfaction.

Dylan steadied himself against his own shy trepidation as he padded over to the fox's side. The grass was surprisingly soft against his bare paws, and comfortably warm in this patch of sunlight. He finally sat himself down with a committed thump right next to Reed, who was already in comfortable repose and sinking his teeth into those first juicy bites.

Dylan breathed deeply, laying spread in the grass, looking up at the puffy clouds passing languidly overhead, and pausing to take in his surroundings. The river burbling in the background, forest surrounding them on every side, the heat of the sun warming his bare fur. The chirping song of robins called back and forth. And above . . . absolutely nothing between him and those bright white clouds.

After what must have been several minutes, Dylan propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at his white-furred chest rising and falling with his steady breaths. Further down he saw the pink length draped unassuming between his legs and was met with an unbidden wave of exhilaration at being so free in this little Eden. The fox beside him had sat up at some point, watching the river idly flowing along while munching on what was--judging by the abandoned core on the ground--his second apple. He reached over for yet another, which he offered to the collie.

Dylan accepted this time.

“I've never seen you around," said the munching fox, “Did you just move here?"

“Yeah," the collie replied, “Well, I didn't exactly move here. I'm just living here. For the summer." There was a pause and he rolled around the idea of elaborating. “You know the farmer? With the apple orchard? I'm . . . well, I'm his grandson. And I'm staying with him for the summer while my folks are on vacation . . ."

Reed nodded and answered with a restrained smirk, “I know."

The collie's head snapped to the fox, finding a growing smile on his muzzle. He knew all along and never hinted at it. He could have been putting himself in danger inviting the collie out into the woods, but . . . he was apparently a good enough judge of character.

“I mean, I figured you were related and all. Not a ton of border collies out here." He huffed out a laugh, satisfied at his deduction. “How are you liking it?"

Dylan sighed, turning the barely-eaten apple in his paw, “It's not great. Actually . . . it's pretty much the worst. The old man always needs help with this job or that job, and he gets pissed off at a moment's notice." He bit into his fruit and continued through his chewing, “Then I've got these daily reading assignments . . . nothing interesting."

Reed nodded empathetically. “That does suck. What about outside of the house?" His bushy tail flicked as his eyes narrowed in a distinctly vulpine way, “Met any cute girls in town?"

The fox munched into his fruit, giving Dylan plenty of opportunity to answer. Had he noticed any girls in town? It seemed like everyone around his age was on vacation or hanging out somewhere other than the library.

“Well . . ." he pondered. The one girl he saw on a regular basis he could possibly describe as attractive was . . . the librarian. But 'cute' hardly cut it. She was a spaniel in her thirties--Dylan figured--and fond of dressing in a white collared shirt that hugged her waist so tightly her buttoned-up breasts seemed to spill over. From certain tables in the library he could catch covert glances of her, blushing behind a book as he undressed the curvy woman in his imaginative teenage mind. The mere thought of undoing her shirt and freeing those golden-furred breasts was intoxicating. He wondered what her nipples looked like, whether they were the same chocolate brown as her nose. In his daydreams she'd be sashaying through the stacks in nothing but her heels, hips swaying widely, nipples protruding plumply from those bouncing mammaries. It was a private infatuation, and one he wasn't at all inclined to act upon, but she riled his excitable hormones nonetheless.

Failing to conjure to mind any better candidates in the 'cute girl' arena, the collie scrunched his muzzle and shook his head. “No . . . not really."

If the fox's eyes were sly before, they narrowed even further as he grinned knowingly. “Are you sure about that?"

It was the intimate caress of the breeze that brought Dylan's attention right back down between his legs. During his little reverie, the collie's penis had firmed up and was steadily throbbing its way to full mast. He scrambled to cover himself, shielding his erection with both paws as he sat up.

Reed just laughed, waving a paw dismissively. “Whoever it is must be pretty hot." The fox sat with his knees up, forearms resting lazily atop them as he looked out over the river, his smiling muzzle still bearing the satisfaction of having caught the canine fantasizing. But he just crunched into his apple nonchalantly. The fluffy length of his tail lay behind him, flicking now and then. “There's this vixen I'm crushing on, like, MAJORLY. She's a little, uh, arrogant maybe, but I dunno . . . I think that's why I like her. You can tell she knows she's hot stuff 'cause of the way she trots around. And she's got this super-soft-looking tuft of fur right between her tits," he fluffed out the fur above his sternum to demonstrate.

