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Envy

By

N. E. P.

(U.D.A.)

"In our nature, however, there is a provision, alike marvelous and merciful, that the sufferer should never know the intensity of what he endures by its present torture, but chiefly by the pang that rankles after it."

• Nathaniel Hawthorn

"Fuck, not again!"

The bobbin on the underside of the Singer jammed again. It had been happening a lot lately: the machine was old, manufactured in the nineties, and needed some love and care. But it was his sewing machine, all his. He had paid for it outright just to have in his little corner of the world.

Esteban Tallador, Steve to his friends, was a seamster by trade, taught by his grandmother who made custom outfits for the women and daughters of their neighborhood. He had been close to her, up until the day she had passed. Fortunately, she had passed enough skill to him for gainful employment at the back of a quant little shop in the downtown area. He loved his work. It was his hobby and his passion. And since the Breach, there had been an uptick in custom fittings for customers of the Anthro persuasion. Ursus with extra wide bellies and shoulders, an assortment of holes for whoever had tails, big, bushy or otherwise, and of course the constant repairs that resulted from their wearers' hooves and talons.

As far as business was concerned, the Breach had been a boon, even three years after its advent. Almost no one wanted to cater those 'afflicted' by it, or at least specialized in anthropomorphic body types. Steve was lucky, he was aptly suited for this work, even before it was so widely needed.

But right now, this bitch of a bobbin had to be untangled: the customer, a rather imposing Anthro-Panthera Tigris, was expecting the vest and coat combo this afternoon. Good money was paid, up front, enough to bump it ahead of some other customers. Steve fiddled with the bobbin for a few more minutes before throwing it into a drawer and starting with a fresh one, winding it up with the nice purple thread the customer wanted. He briefly thought about using a similar color on his next fursuit, a furry, purple dragon named Esclo, here to alleviate depression from the silly denizens of the furdom!

A smile crossed his lips briefly, lost in a daydream of his fursona, then he let a sigh escape them as he went back to work.

Though the breach seemed to bring mostly opportunity for Steve, who remained human, others were not as fortunate. The tabloids zeroed in on the government and a hidden experiment. The details were and remained unknown, but none could overlook the effects: a purple sky with the rising and setting sun, and the Anthros. The numbers centered around twelve percent of the population globally. The metamorphosis differed from person to person, but no detectable pattern had been established. Young, old, black, white, male, female, the change was truly random. Gender and eye color remained the same, mostly, but little else. Anything from lions to bears, geckos to beavers, even non-existent creatures such as manticores and dragons. Those affected had their features changed, anthropomorphized, to the likeness of those creatures. Many suffered for it.

There were riots and movements for protection, talks of extermination or holocaust, but everyone knew at least one person who had changed. Now, things had settled as people realized that the problem was not going away and, surprisingly, change and legislation for protection were enacted. Of course, that did not mean anyone had to like it. Still, the LGBTQ+ community had welcomed Anthos with open arms, particularly the furry community. In a flood of what was intended to be support, groups of them wore their fursuits out in public and in participation with marches. Though, as with all good intentions, eventually, it was appropriated for mocking protesters, much how Steve looked on black face, granted he was umpteenth-generation Puerto Rican. Either way, in light of this, the furry community took their suits back to conventions and pride walks to show their respect for the issue.

Steve had been a part of that movement originally but withdrew after a few run-ins from both rabble-raisers and Anthros. Best to let the heavy hitters deal with this and support from the sidelines. It was better for his health; his jaw had a habit of aching when the weather was bad. It was a hard lesson to learn that, whether or not one was Anthro or human, some people were simply out to hurt others. It was a lesson Steve took to heart.

"You always do such impeccable work, Esteban." Martín eyed the stitching in his new vest, a nice mixture of purple and gray with embroidered paisley. "Me gusta totalmente! Why don't you ever break out on your own and leave this pendejo boss of yours? Need money to start up?"

"Maybe one day, but not today." Steve always got caught between Martín's and Mr. Franco's ribbing. "The purple matches your eyes; I really love the hue!"

"Quit trying to save his ass." Mr. Franco yelled from around the corner. "Pendejo! I know that that means, you puta! I got Google, ya know!"

