Robbie 2

Monday, July 4, 2011

The door to Robbie's clothes closet had a mirror on the inside of it when the family moved into the house. He doubted that he would have put one in there himself. He took pride in maintaining his body, but he wasn't vain, and neither was he much of a fashion model in his own mind. The mirror was just there, and he was looking at himself in it, looking at the clothes he was wearing. He was looking at the fourth change of clothes in fifteen minutes, and it only then dawned on him that he was acting out a ridiculous cliché.

It's a Fourth of July party, not a date!

The look in the chestnut eyes of his mirror self wasn't so sure. The idea was in his head long before the end of the semester, but even he knew that attempting to date one's teacher, at any level, was a bad idea. Impulsively, he had asked once, caught up in the conversations of the moment, and he had been very gently (and rightfully) rebuked. Once he was no longer a student, that was no longer an obstacle, but beyond that, the rabbit was more than a little stuck. He kept up an easy and occasional correspondence by email, but he had no real reason to ask for more, and he wasn't even sure that he should. What did he really feel about the professor, anyway?

A little over three weeks ago, he decided to go to the font of best wisdom in his household. His dam was creating one of her famous fruit pies, rolling out dough as Robbie looked on, remembering how she had taught him, how he loved to cook, and how much he had learned from her about a great many things other than cooking. Without quite meaning to blurt it out, he asked, "Mom, how can you tell the difference between a crush and actually falling in love with someone?"

The rolling pin stopped as she looked into her kit's eyes. "That was a trifle out of the blue, although I get the idea that you've been thinking about it for a while. Is it some nice young male from school, or some gang member from downtown?"

The young rabbit laughed. "Definitely not a gang member. I told you I wouldn't fall for anyone I couldn't bring home."

"I have taught you well, Grasshopper." She smirked to herself. "I never thought what a great pun that is for a lapine..."

"So... how do you tell?"

Amanda Willowdale tossed a little more flour onto the dough, wiped the rest onto her apron, and sighed softly. "My sweet kit... I don't think there's a sapient being in the universe who knows the answer to that question."

Robbie sighed, smiled ruefully. "I had a feeling you were going to tell me something like that."

"Well, talk to me about it. Tell me what you're feeling, or if you want to be particularly courageous, you could tell me who this object of your affection is."

"Not sure I should."

"Robbie, my best beloved... I hardly need to play Twenty Questions."

"Or Jeopardy, I'll bet."

"I'll take College Professors Who Teach AP Courses for $1000, Alex."

The younger lapine could feel the blush coming all the way up from his toes. "Kinda obvious, I guess."

"Sweetie, you've always been interested in males older than yourself. That was why your father and I first thought it might be more of a phase than an actual sexual orientation. See how sophisticated we are?"

Robbie offered a right and proper raspberry for that one. "You've been watching Criminal Minds too much."

"Nah, I started with Profiler, which you were a bit too young for at the time. Or so I thought." The dam continued with her pie crust dough. "So... tell me more."

"I'm not quite sure how to put it. He's kind of... on my mind all the time. I really loved the class, and he's been nice enough to keep up an email conversation. I like how he thinks, and how he treats me, like I'm more an equal than a student, or worse, a former student. He's nice, he's funny, and he's got brains that go on forever."

"Cute, too."

"Mom!"

"It's okay; I know he doesn't bat for my team, so I won't try to steal him from you. Besides, I'm not at all sure what your father would do." Amanda chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the teasing. "Okay," she said. "The fact that you seem to be thinking about him all the time, talk about him with so much admiration... that part might be considered a crush. But you haven't told me about how you feel about him as himself. What emotions do you have for this fox?"

"That's just it." Robbie sagged on his barstool, elbow on the counter, propping his chin on his forepaw. "I'm trying to figure that out. Maybe it's just a crush, and I should ignore it. He was my teacher, and he might be again, if I go to Billingsley... that's awkward enough. And he's probably Dad's age."

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to rephrase that comment, yowen?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Robbie laughed. "It's just a pretty big gap, don't you think?"

"And why should that matter?"

The young rabbit paused, looked carefully at his mother. "You're not putting me on, are you?"

"I wouldn't do that with something that's important." She laid the dough in the pie tin, a large blanket of soon-to-be crust, before pressing it down gently into place. Skillfully, she then began cutting off the excess around the edges. "Robbie, your father and I knew how special you were from a very early age; you developed your mind quickly, and we were glad that you also wanted to tend to your body as well. We've done our best to let you become who you really are - and I hope we've done a good job."