A smile broke on Dylan's muzzle as Reed confided his own little infatuation. The way he sat, the fox's balls were easily visible nestled in the soft grass between his legs, his own penis now slowly firming up, slumping over the bulge of his scrotum as it lengthened, tip nuzzling absent-mindedly through the grass below. The inside of his ears still blushing beet red, Dylan managed to remove his paws from his lap, resting them at his sides again and revealing his excitement persistently throbbing its way skyward. He still tried to will away the erection so he didn't have to be confronted quite so boldly with the reality that he was this exposed to another guy.

“She sounds pretty cute," Dylan's voice wavered, doing his best to keep calm and casual despite the conspicuous boner he was sporting. The fox obviously had no hang-ups about natural arousal, doing nothing to hide his own erection as it swelled and arced steadily upward in little desirous throbs. The way Reed described her, it wasn't hard to imagine this vixen roaming the forest in blissful nude confidence, eliciting that same kind of visceral reaction from any enamored male.

“I'd love nothing more than to nuzzle into that tuft," the fox smiled dreamily, probably picturing his nose in that snowy chest fur, flanked by perky, sun-kissed breasts, and his erection responded with lewd bluntness, drooling a crystal clear string of precum to the ground below. Reed glanced down for a moment, seeing that leaking, throbbing arousal; he seemed utterly unphased by the display, lowering his paw and squeezing out a fat bead of vixen-inspired lubrication. Looking back out over the calmly flowing river, Reed drew back his briar-scratched foreskin in a gentle grip to reveal his plump, rosy-pink head before easing into a lewdly rhythmic back-and-forth. He idly took a bite of the fruit in his left paw, and in his right, unashamedly relieved those instinctive urges.

Dylan watched, equal parts stunned and envious, having recently been denied the chance to explore himself freely. Was it an everyday sort of thing for this fox to masturbate in the company of his friends? He took to it with such candor you'd think he was scratching an itch on his back.

Dylan's excitement had hardly abated, and now a long string of precum connected his penis to the grass below. The wrinkled mouth of his excess foreskin was hanging past his swollen glans and wobbling as his erection throbbed in sync with his heartbeat, drooling lubrication in agonizing anticipation. To preserve at least a little decency, the collie pinched the fleshy tip of his foreskin and shook the conspicuous fluid free, but in doing so, he managed to spread around some warm, wet precum beneath his fleshy sleeve and the temptation to keep massaging away at it was more than he could bear. With a long exhale of heart-pounding resignation, Dylan's paw fell into the familiar rhythm of his tentative self-exploration, which until now had been quite private and solitary. His eyes darted between his paw, tugging that foreskin back and forth over his glistening head, and the fox beside him, enjoying his own self-pleasure. A blush of embarrassment surged to the collie's cheeks, but no signs of disapproval from his nude neighbor were forthcoming, so the gentle, asynchronous sounds of fapfapfap continued against a background of water flowing and birds chirping. It had been weeks since the canine pawed off, but he hadn't expected to end the dry spell out here, naked in the woods and with a new friend no less. The serenity of the forest settled his nerves, and he felt more at ease riding those waves of pleasure as the river flowed calmly by.

Now and then, Reed's tail flicking rapidly as he stroked himself. The collie searched for something to say as the idle pawing carried on between their legs. “You'd like to get with her, huh?"

The fox's toes curled as waves of electric pleasure washed through him. “Mmm, yeah . . . Her white fur makes a little heart-shaped patch on her rump . . ." A serene focus fell over the fox, his muzzle parted. “One day maybe she'll just raise it up for me . . . and invite me to mount . . ."

An abbreviated hunf escaped the fox's mouth and an intense expression flashed across his scrunched muzzle. Very suddenly, he was firing off milky ropes onto the grass ahead. He didn't betray a hint of self-consciousness as he stroked through his orgasm, sending each forceful spurt arcing and tumbling through the air to drape messily on the sunlit grass. Panting to catch his breath, Reed lifted his paw, a trail of semen dripping opalescently across his fingers, and he unapologetically licked up the stray traces of his ejaculation like it was an afternoon snack. The dog watched on, mouth agape and paw still moving.

Checking out the play in the canine's long, thick foreskin as it slid easily along, Reed managed a chuckle. He watched as what seemed like a full inch of supple, fleshy skin bunched up and hung off the tip with every stroke forward. “That's gotta make pawing real easy."

“Huh?" Dylan abruptly released his grip, letting the skin naturally slip back over his head and sag. “Oh . . . I mean sure, I guess so . . ." he forced an awkward smile. Normally he would've been mortified to bring up such personal matters, but the atmosphere was probably candid enough by now to admit a few details about how he plays with himself. “I mean, I don't get a lot of chances to paw off these days. Not that I hardly ever do," he forced a huff of a laugh. The thick vein winding up his long shaft bulged, pulsing as the two naked teens both paused to silently admire the exhibitionistic display.