Martín chuckled to himself as he paid and turned to leave. Steve really did admire the tiger's eyes, such a lovely purple, like a deep amethyst. He had actually started to hate his own deep brown eyes. What is more, he started to hate his whole look: the kinky hair, caramel complexion, a slip of a body. They just were not him. Esclo, though, that was who he was, who he wanted to be. He could not wait to get paid today; he had the new material picked, all he had to do was get it. As Martín exited the small shop, Steve watched the black and orange tail chase him out the door. Steve wondered if Martín or any other Anthro knew how lucky they were: that they looked on the outside as he felt on the inside.

"Mr. Franco," Steve eyed the clock.

"I know, I know. Here." Mr. Franco, an elderly Italian man with hands crippled from arthritis, gave him an envelope as he rounded the corner. He always paid in cash. "God, another project for your costume?"

"Got that right, well that and a hot date."

"Another one? What's his name this time? You don't seem to stay attached to anyone that long. He a fur-thing? You better be careful, there was a murder-suicide with one of those in the northern part of the state reported last week!"

"Anthro, Mr. Franco. I'll see you Monday!" Steve almost galloped out the door for his date.

---

Waiting at little taqueria closer uptown was Ricky, an Anthro-Capra. Steve had met him at the deli counter of a grocery store, buying, of all things, lamb shanks. A few cracked jokes about 'cannibalism' and they had hit it off well. Steve was even surprised that Ricky said yes to a date. He had been half joking but discovered that he really liked Ricky. Particularly his fur. Snow white, long angora fur. His nails were as tough as hooves and his horns were a magnificently curled. Steven had even gone as far to tell Ricky that he had a nice rack.

"Steve! Where've you been, I thought you'd stood me up!" Ricky waved him over. Steve thought it was cute how he worried; it was only their second date and Ricky already turned out to be a worrier as well as shy.

"Stand up a prime cut like you? Ha! No, I was just getting a few things home before coming."

"You could've called..."

"Tell you what, I'll buy tonight. Sound good?" Steve winked.

Dinner was great, all of the best taquerias were small, family owned, and served killer margaritas. Ricky was trying his best, in his awkward way, to ply Steve with alcohol, but still got drunk in the process. Much like Steve, he did not talk with many family members, just some cousins who still messaged him once in a while. The Breach had forced him to move to the big city from his country home. He was in the closet of course, doing his best to stay involved with the town he loved so much. But when he changed, his family and other community members did not take kindly to what he had become. Some even muttered 'Satan' or 'Baphomet' behind his back, then to his face, then as they kicked him out of their lives forever. Even after hiding who he was, he could not hide what he had become.

It was an embarrassing truth that he revealed to Steve, who had the same experience but for different reasons. Raised Catholic, his family just simply could not tolerate his 'choice' in whom he loved. His grandmother had still loved him, nonetheless. That was before the Breach though; afterward, families started to focus less on who one was, but what one was.

The evening waxed onward, turning purple, and the two of them were drunk on cheap liquor, conversation, and hormones begging for satisfaction.

"Why don't we head over to my place? It's not far from here, we can walk." Steve reached over and cooed in Ricky's ear.

"Y-you sure? I mean, yeah! I didn't realize you were this close. I- "

"Shh... come on, you silly goat."

Shambling through the streets for about an hour's walk, the two of them finally made it to Steve's apartment. It was a raggedy building, desperately in need of a facelift, but it was cheap, and the neighbors absolutely did not care what happened, so long as they, themselves, were left in peace. A good place for Anthros and humans alike who wanted to escape everything but themselves. As they alighted the stairs, they could smell the cooking of Ms. Rampersad, a neighbor, wafting down the steps from the apartment on the second floor, no doubt a delicious curry dish. Pot smoke from some of the local stoners on the fifth floor still poked through her cooking though. Steve lived on the third floor and the elevator was broken again. Laughing, he and Ricky supported each other during their hike up the narrow stairwell, laughing and blushing as they went. It was late, so they tried, with difficulty, to hush.

"I didn't really think I'd meet anyone being like this, you know?" Ricky leaned against the door as Steve fumbled for his keys.

"Don't be a silly Billy," Steve chuckled at his own joke, "I'm glad we did."