"Fishing for compliments?" Robbie smiled softly at his mother. "I love you both so much. I think I'm the luckiest buck in the world."

Amanda sniffed the air delicately. "Ooo, someone's baking brownie points! You get the large slice of the pie." She laughed. "We screw up sometimes, but our goal is to tell you the truth, as best we know it. I can see how age difference can be a factor in a relationship, but I don't think it should be the thing that stops a relationship."

"So if it turns out to be actual love, you wouldn't mind me being in a relationship with him?"

"He's certainly someone respectable enough to bring home."

Robbie tossed up his forepaws, calling out, "GOOOAAAAALLLLL!!!"

Dam and kit laughed, Amanda having to wipe a tear from her eye. "You just had to get involved in soccer. Excuse me," she amended, "football. I'll get it right sometime!"

Robbie, still smiling, paused a moment longer. "So... any idea how I can tell if I'm in love or just a complete idiot?"

"You're being redundant." The older rabbit carefully gathered the trimmed dough and began rolling it into a ball. "If you're in love, you're definitely an idiot. But a blessed one. And that's why we keep on falling in love."

"So how can I tell?"

"Tell me how you feel about him. He's got many admirable qualities, from what you've told me, as well as what I know of him from interviews and such. And he was certainly impressed with your work in his class. He wasn't required to have parent/teacher conferences, as a visiting instructor, but he took the time to write a wonderful letter about you. It always does a parent proud to hear that sort of thing." She licked some of the dough from her paw pads. "Do you know if he's involved with anyone?"

"He kept his private life private," Robbie said, more or less quoting the professor's answer to the question during his early lectures. "I don't have the impression that he's with anyone, although I haven't stalked him or anything."

"Not even on the Internet?"

"Mom, I do have some restraint. Besides, all my sources came up empty."

Amanda grinned. "That's my buck!" She used a little water to make the ball of dough more pliant, worked on it with her forepaws, then put the ball on the counter to be pressed again. This is where the lattice would come from, Robbie knew; he'd made a few of them himself. "In a perfect world, my dear one, I suppose you'd be able just to talk to him, tell him how you feel. Given how crazy the world seems to be, I'm not sure that the direct approach would work. In this particular case, age does make a difference, to the Common Law. Lapine law says that consent, and even marriage, is possible at your age, given parental agreement. However, since our good professor is vulpine and not lapine, we're bound by the Common Law..."

"...which puts the age of consent at 17 and the age of majority at 18." Robbie sighed. "So I have to wait another two or three years to been seen in public with him?"

"Technically, it means that you're supposed to be 'of age' before you can be 'in private' with him, and I thought we were talking about a date here?"

"Well, you know what dating leads to."

"I most certainly do not!" the dam huffed. "You were found under a cabbage leaf! A particularly tasty one. We made soup."

Robbie laughed, and part of him thanked Frith, or God, or Cosmic Muffin, or Hairy Thunderer, or whoever it was that gave him Amanda as a dam. She was the best, and he never wanted to take that for granted. And while he was at it, he was grateful that his sire had such good taste as to win a doe so special in all respects. After he'd recovered himself, he asked, "Okay. Dating it is, with curfews and chaperones if necessary." The kit sobered a little. "Especially if it'll keep him out of trouble."

Amanda cast a quick glance at him, wearing an expression that he couldn't quite read. "Okay," she said, getting out a knife to cut the lattice strips. "Since we've decided that you can't just tell him, we'll have to try a more creative approach."

"A singing telegram?"

"Okay, how about creative and subtle."

"A whispering telegram."

She set down the knife and clapped her paws at him, with the intention of dusting him with a small cloud of flour, and in this, she was considerably successful. Robbie laughed, coughed a little and looked at himself. His mother's appraisal was swift: "Just add juniper berries," she quipped.

"Ooo, you're mean!"

"More than you know," the dam said with a grin. "How about inviting him to our Fourth of July party?"

"What?"

"It's a form of block party, after all; lots of families involved, a bit of a pot luck, and because it's an all-purpose occasion, he won't know what hit him. He'll be meeting the 'rents without knowing that's what he's doing."

"I take it back," Robbie said. "You're not mean. You're evil." He grinned. "I love it."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mrs. Dalloway said that she would buy the flowers herself.

Robbie surveyed the scene, remembering the famous opening line to a novel he had great difficulty in trying to follow. Critics had said that this opening line held enormous amounts of information about the character of the titular Mrs. Dalloway; someone so very rich, taking on the task of organizing this small portion of her party herself, when she could have had servants do it, was immensely significant. Bringing to mind another famous work Robbie decided that perhaps he really was afraid of Virginia Woolf.