“You mind if I . . . ?" The fox started to ask, raising his paw gently--the same paw with which he'd just brought himself to a very casually enjoyed orgasm--pausing on the way to Dylan's lap. The collie's erection twitched as if eagerly accepting the offer of a good stroking all on its own. But how could someone enjoy such a private, taboo thing bathed in sunlight and open air? Like it was the most natural, carefree thing for a boy to do? His mind was reeling in the dissonance of it all.

Dylan's heart was up in his ears as he wordlessly, timidly, nodded.

He wanted to feel what it was like.

Not wasting much time, Reed scooted over to the collie's side, close enough that they were brushing shoulders, and wrapped the warm, leathery pads of his handpaw around that eagerly throbbing length. Working his leather-supple grip up the canine's penis, he coaxed a fat bead of precum to spill forth and went to work spreading it around beneath his generous foreskin. Schlik-schlik-schlik. Dylan breathed deeply as the fox began stroking him at a steady pace, that nuanced grip sending electric pleasure all up his body.

The fox leaned against him, bare fur against bare fur, and Dylan let his arms fall to either side as he rode the sensation of his nude companion's paw working skillfully over his painfully underindulged manhood. Free in his nudity, Dylan's balls draped onto the grass between his legs, jerking and wobbling as Reed enthusiastically pawed him off. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, picturing the nude librarian bending over to shelve a book, presenting herself before him. His mind flashed to Reed mounting that vixen he was crushing on so bad, his balls slapping off the heart-shaped white of her rump.

The peaceful sounds of birds singing and water flowing continued undisturbed, even as he felt a surge building in his groin. The collie swung his head forward just in time to see a thick, milky rope erupt in a long, powerful spurt that seemed to fling through the air in slow motion. The fox eased his stroking as Dylan ejaculated in smaller spurts, the forest bearing witness as he painted the sunlit grass with weeks' worth of his built-up sperm.

The release felt AMAZING.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more. The trepidation he felt taking off his clothes and joining this other guy in casual nudity was completely replaced by a satisfied glow, his roiling adolescent instincts finally relieved--at least for the moment. As Reed eased his grip, Dylan's foreskin rolled back over his tip, well lubed in the semen he was still idly drooling. Turning to the fox, panting in post-orgasmic exhilaration, he managed to huff out a few words.

“I . . . wow . . ." he laughed, “I guess I needed that." The opalescent cum draped on the grass in this unspoiled clearing was testament to the instinctive urges of the young males--and the pleasant relief of those urges.

“Yeah, I figured it might," the vulpine answered, looking over the warm collie semen decorating his fingers. Without so much as a second glance, Reed's tongue was at work licking up his new friend's stray sperm. Apparently he was loathe to let a salty snack go to waste.

Dylan lowered his ears at the frankness of what struck him as a surprisingly intimate act, but figured it must be an acquired taste . . . maybe next time he pawed off--and the next time would certainly be soon--he could see what he could try a lick for himself. Maybe.

Reed flopped down to spread himself in the grass once more, arms and legs extended, bared to the sky above. The robin calls echoed in the woods and Dylan found himself lying back for a rest himself, his penis softening, flaccid and satisfied, as the clouds swept by slowly overhead.

* * *

It was a couple of hours before the boys woke from their nap and washed themselves off with another dip in the river. Dylan split his sandwich with the fox and learned a little more about life in the woods behind the orchard. He grew to feel comfortable in that place, and it was a long while before he decided to slip his clothes back on. The pang of hesitation he felt stepping into his jeans came as a surprise to him. The sun dipped well below the trees by the time he made his way back to his grandfather's. Dinner was waiting and, for all the old dog knew, Dylan was holed up in the library all day, never having seen hide nor hair of whatever it was pilfering his apples. Even though his grandfather did make his frustration known through guttural mutterings.

Staring at the ceiling from the comfort of his bed, the young collie's mind kept flashing back to his little adventure in the forest. It seemed surreal as he reflected on it, but the images in his head were clear as could be. They left him with a giddiness in his stomach that made sleep difficult, and he thought about where Reed was spending the night. The guilt he worried he would feel in hanging around naked with the other kid never arose as he closed his eyes and reminisced on the day, but he didn't want to abandon his summer responsibilities altogether. Tomorrow he'd actually get some reading done, but maybe, with the summer afternoons as pleasant as they were, it didn't have to be indoors.