They shuffled inside, ready and willing to give themselves to each other. Steve had been with other Anthros, three actually: two bears and a gorilla. Each had their own unique scent, stronger than a human's but somehow more pleasant. Ricky was no different. As they caressed and kissed, Steve took in his scent, relaxing and nuzzling Ricky's soft pelt. They had first rushed to tear the clothes off each other, but now they were taking their time. Steve especially as he ran his fingers through the rich, white fur, and reached around Ricky's neck then up to his horns. Ricky's yellow eyes met his and they kissed deeply.

Steve wanted Ricky inside. He did not care what shape he was, how big or small, he just wanted to ride him. He pushed Ricky onto the bed and stroked his chest down to his stomach, then tasted him, wanting to lubricate him before mounting. As Steve rode him, he looked up at his custom stuffed animal collection that he had made, concentrating through Ricky's excitement. Ricky was thrusting wildly, muttering that he was on the edge, that he did not want to stop, but, with Steve's encouragement, he released himself inside, panting. Touching and feeling Steve's smooth skin, an expression of envy crossed his face, then deflated his mien. Steve smiled down at him, bending down to kiss him as he reached behind the bed. As Steve raised himself from the kiss, Ricky could only give a befuddled look before the bat swung down, knocking him into oblivion.

Pleased with himself, Steve dismounted to begin his preparations. He had tried his best to leave everything unsullied, but he had to make sure his swings landed with force. In doing so, one of his stuffed bears had fallen to the floor, laying there pitifully and accusingly after the beating. He picked it up and noticed that the stitching was coming loose on one of its paws. Frowning at the offending thread, he made a mental note to fix it. He brushed it off and placed it back on the shelf with the other bear and the gorilla.

---

"I'm coming!" Ms. Rampersad warbled before the door popped open, its crack revealing her happy face. "Esteban! What are you doing up so early on a Saturday? You only come by when you want something!"

"Red handed, Ms. R. I was thinking that you could make some of your delicious curry for me tonight. Would you mind? I have the main ingredient for us, already cut up for you! Please?!"

Ms. Rampersad eyed the bags in his hands and the mischievous grin on his face. The door flew open as she leapt out, grabbing him in a big hug. Tired from his late night, he hugged her back lightly.

"You spoil us! What is it? Is it chicken?"

"Well, I thought I'd try goat this time. You always say it's better, so this time I thought- "

A squeal of delight echoed through the building as Ms. Rampersad snatched the bags from Steve.

"Hey! Only one of those is for you!"

"Oh?! What's in this one?" She peaked inside before Steve gabbed it back. "More fur for your suits, huh? Ah! You're using the pelt from the goat! I don't know why more Americans don't do that, it's always such a waste. Who's your butcher?"

"My little secret." Steve demurred. "So how 'bout it? Curry tonight?"

"Definitely! I'll see you when you come back. I want to see what you make it into! Your work is always so good! Sometimes I almost mistake you for one!"

"Bet, Ms. R."

Steve had keys to the shop. It was closed on Saturdays; Franco said it was for the observation of the sabbath, but Steve suspected that it had more to do with his desire to have two days of not being bothered. He had worked quickly last night, but still with care: he wanted the pelt to be in one piece, had to clean up after the draining, and still did his best to dry the skin with a blow-dryer. But it was a labor of love and would be worth it in the end. Mr. Franco had a tub just for dying in the back, all it would take is the right mixture to match the right color purple for Esclo. The white fur would make it easier. With a giddy squeak, Steve started to cut the foam for the tail and size the other material he had collected to it. Purple body, black tail, feet, and claws. Oh! And horns for the head! Nice, curled ones at that!

Short of writhing in jealousy over why others were changed and not him, this was the best salve to soothe his ache. The whole process was liberating. He was free from his own skin. Waiting for the freshly dyed pelt to dry, he sat to work at his machine, its mechanisms whirring to life. To him, it was silly for Anthros to pout about their gift, because that is what it was. Some of them hated themselves and how they looked, as much as he did his own features. But he was going to change that. He was going to make a fursona like no other, one that would truly reflect who he was and how he saw himself.

With the soft, black gorilla fur pressed against his face, he sighed before placing it under the sewing needle of his straight stich, imagining that he were going under the knife for another transformation. With any luck, he would have some material left over to make a plush goat, though he was going to need every scrap. He clinched his jaw as it ached, cradling it for a moment. The pressure must be dropping outside. Best to set that aside, there was work to be done.

He pressed the peddle, starting the machine. Click. Buzz. Jam.

"Fuck, really?"