In truth, no one person could have organized today's festivities The party sprawled across four back yards undivided by fences or other artificial boundaries, and the whole thing resembled a kind of happily slap-dash suburban tailgating party without the need for someone to be playing a team sport of some kind. Various "boom boxes" played numerous types of music. With the best of good humor, the elderly bear couple a few houses over from Robbie's were unashamedly playing quite a collection of "big band" music that went back as far as 80 years. They teased the "yowens" who were playing music from a mere 50 years ago to abandon their rock-and-roll and hear what "real music" was like. Kits as young as twelve were laughing with enormous delight at being taught how to jitterbug (they'd not even heard the term before, much less the dance).

The young rabbit had known the term "cutting up a rug," as his parents were no strangers to several forms of dancing, from the Sir Roger De Coverley to some seriously gymnastic breakdance-like moves so brazen as to make onlookers fear for the couple's long lop ears. It was, in fact, their favorite hobby together, and they enjoyed teaching others whatever forms they might like to try. Their music mix included all sorts of music from 70's romance rock to Freezepop, PilotPriest, and Juno Reactor. It was the lawn that was getting "cut up" rather than a rug, but the effect was just the same - everyone who wanted to "bust some moves" was encouraged to do so, if only to help burn off some of the calories consumed during the sumptuous feast of culinary miscellany that celebrated the birth of a nation by inviting foods from all cultures.

No one was quite sure who invoked the rule, or if perhaps it was simply something that had sprung up (forgive the pun) organically. Why, this group of families reasoned, should a melting pot of not just species but cultures limit themselves to a single style of food and cooking? Grills and open flames were matched by tandoors, presses, and fondue pots. Foods included hot dogs, hamburgers, couscous, fry bread, tamales, pasta fazool, stuffed grape leaves, pipikaula, curries, shushi, spaetzle, pad thai, Lamingtons, kimchi, and to Robbie's greatest delight, his Professor Deschenes had brought his promised specialty: Spotted Dick.

Since having gotten the notification in an email about the dish that the professor would bring, the poor kit had endured almost no end of innuendo and double entendre from both parents about it. Now that he had finally arrived for the day's revelries, the fox made something of an entrance out of it, and Robbie could barely contain himself.

"Given the notoriety of this dessert, not to mention my own," the fox grinned as he set down his platter, "let me give you the origin of the name. 'Dick' or 'dog' were common terms for puddings, in the British sense, and you'll easily see where the spots came from. There should be plenty to go around; I made five of them." Uncovering the tray with a flourish, the professor waved a paw at the quintet of cake-looking delights, each made singly in the one-liter ceramic bowl that he had inherited from his gran. He had included a printed list of ingredients, "in case anyone might be allergic to anything, or perhaps simply not like it."

Bradford Willowdale, Robbie's sire, was the first to jump into the fray. "I can safely say, Professor Deschenes, that I've never before experienced spotted dick in my muzzle, and I'm honored that yours shall be the first."

Robbie had a moment of wishing that the ground would simply swallow him up.

"And how long have you been practicing that line?" the vulpine chuckled.

"It's been my lifelong ambition," the sire grinned, then took the small piece that the fox offered and sampled the delight in question. His eyes popped with what appeared to be utter disbelief, and through this chewing, he managed to produce a bit of the lapine warble that signified a great intensity of emotion, usually of affection and contentment. "Amazing!" he finally managed. "My good professor, this is one of the best desserts I've ever sampled. It's delicious!"

"My good Mr. Willowdale, I'm so delighted that you enjoy the taste of my... dessert."

The general laughter grew louder as more and more people joined in to enjoy the entendre-filled banter. Amanda looked pleadingly at her husband, placing a forepaw to his shoulder. "Oh, my best beloved... have I lost you to the wiles of another fur's spotted dick?"

Bradford covered her forepaw with his own and, with perfect melodrama, gave forth with, "I'll never lie to you, my best beloved... he tempts me wickedly!"

The dam's wrist flew to her fevered brow. "Oh spite, oh hell! I see you are all bent to set against me for your merriment!"

"You are unkind, Demetrius!" the professor seemed to scorn Robbie's sire. "Be not so. For I know you love Hermia. This you know I know. And here, with all my will, with all my heart..." He picked up another sampling of the pastry, holding it toward Bradford, and continued. "In Hermia's love, I wield you up my part... my spotted part be thine!"

The more literary members of the audience hooted uproariously, and even Robbie had to admit that the Bard would probably have thought that this bawdy re-use of A Midsummer Night's Dream would be worthy of his amusement.

"Never did mockers make more idle breath," Amanda said, snatching the comestible from Grayson's forepaw and popping it into her muzzle. Her eyes, too, popped open wide, and Robbie knew why - his dam loved currants and golden raisins even more than his sire did. "Oh, honey," she said to her husband, "you're right. He's welcome to come shove his dessert in my muzzle anytime he wants!"

It was at that point that Robbie wished he could simply fade into thin air, but despite his very best efforts, he remained distressingly corporeal.

Whoops and howls went up everywhere as the unrehearsed scene came to its end. "A complete hit, Doc!" Bradford acknowledged, putting forth a forepaw for him to shake. The professor instead pulled the rabbit into a friendly, gentlemanly hug.

"After all of that frippery, first names, I think! Call me Grayson, or Gray."

"Bradford, or Brad." He released the professor and presented his mate, who initiated the hug herself. "Amanda."

"Call me one of your best fans," the doe grinned. "For your work, as well as for picking up that improvisation and running with it."

The fox separated himself gently and kissed the back of the doe's paw in a courtly gesture. "Now I know where Robbie gets his penchant for literature!"

"Speaking of whom..." Amanda waved her kit over and, despite his prior embarrassment, he had little choice but to step up to the fox he had missed for all these weeks. He wasn't quite sure how to address his former teacher, nor in what way to greet him.

"Robbie!" the vulpine grinned happily, his golden hazel eyes dancing in what seemed true delight. He reached out his arms, then pulled them back a bit. "Might I ask you for a hug? You're not a student now, so no prejudice is attached."

The young rabbit felt a blush beginning again, but he managed to step up for the proffered hug. For the first time, he held the object of his affection in his arms, and his heart thudded hard in his chest. He was close enough to smell the fox's fur, just the faintest whiff of what seemed like an expensive cologne. Robbie had been right -- the fox was warm, tender, a kind of independent strength, a powerful personality that wasn't mere ego but somehow a strength of spirit. Or was this just the imaginings of a young buck with a crush on an older todd?

"Call me Grayson."

The soft, quiet, warm breath in Robbie's ear was almost enough to make him faint. He held on to his senses even as he let go of the professor's embrace. He hoped that the smile on his muzzle didn't make him look too goofy. The only thing that saved him from blurting out loud, May I taste your dick? was his mother providing a bit of the dessert to sample before he could say anything at all. For many years after, he would look back at that moment and wonder if his dam had read his mind and acted to save him from an acute adolescent embarrassment (the worst kind). He had time to calm his mind a little as he reacted to the delicious taste of flavors of the dessert.

Again as if anticipating her kit, Amanda said, "Robbie's quite good at making desserts, Grayson; perhaps you'll teach him your secret recipe?"

"It's about as secret as the cable food channels can keep quiet," the fox laughed, "but I'd still be delighted. Now... what about the rest of this lovely food? I've shown you mine, now show me yours."

Robbie gave up and laughed along with everyone else.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The party was going so well that Robbie hardly noticed the time passing. It turned out that Professor Deschenes... no, Robbie reminded himself, he'd been told to call him "Grayson." It turned out that Grayson was a bit of a dancer himself. He asked the rabbit's dam for a dance. When she quipped that perhaps he'd rather dance with the kit's sire, the fox replied smoothly, "The dance is an art form that knows no sexual preference." Despite that she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, Amanda curtseyed as Grayson bowed, and the two set off to boogie to the rapid rhythms of the Pointer Sisters, including a couple of well-timed booty-bumps that had all viewers crowing with hollers and applause. When Bradford tapped the fox on the shoulder, asking if he could cut in, he went with the joke and danced with the fox instead of his mate. If nothing else, Robbie was convinced that "meeting the 'rents" was not of the slightest issue.

On occasion, Robbie took the time to visit the various other families and gatherings, including the Clements, the older bear couple. "The Missus," as the old bear called his mate, greatly enjoyed teaching Robbie the lindy hop to Glenn Miller's "In the Mood." Although not that much of an eater, the young buck managed to sample a little bit of everything across the various tables of four households, wondering if he should get out his desktop publishing software and bring together all of the recipes into a single volume. He already had the title: A Real American Independence Day Cookbook, or Apple Pie, My Eye!

Many of his friends from the neighborhood (and from high school in general) showed up. Many had manners enough to bring at least a bag or two of chips, and the hosting families didn't mind. Adolescent mouths are rarely easily sated, nor are they wont to pass up free grub. It was expected. A trio of players from Robbie's team paid in the form of bringing particularly nice fireworks for the night's display. The local volunteer fire department had representatives patrolling the streets, making sure that the delights of ancient Chinese chemistry were handled properly. The summer storms weren't frequent this year, but there had been enough rain to keep the trees and grasses from being too easily kindled. The VFD had held half-hour talks for the neighborhood, scheduling the same information on several nights so that everyone had a chance to attend. It was a simple message that they put across: Be safe, here's what to do if something doesn't go as planned, and have fun. Even they called it "same thing every year"; they kept it light, amusing, and let everyone know if there were special circumstances to watch out for in a given year.

Robbie saw Donnell hanging about the fringes, later in the evening, before the fireworks started. The otter seemed to be in a mood darker than the black pads of his webbed paws, and the young buck couldn't begin to fathom why. All he'd wanted was for high school to be over, and now that it was, he acted as if he were somehow being punished by having to stay here for the summer. He hardly ever saw the rabbit anymore, not for video gaming, not for conversation, and certainly not for anything else. Robbie wondered if that were somehow part of the issue; the otter was still seeing Sondra (he thought), and there were probably several other females who would be interested in a bit of slap'n'tickle with him, so maybe his dalliances with Robbie were "just a phase" for the mustelid. Donnell had been scouted by a university that was a fair distance away from home, scholarship already secured. Local females weren't necessarily about to follow him, so maybe they wouldn't want to get involved this late in the game. Was that somehow a factor?

The sunset had lingered gloriously, and now the gloaming had everyone beginning to gather on the lawns to enjoy the fireworks display to come. It was hardly as big-budget as some of the city and town displays nearby, but most of the neighbors agreed that it wasn't always worth it to spend three hours of driving and parking in crowded situations to watch 20 minutes of fireworks. The fanciest of the devices that were available to the public usually detonated at a lower altitude than the professional stuff, so no one was worried about overshadowing the fancy display that would be launched from several miles away. They might even see a bit of both, which was quite the plus. Deck chairs of all types and descriptions came out, as well as blankets laid upon the ground for those who wanted to watch the skies from a more prone position. (As many had discovered, whatever their age, it made for a great cuddle.)

Robbie bustled through the kitchen of his house, putting away some of the leftovers. There was still time before the fireworks, and getting it done now meant less clean-up time after the show. He puttered about, more or less on automatic pilot; tidying up was a habit that had been instilled years before, and it worked everywhere except in his own room, as his dam had noted on more than one occasion. He was involved in his work to such a degree that he was unaware of having an audience until a loud belch resounded in the comparative quiet of the kitchen.

The rabbit pivoted his head sharply to see Donnell propping himself against the door jamb of the sliding glass door that led out to the back yard. The otter regarded him with eyes that were definitely more than a little clouded over; the supporting evidence was the clear bottle of beer, two-thirds empty, that dangled between two fingers of the forepaw depending from an arm that hung languidly to the side of the swimmer's lean, hard body. He was of legal age now, his 18th birthday having passed a few months ago, so the booze was no longer out of bounds. From what Robbie could tell, there had been a great many six packs in the otter's recent past, and he made a wager with himself that at least one had been gone through already tonight.

"Gonna make somebody a good wife," Donnell observed with a lopsided grin.

"Have to keep my options open," the rabbit laughed softly. "If I can't get through college and find a good job, I may have to find myself a sugar-daddy."

"Oh, you'll be fine. You got nothin' t' worry 'bout."

Robbie wielded the aluminum foil roll like Excalibur, tearing off sections that fit the portions of food with scary precision. All at once, keeping his forepaws busy seemed like a good idea. There was something in the air, something like distant thunder, but it had nothing to do with celebrations or entertaining explosions.

The otter raised the bottle to his lips and drained it in a few audible swallows. He plunked the empty bottle onto the nearby kitchen table and pushed away from the jamb, taking a few slow and slightly wobbly steps toward the young buck. "Everybody's outside, eyes and ears pointed to the sky. Wanna fool around?"

"Wouldn't want to miss the fireworks, would you?"

"You wanna watch fireworks, or you wanna make some?"

Robbie felt a webbed forepaw on his arm. His ears first went back, then flayed outward as he was spun around to face Donnell. The swimmer put another heavy forepaw to the back of the rabbit's head and pressed his mouth down hard on Robbie's. The buck could taste the bitter residue of too much beer and some kind of burger-bacon-mustard combination. It took him a few seconds to clear his head enough to react, and he pushed the otter away from him hard. The mustelid nearly fell over his own thick tail as he staggered backward.

"Hey, what the hell?" he complained. "You were always moaning and pissing about us never kissing much."

"You're drunk."

"S'party," the otter slurred. "Can't enjoy a party 'til you've had a few. Now let's go have a private party."

"Get out of my house." Robbie felt his forepaws ball up into fists. He was no fighter, but he was fast and he had some muscle to his favor, not to mention that the swimmer was, at the moment, swimming up to his eyeballs in booze. This wasn't Donnell; this was just a drunk guy, no one he knew.

"What, you wanna go do it outside?" The otter sneered, a vicious look, one Robbie hadn't seen before, and not one he ever wanted to see again. "How about we go out there and show everyone what a hot little slut you are, huh? Bet there's lossa males out there want a chance at that goin' on booty."

"I said, get out of my house!"

Robbie advanced two steps to make his point, which proved to be a mistake. In a flash, Donnell had a grip on the rabbit's forearm, spun him around, and pressed the arm high up against his back so painfully that the buck cried out sharply before a webbed forepaw grabbed his muzzle hard. The otter pushed his own muzzle against the gray lop ear and hissed angrily, "Not till I get what I want, bitch. You're gonna gimmie what I want, cuz that's what sluts do, and you'll like it, cuz that's the way all you sluts are."

Forced into walking on his toes from the upward pressure against his arm, Robbie tried to croak out a cry, only to find his neck pulled back harder against the otter's muzzle. "Keep it shut, rabbit." Hot, bitter stench gripped the buck's nostrils. "That's not the part of you I want tonight. You're better at that than she was, but you're tighter where it counts, and that's what you're gonna give up. You remember where your room is, right? Right down the hall here..."

Robbie tried hard to think, to keep his mind from going blank. Familiar surroundings suddenly seemed like something out of a nightmare. Family photos on the wall seemed to stare at him with disgust, knowing him for what he was, disowning him for being a filthy slut, for letting this happen to him, for not fighting back. The hall itself, dark, like a last mile, like being taken to the slaughterhouse, his room the charnel house, his bed the chopping block. He heard the otter kick the door closed behind them, heard some bangs from the distance, and he knew that no one could hear him, no matter if he screamed or smashed glass or banged on the wall. He was beyond all that now. He was isolated, culled from the pack, and lost to what would happen... like that other time...

His muzzle was released and shoved into a pillow almost hard enough to smother him. He felt yanked at, pulled and clawed at, heard the ripping of cloth, the feel of slowly moving air from the ceiling fan on his bare fur, the pain against his belly as his shorts were pulled back then ripped as they were torn downward. More sounds of shuffling clothing behind. He struggled to breathe, he struggled to get free, he struggled to think. He felt a hard slap to his buttocks, yipped out a muffled cry into the pillow, felt fingers trying to make a space for themselves, trying to probe him painfully.

"Bite that pillow hard, slut, I'm goin' in dry."

The door opened, light spilling into the room. "Oh dear," a soft voice intoned, "this isn't the door to the bathroom, is it?"

Robbie couldn't see, couldn't really understand.

"Wait your fuckin' turn, doc, this pretty-boy slut is mine first. I'll loosen him up for ya."

"I'd really rather you didn't."

"You got no say in this, you old f--"

The rabbit didn't really understand what happened next. He heard grunting, felt the weight of the otter being pulled up off of him, heard something crash, a huge thud as if something had hit the wall, scuffling, then he heard the sounds of the otter screaming, cursing, swearing, more commotion somewhere, then that calm voice returned.

"With age comes experience. Oh, and some lessons in jiu jitsu." A pause. "Robbie? Are you all right?"

Whimpering, struggling for breath, the rabbit managed to slide on his belly off the bed and onto the floor, turning around to sit facing the open door. Light from the hallway spilled upon the gleaming white fur of the muzzle pointed toward him. Slowly, came to realize that Professor... that Grayson was kneeling on the floor... no, he had one knee on Donnell's back, that the otter's forepaws were underneath the knee, and his head was held to the floor by one of Grayson's forepaws. Robbie had no idea that the professor was strong enough to... strong enough to stop...

Voices. More voices. Neighbors, friends, the rabbit's parents, shouting, cursing, swearing.

"Amanda, Bradford," the fox's voice called loudly over the rest of the noise, "for your own sakes, go outside. If you do anything to this filthy creature, the law will want you no less badly. Go, please, leave it to the rest of us. I think Robbie is all right; I'll talk to him. Please... and someone haul out this garbage, would you?"

Time seemed to pass, and people seemed to be moving around, and then Robbie felt an arm around his shoulders, and he started to scream...

"It's me, Robbie." The arm was removed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have tried to touch you. Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere? Bruises, cuts, anything?"

Grayson's voice was so soft. Yes, it was Grayson. The fox sat next to him on the floor, and his eyes, his beautiful golden hazel eyes, so gentle in the semi-darkness. It was something his mother had said, something about how good it is, how much we need to feel safe with someone...

In a flash, the rabbit had his arms wrapped around the fox, and this time, he did not flinch when he felt arms embracing him, firm, warm, welcoming, safe. That was when he started crying, and he didn't stop for a very long time. Grayson stayed for every moment of it.

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Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Robbie's eyes snapped open suddenly, gasping for breath as he sat bolt upright. For several seconds he didn't know where he was. It was as if his mind were trying to protect him by not working. He finally realized that he was in his room, in bed, alone, furclad under the covers. The curtains were closed, but he could see daylight trying to peek in from around the edges.

A frantic knock at his door. "Robbie? Are you awake?"

"Mom?"

"May I come in, please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, please."

He hadn't even gotten all of the sentence out before his dam came quickly into the room, stopping herself by the bed, hesitating. Why would she...? Slowly, Robbie raised his arms to her, to ask for a hug, and she sat by his side and pulled him to her, starting to cry. The young buck was confused, couldn't understand what...?

"Mom? What is it? Are you okay? Is Dad o--"

The rabbit stopped in mid-word, feeling a shiver course through him like a jolt of electricity. His mother tightened her grip a little further. "It's okay, Robbie, it's okay."

It was just like all those clichés, all those times that he'd read about "memories flooding in," that whole thing about shock and fear and trauma making the mind hiccup in its ordinary routine. He fought past one last block, the one that tried to make him cower behind what had happened behind the aquatic center, and he remembered last night's attack.

"It's okay, Mom," he found himself babbling, "I'm okay, nothing happened, he didn't, nothing happened, he tried but nothing happened..."

Amanda softly shushed her kit, and he felt hot tears on his shoulder as she rocked him gently. "You're remembering?"

It sounded more like a question than a statement to Robbie, and he nodded. He remembered how Donnell had been drunk, and what he'd tried to do to him, how he'd tried to fight and failed, and someone came in, and there was some kind of fight, and people moving around and talking and shouting, and then he was crying and being held, he was being held by...

"Grayson?"

The dam squeezed Robbie gently, then held him slightly away from her. "Your white knight. He came in before the fireworks began. He saw Donnell come in."

The kit's voice was a whisper. "He saved me."

"Can't afford to lose good students."

The rabbits turned toward the doorway where Grayson stood quietly, waiting to be invited in. The brighter light from the hallway turned the fox's fur into a corona, a divine aura like the Renaissance artists used to paint. He was looking rumpled, still wearing the same clothes from last night.

"Your sire and dam kindly offered me the couch last night."

Amanda brushed Robbie's headfur with a tender forepaw. "He held you until you fell asleep. Picked you up and put you to bed. Wanted to be sure you were okay, so he stayed the night."

"Are you okay, Robbie?" the professor asked so gently that Robbie became certain that the fox really was some sort of divine apparition.

The buck nodded his head slowly, his heart thudding in his chest, unsure what it really meant. He'd never had much chance to talk to Grayson, not to really talk, and now he felt that the fox had saved him from a brutal attack. Was he in love, or merely grateful, did one negate the other...?

"Thank you," he said softly.

His dam hugged him closely again and whispered, "Just take it slowly, my best beloved. I'll get some breakfast ready." She released him a little reluctantly, and rose to leave. "You'll join us, Grayson?"

"If it's not a bother," the fox demurred. "Robbie, may I keep you company for a bit?"

"Please," the buck managed. He noticed that Amanda patted Grayson's shoulder as she went past; the look in her eye was intense and grateful. The fox entered and waved an arm at the bed, asking permission to sit. Robbie nodded.

"Do you feel up to talking about it, or shall we talk about silly things, like politics?"

The young rabbit managed a short, yipping laugh. "I'm really not sure. I think I feel okay, although I'm shaking enough to register on a seismograph. Like a delayed reaction or something maybe."

The fox looked down, then back up into the lapine's eyes. The look on his face was pained yet in control. "Robbie, I want you to know that I'll be here for you, anytime. I know that we stopped him before he..." Grayson looked away for a moment, then back into Robbie's eyes. "It's difficult to talk about it without being blunt. Forgive my clumsiness. Did he... penetrate you?"

"No," the rabbit breathed softly. "No, he didn't get inside me. Not this time."

Grayson seemed to take his time forming a question. "Was he your lover?"

"This will sound weird, but I'm not really sure. We... started experimenting, I guess you'd say, a few years ago. We hadn't gotten around to... around to trying that until last fall. So it's not like he's never... done that before. Last night was..." Robbie shivered again, and the fox reached out for his forepaw and squeezed gently. "That wasn't Donnell. It was like someone using his body. His eyes were almost glazed over, like he couldn't see anything at all, like he didn't even know that it was me. And what he said... the words he used..."

"I heard some of that," the vulpine said softly, his tail switching quickly, like an exclamation point of anger. "Don't you believe it for a moment, Robbie. I certainly don't."

"But if I gave him what he wanted before, doesn't that make me... I mean, it wasn't like we hadn't done it before..."

"There's something you need to understand." The professor's eyes were not their usual calm, golden hazel. They had hardened, like dark amber. "Rape is not about sex. It's about power, control, and violence. Even if you had experienced having him inside you before, no matter how few or how many times, last night had nothing to do with sex. He was trying to hurt you, to inflict his inner pain onto you. He'd never called you those things before, had he, even as part of a sexual game? No." The fox shook his head slowly, firmly, keeping his eyes on Robbie's. "It would have been the same as if he'd used his fists to beat you, used his claws to tear your flesh... except that it's worse."

He took a breath and began again. "I know something about rape counseling, Robbie. If you want me, I'm here to help you. We can call it counseling, or just having a friend to talk to. I'm here with you, and if I judge you in any way, it's to credit you as a fine young male who deserves far better than that drunken, slag-tailed, miserable excuse for a sapient being."

Robbie felt the fox's forepaw cupping his cheek, so gently, so tenderly, he wondered if Grayson intended to kiss him. He had the feeling that he'd really like to have that happen, but not now, not like this. He wanted to throw himself into the older male's arms and cling to him, never letting go, giving himself to the vulpine like a gift of body, mind, and soul, forever. Those eyes, softening now back into that beautiful golden hazel, the flecks of green and yellow amid the brown... Robbie could fall into them forever. He realized all at once that he was staring, gaping, saying nothing.

"I've left my cell number with your mother," the fox said softy. "You, or she, or your father, you're to use it at any hour for any reason."

"Why would they call you?" the rabbit found himself asking.

"Because an attack that vicious upon you has affected them, too. Did you think it wouldn't?" Grayson smiled softly, his head canted slightly to the right, his ears forward. "I don't know if it registered in your head, but last night, I actually told them to wait outside. Their friends came in and almost had to drag them out of here. They were ready to exact vengeance on the otter, and if they had, they'd be facing charges, just as the otter is."

"What?" Robbie was fully awake and aware now. "Donnell's been arrested?"

The fox nodded. "He's been charged with assault, battery, attempted rape, and statutory rape. You're not even sixteen yet, my lad, and the otter has reached his majority. It's no longer a question of being within a few years of age, not in this state. He's an adult, trying to have sex with a minor. In this period of ultra-conservatism coughing up its death rattle as violently as possible, it's doubtful that he'll find any judge willing to offer leniency."

"Will I... do I have to go to court?"

"Don't worry about that right now. With the various statements from witnesses about what happened, even those who only saw the aftermath, any good prosecutor will use it as leverage to force the fool to plea-bargain. That will mean no trial. But he won't be able to get anywhere near you for a long time. You'll likely be out of college before he even gets his first chance at parole."

"But what do I do then?" Robbie heard his voice coming out in a much higher register than he'd have thought he could ever make. "What if he comes after me?"

"First things first," Grayson said, gently patting the rabbit's forepaw. "Right now, I'll leave so that you can get dressed, and then we'll have breakfast, and somewhere over the next five years or so, before the disgusting creature could even attempt to be released, I'll show you some of my jiu jitsu tricks to help keep you safe." He leaned in a little closer. "And failing that, rip his worthless balls off."

Hysteria, the young buck would later realize, is a perfectly normal reaction to stress and shock. He used that as his excuse for sounding like a giggling girl huffing helium balloons even as the fox reached out to hold him once again. That, by itself, was worth any perceived self-humiliation. He held on, close and tight and warm, and Grayson didn't seem to mind a bit.